A new cold War has come to seem all but inevitable. Tensions between China and the United States are mounting in step with Beijing’s growing power and ambition. Russia’s invasion of Ukraine has poisoned its relations with the West and pushed Moscow and Beijing closer together, pitting a democratic bloc anchored by the United States against an autocratic one anchored by China and Russia. Much as it did in the 20th century, Washington is teaming up with allies in Europe and Asia to contain the ambitions of its rivals.

But a cold war between the United States and a Sino-Russian bloc could be even costlier and more dangerous than the original standoff between America and the Soviet Union. Rather than embrace the prospect, Washington needs to take a step back, think through the stakes, and come up with a plan to avoid a geopolitical rupture that would substantially raise the risk of a great-power war and leave a globalized world too divided to manage shared problems. Moscow has already thrown down the gauntlet by invading Ukraine. But ties between the United States and China are not yet beyond repair—and China’s mounting economic and military strength makes it the more significant competitor.

[Anatol Lieven: Cold War catastrophes the U.S. can avoid this time]

China is in fact a more formidable rival than the Soviet Union ever was. Soviet GDP topped out at about 60 percent of U.S. GDP. In contrast, China’s economy, on its current trajectory, is set to overtake America’s during the next decade. And whereas the Soviet Union was never able to keep pace with the West’s technological advances, China is developing a high-tech sector on par with that of the United States. Yes, China’s economy is slowing and will be weighed down by domestic debt and demographic decline. But with a population that is more than four times larger than that of the United States, China will likely pull significantly ahead of America in economic output by the second half of the century.

China lags way behind the United States when it comes to geopolitical heft and reach. But history makes clear that when major powers ascend economically, expansive geopolitical ambition always follows. China is well on its way. Its navy has more warships than the U.S. Navy and its air force is the world’s third largest. The Chinese military is already capable of holding its own against the U.S. military in the western Pacific. China is on course to eventually take its place alongside the United States as one of the world’s two full-service superpowers.

China’s strategic position will also benefit from its teamwork with Russia. For most of the Cold War era, China and the Soviet Union were at odds, dividing the communist bloc. Moscow couldn’t work with Beijing against the West. But today, China and Russia are close partners. Russia, now economically and diplomatically isolated from the West, is ever more dependent on China, a dynamic that could afford Beijing leverage over the Kremlin for the foreseeable future.

If a new cold war emerges, the West will likely face an autocratic bloc that stretches from Europe to the Pacific, compelling the United States to split its forces between two distant theaters. Russian and NATO forces are now cheek by jowl in Europe, and U.S. and Chinese forces are in similarly dangerous proximity in the Pacific. A strategic landscape that is already daunting and dangerous is poised to grow only more so.

Washington would be mistaken to presume that a new cold war would play out much like the 20th-century version, with democracies on one side, autocracies on the other, and the West enjoying the upper hand. During the last round of East-West rivalry, bipolarity made geopolitical competition predictable and tractable. Stability emerged naturally from balancing between two dominant poles of power; the United States and the Soviet Union compelled most of the world’s countries to align with one camp or the other. The democratic camp ultimately outmatched its autocratic competitor, enabling the West to prevail.

In contrast, today’s world is becoming more multipolar than bipolar; even if the globe is again afflicted by a new bout of East-West rivalry, many countries, including emerging heavyweights, will likely refuse to take sides. Western democracies will find it more difficult to amass a preponderant coalition against their autocratic challengers in this multipolar world. The international system will also be much messier and more unpredictable, and thus harder to manage and stabilize, than the two-bloc world of the 20th century.

[Tom Nichols: I want my mutually assured destruction]

Russia’s war against Ukraine has provided a glimpse into this future. Despite the Kremlin’s bald act of aggression, more than three-quarters of the world’s countries have opted to stay on the sidelines, hoping to ride out the war’s disruptive effects on food and energy supplies while avoiding ensnarement in a new round of East-West rivalry. Some countries, such as Israel and Turkey, are protecting their relationships with Moscow. Many others are staying in the good graces of China, which has substantially increased its economic and political leverage across the global South through its Belt and Road Initiative. Some two-thirds of the world’s countries now trade more with China than with the United States. In many parts of the developing world, China has become the lender of first resort.

