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The World’s Most Powerful Unelected Bureaucrat

The Atlantic

www.theatlantic.com › newsletters › archive › 2025 › 02 › the-worlds-most-powerful-unelected-bureaucrat › 681659

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

During his most recent presidential campaign, Donald Trump promised to “put unelected bureaucrats back in their place.” Apparently, that place is in the federal government, doing what they want with little accountability.

The most powerful unelected bureaucrat in the United States today—and perhaps ever—is Elon Musk. The social-media troll and tech mogul is currently a “special government employee” leading something called the Department of Government Efficiency, though it is neither a department nor, as far as can be ascertained, all that interested in improving efficiency. DOGE’s clearest goal seems to be getting rid of as many civil servants as possible, by whatever means possible—including cajoling, buyouts, and firings, some of which have drawn reproach from courts.

The assault on government workers has been a long time coming. In 2017, during his first term, Trump began referring to federal employees as the “deep state,” and he often accused them of undermining him or slow-walking his ideas. It didn’t help that he often asked for impossible or illegal things, though the most prominent examples of defiance came from Cabinet-level, Senate-confirmed officials whom Trump himself had appointed. While campaigning as a quasi-populist, Trump railed against unelected officials who he argued treated ordinary citizens with disdain, assuming they knew best, or who were deeply enmeshed in conflicts of interest and lining their own pockets. Trump and his allies repeatedly suggested that Joe Biden’s aides were running the government because the president was too checked out to manage.

Now an unelected aide, beset with conflicts of interest, seems to be effectively running the government. He’s barreling through carefully constructed guardrails, acting as though he knows better than anyone else how the government ought to run, while a passive president looks on. No one’s pretending that Trump is particularly interested in the software systems of the government, and he’s made clear that he’s pretty detached from it all. “Sometimes we won’t agree with it, and we’ll not go where he wants to go,” he said of Musk’s role recently. In short, Trump has set a broad direction and tasked Musk with executing the details. That’s what bureaucrats do.

Because this is exactly what Trump campaigned against, justifying it is challenging, though apologists like Turning Point USA founder Charlie Kirk are game to try. “The American people quite literally voted for Elon Musk and DOGE when they elected Donald Trump with a historic mandate,” Kirk posted on X. But that’s absurd. Trump said on the trail that Musk would help him, but he didn’t outline this. The DOGE idea wasn’t formally announced until after the election, and Trump didn’t run on dismantling USAID or selling off half the government’s real-estate portfolio. Musk wasn’t elected, hasn’t been vetted or confirmed by the Senate, and didn’t even have to go through the standard hiring process. This is probably just as well; his admitted use of controlled substances might pose some challenges. He will reportedly not release a financial disclosure, and the White House says he’ll police his own conflicts of interest. Unfortunately, he has a long track record of questionable ethical decisions.

Democrats, otherwise reeling in the first weeks of the Trump administration, have picked up on the fact that Musk may be a useful target. Although most Democratic attacks on Trump’s populist persona have fallen short, this one seems more promising. Firing thousands of federal workers for nothing more than doing their job, while clinging to a self-described racist and a teenager nicknamed “Big Balls,” may not go over well with voters who just wanted inflation fixed. Representative Jared Golden, a Democrat from a red district in Maine, reported that he was getting a flood of constituent calls about Musk.

Focusing on Musk’s outrageous abuse of power may not be as effective as Democrats hope. Musk obviously hates many of the same people whom Trump’s fans hate, and that’s a powerful bonding force. What sinks Musk may ultimately be not populist resentment but court rulings against him, Trump’s need to remain the center of attention, or backlash when the cuts he’s pursuing start affecting voters’ lives directly.

“An unelected shadow government is conducting a hostile takeover of the federal government,” Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer posted on X last week. “Congress must take action to restore the rule of law.” (If only Schumer knew anyone in Congress!) Musk quickly replied: “This is the one shot the American people have to defeat BUREAUcracy, rule of the bureaucrats, and restore DEMOcracy, rule of the people. We’re never going to get another chance like this. It’s now or never. Your support is crucial to the success of the revolution of the people.”

