Former Presidents Bill Clinton, George W. Bush and Barack Obama turned over their classified records to the National Archives upon leaving office, representatives for each of the three leaders said Tuesday, after classified materials were discovered in yet another former top official's home.

At the Pentagon on the afternoon of 9/11, as the fires still burned and ambulances blared, Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld returned from the smoke-filled courtyard to his office. His closest aide, Undersecretary Stephen Cambone, cryptically recorded the secretary’s thinking about Saddam Hussein and Osama (or Usama) bin Laden: “Hit S. H. @same time; Not only UBL; near term target needs—go massive—sweep it all up—need to do so to hit anything useful.”

The president did not agree. That night, when George W. Bush returned to Washington, his main concern was reassuring the nation, relieving its suffering, and inspiring hope. Informed that al-Qaeda was most likely responsible for the attack, he did not focus on Iraq. The next day, at meetings of the National Security Council, Rumsfeld and Deputy Secretary of Defense Paul Wolfowitz advocated action against Saddam Hussein. With no good targets in Afghanistan and no war plans to dislodge the Taliban, Defense officials thought Iraq might offer the best opportunity to demonstrate American resolve and resilience. Their arguments did not resonate with anyone present.

The following evening, however, President Bush encountered his outgoing counterterrorism expert, Richard Clarke, and several other aides outside the Situation Room in the White House. According to Clarke, the president said, “I want you, as soon as you can, to go back over everything, everything. See if Saddam did this. See if he’s linked in any way.” Clarke promised he would but insisted that al-Qaeda, not Hussein, was responsible. Then he muttered to his assistants, “Wolfowitz got to him.”

There is no real evidence that Wolfowitz did get to Bush. The president may have talked about attacking Iraq in a conversation with British Prime Minister Tony Blair on Friday, September 14. But when Wolfowitz raised the issue again at Camp David over the weekend, Bush made it clear that he did not think Hussein was linked to 9/11, and that Afghanistan was priority No. 1. His vice president, national security advisers, and CIA director were all in agreement.

[From the January/February 209 issue: The George W. Bush years]

Bush’s decision to invade Iraq was neither preconceived nor inevitable. It wasn’t about democracy, and it wasn’t about oil. It wasn’t about rectifying the decision of 1991, when the United States failed to overthrow Hussein, nor was it about getting even for the dictator’s attempt to assassinate Bush’s father, George H. W. Bush, in 1993. Rather, Bush and his advisers were motivated by their concerns with U.S. security. They urgently wanted to thwart any other possible attack on Americans, and they were determined to foreclose Hussein’s ability to use weapons of mass destruction to check the future exercise of American power in the Middle East.

Bush resolved to invade Iraq only after many months of high anxiety, a period in which hard-working, if overzealous, officials tried to parse intelligence that was incomplete and unreliable. Their excessive fear of Iraq was matched by an excessive preoccupation with American power. And they were unnerved, after 9/11’s shocking revelation of an unimagined vulnerability, by a sense that the nation’s credibility was eroding.

In Bush’s key speeches during the first week after 9/11, he did not dwell on Iraq. When reporters asked the president if he had a special message for Saddam Hussein, Bush spoke generically: “Anybody who harbors terrorists needs to fear the United States … The message to every country is, there will be a campaign against terrorist activity, a worldwide campaign.” When General Tommy Franks, the commander of U.S. forces in the Middle East, suggested to Bush that they begin military planning against Iraq, the president instructed him not to.

Rumsfeld and his top advisers remained more concerned about Iraq—a regime, wrote Undersecretary of Defense Douglas Feith on September 18, “that engages in and supports terrorism and otherwise threatens US vital interests.” But even they weren’t advocating a full-scale invasion. Instead, Wolfowitz favored seeding a Shia rebellion in the south, establishing an enclave or a liberation zone for organizing a provisional government, and denying Hussein control over the region’s oil. “If we’re capable of mounting an Afghan resistance against the Soviets,” Wolfowitz told me, “we could have been capable of mounting an Arab resistance.”

Bush was not entirely unsympathetic to this approach, but neither Rumsfeld nor Wolfowitz could persuade him to divert his attention from Afghanistan and the broader War on Terror. Wolfowitz deferred to Bush’s priority, ultimately helping devise the strategy that toppled the Taliban in Afghanistan. But he, Feith, and their civilian colleagues at the Pentagon did not relinquish the idea of regime change in Iraq. They were incensed by Hussein’s gloating over the 9/11 attack. And they were convinced that he was dangerous.

Bush’s attention did not gravitate to Iraq until the fall, after anthrax spores circulated through the U.S. mail, killing several postal workers, and turned up in a Senate office building and at a facility handling White House mail. On October 18, sensors inside the White House alerted staff to the presence of a deadly toxin; it was a false alarm, but one that intensified worries about an attack with biological or chemical weapons.

Bush and his advisers were troubled by what they thought they knew about Iraq, though assessing Hussein’s intentions and capabilities was difficult. The Iraqi dictator had expelled international inspectors in 1998, leaving the CIA unable to collect information. But analysts were convinced that Hussein could not be trusted to have destroyed all of the weapons of mass destruction he’d previously possessed. Their suspicions were reinforced when an Iraqi defector claimed that Iraq had established mobile biological-weapons-production plants and now possessed “capabilities surpassing the pre–Gulf War era.”

[From the January/February 2004 issue: Spies, lies, and weapons: what went wrong]

Michael Morell, the president’s CIA briefer, insisted to me that someone reexamining the available evidence at the time would still conclude that Hussein “had a chemical-weapons capability, that he had chemical weapons stockpiled, that he had a biological-weapons-production capability, and he was restarting a nuclear program. Today you would come to that judgment based on what was on that table.” But what was on the table, Morell told me, was circumstantial and suspect, much of it coming from Iraqi Kurdish foes of the regime. Morell acknowledged that he should have said, “Mr. President, here is what we think … But what you really need to know is that we have low confidence in that judgment and here is why.” Instead, Morell was telling the president that Hussein “had a chemical-weapons program. He’s got a biological-weapons-production capability.”

