In 1868, Senator Waitman Willey, of the newly formed antislavery state of West Virginia, stood on the floor of Congress to argue for the proposed Fourteenth Amendment’s provision disqualifying former Confederate officers from holding office in the recently reunified country. He asserted that the proposal was “a measure of self-defense.” He evidently felt this argument to be so crucial that it required repeated emphasis and explanation. He expanded, “Being a permanent provision of the Constitution, [the provision] is intended to operate as a preventive of treason hereafter by holding out to the people of the United States that such will be the penalty of the offense if they dare to commit it.” He repeated, “It is therefore not a measure of punishment, but a measure of self-defense.”

The proposal passed by a wide margin and eventually became part of the Constitution.

Despite this history, a narrative has developed that defensive democracy—a tradition of passing and enforcing laws to defend democratic institutions from authoritarian threats—does not and cannot exist in America. Defensive democracy’s critics argue that it unavoidably violates our Bill of Rights, because the freedoms of speech and assembly should always include the right to attack any government, whether or not it’s a democracy; your authoritarian is my freedom fighter. In one of the few book-length American treatises on defensive democracy, the Duke University political theorist Alexander Kirshner writes about the “paradox” of defensive democracy: “In avoiding the Scylla of Weimar, it is best not to steer into the Charybdis of McCarthyism.”

But likening defensive democracy to McCarthyism is a dangerous mistake. Although there is much to fear in the abuse of state power against political opponents, the fact is that a viable, valuable American tradition of defensive democracy exists, and we need to revive it today rather than reject wholesale a set of tools the country desperately needs at this crucial moment of democratic fragility.

[Adam Serwer: The Capitol riot was an attack on multiracial democracy]

The idea of defensive democracy goes back to ancient Athens—which passed into law measures, including exiling any demagogue for 10 years, to protect its democracy—and to the fight against fascism across Europe in the 20th century. In 1935, after Weimar Germany crumpled to Nazism, Karl Loewenstein, a Jewish German political scientist teaching in America, wrote two famous articles for the American Political Science Review, in which he proposed a theory of defensive democracy, or wehrhafte demokratie. In Loewenstein’s hands, defensive democracy (also translated as “militant democracy”) comprised laws by which the democratic state defended itself from antidemocratic forces, as in (at the time of the article’s writing) Finland, the Netherlands, Belgium, and Switzerland. Finland, for instance, prohibited the formation of private armies within political parties. Belgium passed statutes to prevent the abuse of parliamentary procedures by political extremists—for instance, through frivolous side elections. Switzerland passed a law imposing certain limits on political assemblies to avoid physical clashes between political opponents. Above all, Loewenstein argued that such measures needed to be insulated from partisanship, even suggesting that officials enforcing defensive democracy should not belong to any political party at all.

In the decades since, those ideas have spread around the world. Many democracies, including Germany, Israel, and India, have laws banning violent political speech, parties, or candidates undermining democracy. Germany today maintains an Office for the Protection of the Constitution, which detects and surveils antidemocratic actors and organizations. The leader of the office describes his charge: “We are the early warning system of democracy.”

America’s own defensive-democracy tradition is admittedly narrower than those in some Western European countries that lack our strong free-speech and assembly rights. Yet it is still undeniably robust, including at least three significant safeguards—prohibiting seditionists from serving in office, preventing unpermitted paramilitary activity, and prosecuting insurrection.

Although the Fourteenth Amendment’s provision against insurrectionists holding office has not been often put to use—there have not been many insurrections, mercifully—it is part of the Constitution, available when the need arises. In September 2022, it was employed by a judge in New Mexico, who removed Couy Griffin, a county commissioner in Otero County, from office for his participation in the January 6 insurrection. In his decision, the judge observed the “irony of Mr. Griffin’s” that he should be allowed to “defend his participation in an insurrection by a mob whose goal, by his own admission, was to set aside the results of a free, fair and lawful election.”

As for paramilitary activity, 49 states have laws on the books stating that paramilitary organizations can legally operate only with the permission of the civilian authority. These laws sit on the bedrock of solid federal and state law. In 1886, the Supreme Court held that “military operations and military drill are subjects especially under the control of the government of every country. They cannot be claimed as a right independent of law.” A New York appellate court noted in 1944, “The inherent potential danger of any organized private militia is obvious. Its existence would be sufficient, without more, to prevent a democratic form of government, such as ours, from functioning freely, without coercion.”

These laws were employed by Georgetown’s Institute for Constitutional Advocacy and Protection, and by the city of Charlottesville, Virginia, while I was the city’s mayor. Together, we successfully sued more than 10 paramilitary groups that had invaded Charlottesville during the 2017 “Unite the Right” rally to prevent them from reentering the city. Notably, the militias we blocked were on both the left and the right, ranging from the white-supremacist Atomwaffen group to the far-left antifa group Redneck Revolt.

American laws against seditious conspiracy and against advocating for overthrowing the government are quintessential defensive democracy. The law that makes up this pillar of America’s defensive-democracy tradition was passed by Congress after the Civil War to punish those who “conspire to overthrow, [to] put down, or to destroy by force” the federal government, and anyone who “knowingly or willfully advocates, abets, advises, or teaches the duty, necessity, desirability, or propriety of overthrowing or destroying” federal or state governments by force, violence, or assassination. These laws are now leading to conviction after conviction (or guilty pleas, in many cases) for those who participated in January 6, including multiple leaders of the Proud Boys and Oath Keepers.

[David A. Graham: It was sedition]

In addition to these three methods of American defensive democracy, we should consider an approach similar to federal hate-crime laws: adding a proven attack on democracy—assaulting an elected official, preventing the peaceful transfer of power—as an aggravating factor in the prosecution and sentencing of an existing statutory crime.

American democracy, at its best, innovates within our laws and principles to address the threats of the time. We can respond, just as the nations who resisted fascism in the 1930s did, by embracing defensive democracy. Our history, our ambitions, and our troubling times demand nothing less.