The fence sitters include major democracies such as India, Indonesia, and Brazil. During the second half of this century, India’s economy is likely to become the world’s second largest after China’s, Indonesia’s is set to become the fourth after America’s, and Brazil’s will likely be in the top 10. Should rivalry build between the United States and China, Washington simply cannot assume that such prominent powers, whether or not they are democracies, will be by its side.

Despite its democratic credentials, India is aligning with neither West nor East but instead seeking to serve as a bridge and broker between the two. India’s foreign minister, S. Jaishankar, recently explained that an “order which is still very, very deeply Western” is coming to an end and will give way to a “multi-alignment” world. In light of its proximity to and trade links with China, Indonesia will probably tilt more toward Beijing than toward Washington. According to a recent report from Australia’s Lowy Institute, the United States has been losing influence to China across Southeast Asia. Brazilian President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva has declared that his country’s relationship with China is “extraordinary,” and warned that “nobody can stop Brazil from continuing to develop its relationship with China.”

At least for now, the United States can count on such long-standing partners as the United Kingdom, France, Germany, and Japan to be staunch allies. But their global sway is on the wane. When the Cold War wound down, the United States and its partners commanded almost 70 percent of global wealth. In contrast, projections show that Western democracies will account for less than 40 percent of global GDP in 2060. That may seem like a long way off, but if a new cold war materializes in this decade and lasts as long as the last one, it would not begin to wind down until around 2070.

Furthermore, America’s traditional allies may not be willing to throw their collective weight against China forever. Many European countries maintain lucrative trade links with China and are keeping their distance from the geopolitical duel building between Washington and Beijing. Germany’s Chancellor Olaf Scholz and France’s President Emmanuel Macron have both made recent trips to Beijing, accompanied by dozens of German and French CEOs. Macron caused a stir during his visit by stating that Taiwan is not Europe’s problem, and that “the worst thing would be to think that we Europeans must be followers and adapt ourselves to the American rhythm and a Chinese overreaction.”

Even if the West does hang together against China, it must factor in its own political weakness. The West was, for the most part, politically healthy during the original Cold War: Ideological moderation and centrism prevailed in liberal democracies on both sides of the Atlantic, buttressed by broadly shared prosperity. Such solid economic and political foundations produced a steady and purposeful brand of grand strategy that enabled the West to prevail against the Soviet Union.

Those days are now gone. Automation and globalization have taken a heavy toll on the economic welfare of workers in the West, undermining the social contract of the industrial era. Illiberal populism is on the loose on both sides of the Atlantic, and ideological moderation and centrist consensus have given way to bitter polarization and legislative dysfunction. Strategic steadiness has been replaced by inconstancy; U.S. foreign policy is regularly engulfed in political gamesmanship. Unless and until the United States and Europe bounce back politically, democracy will struggle to reclaim its global appeal, and Presidents Xi Jinping and Vladimir Putin will continue to have grounds for arguing that the West’s best days are behind it.

Democracies have time and again demonstrated their resilience and capacity for self-correction, a track record that provides cause for optimism that the West will eventually restore its political health. But in the meantime, the stumbling of liberal democracy weakens the allure of the Western model and its ability to outmatch autocratic alternatives. For now, the West’s top priority must be to get its own house in order—yet another reason to avoid the drain on resources and political capital that would accompany the arrival of a new cold war.   