Bush and his top advisers were predisposed to think that Hussein had weapons of mass destruction. This was true not only of the hawks in the administration. Secretary of State Colin Powell and National Security Adviser Condoleezza Rice believed that Hussein possessed WMDs. So did State Department analysts and their counterparts in the CIA and at the National Security Agency. They disagreed about the purpose of aluminum tubes and about Iraq’s acquisition of uranium yellowcake, and they were aware that Hussein would need five to seven years to develop a nuclear weapon once the regime began working on it again. Nevertheless, they thought they knew that Iraq had biological and chemical weapons, or could develop them quickly, and that Hussein aspired to reconstitute a nuclear program.

Foreign-intelligence partners concurred. Tony Blair and his most trusted advisers felt the same way. Nobody told Bush that Hussein did not have WMDs.

Hussein had been seriously hampered by sanctions and the presence of inspectors. But now the inspectors were gone, and the sanctions were disappearing. The conundrum facing U.S. policy makers was how to contain Hussein if the sanctions regime ended and if United Nations monitors did not return. “I wasn’t worried about what he would do in 2001,” Wolfowitz told me. “I was worried about what he would do in 2010 if the existing containment … collapsed.”

Hussein was not doing much to allay American fears. He was using his oil revenues to leverage support from France, China, and Russia to end UN sanctions. He had not ceased providing support for terrorist activity in Kuwait and Saudi Arabia, some of which targeted American aid workers. And reports of his pervasive repressions inside Iraq persisted.

[Read: Britain’s Iraq war reckoning]

At the same time, Hussein was investing his growing financial reserves in strengthening Iraq’s military-industrial complex and acquiring materials that could be used for chemical and biological weapons. According to British intelligence, the Iraqis were still concealing information about 31,000 chemical munitions, 4,000 tons of chemicals that could be used for weapons, and large quantities of material that could be employed for the production of biological weapons.

Such assessments held through the winter. “Iraq continues to pursue its WMD programmes,” concluded the British Joint Intelligence Committee in February 2002. “If it has not already done so, Iraq could produce significant quantities of biological warfare agents within days and chemical warfare agents within weeks of a decision to do so.”

“I have no doubt we need to deal with Saddam,” Blair had written to Bush in the fall of 2001. But if we “hit Iraq now,” Blair had warned, “we would lose the Arab world, Russia, probably half the EU and my fear is the impact on Pakistan.” Far better to deliberate quietly and avoid public debate “until we know exactly what we want to do; and how we can do it.” Bush agreed.

“President Bush believed,” Rumsfeld subsequently wrote, “that the key to successful diplomacy with Saddam was a credible threat of military action. We hoped that the process of moving an increasing number of American forces into a position where they could attack Iraq might convince the Iraqis to end their defiance.” As Stephen Hadley, the deputy national security adviser during Bush’s first term, told me: “We thought it would coerce him … to do what the international community asked, which is either destroy the WMD or show us that you destroyed it. That was it. Either do it or, if you’ve already done it, show it, prove it.”

Bush wanted to use the threat of force to resume inspections and gain confidence that Iraq did not possess WMDs that might fall into the hands of terrorists or be used to blackmail the U.S. in the future. But he also wanted to use the threat of force to remove Hussein from power. He did not really know which of these goals had priority. He never clearly sorted out these overlapping yet conflicting impulses, even as each seemed to become more compelling.

“The best way to get Saddam to come into compliance with UN demands,” wrote Cheney in his memoir, In My Time, “was to convince him we would use force.” Prominent Democrats did not disagree. In early February 2002, Senator Joseph Biden, the Democratic chair of the Foreign Relations Committee, held hearings dealing with the State Department’s request for the 2003 budget. Secretary Powell emphasized that the War on Terror was his No. 1 priority. There were regimes, Powell said, that not only supported terror but were developing WMDs. They “could provide the wherewithal to terrorist organizations to use these sorts of things against us.”

Biden asked whether this meant that the president was announcing a new policy of preemption, as foreign allies thought he was doing. After Powell denied this allegation, Biden proclaimed his own fears about the proliferation of WMDs, especially in Iraq. “I happen to be one that thinks that one way or another Saddam has got to go and it is likely to be required to have U.S. force to have him go,” he said. “The question is how to do it, in my view, not if to do it.”

Intelligence reports over the following months did not ease Bush’s anxieties. What alarmed the president was new information that al-Qaeda was seeking biological and chemical weapons, alongside the knowledge that Iraq had had them and used them.

In late May 2002, analysts reported that al-Qaeda operatives were moving into Baghdad, including the high-ranking jihadist Abu Musab al-Zarqawi. “Other individuals associated with al-Qaida,” the head of the State Department’s intelligence office informed Powell, “are operating in Baghdad and are in contact with colleagues who, in turn, may be more directly involved in attack planning.” Since 9/11, there had been little al-Qaeda activity in Iraq, and experts disagreed about the nature of the relationship between the Iraqi dictator and Osama bin Laden. Hardly anyone thought Iraq had anything to do with 9/11, but, according to a postwar Senate investigation, there were “a dozen or so reports of varying reliability mentioning the involvement of Iraq or Iraqi nationals in al-Qa’ida’s efforts to obtain” chemical- and biological-warfare training.