Countries such as Germany and Italy are following the Netherlands’ example and studying export and investment controls adopted by the U.S.

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In recent years, Americans appear to be getting more and more uncomfortable with intimacy. Why? And is this trend reversible?

First, here are three new stories from The Atlantic:

The GOP’s unworkable work requirements Why won’t powerful men learn? Just wait until Trump is a chatbot. Disconnected People

When my colleague Faith Hill recently interviewed Michael Hilgers, a therapist with more than 20 years of experience, he painted a worrying picture of intimacy in America: “It’s painful to watch just how disconnected people are,” he said. Even when Hilgers can sense that clients do want to pursue deep social connections, “there’s a lot of confusion and fear in terms of how to get there,” he noted.

One might say that America is in its insecure-attachment era.

Let’s back up a little: Insecure attachment is a term used to describe three of the four basic human “attachment styles” that researchers have identified. The framework has risen in popularity in recent years, appearing alongside astrology signs and Enneagram types as social-media-friendly ways to understand the self. Faith lays out the four styles in her recent article:

People with a secure style feel that they can depend on others and that others can depend on them too. Those with a dismissing style—more commonly known as “avoidant”—are overly committed to independence and don’t feel that they need much deep emotional connection. People with a preoccupied (or “anxious”) style badly want intimacy but, fearing rejection, cling or search for validation. And people with fearful (or “disorganized”) attachment crave intimacy, too—but like those with the dismissing style, they distrust people and end up pushing them away.

Over the past few decades, researchers have noticed a decline in secure attachment and an increase in the dismissing and fearful styles. These two insecure styles are “associated with lack of trust and self-isolation,” Faith explains. She notes that American distrust in institutions has also been on the rise for years—it’s well known that more and more Americans are feeling skeptical of the government, organized religion, the media, corporations, and police. But recent research and anecdotal evidence suggest that Americans are growing more wary not only of “hypothetical, nameless Americans,” but of their own colleagues, neighbors, friends, partners, and parents.

The root causes of America’s trust issues are impossible to diagnose with certainty, but they could well be a reflection of Americans’ worries about societal problems. One psychologist who did research into Americans’ insecure-attachment trend “rattled off a list of fears that people may be wrestling with,” Faith writes: “war in Europe, ChatGPT threatening to transform jobs, constant school shootings in the news,” as well as financial precarity. As Faith puts it: “When society feels scary, that fear can seep into your closest relationships.”

Some researchers argue for other likely suspects, such as smartphone use or the fact that more Americans than ever are living alone. The decline in emotional intimacy is also happening against the backdrop of a decline in physical intimacy. Our senior editor Kate Julian explored this “sex recession,” particularly among young adults, in her 2018 magazine cover story.

A lack of trust is showing up in the workplace as well. In 2021, our contributing writer Jerry Useem reported on studies suggesting that trust among colleagues is declining in the era of remote and hybrid work:

The longer employees were apart from one another during the pandemic, a recent study of more than 5,400 Finnish workers found, the more their faith in colleagues fell. Ward van Zoonen of Erasmus University, in the Netherlands, began measuring trust among those office workers early in 2020. He asked them: How much did they trust their peers? How much did they trust their supervisors? And how much did they believe that those people trusted them? What he found was unsettling. In March 2020, trust levels were fairly high. By May, they had slipped. By October—about seven months into the pandemic—the employees’ degree of confidence in one another was down substantially.

All in all, as Faith writes, “we can’t determine why people are putting up walls, growing further and further away from one another. We just know it’s happening.” The good news is that if humans have the capacity to lose trust in one another, they can also work to build it back up. “The experts I spoke with were surprisingly hopeful,” Faith concludes:

Hilgers [the therapist] knows firsthand that it’s possible for people with attachment issues to change—he’s helped many of them do it. Our culture puts a lot of value on trusting your gut, he told me, but that’s not always the right move if your intuition tells you that it’s a mistake to let people in. So he gently guides them to override that instinct; when people make connections and nothing bad happens, their gut feeling slowly starts to change.”

As Faith argued in an earlier article, attachment styles are not destiny, despite what the internet might lead you to believe. “Your attachment style is not so much a fixed category you fall into, like an astrology sign, but rather a tendency that can vary among different relationships and, in turn, is continuously shaped by those relationships,” she wrote. “Perhaps most important, you can take steps to change it”—and connect with others better as a result.

Related:

America is in its insecure-attachment era. The trait that “super friends” have in common Today’s News Russia’s Defense Ministry said that it had targeted Ukrainian army reserve units with high-precision missile strikes to prevent them from reaching the front lines. A Utah judge postponed ruling on a statewide abortion-clinic ban to next week, following the failure yesterday of two anti-abortion bills in Nebraska and South Carolina. Former Vice President Mike Pence reportedly appeared before a federal grand jury for more than seven hours to testify in a criminal investigation into alleged efforts by Donald Trump to overturn the results of the 2020 election. Dispatches Books Briefing: We need to make room for more voices in philosophy, Kate Cray writes. With a wider canon, enlightenment could come from anywhere. Work in Progress: AI tools are a waste of time, Derek Thompson argues. Many people are simply using them as toys.

Explore all of our newsletters here.

Evening Read Maskot / Getty

A Teen Gender-Care Debate Is Spreading Across Europe

By Frieda Klotz

As Republicans across the U.S. intensify their efforts to legislate against transgender rights, they are finding aid and comfort in an unlikely place: Western Europe, where governments and medical authorities in at least five countries that once led the way on gender-affirming treatments for children and adolescents are now reversing course, arguing that the science undergirding these treatments is unproven, and their benefits unclear.

The about-face by these countries concerns the so-called Dutch protocol, which has for at least a decade been viewed by many clinicians as the gold-standard approach to care for children and teenagers with gender dysphoria.

Read the full article.