The most striking thing about this response—other than the world’s richest man adopting Leninist rhetoric about “the revolution of the people”—is its reversal of reality. Schumer won an election; Musk is just a bureaucrat.

Related:

Elon Musk is president. Elon Musk’s bureaucratic coup is under way.

Here are four new stories from The Atlantic:

Is this what cancel culture achieved? Trump says the corrupt part out loud. DOGE is failing on its own terms. What happens when bird flu gets worse?

Today’s News

Trump hosted Jordanian King Abdullah II at the White House, where they discussed the president’s plan to relocate Palestinians from Gaza to Jordan and Egypt. Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said that the Gaza cease-fire would end if Hamas did not go through with the hostage release scheduled for Saturday. The Justice Department ordered federal prosecutors yesterday to withdraw the corruption charges against New York City Mayor Eric Adams.

Evening Read

Illustration by Matteo Giuseppe Pani / The Atlantic

What an ‘America First’ Diet Would Really Look Like

By Yasmin Tayag

Trump’s stance on agriculture is the same as his stance on everything else: “America First.”

The notion that the country could produce all of its food domestically is nice—even admirable. An America First food system would promote eating seasonally and locally, supporting more small farmers in the process. But that is not how most people eat now.

Read the full article.

More From The Atlantic

The cruel attack on USAID Good on Paper: The great political sort is happening at the office. Blame Gerald Ford for Trump’s unaccountability. It’s time to worry about DOGE’s AI plans.

Culture Break

Illustration by Panayiotis Terzis

Read. Mood Machine will make you marvel at how much effort Spotify puts into recommending a song that sounds like a different song you liked three months ago, Brad Shoup writes.

Ponder. “Should I leave my American partner?” one reader asks James Parker in the latest edition of “Dear James.” “I love him, but I don’t know if I can live in the U.S. forever.”

Play our daily crossword.

P.S.

To me, Kendrick Lamar’s use of American-flag and Uncle Sam imagery at Sunday’s Super Bowl was fairly clearly political—and subversive. What it was not, however, was blunt. Perhaps the overly literal protest gestures of the first Trump administration have somewhat numbed viewers to anything more subtle. Regardless, I was amused and perplexed to see some commentators taking the flag’s presence as a signal of alignment with the president. “When backup dancers dressed in red, white, and blue formed the American flag, it felt more patriotic than political,” wrote The Free Press’s River Page, as though patriotism can ever be apolitical.

All of this reminded me of George Will’s review of a 1984 Bruce Springsteen show. “For the initiated, which included most of the 20,000 the night I experienced him, the lyrics, believe it or not, are most important,” Will observed. But apparently the famously erudite columnist’s insights failed him, as he badly misunderstood one of the sharpest critiques (and critics) of the Reagan era. “I have not got a clue about Springsteen’s politics, if any, but flags get waved at his concerts while he sings songs about hard times. He is no whiner, and the recitation of closed factories and other problems always seems punctuated by a grand, cheerful affirmation: ‘Born in the U.S.A.!’” So close, and yet so far.

— David

Stephanie Bai contributed to this newsletter.

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Should I Leave My American Partner?

The Atlantic

www.theatlantic.com › culture › archive › 2025 › 02 › dear-james-american-partner-missing-home-country › 681638

Editor’s Note: Is anything ailing, torturing, or nagging at you? Are you beset by existential worries? Every Tuesday, James Parker tackles readers’ questions. Tell him about your lifelong or in-the-moment problems at dearjames@theatlantic.com.

Don’t want to miss a single column? Sign up to get “Dear James” in your inbox.

Dear James,

I’m 27 years old, I live in New York, and I’m in a healthy, loving relationship with a guy I met here. He’s caring and hardworking, and my family and friends love him for me. The problem is, I don’t know if I want to live in the United States long term. I’m from abroad—a country far enough away that my partner has never been—and I moved to the U.S. on a temporary work visa. As my relationship becomes more serious, I grapple with the thought of having to be here forever.

