In the years since it began a committed effort to diversify and expand its membership, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has weathered strikes, the pandemic shutdown of theaters, and constant hand-wringing about declining TV ratings and potential cultural irrelevance. But one trend has remained consistent for the Academy Awards, the voting body’s annual big event: The Academy has been getting more and more international. This year’s nominations, announced today (six days later than planned, after a delay in recognition of the horrific Los Angeles fires), confirmed the extent to which Oscar voters’ tastes have shifted. The French-produced, Spanish-language musical Emilia Pérez received the most nominations of the day, accompanied by several other movies that premiered—and were big hits—at European film festivals.

The Academy nominated 10 films for Best Picture, leaving room for some of the biggest blockbusters of last year. The musical Wicked (10 nominations) and the sci-fi sequel Dune: Part Two (five nominations) were two of 2024’s highest-grossing films, racking up hundreds of millions more in box-office grosses than most of the other Oscar contenders. But if you want to gauge the true awards favorites, looking at the Best Director category, where only five hopefuls get picked, is usually more useful. Each of this year’s directors is a first-time nominee in the category, and four worked on features that mainstream moviegoers might consider unorthodox: Alongside the filmmaker Jacques Audiard’s Emilia Pérez, there’s the indie darling Sean Baker’s Anora, a raunchy dramedy about a sex worker; the actor turned filmmaker Brady Corbet’s 215-minute historical drama, The Brutalist; and the relative newcomer Coralie Fargeat’s The Substance, one of the few horror films in the Academy Awards’ history to resonate with voters. The writer-director James Mangold’s A Complete Unknown—a musical biopic that’s seen as conventionally attractive Oscar fare—stands out as the anomaly of the group. That Mangold’s film was also the only one to skip the international-festival circuit further suggests a turning tide for the Academy’s preferences.

[Read: A film impossible to have mild feelings about]

But Emilia Peréz, which debuted at the Cannes Film Festival last year, is a unique case among those five front-runners—it’s a Netflix-branded movie. The streamer has spent years striving for the Best Picture title, only to narrowly miss out again and again. Netflix made what seemed to be likely bets over the past half decade with Roma, The Irishman, Mank, The Power of the Dog, All Quiet on the Western Front, and Maestro, and over and over again, Netflix’s most prestigious work has gotten a ton of nominations but walked away without the biggest trophy. (In the cases of Roma and The Power of the Dog, the company at least left with the consolation of Best Director.) That track record is partly because of Netflix’s tendency toward backing fairly artsy, auteur-driven movies; the hope apparently has been that a director such as Martin Scorsese and David Fincher would be enough to draw viewers and votes. But the paltry Oscar showing thus far is likely also because, as a streaming-first studio that remains fairly hostile to cinematic releases, Netflix has a more polarizing status in Hollywood than most of its peers.

Could Emilia Pérez be the contender to break that streak? If so, it’ll be a slightly confounding win that could spark another thousand think pieces about the Academy’s continued drift from popular opinion. It’s a non-Hollywood film with very little English dialogue, a gonzo musical about a Mexican cartel leader (played by Karla Sofía Gascón) who fakes her death, transitions into a woman, and then tries to build a more authentic life. Emilia Pérez won major accolades at Cannes, but its post-festival reception has been more muted; it has weathered waves of backlash from multiple sides since its November debut on Netflix. The company has pushed all of its resources into the movie anyway, clearly seeing the potential for nabbing the big prize in a diffuse field; it’s already triumphed at the Golden Globes. But Netflix has come close and missed before, so it’s perhaps too early to be bullish on Emilia Pérez’s chances.

Netflix’s biggest challenger appears to be the distributor A24. The independent company acquired The Brutalist after its successful debut at the Venice Film Festival. The movie is a large-scale American epic made for a comparatively small budget, a supersize film (with an intermission) about topics that have resonated with Oscar voters for decades: tortured male geniuses, the long shadow of World War II and the Holocaust, the struggle of art against commerce. It’s an excellent film, as well as the kind of big movie that has won Best Picture many times. A24 mounted a slow Christmas rollout as a way to build buzz with not just critics but audiences too, including putting the movie on IMAX screens. The plan has worked thus far, and the breadth of awards-season attention, including Oscar nominations for all three main cast members—Adrien Brody, Felicity Jones, and Guy Pearce—might be enough to take the movie all the way. But simmering backlash to The Brutalist’s knottier second act—and, to a lesser extent, some scuttlebutt regarding the use of AI—could do it in; that the feature peaks about halfway through has become something of a prevailing opinion.