More From The Atlantic

A cheerful goodbye to the Guardians of the Galaxy Why Hollywood writers may go on strike Nikki Haley’s dilemma is also the Republicans’ problem. Long-haulers are trying to define themselves. Culture Break Graeme Hunter / HBO

Read. “The Renovation,” a new short story from Kenan Orhan about exile from Turkey and longing for a homeland.

Watch. The latest episode of Succession (streaming on HBO Max), which features the creepiest corporate retreat ever.

Play our daily crossword.

P.S.

Last year, Faith wrote one of my favorite Atlantic articles in recent memory, about people with a very unique social appetite: the “nocturnals,” or the ultra-introverts who come alive when most people are fast asleep.

— Isabel

Katherine Hu contributed to this newsletter.

As Republicans across the U.S. intensify their efforts to legislate against transgender rights, they are finding aid and comfort in an unlikely place: Western Europe, where governments and medical authorities in at least five countries that once led the way on gender-affirming treatments for children and adolescents are now reversing course, arguing that the science undergirding these treatments is unproven, and their benefits unclear.

The about-face by these countries concerns the so-called Dutch protocol, which has for at least a decade been viewed by many clinicians as the gold-standard approach to care for children and teenagers with gender dysphoria. Kids on the protocol are given medical and mental-health assessments; some go on to take medicines that block their natural puberty and, when they’re older, receive cross-sex hormones and eventually surgery. But in Finland, Sweden, France, Norway, and the U.K., scientists and public-health officials are warning that, for some young people, these interventions may do more harm than good.

European health authorities are not reversing themselves on broader issues of trans rights, particularly for adults. But this turn against the Dutch protocol has inflamed activists and politicians in the United States. Republicans who have worked to ban its recommended treatments claim that the shifts in Europe prove they’re right. Their opponents argue that any doubts at all about the protocol, raised in any country whatsoever, are simply out of step with settled science: They point to broad endorsements by the American Medical Association, the American Psychiatric Association, and the American Academy of Pediatrics, among other groups; and they assert that when it comes to the lifesaving nature of gender-affirming care, “doctors agree.”

But doctors do not agree, particularly in Europe, where no treatments have been banned but a genuine debate is unfurling in this field. In Finland, for example, new treatment guidelines put out in 2020 advised against the use of puberty-blocking drugs and other medical interventions as a first line of care for teens with adolescent-onset dysphoria. Sweden’s National Board of Health and Welfare followed suit in 2022, announcing that such treatments should be given only under exceptional circumstances or in a research context. Shortly after that, the National Academy of Medicine in France recommended la plus grande réserve in the use of puberty blockers. Just last month, a national investigatory board in Norway expressed concerns about the treatment. And the U.K.’s only national gender clinic for children, the Tavistock, has been ordered to close its doors after a government-commissioned report found, among other problems, that its Dutch-protocol-based approach to treatment lacked sufficient evidence.

These changes in Europe have so far been fairly localized: Health authorities in many countries on the continent—among them Austria, Denmark, Germany, Italy, and Spain—have neither subjected the Dutch approach to formal scrutiny nor advised against its use. Yet questions about the protocol seem to be spreading. At the end of March, for example, a Belgian TV report described a 42-fold increase in patients at a leading gender clinic in Ghent and raised questions about the right approach to care. Doubts about the protocol have even come to the country that invented it, at the Center of Expertise on Gender Dysphoria in Amsterdam. “Until I began noticing the developments in other EU countries and started reading the scientific literature myself, I too thought that the Dutch gender care was very careful and evidence-based,” Jilles Smids, a postdoctoral researcher in medical ethics at Erasmus University in the Netherlands, told me via email. “But now I don’t think that any more.”

Kirsten Visser, a Netherlands-based advocate and consultant for parents of trans teens, says her own son, Sietse, started receiving “definitely lifesaving” care at the Amsterdam center in 2012, at the age of 11. Around the time that Sietse showed up at the clinic, the Dutch protocol was becoming established internationally, largely through the work of a child and adolescent psychiatrist there named Annelou de Vries.

After completing a Ph.D. on gender dysphoria in Dutch adolescents, de Vries published two seminal papers with the clinical psychologist Peggy Cohen-Kettenis and other colleagues, in 2011 and 2014. The former looked at the psychological effects of puberty suppression on 70 young people over a period of two years, on average; the latter tracked outcomes for 55 of those people who had gone on to receive gender-reassignment surgery, over an average of six years. Taken together, the studies found that the teens showed fewer symptoms of depression after having their puberty suppressed, as well as a decrease in behavioral and emotional problems; and that the ones who went on to take gender-affirming hormones and have surgery grew into “well-functioning young adults.” De Vries’s expertise has since been widely recognized within the field: She served as a co-lead on the revision of the adolescent section of care guidelines recently published by the World Professional Association for Transgender Health, and is now president-elect of the European equivalent, EPATH.

But in the years after her two studies were released, research done in other European countries led to concerns about their relevance. In 2015, for example, Finnish researchers described a phenomenon that “called for clinical attention,” as they put it: More children were reporting gender dysphoria, and a greater proportion of them had been assigned female at birth. The fact that three-quarters of those Finnish teens had been diagnosed with separate and severe psychiatric conditions appeared to be at odds with the data from the Netherlands, the paper argued. The Dutch studies had found that just one-third of adolescents with gender dysphoria experienced other psychiatric issues, suggesting they were in far better mental health.

In Sweden, too, clinicians grew alarmed by the sudden increase in the number of teenagers seeking gender care. Mikael Landén, a professor of psychiatry at the University of Gothenburg, told me that this population has increased 17-fold since 2010. One explanation for that change—that more open-minded attitudes around gender have emboldened kids to seek the help they need—just doesn’t ring true to him. He’d studied those views in his early work, he said, and found that, on the whole, Swedish attitudes toward transgender people have been very positive for a long time.