I never grew up thinking I’d migrate anywhere permanently. I’m very close to my family back home, and I have a comfortable, if not cushy, life there. In the U.S., I deal with the social, political, cultural, and legal hurdles of being a foreigner in a place where the current climate isn’t always the most friendly. I don’t have the financial or personal freedoms I would like. I deal with racists. I get homesick.

My partner loves his job, it pays extremely well, and it legally ties him to working within the United States. Basically, he could never move for me. But when I think about committing to him, I can’t help mourning everything I imagine I’d be giving up. Maybe I’m just being young and foolish and don’t realize that my problems are a speck in the grand scheme of things. I don’t know. Perhaps you can tell me?

Dear Reader,

As an expat, self-transplanted from England to be in America with my American wife, I feel you. This is a beautiful, crazy, wide-as-you-like country, merciless in some ways, impossibly generous in others, and for better or worse I became myself here. That’s one of the things America can do. No gains without losses, though, and I feel the pull of home too: all the occasions missed, the conversations that never happened, the hangs unhung … It’s sort of a shadow on me, my life’s dark side of the moon.

But let me ask you this: Are you thrilled to be with this guy? I mean thrilled to bits, thrilling to his touch, all of that? You say he’s caring, hardworking, your family loves him—all good stuff. Great stuff. And I don’t want to do him an injustice. But somewhere, at some level, in some layer of your being, you’ve got to be thrilled. I think perhaps if you were thrilled, you wouldn’t be asking yourself these questions.

I could be wrong, though, and the two of you might have a scorching and vibrant thing that you have modestly under-described in your letter. Whatever the case, here’s my advice: Don’t leave. America is a challenge. America is an invitation. America puts you on your mettle. Especially right now, in (to use your phrase) the “current climate” of the United States: America needs you!

Reading the news and listening to Bad Brains,

James

By submitting a letter, you are agreeing to let The Atlantic use it in part or in full, and we may edit it for length and/or clarity.

The Cruel Attack on USAID

The Atlantic

www.theatlantic.com › politics › archive › 2025 › 02 › usaid-dismantle-trump-damage › 681644

THE SPEED OF THE CRUELTY has been stunning.

In a matter of a few weeks, the Trump administration, led by Elon Musk, has decimated America’s main provider of global humanitarian aid, the U.S. Agency for International Development.

Founded in 1961, USAID has, until now, worked in more than 100 countries, promoting global health, fighting epidemics and starvation, providing treatment for people with HIV/AIDS, educating children and combatting child sex trafficking, resettling refugees and supplying shelter to displaced people across the globe, and supporting programs in maternal and child health and anti-corruption work.

USAID accounts for less than 1 percent of the federal budget. With those funds, it has been responsible for building field hospitals in war-ravaged Syria and removing land mines in Cambodia, funding vaccination programs in Nigeria and access to food, water, electricity, and basic health care for millions of people in eastern Congo. It contained a major outbreak of Ebola a decade ago and prevented massive famine in southern Africa in the 1990s. More than 3 million lives are saved every year through USAID immunization programs.

[Read: America can’t just unpause USAID]

People who have worked in international development for decades will tell you that there is not a single area of development and humanitarian assistance USAID has not been involved in.

On the day of his second inauguration, Donald Trump instituted a 90-day freeze on foreign assistance. Almost all USAID contractors and staff have since been fired or put on administrative leave, the website taken down and signage removed from its headquarters in Washington, D.C. On Friday, a federal judge issued a temporary restraining order, enjoining the administration from placing 2,200 USAID employees on leave, but the chaos has already generated a global humanitarian crisis.

Many small organizations that relied on USAID have shut down; even the largest ones have been severely weakened. One survey reports that about a quarter of nonprofits said they might last a month; more than half said they had enough reserves to survive for three months at most.