[Read: Watch—and rewatch—this 215-minute film]

The other big favorites will probably have to settle for slightly less notable trophies. Anora won the Cannes equivalent of Best Picture and has received a slew of other awards nominations, but after getting passed over at the Golden Globes, it somehow feels like an outside shot in every category (except maybe Original Screenplay for Baker). Wicked was an audience sensation that got warm reviews (if not outright raves), but it seems competitive only for the design trophies. Conclave, a robust grown-up drama about the Vatican choosing a new pope, missed a predicted slot in Best Director, suggesting a broad sense of “liked but didn’t love” among voters. Dune: Part Two will be treated as its predecessor was: a technical achievement, first and foremost.

Two smaller-scale nominees that snuck into Best Picture, I’m Still Here and Nickel Boys, benefited from passionate reviews and well-run campaigns by their respective distributors, Sony Pictures Classics and Amazon MGM Studios. Another competitor, The Substance, sustained its festival buzz with a solid box-office run; pundits’ worries that its lurid material might be too polarizing for staid awards voters have now been swept away, and the lead actor, Demi Moore—who won a Golden Globe for her performance earlier this month—looks like the top candidate for the Best Actress trophy. Meanwhile, two films that debuted and played well at North American film festivals—and which critics assumed were in Best Picture contention—ended up just missing out: A Real Pain, which was still nominated for Best Supporting Actor (the recent Golden Globe winner Kieran Culkin is a favorite) and Original Screenplay, and Sing Sing (which got three other nominations, including Best Actor for its star, Colman Domingo).

[Read: The 10 best movies of 2024]

The one movie that defies many of the trends among this year’s Oscar crop—particularly its lean toward a more international, film-festival-friendly lineup of nominees—is A Complete Unknown, as old-fashioned an Oscar picture as they come. It’s an American-produced biopic from a reliable, well-liked filmmaker (James Mangold) featuring a major star (Timothée Chalamet) playing a national icon (Bob Dylan); it’s largely traditional but with a slightly arty twist. Critics and theatergoers alike have praised the movie, and Chalamet in particular has enjoyed a great year: Between a buzzy press tour and his starring turn in fellow Best Picture nom Dune: Part Two, he appears to be well positioned to earn Best Actor. But in the end, Chalamet might be too “normie” for the big trophy. That reading stands in stark contrast to the Oscars of even 10 or so years ago, when the Academy favored movies such as Argo and Spotlight, mature Hollywood dramas that told well-known true stories in effective ways. This year’s ceremony, to be hosted by Conan O’Brien on March 2, will demonstrate just how much that consensus has shifted.

*Lead image credit: Illustration by Allison Zaucha / The Atlantic. Sources: Sony Pictures Classics; A24; Page 114 / Why Not Productions / Pathé Films / France 2 Cinéma; Bettmann / Getty.

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The aged president of the United States and the young midwestern senator he’d chosen as his second-term running mate were having a private, late-night discussion. The commander in chief wanted to share his plan to make America greater than it’s ever been. He flung an arm toward one end of the room as he explained the most audacious idea in the history of the republic.

“Canada! Canada!”

The senator, a veteran of America’s most recent war, was dumbfounded. “A union with Canada?” he asked.

“Right. A union with Canada. … Canada is the wealthiest nation on earth … Canada will be the seat of power in the next century and, properly exploited and conserved, her riches can go on for a thousand years.”

Not only did the president want to annex Canada, but he then declared the need to bring Scandinavia—with populations ostensibly blessed by genetics—into a new Atlantic union. “Sweden, Denmark, Norway and Finland, to be specific. They will bring us the character and the discipline we so sadly lack. I know these people … I’m of German extraction, but many generations ago my people were Swedes who emigrated to Germany.”

Other NATO members would be frozen out, especially Great Britain, France, and Germany, nations the president believed had faded as world powers. He assured his running mate that eventually they would become part of the new union one way or another—even if that meant using force against former American allies to compel their submission to his plans for greatness. “Force?” the incredulous young senator asked. “You mean military force, Mr. President?”