When the government asked Landén and a group of other scientists to write an evidence-based review of hormone-based treatments for young people, their verdict, after two years of study, was expressed definitively: The original research findings from de Vries were outdated, and do not necessarily apply to the group of teens who have been coming forward in more recent years. The Dutch protocol had been “a valuable contribution,” he told me, and “it was reasonable to start using it” in Sweden. But times had changed, and so had the research literature. In 2021, for instance, a team based at the U.K.’s Tavistock clinic published research showing no detectable improvements in the mental health of youngsters who had been put on puberty blockers and followed for up to three years.

[Read: The war on trans kids is totally unconstitutional]

De Vries acknowledged some concerns about the research when we spoke in February. “Our early outcomes studies were really from another time and comprised small samples,” she told me, and they looked only at trans youth who had experienced gender dysphoria from childhood. She granted that there is some research to suggest that kids who don’t arrive at the clinic until they’re older are worse off, psychologically, than their younger peers; but she also said her team has run studies including 16-year-olds, and that their findings were “not worrisome.” She agrees that other researchers have not replicated the long-term follow-up research on kids who went through the Dutch protocol, but she pointed out that the short-term benefits of such treatment have indeed been seen in other studies. Research conducted in the U.S., and published earlier this year, found that a group of 315 trans and nonbinary youth were on average less depressed and anxious, and better-functioning, after two years of hormonal treatment.

In the meantime, de Vries and her colleagues have urged clinicians in other countries to do more of their own investigation, in part because the youngsters who receive care at gender clinics in the Netherlands seem to be in comparatively good mental health from the get-go. It’s not yet clear, she told me, that studies of this group will be applicable to youth in other countries. “Every doctor or psychologist who is involved in transgender care should feel the obligation to do a good pre- and post-test,” one of de Vries’s co-authors on the 2011 and 2014 studies said to a Dutch newspaper in 2021. “The rest of the world is blindly adopting our research.”

De Vries is now working on a research project, funded by an $864,000 grant, that will try to answer newly forming doubts about the Dutch protocol. Her proposal for the grant, filed in 2021, described its subject as a “once so welcomed but now sharp[ly] criticized approach.”

That such criticisms are becoming mainstream even in her own country is itself a startling development. After all, the Netherlands has long been at the vanguard of progressive health-care practices. When the Dutch approach to transgender care for adults first started taking shape during the 1970s (many years before the protocol for kids would be established), the country’s politics were dominated by a steadfast opposition to taboos. James Kennedy, an American-born professor of modern Dutch history at Utrecht University, has described this as the country’s “compassionate culture”: In a radical departure from its traditional Christian conservatism, long-standing policies were being spurned; and even touchy subjects such as death and sex were made the subject of broad public-policy debates. Sex work, for example, was widely tolerated, then legalized in 2000. Similarly, the Royal Dutch Medical Association offered formal guidelines for the practice of euthanasia in the 1980s, and a corresponding national law—one of the world’s first—codified the rules in 2002.

Against this backdrop of openness, in which doctors were seen as authoritative figures who were well equipped to decide what was best for their patients, one of the first dedicated clinics for transgender people was established in Amsterdam in 1972. It offered an array of services—blood tests, hormone therapy, and surgeries—to trans adults. According to a recent book by the historian Alex Bakker, Dutch surgeons, some of them inspired by their Christian beliefs, developed techniques that would reduce patients’ psychological suffering. “Helping those in need trumped ‘taboos’ about the sanctity of life or fixed gender roles,” Kennedy told me. The Dutch protocol for treating gender dysphoria in children, as established in the 1990s, reflected a further extension of this philosophy, aiming to smooth adult transitions by intervening early.

[Read: Take detransitioners seriously]

Nevertheless, in December, a journalist named Jan Kuitenbrouwer and a sociologist named Peter Vasterman published an opinion piece in a leading daily newspaper, NRC, that took aim at the Dutch protocol and its “shaky” scientific foundations, and alluded to the international scrutiny of the past few years. “It is remarkable that the media in our neighboring countries report extensively on this reconsideration,” the article said, “but the Dutch hardly ever do.” Like critics elsewhere, Kuitenbrouwer and Vasterman pointed to the rising numbers of children seeking care, from 60 to 1,600 in the Netherlands across a dozen years, and the unaccounted rise in those assigned female at birth; and they suggested that this new generation of people seeking treatment is not analogous to those included in the studies conducted by de Vries a decade ago. De Vries and some colleagues countered that their more recent research addresses this concern. “Scientific evaluation has always been an integral part of this challenging model of care, where young people make early decisions about medical interventions with lifelong implications,” they wrote in the same newspaper.

Also in December, a clinical psychologist at Radboud University’s gender clinic in Nijmegen named Chris Verhaak told a different Dutch outlet that puberty blockers affect children’s bones, and maybe also their brain development. “It is not nothing,” she said. Verhaak is currently running a government-funded study to understand the source and nature of the increase in the number of patients. (Results are due to be presented to the Dutch House of Representatives this year.) In another interview that month, she said that for up to half of cases, the gains in suppressing puberty are not clear. “I worry about that,” she told the newsweekly De Groene Amsterdammer. “Especially because we also experience enormous pressure to provide these puberty inhibitors as quickly as possible.”

Verhaak’s comments in particular sparked dismay among trans groups, which saw them as promoting destructive narratives about social contagion. Verhaak and her direct collaborators say that they are no longer speaking to the media until their study is released, but Hedi Claahsen, a professor and principal clinician on the Radboud center’s gender team, told me that practitioners are cautious and follow national guidelines. When I asked if her center’s approach differed from the one used in Amsterdam, she told me, “No clinic is exactly the same.” Individual providers, who are working at different institutions, may end up providing care that reflects “a different vision.”