Today’s world is far more interdependent than the one the first Cold War cleaved in two. The return of geopolitical fracture would therefore do far more damage. In the 20th century, western economies were able to thrive despite minimal economic intercourse with the Soviet Union. Today, by contrast, China is deeply integrated into international markets. Severing commercial ties between China and the West, should it come to that, would wreak havoc on the global economy. Already, the United States has taken steps to move select supply chains from China to friendly nations, and to deny China access to high-end technology. This measured economic distancing from China will likely accelerate, becoming a broader economic detachment, if rivalry continues to mount.

[Radio Atlantic: This is not your parents’ Cold War]

In this interconnected age, major powers need to work across ideological dividing lines not only to manage global commerce but also to address other shared priorities, such as arresting climate change, preventing pandemics and promoting global health, avoiding nuclear proliferation and arms races, governing the cybersphere, and managing migration. The heating up of great-power rivalry would put out of reach the collective governance needed to tackle these pressing transnational problems.

History makes clear that contests between rising challengers and reigning hegemons tend to end in war. That is not good news, given the high probability that China’s raw power will soon catch up with and then surpass America’s.

As China’s strength and ambition continue to grow, Beijing and Washington will inevitably compete for primacy. At present, ideological excess and zero-sum thinking in both the United States and China are fueling a spiral of mutual hostility.  In the United States, neither Democrats nor Republicans are ready to acknowledge or even contemplate the potential end of America’s long run of primacy. A blustery nationalism similarly informs China’s politics; Xi Jinping has been using the struggle against the United States to consolidate his rule and tighten his grip at home.

[From the July/August 2022 issue: We have no nuclear strategy]

A new cold war is likely unavoidable if China follows in Russia’s footsteps down the path of military aggression, whether against Taiwan or other targets. But we are not there yet. The United States and China still have an opportunity to shape the tenor and intensity of their competition and channel their relations in a more positive direction.

To arrest and reverse escalating hostility, Washington and Beijing will need sustained, constructive dialogue, and could even strive to devise a model of shared global leadership. But heading down this path would require a change of mindset in  Washington. The narrative of American exceptionalism leaves virtually no room for a peer competitor, and the prospect of a new cold war fits too readily into the prevailing paradigm. President Joe Biden foresees a century defined by a “battle between democracy and autocracy,” insisting that “autocrats will not win the future. We will. America will. And the future belongs to America.” The United States and its allies handily won Cold War 1.0. Washington can now dust off the same playbook and win Cold War 2.0.

But it will not be that easy. For the first time since World War II and the arrival of Pax Americana, the United States is about to meet its match. If the United States and China are to avoid going head to head and instead work together to tame a world that will be both multipolar and interdependent, the two countries will need to learn to live comfortably alongside each other in a global system that is ideologically diverse and politically pluralistic. Americans will need to take a leap of political imagination in order to coexist with a great power whose political system they find threatening and at odds with their messianic commitment to spreading democracy. The alternative is intractable geopolitical fracture and deepening global disarray.

China’s potential intransigence, mixed with the confrontational nationalism that infuses debate in both Beijing and Washington, may force the United States to aim lower. If so, Washington  should at least seek agreement with Beijing on guidelines for limiting and managing competition. The two countries could regularize military-to-military contacts, for example, and cordon off discussions of transnational issues, such as climate change, global health, and trade, from those of tougher issues, such as Taiwan and human rights.

Whether Washington pursues shared global leadership or only managed competition, the moment for opening a dialogue is now, while the United States still enjoys economic and military superiority, and while the two superpowers of the 21st century can still avoid the dangers and disorder that come with geopolitical rupture.

When Carr Van Anda joined The New York Times as its managing editor on February 14, 1904⁠, the temperature inside the office dropped a few degrees—or so it felt.

Van Anda, age 39, was a chilly newsroom presence, a formal man who wore rimless glasses and a stickpin through his starched collars. Times reporters lived in fear of his chastening glare. They called it the “death ray.”