“Yes, force,” the president said. “Only if necessary, and I doubt it ever would be. There are other kinds of pressure,” the president continued, “trade duties and barriers, financial measures, economic sanctions if you will.” In the short term, however, the president’s first move would be to meet with the Russians—and to propose a nuclear alliance against China.

These exchanges are—believe it or not—the plot of a 1965 political thriller, a book titled Night of Camp David.

The author Fletcher Knebel (who also co-wrote the more widely known Seven Days in May) came up with these plans as evidence that a fictional president named Mark Hollenbach has gone insane. In the story, a crisis unfolds as the young senator, Jim MacVeagh, realizes that Hollenbach has told no one else of his scheme. He races to alert other members of the government to the president’s madness before the potentially disastrous summit with the Kremlin.

Such ideas—including a messianic president talking about attacking other NATO members—were in 1965 perhaps too unnerving for Hollywood. Unlike Seven Days in May, a book about a military coup in the United States that was made into a well-regarded film starring Burt Lancaster and Kirk Douglas, Night of Camp David was never made into a movie despite decent reviews and more than four months on the New York Times best-seller list. In fairness, the market was glutted with such thrillers in the mid-’60s, but perhaps the idea was too disturbing even for Cold War America.

And now, 60 years later, Donald Trump—an elderly president with a young midwesterner as his vice president—is saying things that make him sound much like Mark Hollenbach. He, too, has proposed annexing Canada; he, too, has suggested that he would use coercion against U.S. friends and allies, including Panama and Denmark. He, too, seems to believe that some groups bring better genes to America than others. Like Hollenbach, he dreams of a giant Atlantic empire and seeks the kind of accommodation with Russia that would facilitate an exit from our traditional alliances, especially NATO.

One of the most important differences between the novel and real life is that until the titular night at Camp David, Hollenbach is a highly intelligent and decent man, a president respected by both parties after a successful first term. His new plans (which, in another moment of life imitating art, also include unleashing the FBI on America’s domestic “enemies”) are wildly out of character for him, and in the end, MacVeagh finally manages to convince the Cabinet that the president is suffering from a sudden illness, perhaps dementia, a nervous breakdown, or the onset of paranoia.

Trump, however, has always talked like this. He is regularly caught up in narcissistic and childlike flights of grandeur; he routinely lapses into fits of self-pitying grievance; he thinks himself besieged by enemies; and he talks about international affairs as if he is playing a giant game of Risk. (In the novel, MacVeagh at one point muses that the president’s “once brilliant mind now was obsessed with fancied tormentors and played like a child’s with the toy blocks of destiny.”) Whatever one thinks of the 47th president, he is today who he has always been.

I am not a doctor, and I am not diagnosing Trump. I’m also not the first one to notice the similarities between the fictional Hollenbach and Trump: The book was name-checked by Bob Woodward, Michael Beschloss, and Rachel Maddow during Trump’s first term, and then reissued in 2018 because of a resurgence of interest in its plot. Rumors that the United 93 director, Paul Greengrass, wanted to make a movie version circulated briefly in 2021, but the project is now likely languishing in development hell.

In any event, rereading Night of Camp David today raises fewer disturbing questions about Trump than it does about America. How did the United States, as a nation, travel the distance from 1965—when the things Trump says would have been considered signs of a mental or emotional disorder—to 2025, where Americans and their elected officials merely shrug at a babbling chief executive who talks repeatedly and openly about annexing Canada? Where is the Jim MacVeagh who would risk everything in his life to oppose such things? (I’ve read the book, and let me tell you, Vice President J. D. Vance is no Jim MacVeagh.)

The saddest part of revisiting the book now is how quaint it feels to read about the rest of the American government trying hard to do the right thing. When others in Congress and the Cabinet finally realize that Hollenbach is ill, they put their careers on the line to avert disaster. At the book’s conclusion, Hollenbach, aware that something’s wrong with him, agrees to give up the presidency. He resigns after agreeing to a cover story about having a serious heart condition, and the whole matter is hushed up.