Another, more significant round of criticism arrived at the end of February, when another widely read Dutch newspaper, de Volkskrant, published a 5,000-word article under a headline reading: “The treatment of transgender youth in the Netherlands was praised. Now the criticism of ‘the Dutch approach’ is growing.” The authors spoke with Iris, a 22-year-old woman who spent five years on testosterone and had a double mastectomy that she now regrets; they pointed to a new population of kids assigned female at birth seeking care only in their teens; and they noted reservations about the protocol in Finland and Sweden. “Is the ‘Dutch approach’ still the way to go?” the story asked.

The article prompted debate on Twitter, where Michiel Verkoulen, a health economist working with the government of the Netherlands to address the long-standing problem of ever-expanding waiting lists and their impact on young people’s mental health, accused the Dutch protocol’s critics of ignoring what he described as the elephant in the room. “What to do with the people for whom transgender care is critical?” he asked. “You can put every research aside, keep asking for more, and argue that diagnostics and treatments should be stricter … But the question remains: What then?”

“In the Netherlands there are more and more people saying that gender diversity is woke and it’s nonsense and it’s bullshit,” Visser, the consultant for parents of trans teens, told me. Sam van den Berg, a spokesperson for an Utrecht-based trans-rights organization called Transvisie, argued that this debate does not need to happen. The quality of care for children with gender dysphoria is better in the Netherlands than almost anywhere else, she said. “We don’t feel it’s necessary to change anything.” Indeed, doctors in the Netherlands are still free to provide gender-affirming care as they see fit. The same is true of their colleagues in Finland, Sweden, France, Norway, and the U.K., where new official guidelines and recommendations are not binding. No legal prohibitions have been put in place in Europe, as they have been in more than a dozen U.S. states, where physicians risk losing their medical license or facing criminal sanctions for prescribing certain forms of gender-affirming care.

But the trend toward more conservative application of the Dutch protocol is likely to have real effects in European countries, in terms of which kids get treatment, and of what kind. Louise Frisén, an associate professor at Karolinska Institute and a pediatric psychiatrist at the child and adolescent mental-health clinic in Stockholm, Sweden, told me she worries that under her country’s new guidelines, many of her teenage patients will find it harder to access medical care. The benefits of treatment are clear, she said, and she further claimed that the policy change has caused anguish for some patients who are panicking at the looming prospect of puberty.

As for de Vries, when I spoke with her a few weeks before the article in de Volkskrant was published, she agreed that clinicians should be cautious, but not to the point where treatment becomes inaccessible. Outcomes for those with later-onset dysphoria do need to be investigated further, she acknowledged, but “if we are going to wait ’til the highest-standard medical evidence provides us the answers, we will have to stop altogether.” In that sense, Europe’s brewing disagreement over treatment could turn into paralysis. “That’s what worries me,” she said. “You will always have to work with uncertainties in this field.”

In this latest episode of Euronews Witness, we travel to the Netherlands where many farmers are opposing government plans to drastically reduce livestock in order to slash nitrogen emissions, a major source of pollution in the country.

It's a business worth €9.4 million to EU producers last year, with the majority of exports to Russia coming from the Netherlands.

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

The internet of the 2010s was chaotic, delightful, and, most of all, human. What happens to life online as that humanity fades away?

First, here are three new stories from The Atlantic:

Silicon Valley’s favorite slogan has lost all meaning. Too many Americans are missing out on the best kitchen gadget. Elon Musk revealed what Twitter always was.

Chaotically Human

My colleague Charlie Warzel worked at BuzzFeed News in the 2010s. He identifies those years as a specific era of the internet—one that symbolically died yesterday with the news of the website shutting down. Yesterday, Charlie offered a glimpse of what those years felt like for people working in digital media:

I worked at BuzzFeed News for nearly six years—from March 2013 until January 2019. For most of that time, it felt a bit like standing in the eye of the hurricane that is the internet. Glorious chaos was everywhere around you, yet it felt like the perfect vantage to observe the commercial web grow up. I don’t mean to sound self-aggrandizing, but it is legitimately hard to capture the cultural relevance of BuzzFeed to the media landscape of the mid-2010s, and the excitement and centrality of the organization’s approach to news. There was “The Dress,” a bit of internet ephemera that went so viral, we joked that that day might have been the last good one on the internet.

Charlie goes on, and his essay is worth reading in full, but today I’d like to focus on the point he ends on: that the internet of the 2010s was human in a way that today’s is not. Charlie doesn’t just mean human in the sense of not generated by a machine. He’s referring to chaos, unpredictability, delight—all of the things that made spending time on the internet fun.

Charlie explains how Buzzfeed News’ ethos emphasized paying attention to the joyful and personal elements of life online:

BuzzFeed News was oriented around the mission of finding, celebrating, and chronicling the indelible humanity pouring out of every nook and cranny of the internet, so it makes sense that any iteration that comes next will be more interested in employing machines to create content. The BuzzFeed era of media is now officially over. What comes next in the ChatGPT era is likely to be just as disruptive, but I doubt it’ll be as joyous and chaotic. And I guarantee it’ll feel less human.

The shrinking humanity of the internet is a theme that Charlie’s been thinking about for a while. Last year, he wrote about why many observers feel that Google Search is not as efficient as it used to be—some argue that the tool returns results that are both drier and less useful than they once were. Charlie learned in his reporting that some of the changes the Search tool has rolled out are likely the result of Google’s crackdowns on misinformation and low-quality content. But these changes might also mean that Google Search has stopped delivering interesting results, he argues:

In theory, we crave authoritative information, but authoritative information can be dry and boring. It reads more like a government form or a textbook than a novel. The internet that many people know and love is the opposite—it is messy, chaotic, unpredictable. It is exhausting, unending, and always a little bit dangerous. It is profoundly human.

It’s also worth remembering the downsides of this humanity, Charlie notes: The unpredictability that some people are nostalgic for also gave way to conspiracy theories and hate speech in Google Search results.

The Google Search example raises its own set of complex questions, and I encourage those interested to read Charlie’s essay and the corresponding edition of his newsletter, Galaxy Brain. But the strong reactions to Google Search and the ways it is changing are further evidence that many people crave an old internet that now feels lost.

