A criminal case is not a chit. It’s not something you trade in exchange for political favors.

Perhaps the always-transactional President Donald Trump does not understand the importance of keeping the Department of Justice independent from partisan politics. But Attorney General Pam Bondi and Acting Deputy Attorney General Emil Bove should.

Seven lawyers have now resigned rather than comply with Bove’s order to file a motion to dismiss the indictment against New York City Mayor Eric Adams, who was charged in September in a public-corruption case. The Trump administration’s handpicked interim U.S. attorney in the Southern District of New York, Danielle Sassoon, quit rather than file the motion. According to a memo from Bove, Sassoon was directed to dismiss the case, not because of the merits of the case, but on the grounds that the charges were politically motivated and that they would interfere with Adams’s abilities to enforce violent-crime and immigration laws. A particularly galling detail of the directive was that the case be dismissed “without prejudice,” meaning that it could be filed again—a detail that created at least the impression that the Trump administration would be keeping Adams on a short leash to ensure his compliance with its wishes. Threatening prosecution for political gain is a violation of legal ethics.

[Quinta Jurecic: What will happen if the Trump administration defies a court order?]

According to Sassoon’s own account, she appealed to the attorney general, to no avail, and resigned yesterday. In a letter to Bondi, Sassoon wrote that her duty to administer the law impartially included “prosecuting a validly returned indictment regardless of whether its dismissal would be politically advantageous, either for the defendant or those who appointed me.” Her firm stance triggered a cascade of resignations throughout the Department of Justice, from five lawyers at DOJ’s Public Integrity Section who similarly refused to file the motion to dismiss. Bove suspended the two assistant U.S. attorneys working on the case with Sassoon.

On Friday, one of those prosecutors, Hagan Scotten, resigned in a scathing letter to Bove. He called the accusation about political motivation for the indictment “so weak as to be transparently pretextual.” He said the other purported reason for the dismissal was even worse, blasting Bove’s use of criminal charges “to induce an elected official to support its policy objectives,” which he called “a violation of our laws and traditions.” He closed: “If no lawyer within earshot of the president is willing to give him that advice, then I expect you will eventually find someone who is enough of a fool, or enough of a coward, to file your motion, but it was never going to be me.”

Ultimately, a senior lawyer at the Public Integrity Section filed the motion, in an apparent effort to spare others from losing their jobs. It is easy to say all of the lawyers in the section should have resigned, but like many Americans, government lawyers have mortgages, child care, tuition, and other bills to pay. Moreover, if all 30 lawyers in the Public Integrity Section were to resign, they would in all likelihood be replaced with Trump loyalists, who would no doubt bear very little resemblance to the title of the section where they would work. One hopes that the judge assigned to the case will hold a hearing before granting the motion to dismiss, putting Bove under oath to explain his efforts, which so clearly seem to undermine the department’s integrity.

Lest anyone believe that Sassoon and Scotten are some sort of Democratic Party operatives, both have sterling conservative credentials. Sassoon is a former law clerk to the late Justice Antonin Scalia and an active member of the Federalist Society. Scotten is a military veteran, two-time Bronze Star recipient, and former law clerk to then-Judge Brett Kavanaugh and Supreme Court Chief Justice John R. Roberts Jr. This is not about party politics. It is about the Department of Justice’s responsibility to uphold the law.

I know from my 20 years as a federal prosecutor that DOJ lawyers take an oath to support and defend the Constitution, not to carry out the president’s political agenda. While they may be expected to honor the president’s enforcement priorities, they are—or, at least, were—insulated from direct political control over any particular case in order to ensure the fair administration of justice and the public trust. The Department’s Principles of Federal Prosecution specifically state that prosecutors may not consider “political association, activities, or beliefs” when making charging decisions. In addition, for the past 40 years, attorneys general have restricted communications between the White House and DOJ attorneys to protect their decisions from political influence.

[Read: Another edgelord comes to power]

Imagine a world where a president could use the threat of criminal charges or the promise to dismiss them as a way of coercing a public official to advance his policy agenda. Rather than serving the voters who elected that official in good faith, such a person would be beholden to the president, doing his bidding for fear of the criminal consequences. A governor or a mayor who agreed to such terms could even break laws with impunity so long as he went along with the president’s agenda. That kind of arrangement would violate the rule of law—the concept that the law applies equally to everyone. Moreover, it could have disastrous consequences for countless people living in that official’s jurisdiction.