Perhaps such happy endings are why some thrillers are comforting to read: Fear ends up giving way to reassurance. Unfortunately, in the real world, the GOP is not responding to Trump’s bizarre foreign-policy rants by rallying to the defense of America’s alliances and its national values as the leader of the free world. Instead, Republican members of the United States Senate are seeing how fast they can ram through the nomination of an unqualified talk-show host as secretary of defense.

In 2018, Knebel’s son was asked what his father would have thought about the renewed interest in the book. The younger Knebel answered: “He’d say, yeah, this is just what I was afraid of.” But at least Mark Hollenbach only dared whisper such ideas in the dark. Donald Trump says them, over and over, in broad daylight.

Related:

Emperor Trump’s new map The political logic of Trump’s international threats

Here are three new stories from The Atlantic:

MAGA is starting to crack. Turns out signing the Hunter Biden letter was a bad idea, Graeme Wood writes. Capitulation is contagious.

Today’s News

A federal judge temporarily blocked Donald Trump’s executive order ending birthright citizenship, calling it “blatantly unconstitutional.” Trump told the countries attending the World Economic Forum that if they don’t make their products in America, they will face a tariff. The Senate voted to confirm John Ratcliffe as the new director of the CIA.

Dispatches

Time-Travel Thursdays: Stephanie Bai spoke with Russell Berman about the last president to lose, then win, a reelection bid.

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Evening Read

America Is Divided. It Makes for Tremendous Content.

By Spencer Kornhaber

Amid the madness and tension of the most recent presidential-election campaign, a wild form of clickbait video started flying around the political internet. The titles described debates with preposterous numerical twists, such as “Can 1 Woke Teen Survive 20 Trump Supporters?” and “60 Republicans vs Democrats Debate the 2024 Election.” Fiery tidbits went viral: a trans man yelling at the conservative pundit Ben Shapiro for a full four minutes; Pete Buttigieg trying to calm an undecided voter seething with rage at the Democrats. These weren’t typical TV-news shouting matches, with commentators in suits mugging to cameras. People were staring into each other’s eyes, speaking spontaneously, litigating national divisions in a manner that looked like a support group and felt like The Jerry Springer Show.

Read the full article.

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Bishop Budde delivered a truly Christian message, Elizabeth Bruenig writes. Radio Atlantic: Even some J6ers don’t agree with Trump’s blanket pardon. Trump’s first shot in his war on the “deep state” OpenAI goes full MAGA. The animal story that RFK Jr. should know A possible substitute for mifepristone is already on pharmacy shelves.

Culture Break

Illustration by Jan Buchczik

Read. Will Bahr writes on growing up three doors down from the late director David Lynch. “David drove me to school a handful of times … Though he was more dad than director to us, David did carry a certain air.”

Contemplate. Here’s how philosophy can save your life, according to the happiness expert Arthur C. Brooks.

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Stephanie Bai contributed to this newsletter.

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Things were not looking great for OpenAI at the end of last year. The company had been struggling with major delays on its long-awaited GPT-5 and hemorrhaging key talent—notably, Chief Scientist Ilya Sutskever, Chief Technology Officer Mira Murati, and Alec Radford, the researcher who’d set the company on the path of developing GPTs in the first place. Several people who left either joined OpenAI competitors or launched new ones. The start-up’s relationship with Microsoft, its biggest backer and a crucial provider of the computing infrastructure needed to train and deploy its AI models, was being investigated by the Federal Trade Commission.

And then there was Elon Musk. He’d co-founded OpenAI with Sam Altman and others, but the two had become fierce rivals. As “first buddy” to Donald Trump, Musk was suing OpenAI while rapidly building up his own AI venture, xAI, whose chatbot, Grok, has become a central feature on X. Amid all of this drama, Altman was notified by his sister, Annie, that she intended to sue him; she alleges that he sexually abused her when she was a child. (That lawsuit was filed at the start of this month; Altman and members of his family strongly denied the allegations through a statement posted on X.)

It’s remarkable, then, that with its latest maneuver, OpenAI has once again reestablished its dominance. On Tuesday, President Donald Trump announced the Stargate Project, a joint venture between SoftBank, Oracle, and OpenAI to pump $500 billion of private-sector investment over four years into building out U.S. AI infrastructure, with the intent of securing America’s leadership in AI development against China. Very little is known about how any of this will work in practice, but OpenAI is speaking as though it will reap most of the rewards: In its blog post announcing the partnership, it said that all of the infrastructure will be “for OpenAI.” The company’s president, Greg Brockman, underscored the point on X: “$500B for AI data centers for OpenAI.”