If the internet is becoming less human, then something related is happening to social media in particular: It’s becoming less familiar. Social-media platforms such as Friendster and Myspace, and then Facebook and Instagram, were built primarily to connect users with friends and family. But in recent years, this goal has given way to an era of “performance” media, as the internet writer Kate Lindsay put it in an Atlantic article last year. Now, she wrote, “we create online primarily to reach people we don’t know instead of the people we do.”

Facebook and Instagram are struggling to attract and retain a younger generation of users, Lindsay notes, because younger users prefer video. They’re on TikTok now, most likely watching content created by people they don’t know. And in this new phase of “performance” media, we lose some humanity too. “There is no longer an online equivalent of the local bar or coffee shop: a place to encounter friends and family and find person-to-person connection,” Lindsay wrote.

I came of age in the Tumblr era of the mid-2010s, and although I was too shy to put anything of myself on display, I found joy in lurking for hours online. Now those of us looking for a place to have low-stakes fun on the internet are struggling to find one. The future of social-media platforms could surprise us: IOS downloads of the Tumblr app were up by 62 percent the week after Elon Musk took control of Twitter, suggesting that the somewhat forgotten platform could see a resurgence as some users leave Twitter.

I may not have personally known the bloggers I was keeping up with on Tumblr, but my time there still felt human in a way that my experiences online have not since. The feeling is tough to find words for, but maybe that’s the point: As the internet grows up, we won’t know what we’ve lost until it’s gone.

Related:

The internet of the 2010s ended today. Instagram is over.

Today’s News

Less than a year after overturning Roe v. Wade, the Supreme Court is expected to decide tonight on whether the abortion pill mifepristone should remain widely available while litigation challenging the FDA’s approval of the drug continues. The Russian military stated that one of its fighter jets accidentally bombed Belgorod, a Russian city near the Ukrainian border. Dominic Raab stepped down from his roles as deputy prime minister and justice secretary of Britain after an official inquiry found that he had engaged in intimidating behavior on multiple occasions, one of which involved a misuse of power.

Dispatches

Work in Progress: America has failed the civilization test, writes Derek Thompson. The Books Briefing: Elise Hannum rounds up books about celebrity—and observes how difficult it can be to appear both otherworldly and relatable. Up for Debate: Conor Friedersdorf explores how the gender debate veered off track.

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Evening Read

National Gallery of Art, Widener Collection

Vermeer’s Revelations

By Susan Tallman

Of all the great painters of the golden age when the small, soggy Netherlands arose as an improbable global power, Johannes Vermeer is the most beloved and the most disarming. Rembrandt gives us grandeur and human frailty, Frans Hals gives us brio, Pieter de Hooch gives us busy burghers, but Vermeer issues an invitation. The trompe l’oeil curtain is pulled back, and if the people on the other side don’t turn to greet us, it’s only because we are always expected.

Vermeer’s paintings are few in number and scattered over three continents, and they rarely travel. The 28 gathered in Amsterdam for the Rijksmuseum’s current, dazzling exhibition represent about three-quarters of the surviving work—“a greater number than the artist might have ever seen together himself,” a co-curator, Pieter Roelofs, notes—and make this the largest Vermeer show in history. The previous record holder took place 27 years ago at the National Gallery in Washington, D.C., and at the Mauritshuis, in The Hague. Prior to that, the only chance to see anything close would have been the Amsterdam auction in May 1696 that dispersed perhaps half of everything he’d painted in his life.

Read the full article.

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Culture Break

Brian Shumway / Gallery Stock

Read. Journey, a wordless picture book, is about the expedition of a girl with a magical red crayon. It’s one of seven books that you should read as a family.

Watch. Ari Aster’s newest movie, Beau Is Afraid, invites you into the director’s anxious fantasies.

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While you’re over on Charlie’s Galaxy Brain page, check out the November newsletter in which he comes up with a great term for our evolving internet age: geriatric social media. (It’s not necessarily a bad thing.)

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Katherine Hu contributed to this newsletter.

In early 2021, long before ChatGPT became a household name, OpenAI CEO Sam Altman self-published a manifesto of sorts, titled “Moore’s Law for Everything.” The original Moore’s Law, formulated in 1965, describes the development of microchips, the tiny silicon wafers that power your computer. More specifically, it predicted that the number of transistors that engineers could cram onto a chip would roughly double every year. As Altman sees it, something like that astonishing rate of progress will soon apply to housing, food, medicine, education—everything. The vision is nothing short of utopian. We ride the exponential curve all the way to paradise.

In late February, Altman invoked Moore again, this time proposing “a new version of moore’s law that could start soon: the amount of intelligence in the universe doubles every 18 months.” This claim did not go unchallenged: “Oh dear god what nonsense,” replied Grady Booch, the chief scientist for software engineering at IBM Research. But whether astute or just absurd, Altman’s comment is not unique: Technologists have been invoking and adjusting Moore’s Law to suit their own ends for decades. Indeed, when Gordon Moore himself died last month at the age of 94, the legendary engineer and executive, who in his lifetime built one of the world’s largest semiconductor companies and made computers accessible to hundreds of millions of people, was remembered most of all for his prediction—and also, perhaps, for the optimism it inspired.

Which makes sense: Moore’s Law defined at least half a century of technological progress and, in so doing, helped shape the world as we know it. It’s no wonder that all manner of technologists have latched on to it. They want desperately to believe—and for others to believe—that their technology will take off in the same way microchips did. In this impulse, there is something telling. To understand the appeal of Moore’s Law is to understand how a certain type of Silicon Valley technologist sees the world.

The first thing to know about Moore’s Law is that it isn’t a law at all—not in a legalistic sense, not in a scientific sense, not in any sense, really. It’s more of an observation. In an article for Electronics magazine published 58 years ago this week, Moore noted that the number of transistors on each chip had been doubling every year. This remarkable progress (and associated drop in costs), he predicted, would continue for at least the next decade. And it did—for much longer, in fact. Depending on whom you ask and how they choose to interpret the claim, it may have held until 2005, or the present day, or some point in between.