The New York Times reports that funding for treatment for infants born in Uganda with HIV has been stopped, while in South Africa, researchers were forced to end an HIV-prevention trial, leaving women with experimental implants inside their bodies and without ongoing medical oversight. A cholera-treatment trial has been abandoned in Bangladesh. Patients have been told to leave refugee hospitals in Thailand. Soup kitchens that feed hundreds of thousands of people in Sudan have been closed.

As Mitchell Warren, the executive director of the HIV-prevention organization AVAC, told the Times’ Apoorva Mandavilli, “You’ve gotten rid of all of the staff, all of the institutional memory, all of the trust and confidence, not only in the United States but in the dozens of countries in which U.S.A.I.D. works. Those things have taken decades to build up but two weeks to destroy.”

A humanitarian worker in Sudan told The Washington Post that their organization received a stop-work order for grants covering hundreds of millions of dollars. “It means that over 8 million people in extreme levels of hunger could die of starvation,” said the aid worker. “What’s next? What do we do?”

IT WAS NOT ENOUGH for Trump and Musk, the head of the so-called Department of Government Efficiency, to unleash mass suffering and death with the stroke of a pen. They had to slander USAID and spread lies about the agency in the process.

Musk has called USAID “evil” and a “criminal organization.” It is, according to Musk, “a viper’s nest of radical-left marxists who hate America.” The agency, Musk added, isn’t “an apple with a worm in it” but “a ball of worms.”

“Time for it to die,” Musk posted on X.

[Read: Paranoia is winning]

For his part, Trump said USAID is a “tremendous fraud” and claimed that the people in the agency “turned out to be radical left lunatics.”

In order to promote this calumny, Trump, Musk, and their acolytes have unleashed an avalanche of falsehoods and disinformation. Not that USAID should be above criticism: As the New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristoff has argued, it can be overreliant on contractors, endlessly bureaucratic, and prone to paying consultants with money that could be better used elsewhere. But none of that matches up with the way Musk and Trump have described it. And authoritarian leaders from around the world are now celebrating the destruction of one of the most important humanitarian organizations in the world.

“Power is in tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing,” George Orwell wrote in 1984.

Six years ago, my colleague Adam Serwer wrote of Trump and his movement that “the cruelty is the point.” That has never been more clear than in the president’s decision to demolish USAID. The cost savings will be minimal; the carnage will be massive. And all of the agony that will be unleashed by this decision—the cries of pain that Trump will never hear, the tears of grief Musk will never see—is not accidental. It was done with malice. This is what Trump and MAGA represent, what lies at their moral core. To be silent in the face of this is to be complicit in what they are doing.

FOR THE PAST six years, Anne Linn has worked for the President’s Malaria Initiative, another U.S. program. But she lost her job earlier this month because of Trump and Musk’s actions. Her contract with PMI was canceled.

She’s proud of her work, and proud of the fact that in the 30 countries where PMI has been operating, the malaria mortality rate has been reduced by half since President George W. Bush launched the initiative, in 2006. (Malaria still kills more than half a million people each year, about three-quarters of whom are children under 5.)

Linn is aware that foreign assistance improves America’s image in the world and helps economies prosper. But that’s not why she’s doing what she’s doing.

“As a Christian,” Linn wrote in the Bozeman Daily Chronicle, “I was compelled by the Gospel, the words of Jesus, to use my life to try to diminish suffering for the world’s most vulnerable.”

She was doing that until Trump and Musk set their sights on USAID. Now, she wrote, “children, children of God, will die unnecessarily.”

In an interview with Time, Linn put it this way: “I’m here to do what I can, to be the hands and feet of God in this world. Like, what can I do to alleviate the suffering of others, of my neighbors?”

She’s worried that their suffering will increase because bed nets used to protect people from malaria are still in the warehouse and the people contracted to deliver them have a stop-work order. She spoke of her fears for the pregnant mothers and the children under 5, whom malaria can kill. “Who can read the words of Jesus Christ and think this is okay?” she asked. “That is baffling to me. If we say that we are pro-life, we cannot be okay with this.”