In one fell swoop, the project reduces OpenAI’s dependence on Microsoft, grants OpenAI (rather than its competitors) a mind-boggling sum of capital for computer chips—the hottest commodity in the AI race—and ties the company to Trump’s “America First” agenda, providing the best possible protective shield against Musk. (Musk blasted the project yesterday, alleging that it doesn’t “actually have the money,” which Altman then denied.) OpenAI (which entered into a corporate partnership with The Atlantic last year) did not respond to a request for comment.

It’s unclear whether Stargate will even be able to spend $500 billion in four years. But consider just how astounding that goal is. In late 2023, as Microsoft started spending roughly $50 billion a year on expanding cloud-computing capacity, one semiconductor analyst had already declared that that was “the largest infrastructure buildout that humanity has ever seen.” Rene Haas, the CEO of the semiconductor company Arm Holdings, said that even this pace of expansion across the industry would put global computing on track to consume more energy than India by 2030.

[Read: Microsoft’s hypocrisy on AI]

The move is a masterful display of Altman’s power at work. Altman has shown an uncanny ability throughout his career to get himself out of the toughest binds by leaning on his influential network, ingratiating himself with the powerful, and fundraising extraordinary amounts of capital. It was for these reasons that Altman successfully orchestrated his return to OpenAI as CEO in late 2023, after the board briefly ousted him. And it is why so many people have expressed alarm about his leadership in recent years. This week, he was at it again, standing next to Trump during the Stargate announcement in a symbol of solidarity and praising him later on X: “watching @potus more carefully recently has really changed my perspective on him … i’m not going to agree with him on everything, but i think he will be incredible for the country in many ways!”

Although OpenAI has led the pack, many AI companies have worked over the past two years to influence policy and grow without government interference. Silicon Valley has always operated like this, and many other major tech CEOs took their place next to Trump this week. But the demands of generative AI are meaningfully different from, say, those of a traditional search engine or a social-media platform: Its development requires far more crucial physical infrastructure. Generative-AI models are of a size that necessitate the build-out of data centers at unprecedented scale. This, in turn, will give Silicon Valley outsize influence over the placement of power plants and even water lines across the country. Already, the past few years of dramatic data-center expansion have affected power reliability for millions of Americans and threatened to raise the cost of drinking water.

[Read: Billions of people in the palm of Trump’s hand]

The tech industry expertly laid the groundwork for this outcome: It made big promises about the wondrous potential of its technologies while creating a sense of peril by evoking China’s own technological advancement. During the Stargate announcement, Trump said that he would do what he could to strip away any regulatory barriers. “China is a competitor, and others are competitors,” he said. “I’m going to help a lot through emergency declarations, because we have an emergency. We have to get this stuff built.”

Standing at the same podium, Altman emphasized America’s leadership. “I’m thrilled we get to do this in the United States of America,” he said. And then, in recognition of his new benefactor: “We wouldn’t be able to do this without you, Mr. President.”

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Donald Trump is now the second president to return to the White House after losing a bid for reelection. The first was Grover Cleveland, who ran a successful campaign in 1884 and 1892. I spoke with my colleague Russell Berman about his recent story on Cleveland’s legacy, the ways Trump’s win may reshape it, and how an electoral loss can become a political advantage.

Stephanie Bai: In your recent story, you wrote that some of Grover Cleveland’s fans aren’t too pleased with the comparisons being made between him and Donald Trump. But one similarity that struck me is how both Trump and Cleveland campaigned on the image of being political outsiders to connect with working-class voters—even though Cleveland co-owned a successful law practice and Trump’s return to office has been supported by titans of industry.

Did their initial electoral loss and the subsequent four-year gap between campaigns give any credence to their political-outsider narratives?

Russell Berman: Certainly for Trump, I think that is true. He was able to stand on the sidelines for the past four years and criticize former President Joe Biden for basically everything. Trump blamed him for inflation and made voters think more rosily about his first term than they did while he was in office. And he repeated what he had done successfully in 2015 and 2016, which was to position himself as an outsider—except back then, he really was an outsider to the political system.