Carver Mead, an engineering professor at the California Institute of Technology, was the first to call Moore’s observation a “law.” By the early 1980s, that phrase—Moore’s Law—had become the slogan for a nascent industry, says Cyrus Mody, a science historian at Maastricht University, in the Netherlands, and the author of The Long Arm of Moore’s Law. With the U.S. economy having spent the better part of the past decade in the dumps, he told me, a message of relentless progress had PR appeal. Companies could say, “‘Look, our industry is so consistently innovative that we have a law.’”

[Read: AI is like … nuclear weapons?]

This wasn’t just spin. Microchip technology really had developed according to Moore’s predicted schedule. As the tech got more and more intricate, Moore’s Law became a sort of metronome by which the industry kept time. That rhythm was a major asset. Silicon Valley executives were making business-strategy decisions on its basis, David C. Brock, a science historian who co-wrote a biography of Gordon Moore, told me.

For a while, the annual doubling of transistors on a chip seemed like magic: It happened year after year, even though no one was shooting for that specific target. At a certain point, though, when the industry realized the value of consistency, Moore’s Law morphed into a benchmark to be reached through investment and planning, and not simply a phenomenon to be taken for granted, like gravity or the tides. “It became a self-fulfilling prophecy,” Paul Ceruzzi, a science historian and a curator emeritus at the National Air and Space museum, told me.

Still, for almost as long as Moore’s Law has existed, people have foretold its imminent demise. If they were wrong, that’s in part because Moore’s original prediction has been repeatedly tweaked (or outright misconstrued), whether by extending his predicted doubling time, or by stretching his meaning of a single chip, or by focusing on computer power or performance instead of the raw number of transistors. Once Moore’s Law had been fudged in all these ways, the floodgates opened to more extravagant and brazen reinterpretations. Why not apply the law to pixels, to drugs, to razor blades?

An endless run of spin-offs ensued. Moore’s Law of cryptocurrency. Moore’s Law of solar panels. Moore’s Law of intelligence. Moore’s Law for everything. Moore himself used to quip that his law had come to stand for just about any supposedly exponential technological growth. That’s another law, I guess: At every turn of the technological-hype cycle, Moore’s Law will be invoked.

The reformulation of Moore’s observation as a law, and then its application to a new technology, creates an air of Newtonian precision—as if that new technology could only grow in scale. It transforms something you want to happen into something that will happen—technology as destiny.

For decades, that shift has held a seemingly irresistible appeal. More than 20 years ago, the computer scientist Ray Kurzweil fit Moore’s Law into a broad argument for the uninterrupted exponential progress of technology over the past century—a trajectory that he still believes is drawing us toward “the Singularity.” In 2011, Elon Musk professed to be searching for a “Moore’s Law of Space.” A year later, Mark Zuckerberg posited a “social-networking version of Moore’s Law,” whereby the rate at which users share content on Facebook would double every year. (Look how that turned out.) More recently, in 2021, Changpeng Zhao, the CEO of the cryptocurrency exchange Binance, cited Moore’s Law as evidence that “blockchain performance should at least double every year.” But no tech titan has been quite as explicit in their assertions as Sam Altman. “This technological revolution,” he says in his essay, “is unstoppable.” No one can resist it. And no one can be held responsible.

Moore himself did not think that technological progress was inevitable. “His whole life was a counterexample to that idea,” Brock told me. “Quietly measuring what was actually happening, what was actually going on with the technology, what was actually going on with the economics, and acting accordingly”—that was what Moore was about. He constantly checked and rechecked his analysis, making sure everything still held up. You don’t do that if you believe you have hit upon an ironclad law of nature. You don’t do that if you believe in the unstoppable march of technological progress.

Moore recognized that his law would eventually run up against a brick wall, some brute fact of physics that would halt it in its tracks—the size of an atom, the speed of light. Or worse, it would cause catastrophe before it did. “The nature of exponentials is that you push them out,” he said in a 2005 interview with Techworld magazine, “and eventually disaster happens.”

Exactly what sort of disaster Moore envisioned is unclear. Brock, his biographer, suspects that it might have been ecological ruin; Moore was, after all, a passionate conservationist. Perhaps he viewed microchips as a sort of invasive species, multiplying and multiplying at the expense of the broader human ecosystem. Whatever the particulars, he was an optimist, not a utopian. And yet, the law bearing his name is now cited in support of a worldview that was not his own. That is the tragedy of Moore’s Law.

This is Work in Progress, a newsletter by Derek Thompson about work, technology, and how to solve some of America’s biggest problems. Sign up here to get it every week.

The true test of a civilization may be the answer to a basic question: Can it keep its children alive?

For most of recorded history, the answer everywhere was plainly no. Roughly half of all people—tens of billions of us—died before finishing puberty until about the 1700s, when breakthroughs in medicine and hygiene led to tremendous advances in longevity. In Central Europe, for example, the mortality rate for children fell from roughly 50 percent in 1750 to 0.3 percent in 2020. You will not find more unambiguous evidence of human progress.

How’s the U.S. doing on the civilization test? When graded on a curve against its peer nations, it is failing. The U.S. mortality rate is much higher, at almost every age, than that of most of Europe, Japan, and Australia. That is, compared with the citizens of these nations, American infants are less likely to turn 5, American teenagers are less likely to turn 30, and American 30-somethings are less likely to survive to retirement.

Last year, I called the U.S. the rich death trap of the modern world. The “rich” part is important to observe and hard to overstate. The typical American spends almost 50 percent more each year than the typical Brit, and a trucker in Oklahoma earns more than a doctor in Portugal.

This extra cash ought to buy us more years of living. For most countries, higher incomes translate automatically into longer lives. But not for today’s Americans. A new analysis by John Burn-Murdoch, a data journalist at the Financial Times, shows that the typical American is 100 percent more likely to die than the typical Western European at almost every age from birth until retirement.