[From the July/August 2006 issue: The short, violent life of Abu Musab al-Zarqawi]

Al-Zarqawi was a known terrorist, a Jordanian who had fought in Afghanistan, met with bin Laden, and managed his own training camps in Herat. Already notorious for his toughness, radicalism, and barbarity, he lusted to wreak revenge on Americans. Reports of al-Zarqawi’s presence in Iraq came shortly before U.S. policy makers received information about an Iraqi procurement agent’s activity in Australia. Allegedly, this agent was seeking to buy GPS software that would allow the regime to map American cities. Might the Iraqi dictator be plotting a WMD attack inside the United States?  

Al-Zarqawi was also collaborating with Ansar al-Islam, an Islamist extremist group that was battling a mainline Kurdish party for control of northeastern Iraq. A small CIA team had infiltrated the region near the city of Khurmal and reported in July that al-Zarqawi had begun experimenting with biological and chemical agents that terrorists could put in ventilation systems. According to one of the CIA agents, “they were full-bore on biological and chemical warfare … They were doing a lot of testing on donkeys, rabbits, mice, and other animals.”

In Washington, the Joint Chiefs of Staff favored military action in Khurmal. So did Cheney, Rumsfeld, and Wolfowitz. They did not believe that al-Qaeda would be in Iraq—even a part not controlled by Hussein—without the dictator’s acquiescence. Their suspicions grew when information placed al-Zarqawi and other al-Qaeda fighters in Baghdad. The CIA agents in Iraq saw no evidence that the al-Qaeda operatives were linked to Hussein, but everyone they spoke with believed that Hussein had WMDs.

Bush said he would act with “deliberation,” employing only the best intelligence. But the intelligence was murky, leading to contentious assessments, conflicting judgments, and uncertain recommendations. Sometimes, the president overstated the evidence he had. Hussein’s a threat, Bush told the press corps in November 2002, “because he is dealing with al-Qaeda.” Although this was an exaggeration, Bush did know that al-Zarqawi had been in Baghdad, had links to al-Qaeda, and was experimenting with biological and chemical weapons. And he knew that Hussein supported suicide bombings and celebrated their “martyrs.”

Bush chose not to authorize military action in Khurmal. On July 31, he told Blair that he had not yet decided on war—that he might give the Iraqi dictator one more chance to abide by his promises to allow inspections and destroy his weapons of mass destruction. At the same time, however, the president instructed General Franks to proceed with his war planning.

Although Bush had not resolved whether he meant to disarm or depose the Iraqi dictator, he mobilized public and congressional support for his policies. In October, the House approved a resolution authorizing him to use military force, by a vote of 296–133, and the Senate did the same, 77–23. The political effort in Washington was matched by a diplomatic one in New York. On November 8, the UN Security Council passed Resolution 1441, which demanded inspections and stipulated that the Iraqi regime was already in breach of past resolutions. In the administration’s view, this provided justification for the U.S. to take unilateral action if it chose to do so.

Bush was practicing coercive diplomacy, hoping to achieve his goals through intimidation. “We were giving Saddam one final choice,” his British partner in this policy, Blair, explained in 2011. If Hussein proved recalcitrant, the president’s credibility—and America’s—would be at risk, in which case coercive diplomacy would have to end with a military intervention. The costs of that intervention, however, had not been calculated.

Bush did want a free, democratic Iraq to emerge if he resorted to military action, but he had spent little time discussing the institutions, policies, and expenditures that would be required to translate the liberation of Iraq into a better life for its citizens. In a meeting with General Franks, Bush asked, “Can we win?”

“Yes, sir,” said Franks.

“Can we get rid of Saddam?” the president asked again.

“Yes, sir,” said his general.

The president did not ask, “What then?”

After the invasion turned into a chaotic, dysfunctional occupation and Iraq’s alleged WMDs were not found, Bush instructed his director of Central Intelligence, George Tenet, to establish a special mission named the Iraq Survey Group to investigate what had happened to these deadly armaments. The group’s first director, David Kay, appeared before the Senate Armed Services Committee on January 28, 2004: “Let me begin,” he admitted, “by saying that we were almost all wrong” about Iraqi WMD programs. Though chastened by the misreading of Iraqi capabilities, Kay did not think that intelligence analysts had misled policy makers about the fundamental threat. “I think the world is far safer with the disappearance and removal of Saddam Hussein.”

[Read: Mission creep: when everything is terrorism]

The survey group’s second chief, Charles Duelfer, oversaw part of the interrogation of Saddam Hussein after U.S. forces captured him in December 2003. Duelfer dwelled on Hussein’s “controlling presence.” Hussein “was not a cartoon,” Duelfer emphasized. “He was catastrophically brilliant and extremely talented in a black, insidious way,” much like Joseph Stalin, the leader whom Hussein most wanted to emulate. And his aspirations were clear: to thwart Iran, defeat Israel, and dominate the region. To achieve these goals, Hussein yearned to acquire WMDs.

That was Duelfer’s conclusion when, in September 2004, he delivered the final, comprehensive report of the survey group. The evidence appeared conclusive: Iraq did not have WMD stockpiles, nor any active programs. But “it was very clear,” Duelfer later wrote in his memoir, Hide and Seek: The Search for Truth in Iraq, “that Saddam complied with UN disarmament restrictions only as a tactic.” Hussein’s overriding objectives, the survey group affirmed, were to bring sanctions to an end and to move ahead with securing WMDs. “Virtually” no senior Iraqi leader “believed that Saddam had forsaken WMD forever.” Denied his desire to be executed by firing squad, Hussein was hanged in prison on December 30, 2006.

Bush decided, initially, to confront Hussein—not invade Iraq. The president feared another attack, one perhaps even more dire than 9/11. Rogue states like Iraq, Bush worried, might share the world’s deadliest weapons with terrorists who desperately wanted to inflict pain on America, puncture its air of invincibility, undermine its institutions, and make Americans doubt the value of their freedoms.