Cleveland did that, too, to a lesser extent. By not being in office for four years, he was able to run as an outsider. Similarly to Trump, that’s what he had done earlier in his political career. Even in his runs for office for mayor of Buffalo and then for governor of New York, he was seen as the reluctant candidate. There’s some debate about whether that was true or if he just wanted voters to think that, but he was able to position himself as this anti-corruption populist. And unlike Trump, he actually followed through on his commitment to clean government once in office.

Stephanie: At his inauguration, Trump said he was “saved by God to make America great again” and serve another term. Do you think that his historic political comeback will affect the direction of his presidency?

Russell: Trump has always had this desire to resist any constraints on him and on the presidency. This is also what separates him from Cleveland, and probably what will end up separating their second terms. Cleveland adhered to the constitutional limits on the presidency. He didn’t try to expand the power of the presidency in the way that Trump has already in his second term, with his early executive orders going after birthright citizenship and trying to refuse to spend money appropriated by Congress. Trump is going to see how much he can get away with and what kind of resistance, if any, he’ll face within the Republican Party or in the courts.

But Cleveland’s comeback turned sour soon after he returned to the White House. His second term was marred by a very deep recession. The economy obviously is pretty strong right now, as we speak, but that can change quickly—especially because some economists are concerned about what Trump’s tariffs could do. So there is a warning for Trump in Cleveland’s story because Cleveland’s second term, similar to a lot of presidential second terms, was much rougher than his first.

Read More

The president Trump is pushing aside: Grover Cleveland enthusiasts aren’t thrilled, Russell Berman reports. The lessons of 1884: When Grover Cleveland clinched the Democratic nomination and faced an allegation of misconduct, he created a new political playbook, Susan Wise Bauer writes. The independence of the executive: In an address to Princeton University published in 1900, Grover Cleveland spoke about the history and political deliberations surrounding his former office. Attempts to undo a presidential legacy: Benjamin Harrison, in the twilight of his presidency, sent a treaty to the Senate to advance the annexation of Hawai‘i. Weeks later, Cleveland’s first act as president was to withdraw that treaty and order an investigation of the American-led overthrow of the Hawaiian Kingdom.

Late yesterday afternoon, the president of the United States transformed, very briefly, into the comms guy for a new tech company. At a press conference capping his first full day back in the White House, Donald Trump stood beside three of the most influential executives in the world—Sam Altman of OpenAI, Larry Ellison of Oracle, and Masayoshi Son of SoftBank—and announced the Stargate Project, “the largest AI infrastructure project, by far, in history.”

Although Trump’s rhetoric may seem to suggest otherwise, Stargate is not a new federal program but rather a private venture uniting these three companies with other leaders in the AI race, such as Microsoft and Nvidia. The new company—for which Son will serve as chairman and OpenAI will be in charge of operations—will spend a planned $500 billion over the next four years to build data centers, power plants, and other such digital infrastructure in the United States, all in hopes of developing ever more advanced AI models. Trump presented Stargate as a victory for his “America First” agenda, saying that it may “lead to something that could be the biggest of all”—an apparent reference to superintelligent machines. The executives concurred, speaking of AI’s potential to generate cures for cancer and heart disease. “It’s all taking place right here in America,” Trump said.

Although the project will likely produce many jobs and generate some value for the companies involved, it is hard to ignore the feeling that Trump needs this more than any of the men he was standing beside. “It’s an honor that they want to come to our country” for their AI-infrastructure build-out, Trump said of these “three great people, great CEOs, and great geniuses.” Over the course of roughly 45 minutes, he said seven separate times that it was an honor to host them, adding, “For Larry to be here and do this is very unusual, because he doesn’t do this stuff; he doesn’t need it.”

He may be correct, and not just about Ellison. Altman has reportedly proposed similarly massive AI-infrastructure projects to investors in the Middle East and computer-chip makers in Asia. Just this week, Jensen Huang, the CEO of the computer-chip giant Nvidia, visited China—America’s biggest geopolitical foe—apparently thanking local staff and lauding his company’s contributions to “one of the greatest markets, the greatest countries in the world.” SoftBank is a Japanese corporation. Oracle has substantial investments and AI infrastructure in the Middle East. A United Arab Emirates firm, MGX, is Stargate’s fourth initial financial backer, and the British chip manufacturer Arm is a technical partner alongside Nvidia. In other words, AI development is proceeding within, but also outside of, the U.S., Stargate or not. (The Atlantic recently entered into a corporate partnership with OpenAI.)