Linn’s question—Who can read the words of Jesus Christ and think this is okay?—haunts me and many others like me. No group is more responsible for the reign of Trump than white evangelicals. In 2024, for the third time, they voted in overwhelming numbers for Trump. Most white evangelicals will not, under any circumstances, break with him. They are beholden to him.

[Read: Trump’s assault on USAID makes Project 2025 look like child’s play]

They read the same words of Jesus as Linn does, but whereas those words have led her to relieve suffering for the world’s most vulnerable, many white evangelicals have ended up in a different place. They are in lockstep with a man who is taking delight in destroying an agency whose decimation will dramatically increase suffering for the world’s most vulnerable.

It is a remarkable thing to witness. There are tens of millions of men and women who are regular churchgoers, who attend Bible studies and Sunday-school classes and listen to Christian worship music, and who would raise a ruckus if anyone in Church leadership interpreted the Bible in a way that deviated even slightly from their doctrine on any number of issues.

And yet, many of these same people insist that their faith commitments have led them to support a president for whom the cruelty is the point. As a result, there is, somewhere in Kenya right now, a mother of three asking, “If I die, who will take care of my children?” Donald Trump and Elon Musk don’t care. It turns out that millions and millions of people who claim to be followers of Jesus don’t, either.

Shipwrecked in the Amazon

The Atlantic

www.theatlantic.com › magazine › archive › 2025 › 03 › musuk-nolte-photos-amazon-drought › 681438

Photographs by Musuk Nolte

Threaded throughout the Amazon, the world’s largest rainforest, is a system of rivers. More than 1,000 tributaries collect rain and glacial runoff from a basin nearly the size of the contiguous United States. They gather into a waterway so expansive that oceangoing vessels can travel 900 miles inland from the Atlantic coast and dock at the river port of Manaus, Brazil.

Musuk NolteTwo fishermen push a boat toward a stretch of still-navigable water next to Lago do Aleixo, east of Manaus.

At least under normal circumstances. A drought that began in 2023 deepened last year into the worst in the Amazon’s recorded history. In Manaus, a sprawling city of more than 2 million, the depth of the Rio Negro, a major branch of the Amazon River, reached an all-time low of 40 feet in October, almost 25 feet lower than would be typical at that time of year. The Peruvian photographer Musuk Nolte has documented the drought’s impact on Manaus’s outlying communities. Many residents live in houses meant to float on the water; the drought has left them effectively shipwrecked. One river trader, who typically transported his bananas by boat, told Nolte that he was forced to carry them overland in 104-degree heat. Others saw no choice but to abandon the lives they’d always known and try their luck in the urban tumult of Manaus itself.

Musuk NolteLeft: Falling water levels have made it difficult for Raimundo Silva Do Carmo, a river trader, to navigate the area around Puraquequara, where he works. Right: A river trader stands on the deck of his family’s home, which used to float on the river.

Through years of reporting in the Amazon, I’ve gotten to know the region well. Viewing Nolte’s photos is like waking up in an alternate reality: a sea turned to desert. But the transformation shouldn’t come as a surprise. Over the past 50 years, an area of the rainforest larger than the state of Texas has been razed to make way for farmland and cattle pasture. Scientists have long warned that this could disrupt the virtuous cycle through which trees fuel rain clouds by releasing water vapor. Nolte’s photos seem to show the results.

Musuk NolteFishermen traverse a dry riverbed in Manacapuru, a city west of Manaus.

One of his images features a mostly dry riverbed, its sand mysteriously streaked. Nolte told me that the marks had been left by outboard motors riding perilously low as water levels plunged. He calls them scars, visible signs of a wounded planet.

This article appears in the March 2025 print edition with the headline “Shipwrecked in the Amazon.”

Is Trump Ready for Bird Flu?