DOJ lawyers pride themselves on working for an organization that is unique among federal agencies in its independence from politics. The heroes of the department are the attorneys general throughout history who stood up for the rule of law—Robert Jackson, who also worked as a Nuremberg prosecutor; Elliot Richardson, who resigned rather than fire the independent counsel during the Nixon administration; and Edward Levi, who implemented the post-Watergate norms and principles that guide federal prosecutors to this day. In more recent times, Sally Yates accepted termination in 2017 rather than implement the first iteration of Trump’s clearly unconstitutional travel ban from Muslim-majority countries. It had to be amended twice before it was upheld by the Supreme Court.

And now add the Valentine’s Day Seven to that pantheon of DOJ heroes.

* Source Images: John Lamparski / Getty; Erik McGregor / LightRocket / Getty; Yuki Iwamura / Bloomberg / Getty; Mikroman6 / Getty.

This is Atlantic Intelligence, a newsletter in which our writers help you wrap your mind around artificial intelligence and a new machine age. Sign up here.

Elon Musk and his Department of Government Efficiency appear to have wide-reaching plans to remake the government with AI. Thomas Shedd, a former Tesla engineer who is now the head of the Technology Transformation Services, a federal IT division, invoked an “AI-first strategy” at a recent staff meeting.

There’s nothing wrong with using AI to streamline and improve federal services per se. The technology could be implemented democratically, with transparent guardrails and in service of constituents. But using AI to sweep away and replace swaths of civil servants, Bruce Schneier and Nathan Sanders argued in a story for The Atlantic this week, is a very different matter. “If human workers are widely replaced with AI,” they wrote, “executives will have unilateral authority to instantaneously alter the behavior of the government, profoundly raising the stakes for transitions of power in democracy.”

The civil service, which translates federal policies into actions, consists of an enormous number of public servants and thus can be slow to change. That might be frustrating, but it also prevents executives from rapidly, unilaterally transforming the workings of the government. Unlike an army of human bureaucrats, an army of AI agents could, almost on a whim, be redirected to upend social-welfare programs, alter law-enforcement directives, and sidestep Congress. Donald Trump’s “unprecedented purge of the civil service might be the last time a president needs to replace the human beings in government in order to dictate its new functions,” Schneier and Sanders wrote. “Future leaders may do so at the press of a button.”

Illustration by The Atlantic: Sources: Getty.

It’s Time to Worry About DOGE’s AI Plans

By Bruce Schneier and Nathan E. Sanders

Donald Trump and Elon Musk’s chaotic approach to reform is upending government operations. Critical functions have been halted, tens of thousands of federal staffers are being encouraged to resign, and congressional mandates are being disregarded. The next phase: The Department of Government Efficiency reportedly wants to use AI to cut costs. According to The Washington Post, Musk’s group has started to run sensitive data from government systems through AI programs to analyze spending and determine what could be pruned. This may lead to the elimination of human jobs in favor of automation. As one government official who has been tracking Musk’s DOGE team told the Post, the ultimate aim is to use AI to replace “the human workforce with machines.” (Spokespeople for the White House and DOGE did not respond to requests for comment.)

Using AI to make government more efficient is a worthy pursuit, and this is not a new idea. The Biden administration disclosed more than 2,000 AI applications in development across the federal government. For example, FEMA has started using AI to help perform damage assessment in disaster areas. The Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services has started using AI to look for fraudulent billing. The idea of replacing dedicated and principled civil servants with AI agents, however, is new—and complicated.

Read the full article.

What to Read Next

The Trump administration’s other major plan for AI is far less futuristic. The president and the oil-and-gas industry—which donated tens of millions to his reelection campaign—say fossil fuels may power the way to America’s AI dominance.

The chatbot boom, to hear tech executives tell it, will require unprecedented amounts of power, of which there currently isn’t enough. Soon, America just won’t have enough electricity, pushing the country further into the “energy emergency” Trump declared on his first day in office—and presenting an opportunity to build out natural-gas plants to power the data centers that AI relies on. Already, several major utilities are planning major fossil-fuel build-outs to meet growing demand from the technology. “The problem, though, is that the U.S. is not actually in an energy crunch,” I wrote in an article earlier this week. Rather than requiring more fossil fuels, AI seems to offer a pretense for expanding their production.

P.S.

Elon Musk appears on top of the world, or at least the U.S., at the moment. But his influence rests largely on the success of Tesla—and the car company is in an ever more precarious position, with Musk himself to blame, Patrick George writes.

— Matteo

The executive order rechristening the body of water known internationally as the “Gulf of Mexico” is not an easy document to take seriously. Portions of it read like a child’s research paper: “The Gulf is also home to vibrant American fisheries teeming with snapper, shrimp, grouper, stone crab, and other species.” The import of this and other facts is never quite explained. Perhaps the snapper will taste better now that it comes from the “Gulf of America.”