Yet fear alone did not shape the president’s strategy. Bush’s faith in American might was equally important. From the outset of his administration, he aimed to expand American military capabilities, which already far exceeded those of any other nation. The use of airpower, special forces, and new technologies to expel the Taliban from Kabul in 2001 reinforced his sense of strength. America’s reach appeared to have no bounds. Washington, he felt, must not be dissuaded from helping its friends and protecting its interests, especially in regions harboring crucial raw materials and energy reserves. The U.S. had the power to do so and needed to demonstrate it.

Fear and power were reinforced by hubris. Bush insisted that all people wanted to live by American values—to be free to say what they pleased and pray as they wished. If the United States overthrew a brutal dictator, American officials could take satisfaction in knowing that they were enriching the lives of his benighted subjects.

Spurred by fear, growing confidence in American power, and a sense of moral virtue, Bush embraced coercive diplomacy. The strategy was appealing because almost everyone surrounding Bush believed that Hussein’s defiance would not cease until he was confronted by superior force. But the strategy was adopted without a clear goal—regime change or WMD elimination.

[Read: America’s credibility is taking a hit in Iraq]

When, after the invasion, those weapons were not found, Bush shifted to a more ideological discourse. “The failure of Iraq democracy,” he warned, “would embolden terrorists around the world … Success will send forth the news, from Damascus to Teheran—that freedom can be the future of every nation.” When the U.S. got locked in an insurrectionary struggle and Islamic fundamentalism surged, neither Bush’s goals nor his strategy appeared to make sense. His critics mocked his naivete, accused him of dishonesty, and ridiculed his democratic zealotry.

These critics underestimated Bush’s qualities and misconstrued his thinking. Bush failed not because he was a weak leader, a naive ideologue, or a manipulative liar. He was always fully in charge of the administration’s Iraq policy, and he did not rush to war. He went to war not to make Iraq democratic but to remove a murderous dictator who intended to restart his weapons programs, supported suicide missions, and cultivated links with terrorist groups (even if not, actually, al-Qaeda).

In those narrow aims, Bush succeeded. Another attack on American soil did not occur and he did eliminate a brutal, erratic, and dangerous tyrant. But he did not achieve that at an acceptable cost. The war proved catastrophic for Iraq. Over the ensuing years, more than 200,000 Iraqis perished as a result of the war, insurrection, and civic strife, and more than 9 million people—about a third of the prewar population—were internally displaced or fled abroad.

The intervention also exacted a human, financial, economic, and psychological toll on the United States that hardly anyone had foreseen. The war enhanced Iranian power in the Persian Gulf, diverted attention and resources from the ongoing struggle inside Afghanistan, divided America’s European allies, and provided additional opportunity for China’s rise and Russia’s revanchism. The conflict besmirched America’s reputation and heightened anti-Americanism. It fueled the sense of grievance among Muslims, accentuated perceptions of American arrogance, complicated the struggle against terrorism, and dampened hopes for democracy and peace among Arabs and Jews in the Middle East. Rather than having spread liberty, the president and his advisers left office witnessing the worldwide recession of freedom.

Fear, power, and hubris explain America’s march to war in Iraq. By thinking otherwise, by simplifying the story and believing that all would be well if we only had more honest officials, stronger leaders, and more realistic policy makers, we delude ourselves. Tragedy occurs not because our leaders are naive, stupid, and corrupt. Tragedy occurs when earnest and responsible officials try their best to make America safer and end up making things much worse. We need to ask why this happens. We need to appreciate the dangers that lurk when there is too much fear, too much power, too much hubris—and insufficient prudence.

This article is adapted from Confronting Saddam Hussein: George W. Bush and the Invasion of Iraq.

The next front is rapidly emerging in the struggle between supporters and opponents of legal abortion, and that escalating conflict is increasing the chances that the issue will shape the 2024 election as it did last November’s midterm contest.

President Joe Biden triggered the new confrontation with a flurry of recent moves to expand access to the drugs used in medication abortions, which now account for more than half of all abortions performed in the United States. Medication abortion involves two drugs: mifepristone followed by misoprostol (which is also used to prevent stomach ulcers). Although abortion opponents question the drugs’ safety, multiple scientific studies have found few serious adverse effects beyond headache or cramping.

Federal regulation of the use and distribution of these drugs by agencies including the FDA and the United States Postal Service has long been overshadowed in the abortion debate by the battles over Supreme Court nominations and federal legislation to ban or authorize abortion nationwide. But with a conservative majority now entrenched in the Court, and little chance that Congress will pass national legislation in either direction any time soon, abortion supporters and opponents are focusing more attention on executive-branch actions that influence the availability of the pills.

[Read: The abortion backup plan no one is talking about]

“The reality of abortion care has been changing very, very rapidly, and now the politics are catching up with it,” Celinda Lake, a Democratic pollster who served as one of Biden’s advisers in 2020, told me.

Tens of thousands of anti-abortion activists will descend on Washington today for their annual March for Life—the first since the Supreme Court last summer overturned Roe v. Wade, the 1973 decision that established a nationwide right to abortion. The activists will cheer the swift moves by some two dozen Republican-controlled states to ban or severely restrict abortion since the Court struck down Roe.

But even as abortion opponents celebrate, they are growing more frustrated about the increased reliance on the drugs, which are now used in 54 percent of U.S. abortions—up dramatically from less than one-third less than a decade ago, according to the Guttmacher Institute, a research group that supports abortion rights. “With the overturning of Roe, [with] COVID, and with President Biden’s loosening of the restrictions on these [drugs] … there is a new frontier that everyone is pivoting to,” Rebecca Parma, the legislative director for Texas Right to Life, a prominent anti-abortion group, told me.