The Atlantic

www.theatlantic.com › health › archive › 2025 › 02 › trump-bird-flu › 681642

President Donald Trump might have campaigned on lowering the prices of groceries, but even as egg prices have become a minor national crisis, he has stayed quiet about the driving cause of America’s egg shortage: bird flu. Trump hasn’t outlined a plan for containing the virus, nor has he spoken about bird flu publicly since the CDC announced last April that the virus had infected a dairy worker. Last week, the CDC, which has ceased most communication with the public since Trump took office, posted data online that suggested humans may be able to spread the virus to cats. The agency quickly deleted the information.

Bird flu has now spread to cow herds across the country, led to the euthanization of tens of millions of domesticated poultry, sickened dozens of people in the United States, and killed one. The virus is not known to spread between humans, which has prevented the outbreak from exploding into the next pandemic. But the silence raises the question: How prepared is Trump’s administration if a widespread bird-flu outbreak does unfold? The administration reportedly plans to name Gerald Parker as the head of the White House’s Office of Pandemic Preparedness and Response Policy, which was created in 2022 by Congress and is charged with organizing the responses of the various agencies that deal with infectious diseases. (I reached out to both Parker and the White House; neither replied.)

If the president names him to the post, the appointment might be the least controversial of any of Trump’s health-related picks: Parker is an expert on the interplay between human and animal health who served in the federal government for roughly a decade. But confronting bird flu—or any other pandemic threat—in this administration would require coordinating among a group of people uninterested in using most tools that can limit the spread of infectious disease.

Trump’s pick to lead the CDC, David Weldon, has questioned the safety of vaccines, and Jay Bhattacharya, the administration’s nominee to lead the National Institutes of Health, vehemently opposed COVID shutdowns. Robert F. Kennedy Jr., an anti-vaccine conspiracy theorist who likely will be installed as the head of the Department of Health and Human Services in the coming days, has implied that Anthony Fauci and Bill Gates have funded attempts to create a bird-flu virus capable of infecting humans, and that past threats of flu pandemics were concocted by federal health officials both to inflate their own importance and to pad the pockets of pharmaceutical companies that produce flu vaccines.

Many of Trump’s health appointees are united in their view that the U.S. overreacted to COVID. They—and plenty of Americans—argue that measures such as masking, lockdowns, and vaccination mandates were unnecessary to respond to COVID, or were kept in place for far too long. Faced with another major outbreak, the Trump administration will almost certainly start from that stance.

One way or another, Trump is likely to face some sort of public-health crisis this term. Most presidents do. Barack Obama, for instance, dealt with multiple major public-health crises, each brutal in its own way. Zika didn’t turn into a pandemic, but it still resulted in more than 300 American children being born with lifelong birth defects. Ebola, in 2014, killed only two people in the U.S., but allowing the virus, the death rate of which can be as high as 90 percent, to freely spread across America would have been catastrophic. In 2009 and 2010, swine flu led to more than 12,000 deaths in the U.S.; roughly 10 percent of the victims were under 18. Even if bird flu does no more than it already has, it’ll still cause a headache for the White House. Bird flu continues to wreak financial havoc for farmers, which is then trickling down to consumers in the form of higher prices, particularly on eggs.

Step by step, the U.S. keeps moving closer to a reality where the bird-flu virus does spread among people. Last week, the U.S. Department of Agriculture reported that cows have now contracted the variant of the virus that was responsible for the recent fatal case in the United States. That means the chances of humans catching that strain are now higher than they were: Many recent human cases have been in dairy farmworkers. As cases of seasonal flu increase too, so does the chance of the bird-flu virus gaining mutations that allow it to spread freely between humans. If both viruses infect the same cell simultaneously, they could swap genetic material, potentially giving the bird-flu virus new abilities for transmission.

Parker clearly understands this danger. Last year, he spoke to USA Today about the potential for the virus to mutate and change the outlook of the current epidemic. He also wrote on X that “federal, state, and private sector leaders need to plan for challenges we may face if H5N1 were to make the fateful leap and become a human pathogen.” How much leeway the Trump administration will give Parker—or whoever does run the pandemic-preparedness office—to keep the U.S. out of calamity is another matter.