So, no, this is not a serious document. Is it an illegitimate one? The Associated Press, one of the world’s premier news-gathering organizations, appears to think so. Last month, a few days after Donald Trump issued the order, the AP announced that it would continue using the name “Gulf of Mexico.” This week, the Trump administration retaliated by barring the AP’s reporters from covering White House events, placing the agency in an unenviable bind. The AP argues, convincingly, that denying access to a media outlet because of its choice of words violates the First Amendment. To cave now would be to surrender on the constitutional issue. But this is a fight that Trump is clearly happy to have—especially to the extent that it draws attention away from his more egregious affronts to the public interest and the rule of law. And it’s a fight that the AP probably should never have picked in the first place.

A huge share of Trump’s actions over the past four weeks fall somewhere on the spectrum from “legally questionable” to “plainly unconstitutional.” The “Gulf of America” rebrand is not one of them. A federal law passed in 1890 and updated in 1947 empowers the U.S. Board on Geographic Names to “standardize” how the federal government refers to places. The board answers to the secretary of the interior, who answers to the president. That’s the same legal authority under which the Obama administration changed the name “Mt. McKinley” to “Denali.”

[David Frum: The ‘Gulf of America’ is an admission of defeat]

In fact, if Barack Obama hadn’t done that, we probably wouldn’t be talking about the body of water between Mexico and Florida today. In physics, every action generates an equal and opposite reaction. In the Trump era, every progressive action generates an opposite MAGA reaction—but not an equal one. Trump’s executive order on “Restoring Names That Honor American Greatness” began by changing “Denali” back to “Mt. McKinley.” Then, like an infomercial pitchman—but wait, there’s more—Trump tossed in the “Gulf of America” change, almost as a bonus.

Substantively, the stunt has nothing in common with the Obama administration’s decision on Mt. McKinley. The state of Alaska formally requested the change back in 1975, hardly a time of rampant woke excess, on the basis that “Denali”—the mountain’s historic name, still widely used by Alaskans—was a much better fit than “Mt. McKinley,” after a president who had never set foot in the state. Still, at a certain level of abstraction, Trump’s campaign to rename (and re-rename) mountains, gulfs, and military bases follows the same logic as the progressive version. Renaming a base named for a Confederate general, or a school named for a racist ex-president, is a declaration that values have changed since the days when those names were seen as acceptable. But in a democracy, values are determined by majority rule, and they don’t shift in only one direction. They can shift back.

The more that politicians mess around with place names, the more important it becomes for avowedly apolitical institutions to respond according to consistent principles. This is not so easy to do. In its style-guide update, the AP said that it would continue using “Gulf of Mexico” because the Gulf is an international body of water that has been known by that name for 400 years. “As a global news agency that disseminates news around the world,” it said, “the AP must ensure that place names and geography are easily recognizable to all audiences.” It would, however, honor the change back to “Mt. McKinley” because, it said, “the area lies solely in the United States and as president, Trump has the authority to change federal geographical names within the country.” (The Atlantic’s style guide matches the AP’s on this matter.)

But the federal law giving Trump the power to rename Denali applies explicitly “to both domestic and foreign geographic names.” If the AP is going to follow the federal government’s legally valid naming conventions, then it should go along with “Gulf of America” by default, no matter how stupid it sounds. Carving an exception because of the Gulf’s 400-year history is arbitrary—the same sort of appeal to tradition that reactionaries make to prevent progressive-coded changes. Why, indeed, should modern society continue to honor a name imposed by Spanish conquistadors? Nor is it uncommon for different countries to call a shared body of water by different names: What Americans call the “Rio Grande,” Mexicans call the “Rio Bravo.” This has not caused any kind of breakdown of the collective geographic imagination.

News organizations routinely change how they refer to places, and many of these decisions carry the whiff of politics. In 2019, the AP announced that the Ukrainian city of Kiev would henceforth be spelled “Kyiv.” (Chicken Kiev would remain untouched.) “To many Ukrainians,” the AP explained, “the former spelling Kiev appears outdated because it is associated with a time when Ukraine was part of the Russian and Soviet states, rather than an independent country.” That is a perfectly understandable reason for making the change, but it is also, on its face, a political one. By contrast, news organizations have resisted Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s request to refer to his country as “Türkiye”—even after the U.S. State Department agreed to do so in 2023.