What if I offered you a pill and told you that taking this mystery medication would have two effects? First, it would increase your disposable income by almost half. Second, it would double your odds of dying in the next 365 days. To be an average American is to fill a lifetime prescription of that medication and take the pill nightly.

According to data collected by Burn-Murdoch, a typical American baby is about 1.8 times more likely to die in her first year than the average infant from a group of similarly rich countries: Australia, Austria, Switzerland, Germany, France, the U.K., Japan, the Netherlands, and Sweden. Let’s think of this 1.8 figure as “the U.S. death ratio”—the annual mortality rate in the U.S., as a multiple of similarly rich countries.

By the time an American turns 18, the U.S. death ratio surges to 2.8. By 29, the U.S. death ratio rockets to its peak of 4.22, meaning that the typical American is more than four times more likely to die than the average resident in our basket of high-income nations. In direct country-to-country comparisons, the ratio is even higher. The average American my age, in his mid-to-late 30s, is roughly six times more likely to die in the next year than his counterpart in Switzerland.

[INSERT CHART HERE]

The average U.S. death ratio stays higher than three for practically the entire period between ages 30 and 50, meaning that the typical middle-aged American is roughly three times more likely to die within the year than his counterpart in Western Europe or Australia. Only in our late 80s and 90s are Americans statistically on par, or even slightly better off, than residents of other rich nations.

“One in 25 American five-year-olds today will not make it to their 40th birthday,” Burn-Murdoch observed. On average, a representative U.S. kindergarten class will lose one member before their fifth decade of life.

What is going on here? The first logical suspect might be guns. According to a recent Pew analysis of CDC data, gun deaths among U.S. children and teens have doubled in the past 10 years, reaching the highest level of gun violence against children recorded this century. In March, a 20-something shooter fired 152 rounds at a Christian school in Nashville, Tennessee, killing three children and three adults, before being killed by police. In April, a 20-something shooter killed six people at a Louisville, Kentucky, bank, before he, too, was killed by police.

People everywhere suffer from mental-health problems, rage, and fear. But Americans have more guns to channel those all-too-human emotions into a bullet fired at another person. One could tell a similar story about drug overdoses and car deaths. In all of these cases, America suffers not from a monopoly on despair and aggression, but from an oversupply of instruments of death. We have more drug-overdose deaths than any other high-income country because we have so much more fentanyl, even per capita. Americans drive more than other countries, leading to our higher-than-average death rate from road accidents. Even on a per-miles-driven basis, our death rate is extraordinary.

When I reached out to Burn-Murdoch, I expected that these three culprits—guns, drugs, and cars—would explain most of our death ratio. However, on my podcast, Plain English, he argued that Americans’ health (and access to health care) seems to be the most important factor. America’s prevalence of cardiovascular and metabolic disease is so high that it accounts for more of our early mortality than guns, drugs, and cars combined.

Disentangling America’s health issues is complicated, but I can offer three data points. First, American obesity is unusually high, which likely leads to a larger number of early and middle-aged deaths. Second, Americans are unusually sedentary. We take at least 30 percent fewer steps a day than people do in Australia, Switzerland, and Japan. Finally, U.S. access to care is unusually unequal—and our health-care outcomes are unusually tied to income. As the Northwestern University economist Hannes Schwandt found, Black teens in the poorest U.S. areas are roughly twice as likely to die before they turn 20 as teenagers in the richest counties. This outcome is logically downstream of America’s paucity of universal care and our shortage of physicians, especially in low-income areas.

There is no single meta-explanation for America’s death ratio that’s capacious enough to account for our higher rates of death from guns, drugs, cars, infant mortality, diet, exercise, and unequal access to care. I’ll try to offer one anyway—only to immediately contradict it.

Let’s start with the idea, however simplistic, that voters and politicians in the U.S. care so much about freedom in that old-fashioned ’Merica-lovin’ kind of way that we’re unwilling to promote public safety if those rules constrict individual choice. That’s how you get a country with infamously laissez-faire firearms laws, more guns than people, lax and poorly enforced driving laws, and a conservative movement that has repeatedly tried to block, overturn, or limit the expansion of universal health insurance on the grounds that it impedes consumer choice. Among the rich, this hyper-individualistic mindset can manifest as a smash-and-grab attitude toward life, with surprising consequences for the less fortunate. For example, childhood obesity is on the rise at the same time that youth-sports participation is in decline among low-income kids. What seems to be happening at the national level is that rich families, seeking to burnish their child’s résumé for college, are pulling their kids out of local leagues so that they can participate in prestigious pay-to-play travel teams. At scale, these decisions devastate the local youth-sports leagues for the benefit of increasing by half a percentage point the odds of a wealthy kid getting into an Ivy League school.

The problem with the Freedom and Individualism Theory of Everything is that, in many cases, America’s problem isn’t freedom-worship, but actually something quite like its opposite: overregulation. In medicine, excessive regulation and risk aversion on the part of the FDA and Institutional Review Boards have very likely slowed the development and adoption of new lifesaving treatments. This has created what the economist Alex Tabarrok calls an “invisible graveyard” of people killed by regulators preventing access to therapies that would have saved their life. Consider, in the same vein, the problem of diet and exercise. Are Americans unusually sedentary because they love freedom so very much? It’s possible, I guess. But the more likely explanation is that restrictive housing policies have made it too hard for middle- and low-income families to live near downtown business districts, which forces many of them to drive more than they would like, thus reducing everyday walking and exercise.

America is caught in a lurch between oversight and overkill, sometimes promoting individual freedom, with luridly fatal consequences, and sometimes blocking policies and products, with subtly fatal consequences. That’s not straightforward, and it’s damn hard to solve. But mortality rates are the final test of civilization. Who said that test should be easy?

The deal worth an estimated €134 million, which will be split 50/50 by the two countries.