As such, the project may be less a vote of confidence in Trump’s vision for America so much as the latest sign of the country’s capitulation to the AI industry, which has repeatedly pushed for lenient regulations and invoked the specter of China to clear a path for rapid development. (Although, to be clear, tech giants have done plenty of capitulating to Trump too.) Trump emphasized that his role is to welcome these companies and get out of the way: “We’re going to make it as easy as it can be,” he said. He also referenced China more than once. “China is a competitor; others are competitors. We want [AI] to be in this country,” he said, later adding, “This is money that normally would have gone to China.”

[Read: A virtual cell is a ‘holy grail’ of science. It’s getting closer.]

AI may well change the world, but the announcement provided little in terms of specifics of how it would get there. Despite promises of AI-enabled cancer vaccines and personalized medicine, exactly how the technology will revolutionize the military, biology, or any other industry is unclear, and the path to “superintelligence” is hazier still. Even if generative AI yields productivity gains and speeds up medical research, there will be trade-offs: The technology and its infrastructure are as likely to displace millions of jobs, require massive natural-gas and nuclear power plants to meet tremendous electricity demands, raise consumer energy prices, and take up substantial public land. Even some AI enthusiasts expressed skepticism: Elon Musk broke with Trump by publicly bashing the announcement, posting on X that SoftBank doesn’t “actually have the money” to support Stargate. (Altman called this characterization “wrong” in a post of his own.)

To hear these companies tell it, however, the path forward is all but inevitable. Put together, major American tech companies are already spending perhaps hundreds of billions of dollars a year developing their technology with a questionable path to profit. Instead of acting as a deterrent, those costs have been spun into a selling point. Executives at OpenAI, Anthropic, Microsoft, Nvidia, and their competitors are fond of touting the lucrative sums—$100 billion, or perhaps $7 trillion—their technology will require, as if to say: This will be big. Don’t miss out. They have seemingly willed demand into existence.

In an interview after the press conference, Altman said that Stargate “means we can create AI and AGI in the USA. It wouldn’t have been obvious this was possible—I think with a different president, it might not have been possible—but we are thrilled to get to do this. I think it will be great for Americans.” Now the White House is fully embracing tech executives’ messaging. But all of this started well before Trump’s inauguration. Ellison himself said that Stargate had been in the works for “a long time,” and the nationwide build-out of data centers, power plants, and transmission lines is well under way. Days before his term ended, Joe Biden signed an executive order for “advancing United States leadership in artificial intelligence infrastructure,” which would open up federal lands for data-center construction. (Trump, when asked if he would rescind the order, responded, “No, I wouldn’t do that. That sounds to me like something I would like.”)

[Read: Microsoft’s hypocrisy on AI]

Winning the generative-AI race would, in Trump’s telling, be a display of his geopolitical and economic might. But only a day into his presidency, Stargate showed Trump taking cues from China, Microsoft, OpenAI, and Biden all at once—from a foreign adversary, the tech giants he vilified in 2020, and a political rival he has ruthlessly vilified. During yesterday’s briefing, Trump read a statement that the tech executives had apparently prepared. “This monumental undertaking is a resounding declaration of confidence in America’s potential under a new president,” he said, looking up from the dais and grinning at the final two words. “New president. I didn’t say it; they did. So I appreciate that, fellas.” Altman and the others knew exactly how to play this. Trump—and the rest of the nation—is merely tagging along.

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Within hours of taking office on Monday, Donald Trump released a raft of executive orders addressing targets he’d gone after throughout his campaign, such as immigration, government spending, and DEI. He issued full pardons for 1,500 January 6 rioters, and signed the first eight executive orders—of dozens so far—in front of a cheering crowd in a sports arena. But amid the deluge of actions, Trump also signed an executive order that takes aim at his own federal bureaucracy—and allows his perceived enemies within the government to be investigated and punished.