[Read: A Super Bowl spectacle over the gulf]

These sorts of principled judgments are, as I said, hard to make. Trump makes them harder still by blowing past all standards of reasonableness or good faith, leaving high-minded institutions struggling to adapt. Even the best-designed rules break down when one side starts playing a completely different game. What if our president had decided to call it the “Gulf of Trump”? What if he had tried to rename the Atlantic Ocean? The man forces us to contemplate the previously unthinkable, because there is no norm or tradition that he won’t abrogate. For 134 years, “follow the Board on geographic names” was a simple, commonsense rule to follow. Then Trump got his hands on the Board.

None of this means that the Gulf of Mexico is now actually the Gulf of America in any kind of objective or even linguistic sense. Trump controls the Department of the Interior but not the English language. More than 12 years after it was renamed for Governor Hugh L. Carey, New Yorkers still refer to the passage between Lower Manhattan and Brooklyn as the “Battery Tunnel.” Washington, D.C.’s airport was named for Ronald Reagan in 1998; many if not most residents still call it “National.” The American people can decide for themselves whether to go with the “Gulf of Mexico” or the “Gulf of America.” And if you ever find yourself at a loss, here’s a tip: You can always just call it the “Gulf.”

Just a few years ago, then-Senator J. D. Vance of Ohio said that if Donald Trump were reelected, he would advise the president to “fire every single mid-level bureaucrat, every civil servant in the administrative state” and “replace them with our people.” Nearly four weeks into his new term, Trump appears to be executing that plan, attempting to fire or place on administrative leave thousands of federal employees perceived to be politically adverse to him, and reclassifying many more to make them fireable at will. Those hired in their stead will be vetted by Elon Musk’s so-called Department of Government Efficiency, thanks to a new executive order.

Last week, two sets of FBI employees filed the first lawsuits challenging these moves on First Amendment grounds. Both allege that the employees were targeted as a form of retaliation. The essence of a First Amendment retaliation claim is that although the government may deny someone a valuable benefit for any number of reasons, “there are some reasons upon which the government may not rely,” including, pointedly, someone’s “constitutionally protected speech or associations.” The plaintiffs in the FBI cases allege that the Trump administration is demanding a list of 6,000 agents involved in investigating the January 6 and Mar-a-Lago cases in order to possibly punish or purge thousands of agents Trump perceives (surely wrongly in many instances) to be politically opposed to him. The FBI employees should win their First Amendment claims, especially if any mass purge takes place.

[Tom Nichols: Trump and Musk are destroying the basics of a healthy democracy]

Zooming out, thousands of other federal employees could well make similar constitutional claims, because what the Trump administration is doing with the FBI appears to be but a small part of a much larger effort to resurrect a government-wide political-patronage system, something the First Amendment forbids.

From the founding until 1883, a “spoils”—as in, “to the victor belong the spoils”—system of political patronage took root and flourished in the federal government. New administrations would fire federal officials belonging to the other party and hire their own people. President Andrew Jackson became particularly associated with the spoils system after campaigning on rooting out corruption and firing nearly 10 percent of federal employees, replacing many with supporters upon taking office, but he was far from the only president to reward political cronies with federal jobs, as the University of Pennsylvania law professor Kate Shaw has explained.

Political-patronage systems promote corruption at the expense of effective governance, and Americans grew dissatisfied with the cronyism and moblike rule that flowed from the spoils system. Following decades of effort to enact civil-service reform, momentum surged when a disgruntled office-seeker assassinated President James Garfield in 1881. In response, Congress passed the Pendleton Act in 1883 to “regulate and improve the civil service of the United States,” establishing a merit-based system for federal hiring.

Under the current federal civil-service regime, fewer than 4,000 federal employees—including constitutional officers, such as the attorney general and secretary of state, and top agency officials—serve at the president’s pleasure, fireable for political disagreements or pretty much any other reason. The overwhelming majority of the more than 2 million workers who daily serve the American people in the federal civil service are wisely protected from political firings.

That protection flows from something even deeper than the Pendleton Act and other federal statutes. In 1947, the Supreme Court was faced with a First Amendment challenge to the Hatch Act, which limits the extent to which most federal officials can engage in overt political activity while in office. The Court upheld the act but made clear that the First Amendment would prohibit Congress from directly restricting the ability to hold federal offices to members of one party, such as by enacting “a regulation providing that no Republican … shall be appointed to federal office.” Notwithstanding the Court’s guidance, the worst practices of political patronage continued to crop up in state and local governments, forcing the Supreme Court to elaborate the point and put a stop to spoils practices in a series of cases.