The most famous stories about “V.A.,” as he was known around the office, came a little later on—the time he corrected an equation of Albert Einstein’s, the time his identification of an ancient forgery forced the British Museum to revise its official biography of King Tutankhamen. But his savantlike intelligence was picked up on almost immediately by his newsroom colleagues. “He scents buncombe and fraud miles away,” one of them later wrote. He had the sort of skeptical mind that reflexively questioned the assumption that the Titanic was unsinkable, and the news sense to spring into action the moment its radio went silent⁠—resulting in a Times scoop for the ages.

[From the November 1919 issue: British and American newspapers]

Radio and television did not exist yet; the only way to get the daily news was by reading a newspaper, and the manner in which newspapers went about collecting and presenting the news was changing rapidly. The turn-of-the-century New York Times was exactly the right place for Van Anda to have landed. Though traditional in some ways, the paper was also at the vanguard of a movement to rationalize and expand news coverage. Since acquiring the Times in 1896, the publisher Adolph Ochs had ignored the prevailing wisdom that New York City’s brash, crusading “yellow journals” were the trade’s future. Whereas those papers outraged, amused, and promised to make big things happen, Ochs vowed simply to “give the news impartially, without fear or favor,” and to let the Times serve as “a forum for the consideration of all questions of public importance, and to that end to invite intelligent discussion from all shades of opinion.”

The Times was not an exciting read. But Ochs treated its reputation for dullness as an asset, not a liability. He downplayed its editorials, expanded anything having to do with news, financial news in particular. He invested in the paper’s legal coverage and began listing the day’s fires and real-estate deals. Rival papers such as The Sun and the Tribune sniped that the Times had somehow managed to become even more sleep-inducing. By the time they realized that the Ochs strategy was working, he’d surged ahead of them. Even the mighty Joseph Pulitzer felt compelled to bring his New York World around.

What Ochs had realized was that his rivals had undervalued the demand for timely, comprehensive, and trustworthy information. He’d correctly judged that readers, or at least “quality” readers (as they were called), were fed up with sensationalism.

His tidy slogan for the Times—“All the news that’s fit to print”—made it clear what he was offering. His rapid turnaround of the Times is one of the great success stories in the history of journalism.

The air of authoritative impartiality with which Ochs and Van Anda imbued the Times is now under assault from both ends of the political spectrum. The right accuses the so-called mainstream media of abandoning neutrality, while the progressive left argues that it should be abandoned. No one is truly unbiased, the left notes, and so journalists might as well declare where they stand. “Transparency is the new objectivity,” this argument goes. Some advocates even profess to believe that ditching forced postures of impartiality will help restore trust in media, rather than erode it further.

[Imani Perry: Why I reject the gospel of objectivity]

But the case for more bias in reporting is very dodgy, and one suspects that it has gained traction mostly because what passes for journalistic evenhandedness these days is a pale imitation of the version embraced by idealists such as Ochs and Van Anda.

In today’s opinion-driven news environment, the other side of the story is often presented more out of a sense of obligation than true curiosity. Some outlets have given counternarratives more consideration than they deserve. Being dismayed by all the false equivalences and foregone conclusions makes sense, but giving up on such an important guiding principle after experiencing the cheapened version of it is like renouncing all forms of air travel after flying easyJet.

It’s worth remembering that, back when Ochs and Van Anda began working together, the model of objective journalism that is now derided as the “view from nowhere” was not the default. Throughout the 19th century, moderation and impartiality were virtually unknown in popular media. Many newspapers didn’t just lean one way or the other politically—they answered directly to party bosses. Standards of accuracy were lower. “Buncombe and fraud” were facts of life.

Pulitzer revolutionized the field in the 1880s by modeling a new and more democratic type of newspaper, one that achieved important social change at the cost of dizzying sensationalism. Whereas other papers had reported on murders, melodramas, and sex scandals, Pulitzer (and his eventual rival, William Randolph Hearst) pumped up these trivialities as front-page news. This unseemly aspect of “yellow journalism” lives on, especially on cable news and social media, but it has been less influential than many turn-of-the-century critics feared. For this we can thank Ochs and Van Anda.