The executive order, titled “Ending the Weaponization of the Federal Government,” opens by stating as fact that the Biden administration and its allies used the government to take action against political opponents. Democrats, it says, “engaged in an unprecedented, third-world weaponization of prosecutorial power to upend the democratic process.” Its stated purpose, to establish “a process to ensure accountability for the previous administration’s weaponization of the Federal Government against the American people,” reads like a threat. The order calls out particular targets, including the Department of Justice and the Federal Trade Commission—agencies that Trump and his supporters allege betrayed them under President Joe Biden. Trump’s team, led by whoever is appointed attorney general and director of national intelligence, will be sniffing out what it determines to be signs of political bias. These officials will be responsible for preparing reports to be submitted to the president, with recommendations for “appropriate remedial actions.”

What exactly those remedial actions would look like is not clear. The vagueness of the order could result in a “long-running, desultory ‘investigation,’” Quinta Jurecic, a fellow in governance studies at the Brookings Institution and a contributing writer to The Atlantic, told me in an email.

But the information gathered in such investigations could lead to some federal employees being publicly criticized or otherwise punished by Trump. And beyond theatrics, this order could open the door to the “prosecutions that Trump has threatened against his political opponents,” Jurecic noted. Put another way: In an executive order suggesting that Biden’s administration weaponized the government, Trump is laying out how his administration could do the same.

Trump’s Cabinet is still taking shape, and whoever ends up in the top legal and intelligence roles will influence how this order is executed. Pam Bondi, Trump’s attorney-general pick, is an established loyalist with long-standing ties to Trump (he reportedly considered her for the role in his first term, but worried that her past scandals would impede her confirmation). Bondi, in her first Senate confirmation hearing last week, attempted to downplay Trump’s persistent rhetoric on retribution, and avoided directly answering questions about how she, as head of the Justice Department, would engage with his plans to punish enemies. She said that she wouldn’t entertain hypotheticals about the president, though she did claim that “there will never be an enemies list within the Department of Justice.” Tulsi Gabbard, Trump’s nominee for director of national intelligence, has a history of political shape-shifting, though she has lately shown fealty to MAGA world.

Well before Trump took office, his allies were signaling their interest in turning federal bureaucracy, which they deride as “the deep state,” into a system driven by unquestioning loyalty to the president. As my colleague Russell Berman wrote in 2023, some conservatives have argued, without even cloaking “their aims in euphemisms about making government more effective and efficient,” that bureaucrats should be loyal to Trump. Russ Vought, the nominee for director of the Office of Management and Budget (an unflashy but powerful federal position), who today appeared before Congress for the second time, has previously written that the executive branch should use “boldness to bend or break the bureaucracy to the presidential will.”

The executive order on weaponizing the federal government is consistent with the goals of retribution that Trump expressed on the campaign trail. And accusing rivals of using the government for personal ends has been a favored Republican tactic in recent years. Still, this order confirms that, now that he is back in office, Trump will have no qualms toggling the levers of executive power to follow through on his promises of revenge. Many of Trump’s executive actions this week are sending a clear message: If you are loyal, you are protected. If not, you may be under attack.

Related:

Trump’s pardons are sending a crystal-clear message. Why 2025 is different from 2017

Here are three new stories from The Atlantic:

Trump’s second term might have already peaked. The attack on birthright citizenship is a big test for the Constitution. You’re being alienated from your own attention, Chris Hayes writes.

Today’s News

A shooter killed at least one student and injured another before killing himself at Antioch High School in Nashville. Donald Trump said last night that by February 1, he would place a 10 percent tariff on Chinese products. He has also pledged to put a 25 percent tariff on products from Canada and Mexico by the same date. An Israeli military assault in the occupied West Bank began yesterday, killing at least 10 people and injuring 40 others, according to the Palestinian Health Ministry.

Evening Read

Illustration by Akshita Chandra / The Atlantic. Source: Getty

Be Like Sisyphus

By Gal Beckerman

This anxious century has not given people much to feel optimistic about—yet most of us resist pessimism. Things must improve. They will get better. They have to. But when it comes to the big goals—global stability, a fair economy, a solution for the climate crisis—it can feel as if you’ve been pushing a boulder up a hill only to see it come rolling back down, over and over: all that distance lost, all that huffing and puffing wasted. The return trek to the bottom of the hill is long, and the boulder just sits there, daring you to start all over—if you’re not too tired.

Read the full article.

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Stephanie Bai contributed to this newsletter.

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