The most relevant case to our present-day situation began in 1980, when Republican Illinois Governor Jim Thompson issued an executive order freezing all hiring across state agencies absent express permission from his office. Requests for exceptions became routine, and an agency was set up inside the governor’s office to vet them. Five job-seekers sued, claiming that in practice, the order and exceptions were being used to create a political-patronage system favoring Republicans.

[Annie Lowrey: Civil servants are not America’s enemies]

When the case reached the Supreme Court, the Court held that systems of political patronage like the one established by Thompson violate the First Amendment. Quoting one of its first patronage decisions, the Court reaffirmed that “conditioning public employment on the provision of support for the favored political party ‘unquestionably inhibits protected belief and association.’” Doing so “pressures employees to pledge political allegiance to a party with which they prefer not to associate, to work for the election of political candidates they do not support, and to contribute money to be used to further policies with which they do not agree.” It is “tantamount to coerced belief,” something the First Amendment plainly forbids. Nor did it matter that Thompson had not issued a direct order specifying that only Republicans would be hired, because “what the First Amendment precludes the government from commanding directly, it also precludes the government from accomplishing indirectly.”

There is an exception to the First Amendment bar on political hirings and firings. Those officials in legitimate policy making positions can be dismissed for political reasons without offending the Constitution. That’s because in America’s representative democracy, it is important that lawful policy reflects the political will of the voters, as voiced by the executive. But the executive cannot simply label large numbers of officials “policy makers” and render them all fireable at will. Instead, courts must look through labels to the substance of an official’s role and determine whether political alignment is necessary in that role. In any given dispute, the government has the burden of demonstrating that a particular position is in fact a policy-making one before the job-holder may be fired based on raw political allegiance.

The Trump administration seems set on flouting this precedent. Throughout the 2024 campaign, Trump and those around him signaled that the MAGA movement would expect total loyalty from federal officials. On Inauguration Day, after taking office, Trump suggested that “all” of the “Biden bureaucrats” should be fired. The same day, Trump signed one executive order to freeze much merit-based federal hiring, and he signed another that will help him consolidate political control over existing employees. The latter order conveniently expanded the number of officials to be classified as policy makers—from fewer than 4,000 to potentially hundreds of thousands. The administration also expanded the type of agency hiring authority that would make bringing in loyalists easier. And late last month, federal employees were informed by email that the majority of federal agencies are likely to downsize, and that loyalty will be a determining factor in deciding who stays.

Meanwhile, purges of employees whom Trump likely views as politically misaligned with him have begun to roll out across agencies. The administration has directed agencies to fire most probationary staff, nearly all of whom were hired during the Biden administration. Department of Education employees were reportedly put on leave for simply attending a DEI training in 2017. The FBI officials who sued say they have reason to believe that the Department of Justice is planning to engage in the mass unlawful firing of agents who had any involvement in certain investigations related to President Trump, including the January 6 cases, and the lawful search of Trump’s residence at Mar-a-Lago. DOJ attorneys involved in the January 6 prosecutions were terminated because their work on those cases purportedly would prevent them from “faithfully” implementing Trump’s agenda. At the beginning of February, the administration moved to shut down USAID entirely. Although the administration explains the move as aimed at preventing waste and fraud, White House Deputy Chief of Staff Stephen Miller said—without citing any evidence to support the improbable claim—that the Trump administration had determined that “98 percent of the [USAID] workforce either donated to Kamala Harris or another left-wing candidate,” and Elon Musk posted on X, “USAID was a viper’s nest of radical-left marxists who hate America.” As for replacing those fired, Trump signed a new executive order this week, directing that all future career-appointment hiring decisions be made in consultation with a team lead from Musk’s DOGE.

[Anne Applebaum: There’s a term for what Trump and Musk are doing]

Taken together, the administration’s actions bear a striking resemblance to the Illinois patronage scheme that the Supreme Court ruled unconstitutional: freeze hiring, purge perceived political opponents, and consolidate all hiring and staffing decisions in a body close to the executive.

The Trump administration clearly knows that the First Amendment prohibits resurrecting a government-wide political-patronage system. That Inauguration Day executive order expanding the number of purported policy makers claims that “employees in or applicants for Schedule Policy/Career positions are not required to personally or politically support the current President or the policies of the current administration.” Similarly, the administration’s implementing guidance, issued at the end of January, in fact cites the Supreme Court’s anti-patronage decisions, specifying that “Patronage Remains Prohibited.”

But the administration’s actions and statements suggest that the resurrection of a political-patronage system is well under way. Particularly if political purges continue, courts must see the anti-patronage posturing as pretext and enforce the First Amendment. As the Supreme Court memorably put it in the Illinois case, “To the victor belong only those spoils that may be constitutionally obtained.”