George W. Bush and Donald Trump, the two Republicans who have held the presidency since the drugs were first approved under Democratic President Bill Clinton, in 2000, took virtually no steps to limit their availability. But conservative activists are already signaling that they will press the Republican presidential candidates in 2024 for more forceful action.

“Our job is to make sure … this becomes an issue that any GOP candidate will have to answer and address,” Kristan Hawkins, the president of the anti-abortion group Students for Life of America, told me. “No one can be ambivalent again; it will simply not be an option.”

The challenge for Republicans is that the 2022 midterm elections sent an unmistakable signal of resistance to further abortion restrictions in almost all of the key swing states that tipped the 2020 presidential election and are likely to decide the 2024 contest. “Would you really want to be Ron DeSantis or Donald Trump running in a close election saying, ‘I’m going to ban all abortion pills in Michigan or Pennsylvania’ right now?” says Mary Ziegler, a law professor at UC Davis, who has written extensively on the history of the abortion debate.

Sunday is the 50th anniversary of the original Roe decision, and the Biden administration will mark the occasion with a defiant pro-abortion-rights speech from Vice President Kamala Harris in Florida, where GOP Governor DeSantis, a likely 2024 presidential contender, signed a 15-week abortion ban last April.

White House officials see access to abortion medication as “the next battlefront” in the larger struggle over the procedure, Jennifer Klein, the director of the White House Gender Policy Council, told me. She said she expects Republicans to mount more sweeping efforts to restrict access to the drugs than they did during the Bush or Trump presidencies. “The reason you’ve seen both Democratic and Republican administrations ensure access to medication abortions is because this is the FDA following their evidence-based scientific judgment,” she said. “So what I think is different now is you are seeing some pretty extreme actions as the next way to double down on taking away reproductive health and reproductive rights.”

Federal regulation of the abortion drugs has followed a consistent pattern, with Democratic presidents moving to expand access and Republican presidents mostly accepting those actions.

[Read: The other abortion pill]

During the 2000 presidential campaign, for instance, George W. Bush called the Clinton administration’s initial approval of mifepristone “wrong” and said he worried it would lead to more abortions. But over Bush’s two terms, his three FDA commissioners ignored a citizen petition from conservative groups to revoke approval for the drug. Under Barack Obama, the FDA formalized relatively onerous rules for the use of mifepristone. Physicians had to obtain a special certification to prescribe the drug, women had to meet with their doctor once before receiving it and twice after, and it could be used only within the first seven weeks of pregnancy.

The FDA loosened these restrictions during Obama’s final year in office. It reduced the number of physician visits required to obtain the drugs from three to one and increased to 10 the number of weeks into a pregnancy the drugs could be used. The revisions also permitted other medical professionals, such as nurses, to prescribe the drugs if they received certification, and eliminated a requirement for providers to report “adverse effects” other than death. Trump didn’t reverse any of the Obama decisions. He did side with conservatives by fighting a lawsuit from abortion-rights advocates to lift the requirement for an in-person doctor’s visit to obtain the drugs during the COVID pandemic. But by the time the Supreme Court ruled for the Trump administration in January 2021, Biden was days away from taking office. Within months, women seeking an abortion could consult with a doctor via telehealth and then receive the pills via mail.

On January 3 of this year, the FDA took another major step by allowing pharmacies to dispense the drugs. In late December, the Justice Department issued a legal opinion that the Postal Service could deliver the drugs without violating the 19th-century Comstock Act, which bars use of the mail “to corrupt the public morals.”

The paradox is that the impact of these rules, for now, will be felt almost entirely in the states where abortion remains legal. Obtaining abortion pills there will be much more comparable to filling any other prescription. But 19 red states have passed laws that still require medical professionals to be present when the drugs are administered, which prevents pharmacies from offering them despite the FDA authorization. And although the FDA has approved use of mifepristone for the first 10 weeks of pregnancy, medical professionals cannot prescribe the drugs in violation of state time limits (or absolute bans) on abortion. In terms of anti-abortion states, the Biden administration’s actions have had “basically no impact,” Greer Donley, a University of Pittsburgh law professor who studies abortion law, told me in an email.

Although the red states have largely walled themselves off from Biden’s efforts on medication abortion, conservatives have launched a multifront attempt to roll back access to the pills nationwide. Students for Life has filed another citizen petition with the FDA, arguing that doctors who prescribe the drugs must dispose of any fetal remains as medical waste. In a joint letter released last week, 22 Republican attorneys general hinted that they may sue to overturn the new FDA rules permitting pharmacies to dispense the drugs. In November, another coalition of conservative groups filed a lawsuit before a Trump-appointed judge in Texas seeking to overturn the original certification and ban mifepristone. Jenny Ma, the senior counsel at the Center for Reproductive Rights, says that decision could ultimately have a broader effect than even the Supreme Court ruling overturning Roe: “This case,” she told me, “could effectively ban medication abortion nationwide. It means people in every state … may not be able to get abortion pills.”

Republicans will also ramp up legislative action against the pills, although their proposals have no chance of becoming law while Democrats control the Senate and Biden holds the veto pen. Republican Senator Cindy Hyde-Smith of Mississippi is planning to reintroduce her “SAVE Moms and Babies Act,” which would restore the prohibition against dispensing abortion drugs through the mail or at pharmacies.

[From the May 2022 issue: The future of abortion in a post-Roe America]

However these legal and legislative challenges are resolved, it’s already apparent that the 2024 GOP presidential field will face more pressure than before to propose executive-branch actions against the drugs. “That’s going to be our clarion call in 2024,” says Kristi Hamrick, a long-term social-conservative activist, who now serves as the chief strategist for media and policy at Students for Life.