Plenty of public-health experts have come to look back at the coronavirus pandemic and regret certain actions. Should bird flu worsen, however, many of the same tools could become the best available options to limit its toll. Parker, for his part, expressed support during the worst parts of the pandemic for masking, social distancing, and vaccinations, and although he said in 2020 that he doesn’t like lockdowns, his social-media posts at the time suggested he understood that some amount of community-level social distancing and isolation might be necessary to stop the disease’s spread. How eager the Trump administration will be to use such tools at all could depend on Parker's ability to convince his colleagues to deploy them.

The White House pandemic-response office was set up to play air-traffic control for the CDC, the NIH, and other agencies that have a role amid any outbreak. But having a job in the White House and a title like director of pandemic preparedness does not guarantee that Parker will be able to win over the crew of pandemic-response skeptics he will be tasked with coordinating. And his job will be only more difficult after Trump sniped at the purpose of the office, telling Time in April that it “sounds good politically, but I think it’s a very expensive solution to something that won’t work.”

Although Trump appears to have thought better of dissolving the entire office, its director can’t really succeed at fulfilling its purpose without the president’s support. The only thing that could make persuading a group of pandemic skeptics to care about an infectious-disease outbreak more difficult is your boss—the president of the United States—undercutting your raison d’être. Parker has some sense of the enormity of the job he’d take on. In 2023, he tweeted, “Pandemic Preparedness, and global health security have to be a priority of the President and Congress to make a difference.” In 2025, or the years that follow, he may see firsthand what happens when the country’s leaders can’t be bothered.

The Great Political Sort Is Happening At the Office

The Atlantic

www.theatlantic.com › podcasts › archive › 2025 › 02 › the-politics-of-work › 681639

Subscribe here: Apple Podcasts | Spotify | YouTube | Overcast | Pocket Casts

Every personal detail is a tell. From your choice of college major, to the industry you work in, to the company within that industry—each decision is part of a sorting phenomenon populating certain workplaces with Democrats and others with Republicans.

We’re socialized to not talk politics at the office to avoid polarizing issues that could break norms of professional behavior. But according to a new study from two Harvard researchers, that norm may have obscured a startling partisan divide at the workplace: Republicans and Democrats are sorting into different fields of study, industries, and companies.

Workers aren’t just pawns in this partisan sorting; they’re actively choosing it, although perhaps subconsciously. As the study authors Sahil Chinoy and Martin Koenen found, “The median Democrat or Republican would trade off 3% in annual wages for an ideologically congruent version of a similar job.”

“Is [3 percent] big or small?” Chinoy asks. “It’s less than something like health care. It’s sort of actually comparable in magnitude to some of these softer amenities, things like having a relaxed versus a fast pace of work, for example, or having training opportunities at work. People seem to care similarly about the ideological nature of the job.”

The following is a transcript of the episode:

Jerusalem Demsas: I have a bit of a weird job for several reasons, but for one: Many of my colleagues’ varied ideological commitments are pretty clear due to the nature of our work.

But I was curious about what workplaces look like in less overtly political places. Do people often know the political opinions of their colleagues and bosses? Could work be a place for the healthy mixing of people with different partisan identities?

Probably not. At least, that’s what I take away from a new paper called “Political Sorting in the U.S. Labor Market,” which argues that political segregation is extremely common in the workplace. According to the authors, “a Democrat or Republican’s co-worker is 10 percent more likely to share their party” than what you might expect based on where their workplace is located.

Why? Well, it’s largely because workers are opting into college majors, jobs, industries, and companies that correspond with their partisan identities. Republicans are more likely to have studied business, finance, engineering, and technology, while Democrats are more likely to have studied the arts, social sciences, and the humanities.

Industries themselves are therefore more likely to have employees of one party rather than the other, but even within industries, companies are attracting one party’s adherents over the other.

My name’s Jerusalem Demsas. I’m a staff writer at The Atlantic, and this is Good on Paper, a policy show that questions what we really know about popular narratives. My guest today is Sahil Chinoy, who co-authored this paper while finishing up his economics Ph.D. at Harvard. Sahil himself is on the job market, I’m sure headed to one of those ideologically diverse workplaces so common in academia.