Editor’s Note: Washington Week With The Atlantic is a partnership between NewsHour Productions, WETA, and The Atlantic airing every Friday on PBS stations nationwide. Check your local listings, watch full episodes here, or listen to the weekly podcast here.

Donald Trump and Elon Musk continued their efforts to slash and overhaul the federal government this week. Panelists on Washington Week With The Atlantic joined to discuss the ideology driving Trump’s policy decisions—and what the president’s loyalty to Musk reveals about his administration so far.

Joining the editor in chief of The Atlantic, Jeffrey Goldberg, to discuss this and more: Eugene Daniels, the chief Playbook correspondent and a White House correspondent at Politico; Stephen Hayes, the editor of The Dispatch; Theodore Schleifer, a reporter at The New York Times; and Nancy Youssef, a national security correspondent for The Wall Street Journal.

Watch the full episode here.

One of the defining features of the social-justice orthodoxy that swept through American culture between roughly the death of Trayvon Martin in 2012 to Hamas’s assault on Israel in 2023 was the policing of language. Many advocates became obsessed with enforcing syntactical etiquette and banishing certain words.

“Wokeness,” as it’s known, introduced the asymmetrical capitalization of the letter b in Black but not the w in white. It forced Romance languages like Spanish to submit to gender-neutral constructions such as Latinx. It called for the display of pronouns in email signatures and social-media bios. It replaced a slew of traditional words and phrases: People were told to stop saying master bedroom, breastfeeding, manpower, and brown-bag lunch, and to start saying primary bedroom, chestfeeding, workforce, and sack lunch. At the extreme, it designated certain words—such as brave—beyond redemption.

This was often a nuisance and sometimes a trap, causing the perpetual sense that one might inadvertently offend and consequently self-destruct. In certain industries and professions, wrongspeak had tangible consequences. In 2018, Twitter introduced a policy against “dehumanizing language” and posts that “deadnamed” transgender users (or referred to them by their pre-transition names). Those who were judged to have violated the rules could be banned or suspended.

Donald Trump promised that his election would free Americans from ever having to worry about saying the wrong thing again. He even signed an executive order titled “Restoring Freedom of Speech and Ending Federal Censorship.” But a few weeks into his administration, we hardly find ourselves enjoying a culture of free speech and tolerance for opposing views. Almost immediately, the president did the opposite of what he’d promised and put together his own linguistic proscriptions. Most of the banned words related to gender and diversity, and this time the rules had the force of the government behind them.

“Fear that other words could run afoul of the new edicts led anxious agency officials to come up with lists of potentially problematic words on their own,” wrote Shawn McCreesh in The New York Times. These included: “Equity. Gender. Transgender. Nonbinary. Pregnant people. Assigned male at birth. Antiracist. Trauma. Hate speech. Intersectional. Multicultural. Oppression. Such words were scrubbed from federal websites.”

Plus ça change. The government itself determining the limits of acceptable speech is undeniably far more chilling and pernicious—and potentially unconstitutional—than private actors attempting to do so. But what is most striking about this dismal back-and-forth is how well it demonstrates that the illiberal impulse to dictate what can and cannot be said is always fundamentally the same, whether it appears on the right or the left.

An extraordinary number of conservatives have ignored and even delighted in their side’s astonishing hypocrisy. But a few consistent defenders of free speech have not gone along with what they see as the new “woke right.”

The pervasive and nitpicky control of language is a crucial, but far from the sole, component of the woke-right movement. Like its antithesis on the left, the woke right places identity grievance, ethnic consciousness, and tribal striving at the center of its behavior and thought. One of the best descriptions I can find of it comes from Kevin DeYoung, a pastor and seminary professor, in a 2022 article called “The Rise of Right-Wing Wokeism.” DeYoung, reviewing a book on Christian nationalism in The Gospel Coalition, argues that the book’s “apocalyptic vision—for all of its vitriol toward the secular elites—borrows liberally from the playbook of the left.” It “redefines the nature of oppression as psychological oppression” and tells white and male right-wing Americans that they are the country’s real victims. But “the world is out to get you, and people out there hate you,” DeYoung warns, “is not a message that will ultimately help white men or any other group that considers themselves oppressed.”

Another hallmark of wokeness is an overriding impulse to contest and revise the historical record in service of contemporary debates. The New York Times’ “1619 Project,” which reimagined this nation’s founding, was emblematic of this trend from the left. But similar attempts are happening on the right. Last summer, the amateur historian Darryl Cooper caused an uproar when he made the case, on Tucker Carlson’s podcast, that Winston Churchill was the real villain of World War II.