Katie Glenn, the state-policy director at Susan B. Anthony Pro-Life America, told me that, at the least, the group wants 2024 Republican presidential candidates to press for restoring the requirement to report adverse consequences from the drugs. Former Vice President Mike Pence, a likely candidate, has already suggested that he will support a ban on dispensing the pills through the mail. But the anti-abortion movement’s long-term goal remains the same: ban mifepristone altogether. Hawkins shows the growing fervor GOP candidates will face when she says, “This pill is a cancer that has now metastasized throughout our country.”

Simultaneously, abortion-rights advocates are pushing the Biden administration to loosen restrictions even further. “Medication abortion … has been overregulated for far too long,” Ma told me. Many advocates want the FDA to extend permitted use of mifepristone from 10 to 12 weeks, eliminate the requirement that the professionals prescribing the drugs receive a special certification, and begin the process toward eventually making the drug available over the counter.

The immediate question is whether the Biden administration will challenge the red-state laws that have stymied its efforts to expand access. Advocates have argued that a legal case can be made for national FDA regulations to trump state restrictions, such as the requirement for physicians to dispense the drugs. But Biden is likely to proceed cautiously.

“We don’t have a lot of answers … because, frankly, states have not tried to do this stuff in hundreds of years,” Ziegler, the author of the upcoming book Roe: The History of a National Obsession, told me. Even so, she added, it’s a reasonable assumption that this conservative-dominated Supreme Court would resist allowing the federal government to preempt state rules on how the drugs are dispensed.

These mirror-image pressures in each party increase the odds of a clear distinction between Biden (or another Democrat) and the 2024 GOP nominee over access to the drugs. Democrats are generally confident they will benefit from almost any contrast that keeps abortion prominent in the 2024 race. Some, like Lake, see access to the pills as a powerful lever to do that. The issue, she argues, is relevant to younger voters, who are much more familiar than older people with the growing use of medication abortion and are especially dubious that pharmacies can offer certain drugs in some states but not in others.

The impact of abortion on the 2022 election was more complex than is often discussed. As I’ve written, in the red states that have banned or restricted the practice, such as Florida, Ohio, and Texas, there was no discernible backlash against the Republican governors or state legislators who passed those laws. But the story was different in the blue and purple states where abortion remains legal. In pivotal states including Arizona, Michigan, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin, a clear majority of voters said they supported abortion rights, and, according to media exit polls, crushing majorities of them voted against Republican gubernatorial candidates who pledged to restrict abortion. Those Democratic victories in the states likely to prove decisive again in 2024 have left many Republican strategists leery of pursuing any further constraints on abortion.

What’s clear now is that even as abortion opponents gather to celebrate their long-sought toppling of Roe, many of them won’t be satisfied until they have banned the procedure nationwide. “It is totally unacceptable for a presidential candidate to say, ‘It’s just up to the states’ now,” Marilyn Musgrave, the vice president for government affairs at the Susan B. Anthony group, told me. “We need a federal role clearly laid out by these presidential candidates.” Equally clear is that abortion opponents now view federal regulatory actions to restrict, and eventually ban, abortion drugs as a crucial interim step on that path. The U.S. may seem in some ways to be settling into an uneasy new equilibrium, with abortion banned in some states and permitted in others. But, as the escalating battle over abortion medication makes clear, access to abortion in every state will remain on the ballot in 2024.

In the fall of 1998, as an assistant history professor recently out of graduate school, I was excited to get a call from a producer of a local CBS morning news show who had noticed a panel discussion I’d organized about the impeachment of President Bill Clinton. The producer asked me on the show to put the event in historical context. I of course accepted.

It went well, and I kept being asked back on. Even as my academic career progressed, I remained in demand as a historian who could talk in an accessible way on TV and radio about current affairs. I’ve inhabited this strange space now for more than two decades, so I’ve had plenty of time to reflect on how historians contribute to the public square. Here’s what I’ve learned about what historians get wrong—and can get right—when they do so.

The main pitfalls involve clichéd shorthands or tropes—tempting to use when communicating with a lay audience, but distorting and reductive. There are five, in particular, I’ve heard too many times.

Unprecedented: We use the word because it seems a surefire way of getting attention in a media environment that is constantly searching for novelty. Fundamental breaks are more newsworthy than more of the same. For the historian, it’s also a way of stepping into the shoes of contemporary observers who feel as if something could never have happened before.

[Read: What is really unprecedented about Trump?]

The problem is that unprecedented can be misleading: To say something is without precedent ignores comparable phenomena in the past, even if they took a different form. Consider President Donald Trump’s penchant for false statements: To declare his lies “unprecedented” risks downplaying how much presidential lying we’ve seen throughout American history. How should we weigh Lyndon B. Johnson’s 1964 fabrication about an attack by the North Vietnamese in the Gulf of Tonkin—which became the pretext for one of the United States’ most catastrophic military interventions ever—with Trump’s habitual lies? Or George W. Bush’s grossly exaggerated claims about Saddam Hussein’s weapons of mass destruction, which proved false after being used to justify a disastrous invasion of Iraq that lasted from 2003 until 2011?

Similarly, talk about today’s “unprecedented” polarization in Washington ignores most of American history. As the Yale historian Joanne Freeman has shown, legislators regularly brought pistols and other weapons to the floor of Congress in the mid-19th century, and physical fights broke out among members. More recently, in the 1990s, House Speaker Newt Gingrich abandoned old norms of bipartisan conduct by urging his Republican colleagues to attack Democrats as “anti-child,” “pathetic,” and “traitors.” Political scientists were producing mountains of work on the shrinking center, the rise of party-line voting, and the breakdown of civility back when Trump was famous mainly as a fixture on Page Six of The New York Post.