The conservative demeanors of both men could be misleading. Both were enthralled by the age of velocity into which America was zooming. While the respected Tribune decried the spread of “telephone mania⁠,” with its “constant ‘helloing’” and “senseless chatter,” the Times—with some notable exceptions—broadly embraced technological and scientific progress, far more than it had before. Van Anda shared his boss’s enthusiasm for automobiles, aviation, and polar exploring, and especially for anything—like Marconi wireless—that could speed up the gathering and presentation of the news.

Van Anda, in the words of one admirer, believed “that managing a paper could be done as scientifically and as intelligently as running a laboratory,” and his omnivorous intellect matched the encyclopedic tendencies of the Times. So did his predilection for facts and figures, and his utter indifference to stylish writing.

The Times newsroom under him was at the forefront of a fundamental evolution in the way that editors and reporters collaborated. Reporters had traditionally been tasked with interpreting the news they gathered, even at the risk of misjudgment. But as daily metropolitan newspapers evolved into more complicated operations, reporters were asked to change the way they worked. As the communications historians Kathy Roberts Forde and Katherine A. Foss have put it, they adopted “an ideology of naive empiricism.”

News editors like Van Anda demanded just the facts. They took it upon themselves to determine what those facts meant, and they headlined, ordered, amplified, and excised the reporter’s work accordingly. The editor’s loftier perspective and superior training qualified him for this responsibility, the thinking went, and the modern reader preferred the editor’s discreet framing to the blatantly opinionated journalism of years past.

Van Anda had plenty of strongly held opinions—he despised Woodrow Wilson, for example. But some combination of scientific thinking, professional pride, and institutional pressure enabled him to set these beliefs aside. “It was most extraordinary,” Ochs later recalled, “that feeling as intensely as he did towards many men and measures, there never was the slightest indication of his personal point of view in his presentation of the news concerning them … I often marveled [at] how he avoided having it unconsciously shown.”

None of this is to say that the early-20th-century Times lacked a point of view. As leftist critics of the era were quick to note, its orientation was firmly pro-establishment and pro–Wall Street, and it defaulted to upholding the status quo. The Times under Ochs looked down at the “muckraking” of Lincoln Steffens and Ida Tarbell, and had none of the investigative zeal that it would develop later. And Ochs shut women out of the newsroom, despite the fact that Pulitzer and others had made stars of female correspondents such as Nellie Bly.

Prejudices such as these were considered less important than they are today. But just because the quiet revolution of impersonal, facts-based journalism didn’t achieve everything all at once doesn’t mean that it should be casually dispensed with.

Another important thing happened during this first decade of the Ochs–Van Anda partnership: the first two American journalism schools were established. The University of Missouri’s opened in 1908, Columbia’s in 1912. It was with this professionalized future in view, and the related hope that journalists would be accredited and socially respected (not to mention held accountable) in the way that doctors and lawyers were, that the columnist Walter Lippmann declared in a 1919 essay for The Atlantic that “the ideal of objective testimony is cardinal” in the training of any journalist. It was the first time that anyone prominently connected the scientific notion of objectivity with the practice of news gathering.

Emerging from the propagandistic news environment of World War I, Lippmann wanted the next generation of journalism to be driven by “not the slick persons who scoop the news, but the patient and fearless men of science who have labored to see what the world really is.” He and other proponents never claimed that true objectivity was attainable in journalism—only that true liberty of opinion required “as impartial an investigation of the facts as is humanly possible.”

This distinction is crucial, and too often forgotten.

To stand up for the 100-year-old ideal of objectivity is “terribly unpopular in my profession these days,” the retired Boston Globe and Washington Post editor Marty Baron observed in March. He made the important point that objectivity is not a way of moving through the world. It’s a method, and a rigorous one at that. And the fact that we are beginning to expect less of journalists than we do of doctors and judges, when it comes to setting personal views aside in the workplace, says something about the post-professional turn the field has taken.