The compelled politesse of the left has been swapped out for the reflexive and gratuitous disrespect of the right. Representative Mary Miller of Illinois recently introduced Representative Sarah McBride, Congress’s sole transgender member, as “the gentleman from Delaware, Mr. McBride.” The activist Christopher Rufo, one of the most belligerent voices on the right, endorsed the move: “We are all tempted to be polite,” he wrote on X. “But complicity in the pronoun game is the opening ante for the entire lie. Once you agree to falsify reality, you have signaled your submission to the gender cult.”

Speaking of falsifying reality: The Trump administration seems to be devoting a remarkable amount of energy toward making sure people call the Gulf of Mexico the “Gulf of America.” In the White House press room last week, the administration went so far as to eject Associated Press reporters because the publication refused to alter its stylebook to comply with the change. “I was very up front in my briefing on Day 1 that if we feel that there are lies being pushed by outlets in this room, we are going to hold those lies accountable,” the White House press secretary said. “And it is a fact that the body of water off the coast of Louisiana is called the Gulf of America.” European exploration records have referred to El Golfo de México since the 16th century.

Trump supporters fell immediately into line. Representative Mike Collins of Georgia—in a gesture encapsulating the digital-political fusion that has come to define the woke right—tweeted trollingly, “Stop deadnaming the Gulf of America.”

Just as corporations genuflected at the altar of wokeness during and after the summer of 2020—posting their identical black squares on Instagram and Facebook and, in the case of Nickelodeon, Comedy Central, and CBS Sports, pausing their content for a symbolic eight minutes and 46 seconds—some of the country’s most prominent companies have preemptively submitted to the woke right’s new power play. Google and Apple have both relabeled the Gulf of Mexico on their map apps with Trump’s risible neologism. And an NPR analysis of regulatory filings found that “at least a dozen of the largest U.S. companies have deleted some, or all, references to ‘diversity, equity, and inclusion’ and ‘DEI’ from their most recent annual reports to investors.”

Some state leaders are following in Trump’s footsteps. In January, Arkansas Governor Sarah Huckabee Sanders issued the “Executive Order to Respect the Latino Community by Eliminating Culturally Insensitive Words From Official Use in Government”—a loquacious way to say she ordered state agencies to stop using the word Latinx. Others, including Florida Governor Ron DeSantis, were woke right avant la lettre. The 2022 Individual Freedom Law, paradoxically known as the “Stop WOKE” act—developed under Rufo’s guidance—imagines the state as one enormous, humid safe space. The legislation aggressively restricts speech in workplaces, K–12 schools, and public universities, and even encourages snitching on community members who dare to advance illicit perspectives.

All of these moves are ripe for mockery—and they deserve it. The scholar and provocateur James Lindsay gained a large online following in 2018 after he and two colleagues successfully placed a number of outrageously bogus papers in peer-reviewed academic journals focused on what Lindsay called “grievance studies,” including one text arguing that dogs engage in “rape culture” and another that rewrote Mein Kampf from a feminist point of view. Last year, Lindsay applied the same test to the woke right, cribbing 2,000 words from Marx and Engels’s Communist Manifesto and submitting them as a critique of liberalism to The American Reformer, a respected platform in conservative Christian media. The gag ran under the title “The Liberal Consensus and the New Christian Right.”

“What the Woke Right fundamentally don’t understand as they make their bid for power now, and why they’ll lose,” Lindsay wrote last week on X, “is that none of us want more ideological crazy stuff. We don’t want another freaking movement. We want to go back to our lives.” The obligation to call people aliens or unlearn the name of a body of water appears every bit as petty as the prohibition on describing boring things as “lame.” More than that, it amounts to a politics of brute domination, a forced and demoralizing expression of subservience that only a genuine fanatic could abide.

Voters in both parties are already signaling that the right’s woke antics are unattractive to them. When it comes to its edgelord in chief, Elon Musk, an Economist/YouGov poll found that the share of Republicans who say he should have “a lot” of influence has dropped significantly over the past three months, to 26 percent. Seventeen percent say they want him to have no influence “at all.” Over the past two weeks, Trump’s approval rating has fallen.

The truth is that most Americans bristle at wokeness from whichever direction it arrives. As the left is learning now, no victory can ever be final. The right’s illiberal zeal only creates the conditions for an equal and opposite reaction to come.