[David Frum: The new history wars]

Occasionally, unprecedented is apt: Never, before January 6, 2021, had an outgoing president orchestrated an effort to overturn an election result. But the word should be used sparingly, because otherwise its effect is to make significant developments that are deeply rooted in the design of our political system appear transitory or based on an exceptional individual.  

“Just like” comparisons: The flip side of unprecedented is when historians say something that happened today is “just like” something we’ve seen before. For example, when Clinton’s health-care-reform effort failed in 1993, we heard how President Harry Truman’s attempt had suffered the same fate. More recently, to explain contemporary smear politics, commentators have pointed to Senator Joseph McCarthy’s spreading of disinformation and media manipulation in the early 1950s.

“Just like” comparisons can be instructive. When President Barack Obama seemed to get little credit for his economic-stimulus plan after the 2008–09 financial crisis, historians reminded us how successfully Franklin D. Roosevelt had promoted his public-works projects.

Yet the trope tends to flatten history and strip away context and nuance. In their 1986 book, Thinking in Time, Ernest May and Richard Neustadt showed how bad analogies have led to poor foreign-policy decisions, citing Johnson’s insistence on likening U.S. intervention in Vietnam to World War II, when comparison with France’s experience in Indochina or with America’s own experience of stalemate in Korea might have guided him toward a wiser choice.

[Joanne Freeman: I’m a historian. I see reason to fear—and to hope.]

Cycles of history: Historians love to discuss cycles in American history, picking up on a theme from Arthur Schlesinger Jr., who argued that U.S. politics veered between eras of reform and reaction, akin to a law of physics. The problem is that the theory has been largely debunked.

Rather than operating in a cycle, every era contains competing progressive and regressive impulses. Historians have documented the ways in which, during the supposed mid-’60s high point of liberalism, conservatism retained a powerful hold on America. As Johnson pushed for his Great Society, conservative Southern Democrats and midwestern Republicans were teaming up in Congress to block most of what he was attempting to do. For every chapter that the radical Students for a Democratic Society formed at colleges and universities, the right-wing Young Americans for Freedom did the same.  

Nor does the cycles thesis have much to say about what social scientists call policy entrenchment—the way new policies outlast the coalition that created them. Despite the vaunted Reagan Revolution in the 1980s, Social Security, Medicare, and other government programs survived: The conservative ascendancy of the Reagan era was layered over the Great Society of the ’60s, which was layered over the New Deal of the ’30s, and so on.

In other words, the appealing neatness of the cycles argument always collides with the messiness of real-world politics.

Instructive quotations: Who doesn’t love a great quote? And quotations can work very well in a media environment that privileges brevity and catchiness. On the surface, the words of a past leader might seem explanatory for a topical news story, but dig a little deeper into the quote’s original setting, and the particularities—who said it, when, and for what purpose—might make the saying less apt.

The celebrated line from Roosevelt’s 1933 inaugural speech that “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself” should not be stripped of the precise boldness he was urging—robust government action to defeat the Great Depression. Just because it sounds like an inspirational lesson for crisis does not mean it should be a bumper-sticker slogan for any situation, including calls to cut government. The trouble is that—even more than “just like” comparisons—quotes get deprived of their original context.  

Partisanship: This has become one of the worst offenses—the rise of commentators who deploy historical arguments in service of partisan goals. No one would deny legitimacy to a historian who comes to an understanding of the past that meshes with their lived politics. But things go wrong when historians put forth only arguments that fit their political beliefs and skew history to do so.

Included in this cottage industry are conservative historians who depict the history of feminism as being at odds with family values and ignore the ways that the women’s movement championed public policies offering more security for working mothers and their children. Although the problem has been particularly acute in the conservative media bubble, left-wing historians can be guilty as well—reluctant to discuss the failures of certain government programs, say, or the problematic conduct of past progressive leaders.

[Imani Perry: The duty to tell a good story]

Historians need to make intellectually honest appraisals based on their research, even if that might cause tension with friends and allies. Echo chambers produce bad history.

Given these traps in store for the media-friendly historian, what is the remedy?

The historian’s most important task is to provide a long view. The value of the discipline is to counter the narrow time frames of most news analysis. Historians can unpack the economic, political, and cultural backgrounds of current events to help make sense of them. Heather Cox Richardson has found a huge and loyal audience for her Substack column with this approach. And the historian Jeffrey Engel did a terrific job during the Trump impeachments of explaining how impeachment has evolved as a political tool and illuminating its complicated legal questions.   

At their best, historians can bridge the worlds of academic scholarship and breaking news. For all the jurisprudential talk of originalism, professional historians offer the surest guide to the principles that motivated the Founders and subsequent generations of leaders, as well as to the specific circumstances in which their ideas took shape. Historians can also provide a valuable corrective to lazy conventional wisdom—for instance, the work of Daniel Immerwahr reveals the historical amnesia beneath the notion that the U.S. never acted as an imperial power toward other parts of the world.  

Finally, historians can push back against simplistic claims and inject nuance into news coverage. Media producers and editors may prefer black-and-white arguments because they make good sound bites and create conflict that increases viewership, but a historian’s sensitivity to gray areas of complexity and ambiguity is extraordinarily important for making sense of the news.

“Wisdom is the tears of experience,” the eminent sociologist Daniel Bell told my graduating class at Brandeis University. I have that experience now, and understand that we must be more deliberative and self-conscious about how we do history within the constraints of media platforms.

None of this is easy. In the words of Jill Lepore, one of our finest historians, “Writing history requires empathy, inquiry, and debate. It requires forswearing condescension, cant, and nostalgia. The past isn’t quaint. Much of it, in fact, is bleak.” Trying to do all of that in a 30-second TV segment or a Twitter thread is a formidable challenge. In an age when our public discourse has become so impoverished, and disinformation so normalized, historians must have a voice in our national conversations. But we have to speak in the right way.