Reporters themselves are not fully to blame for this shift; journalism, especially local journalism, is undergoing an institutional collapse. (Whether it can rebuild, and how, is a major question.) Replacing inherently imperfect objectivity with transparency is often described as a moral imperative, but that’s hardly the whole story. Profile-enhancing social media rewards snap judgments and conviction far more than open-mindedness or “naive empiricism.” If a reporter can avoid getting fired for it, abandoning impartiality is a smart career move.

The degree to which Van Anda’s reporters were asked to efface themselves seems inconceivable, perhaps intolerable, today. News pages displayed no opinions and virtually no bylines. For a time, names were not even allowed on company business cards. What the paper did instead was pay employees to lose themselves in a particular type of important work, one that forced them to be more open-minded than the average reader.

The push for more “views from somewhere” drops this formidable demand. And although the transparency model appears to encourage healthy debate, the opposite might just as well be true. “Disclaimer: I’m biased” easily becomes “This is my truth, so don’t argue with it.” Agendas would (supposedly) be acknowledged under this new approach, but they would also proliferate. And thinking that the good causes would gain more oxygen than the bad ones is naive.

Histories of American journalism generally understate the importance of the Ochs–Van Anda partnership in favor of the famous rivalry between Pulitzer and Hearst. But a look at changes happening nearly simultaneously at the Times sheds important light on where we are today. In particular, it helps us see how much intelligence and dedication went into creating the standard of objectivity that now looks so wobbly. The facts will become less clear and the media less credible in its absence.

Van Anda himself is partly to blame for being overlooked. He refused to be interviewed by the trade journals that were keen to celebrate him, and he has mostly been lost to history. Just one biography of him was published—in 1933, 12 years before he died. Ochs, in a fit of jealousy, complained that the book gave his managing editor too much credit for the paper’s success, and Van Anda later agreed to have all copies withdrawn. Even when his own legacy was at stake, he preferred facts to arguments.

This essay was adapted from Darrell Hartman’s forthcoming book, Battle of Ink and Ice: A Sensational Story of News Barons, North Pole Explorers, and the Making of Modern Media.

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Housing-policy experts largely agree that the solution to a housing-affordability crisis is to build more housing. Many residents support this notion in theory, until they’re faced with the possibility of new housing developments in their own backyard—in other words, NIMBYs. But Atlantic staff writer Jerusalem Demsas argues in a recent article that maybe these presumed villains of progress aren’t the problem. Instead, they’re a symptom of an approach to housing development that’s doomed to fail.

First, here are three new stories from The Atlantic:

Inside the meltdown at CNN America is headed toward collapse. Why Putin’s secret weapon failed

Local Control

Kelli María Korducki: You’ve written extensively about the national housing shortage and how it’s making housing unaffordable for many people across the country. Why do new building projects often get held up or shut down, over and over again, by residents who say they want more affordable housing in their communities?

Jerusalem Demsas: People are very unhappy with the lack of housing affordability. They’ll say in polls that they want there to be more types of housing available, that they want there to be more affordable types of housing available. They want their kids to be able to live near them. They want there to be senior housing. They want teachers to be able to afford to live in their communities; there’s concern about police officers policing communities that they’re not actually able to live in too. And yet, time and again, projects fail, because no individual development can check every single box for everyone.

In the story that I write, I’m zeroing in on Denver and Colorado. But a lot of the point that I’m trying to make is that you could replace those geographical names with basically anywhere and see the same story playing out. The promise of localism, of local control, is that you are responding to the particular needs and concerns of the people who live in that specific area. But if municipalities across the country keep reaching the same roadblocks—which ultimately lead to anti-development, anti-growth outcomes—is that actually a response to particular concerns? Or is that a structural problem?

Kelli: You make a bold assertion in your article: “Sometimes NIMBYs have a point.” What do you mean by that?