For decades, America’s young voters have been deeply—and famously—progressive. In 2008, a youthquake sent Barack Obama to the White House. In 2016, voters ages 18 to 29 broke for Hillary Clinton by 18 points. In 2020, they voted for Joe Biden by 24 points. In 2024, Donald Trump closed most of the gap, losing voters under 30 by a 51–47 margin. In one recent CBS poll, Americans under 30 weren’t just evenly split between the parties. They were even more pro-Trump than Boomers over 65.

Precisely polling teens and 20-somethings is a fraught business; some surveys suggest that Trump’s advantage among young people might already be fading. But young people’s apparent lurch right is not an American-only trend.

“Far-right parties are surging across Europe—and young voters are buying in,” the journalist Hanne Cokelaere wrote for Politico last year. In France, Germany, Finland, and beyond, young voters are swinging their support toward anti-establishment far-right parties “in numbers equal to and even exceeding older voters.” In Germany, a 2024 survey of 2,000 people showed that young people have adopted a relatively new “gloomy outlook” on the future. No surprise, then, that the far-right Alternative für Deutschland has become the most popular party among Germans under 30. Like most interesting phenomena, this one even has a German name: Rechtsruck, or rightward shift.

[Read: Why the COVID deniers won]

What’s driving this global Rechtsruck? It’s hard to say for sure. Maybe the entire world is casting a protest vote after several years of inflation. Last year was the largest wipeout for political incumbents in the developed world since the end of the Second World War. One level deeper, it wasn’t inflation on its own, but rather the combination of weak real economic growth and record immigration that tilled the soil for far-right upstarts, who can criticize progressive governments on both sides of the Atlantic for their failure to look out for their own citizens first.

There is another potential driver of the global right turn: the pandemic.

Pandemics might not initially seem to cash out in any particular political direction. After all, in the spring of 2020, one possible implication of the pandemic seemed to be that it would unite people behind a vision of collective sacrifice—or, at least, collective appreciation for health professionals, or for the effect of vaccines to reduce severe illness among adults. But political science suggests that pandemics are more likely to reduce rather than build trust in scientific authorities. One cross-country analysis published by the Systemic Risk Center at the London School of Economics found that people who experience epidemics between the ages of 18 and 25 have less confidence in their scientific and political leadership. This loss of trust persists for years, even decades, in part because political ideology tends to solidify in a person’s 20s.

The paper certainly matches the survey evidence of young Americans. Young people who cast their first ballot in 2024 were “more jaded than ever about the state of American leadership,” according to the Harvard Political Review. A 2024 analysis of Americans under 30 found the “lowest levels of confidence in most public institutions since the survey began.” In the past decade alone, young Americans’ trust in the president has declined by 60 percent, while their trust in the Supreme Court, Wall Street, and Congress has declined by more than 30 percent.

Another way that COVID may have accelerated young people’s Rechtsruck in America and around the world was by dramatically reducing their physical-world socializing. That led, in turn, to large increases in social-media time that boys and girls spent alone. The Norwegian researcher Ruben B. Mathisen has written that “social media [creates] separate online spheres for men and women.” By trading gender-blended hangouts in basements and restaurants for gender-segregated online spaces, young men’s politics became more distinctly pro-male—and, more to the point, anti-feminist, according to Mathisen. Norwegian boys are more and more drawn to right-wing politics, a phenomenon “driven in large part by a new wave of politically potent anti-feminism,” he wrote. Although Mathisen focused on Nordic youth, he noted that his research built on a body of survey literature showing that “the ideological distance between young men and women has accelerated across several countries.”

[Read: The not-so-woke Generation Z]

These changes may not be durable. But many people’s political preferences solidify when they’re in their teens and 20s; so do other tastes and behaviors, such as musical preferences and even spending habits. Most famously, so-called Depression babies, who grew up in the 1930s, saved more as adults, and there is some evidence that corporate managers born in the ’30s were unusually disinclined to take on loans. Perhaps the 18-to-25-year-old cohort whose youths were thrown into upheaval by COVID will adopt a set of sociopolitical assumptions that form a new sort of ideology that doesn’t quite have a name yet. As The Atlantic’s Anne Applebaum has written, many emerging European populist parties now blend vaccine skepticism, “folk magic” mysticism, and deep anti-immigration sentiment. “Spiritual leaders are becoming political, and political actors have veered into the occult,” she wrote.

New ideologies are messy to describe and messier still to name. But in a few years, what we’ve grown accustomed to calling Generation Z may reveal itself to contain a subgroup: Generation C, COVID-affected and, for now, strikingly conservative. For this micro-generation of young people in the United States and throughout the West, social media has served as a crucible where several trends have fused together: declining trust in political and scientific authorities, anger about the excesses of feminism and social justice, and a preference for rightward politics.