If one thing unites all Americans, it’s the conviction that paying taxes is a pain. Even those like myself who don’t mind contributing their fair share to keep seniors off the street hate having to fill out all of the paperwork, especially if our taxes are complicated. The Tax Foundation estimates that filling out tax forms eats up 6.5 billion hours of work a year, for an economic cost of something like $313 billion. There’s a better way—but for depressing reasons, the United States probably won’t take it.

I recently traveled to the Faroe Islands, a small, semi-autonomous part of Denmark out in the North Atlantic, for a joint reporting project for The American Prospect and the People’s Policy Project. The idea was to investigate the country’s tax authority, which is called TAKS. I’d heard it is the cleanest and most efficient in the world.

Even with those expectations, what I found impressed me. The Faroes haven’t just set up a centralized system that automatically collects tax revenue and disburses welfare payments; they also continuously monitor all of your labor income and adjust your withholding as necessary if you lose a job or get a new one. Ordinary businesses and employees never have to even think about TAKS—no tax return is required.

[From the April 2019 issue: Americans don’t cheat on their taxes]

What’s more, the system almost automatically produces the best possible economic statistics—virtually an identical and contemporaneous picture of the whole economy, down to the last krone—instead of relying on the kinds of laborious and inaccurate surveys used in the U.S. That automation, in turn, has allowed TAKS to cut its budget and staffing while increasing audits on large, rich companies. As an American, I was pretty humiliated to see our clock getting not just cleaned but polished to a mirror finish by a tiny archipelago of just 54,000 people.

It was also humiliating to acknowledge that the U.S. is unlikely to learn anything from the Faroes, let alone copy-paste their TAKS system. Any such effort would have to overcome barriers of corruption and ideological bias.

Before I get to that, let me swat down a common reaction that pops up whenever people compare America with the Nordic countries. Those countries are small and supposedly homogeneous, the argument goes, so we can’t really compare them with a huge country like the U.S. That size point, however, actually runs in the opposite direction: It is easier, not harder, for a big, wealthy country to set up a streamlined bureaucracy, because of efficiencies of scale. A bigger tax database requires less money per person than a smaller one, and America has the world’s greatest supply of computer scientists. There’s no technical reason we can’t borrow the Faroese tax system.

On the diversity point, racial bias can indeed impede the kind of class solidarity and labor movements that backstop Nordic institutions. But that just means we must battle racism, not that we have to give up on economic equality and efficient government. Besides, racial animus is not even close to the biggest barrier to tax reform. Franklin Roosevelt’s Democrats raised the top marginal tax rate to 94 percent in a country that was dramatically more racist than it is today.

Vested interests and ideology are the real obstacles to fixing the IRS. Numerous attempts to streamline the American tax system have run into a wall of money from the tax-prep industry. As Justin Elliott and Paul Kiel reported for ProPublica in 2019, for more than two decades, these companies, led by Intuit and H&R Block, have aggressively mobilized to stave off attempts to create a government system for free tax filing online. They swatted down an attempt from the George W. Bush administration to move in this direction and also blocked the Obama administration from pushing the idea.

In California, a Stanford professor named Joseph Bankman (amusingly, the father of the disgraced crypto kingpin Sam Bankman-Fried) set up a “ReadyReturn” system that would have automated most state filing; according to him, he spent $30,000 out of his own pocket lobbying to make it permanent. Intuit spent far more lobbying state legislators and blocked the system by one vote.

The end result of these lobbying battles was a supposed compromise where private firms would offer free tax filing for anyone making less than $73,000 and the IRS would, in return, not set up its own system. But by employing a lot of deceptive language and advertising trickery, the companies ensured that almost nobody took advantage of the free service.

[Read: The time tax]

Intuit added code to their website to hide their free product from Google searches, instead pushing consumers toward a “Free Edition” product that had lots of traps requiring payment. This worked like a charm—less than 3 percent of tax returns were submitted through the free-file service as of 2019. (That year, the IRS disallowed the search blocking and some other tricks; it also rescinded its promise to never build a competing free-file system.)

Worse, one of the most profitable demographics for Intuit and its ilk is Earned Income Tax Credit recipients who may lack the education or time to file their own taxes. Tax-prep fees eat up roughly 13 to 22 percent of the benefit dollars intended to help the working poor.

In a staggering example of economic parasitism, these companies trick people into paying for a service that a civilized government should provide for free, and then take that money and block any proposals to set up a free service.

That brings me to ideology. Almost as remarkable as TAKS itself is the fact that the Faroese tax code has no income-tax deductions of any kind. This greatly enables the automation of the system, because all of the calculations are much simpler.

This is frankly impossible to imagine in the U.S., even if we were to replace the numerous tax-code handouts (165 of them at the Treasury Department’s last count, although that also includes business benefits) with direct payments. It would require a bone-deep acceptance of taxation that is directly at odds with centuries of American history. We are raised on “the idea that wealth is privately produced and then appropriated by a quasi-illegitimate state, through taxation,” as the economist Yanis Varoufakis writes. Tax deductions encourage the recipients of government largesse to believe that they are rugged individualists clawing more of their own money back.

By the same token, hatred of taxation is a central pillar of the American conservative movement. Intuit has a major ally in the anti-tax activist Grover Norquist, who has lobbied for years to make filing taxes as annoying and burdensome as possible in order to build support for cutting rates.

On a more positive note, both H&R Block and Intuit recently pulled out of the free-file program, breaking the compromise and freeing the IRS to act. And fortuitously, the IRS has received an infusion of $80 billion to upgrade and modernize its systems. Some kind of government-run free-filing system or partial tax automation may arise in the coming years. But realistically, Americans aren’t going to follow the example of the Faroes and make taxes something the majority of people never even have to think about.