Jerusalem: A single development can’t balance all of the concerns people have about housing. If the question is “Should we allow this block to turn into duplexes?” community members who support the idea of building more housing in general might respond, “Why here?” And that response could be informed by reasonable concerns about housing that are broader than what that single development project entails. They may have concerns about gentrification, or about open space, or about the types of housing that are currently available.

If I’m representing a city, and I’m trying to convert one hotel into homeless housing, it’s not going to respond to green-space concerns. It’s not going to be able to speak to that, or to senior housing, or to teacher housing, or anything like that. Similarly, if you’re trying to build a new condo development in an area where increasing numbers of rich young people are moving for jobs, that’s not going to respond to the needs of people who have different kinds of concerns. And because no individual developments can check every single box, many projects end up falling through.

Kelli: So what you’re saying is that when hyperlocal political players are given too much power in these development plans, the bigger picture of a municipality or state’s housing needs can get lost. And this can end up sabotaging progress in actually building the new housing that people want and need.

Jerusalem: Exactly. We live in a pretty segregated society, both by class and by race, and on a variety of other different measures. When you restrict a development discussion to a very hyperlocal level, then you can’t have necessary conversations to balance the wants of various interest groups. If you’re dealing with a very rich, white area whose residents are wedded to their exclusionary zoning, they’re always going to resist giving up their space for, for example, homeless housing. And even if these people want homeless housing to exist in general, they have no power to make that occur somewhere else. The only power they have is to exclude it from happening in their own place.

When you expand the development process beyond a very hyperlocal level, then you can actually have broad conversations about what the state needs, and not just what this one locality says they want because they happen to live there right now.

Related:

Colorado’s ingenious idea for solving the housing crisis Housing breaks people’s brains.

Today’s News

President Joe Biden is expected to sign the debt-ceiling bill before Monday and will deliver a rare Oval Office address on the topic this evening. At least 50 people were killed after trains collided in India’s eastern state of Odisha. The Department of Justice is ending its investigation into classified documents at the home of former Vice President Mike Pence and has decided not to file charges.

Dispatches

The Books Briefing: The author Annie Ernaux won the Nobel Prize last fall for her highly personal books, Gal Beckerman writes. She’s also interested in … supermarkets.

Explore all of our newsletters here.

Evening Read

Illustration by Joanne Imperio / The Atlantic

AI Doomerism Is a Decoy

By Matteo Wong

On Tuesday morning, the merchants of artificial intelligence warned once again about the existential might of their products. Hundreds of AI executives, researchers, and other tech and business figures, including OpenAI CEO Sam Altman and Bill Gates, signed a one-sentence statement written by the Center for AI Safety declaring that “mitigating the risk of extinction from AI should be a global priority alongside other societal-scale risks such as pandemics and nuclear war.”

Those 22 words were released following a multi-week tour in which executives from OpenAI, Microsoft, Google, and other tech companies called for limited regulation of AI. They spoke before Congress, in the European Union, and elsewhere about the need for industry and governments to collaborate to curb their product’s harms—even as their companies continue to invest billions in the technology. Several prominent AI researchers and critics told me that they’re skeptical of the rhetoric, and that Big Tech’s proposed regulations appear defanged and self-serving.

Read the full article.

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Read. Brave Men, by Ernie Pyle, a war journalist who wrote about the plight of the average frontline soldier.

Listen. The surgeon general warned about social media’s impact on teens, but there’s a problem with comparing social media to Big Tobacco. Hanna Rosin discusses the issue in a new episode of Radio Atlantic.

Play our daily crossword.

P.S.

If you’re looking for a more narrative perspective on the social and economic divisions feeding America’s development deadlocks, check out Atlantic staff writer George Packer’s National Book Award–winning 2013 book, The Unwinding. In it, George traces the nation’s descent toward a modern era in which “winners win bigger than ever, floating away like bloated dirigibles, and losers have a long way to fall before they hit bottom, and sometimes they never do.”

— Kelli

Katherine Hu contributed to this newsletter.