Sahil, welcome to the show.

Sahil Chinoy: Thank you. Thanks so much for having me.

Demsas: So before you conducted your research project, did you think that workplaces were more or less segregated than other areas of life, like neighborhoods, schools, etcetera?

Chinoy: I think somewhat less. We’ve all heard this idea that there should be, quote, “no politics at work. And I think I took that to heart and thought the workplace might be a uniquely important site where there’s less partisan or political segregation than some of the other environments that we inhabit, like schools and certainly neighborhoods. There’s a lot of attention paid to partisan segregation, particularly across space, across neighborhoods.

And I do think that I thought that the workplace would exhibit less sorting than that. How much less? I don’t know. I certainly thought that it can’t be the case that it’s perfectly even.

Demsas: Yeah, I mean, it’s like when you’re young, and you’re in, like, K-12 or something, it’s the time of your life when you’re repeatedly kind of interacting with people you didn’t choose to be interacting with. It’s your teachers, other kids at school.

And when you grow up, work is basically one of the only times when you’re being forced to go anywhere that you are not actively choosing who you’re going to be interacting with. Obviously, there’s a ton of segregation that comes from where people are in school.

But I think the fact that, like, this is arguably the only place that adults are interacting with people that they’re not opting into on a regular basis—that leads people to kind of feel like, Oh this is probably, like, the most generative space for reaching people across the partisan aisle.

But you do not find this. So walk me through your paper. What did you do to investigate whether workplaces were segregated by party?

Chinoy: Yeah. So just one point on that. I think that’s exactly right. I think the idea here is, like, people have less ability to choose who their co-workers are compared to other people that they interact with, and that’s what generates segregation.

I will note, though, that—it’s kind of funny. When I bring this point up to academics and to professors, there’s sort of the one group, I think, that doesn’t really see this. They’re like, What do you mean? We can perfectly choose who our colleagues are.

Demsas: (Laughs.) That’s, in fact, the whole point.

Chinoy: That’s what hiring is. That’s the whole point. But I think generally, yes. I think that’s the idea.

So we’re sort of starting with this basic premise that, you know, maybe the workplace is less politically segregated than some of these other environments—not such a hard question to pose or to ask. I think it’s just a hard question to answer.

And it’s a hard question to answer, I think, primarily because of a data constraint. We have very high-quality and large-labor-market surveys in the U.S., but they don’t ask questions about politics or partisan affiliation. And we have large and high-quality political surveys, but they usually don’t ask questions about where exactly people work. And even if they did, they’re large, but they’re not large enough to really capture who is working with whom.

And so the starting point of this paper is really to say we have this pretty, to some extent, obvious question: To what extent do Democrats work with Democrats and Republicans work with Republicans? And how are we going to answer it? And the way we answer it is by combining two sources of information: On the one hand, public LinkedIn profiles—so scraped LinkedIn profiles that list where everyone works and some other characteristics about them, often where they went to college or their educational background. And we combine that with administrative voter records.

And so in the U.S., who you vote for is not public. But in 30 states and the District of Columbia, which party you register with is public. And so we combine those two sources of information, and that lets us see who is working with whom and everyone’s party affiliation. And that’s how we can quantify the magnitude of this partisan segregation at work.

Demsas: So you find that “a Democrat or [a] Republican’s co-worker is 10 percent more likely to share their party than expected based on local partisan shares.” Can you just unpack that finding? What does that mean?

Chinoy: Yeah. So the idea is: We want to benchmark the share of your co-workers who share your party affiliation against what we might expect. And so, you know, to give you a concrete example, say you are a Democrat, and you work at Google in Mountain View, then a high share of your co-workers are fellow Democrats. I think it’s something like 55 percent in our data. So that’s, you know, a relatively high share of Democrats. But what should we actually expect? Should we benchmark that against the share of Democrats in the U.S. as a whole?

And so our baseline measure takes that sort of realized share of co-partisans—so the 55 percent of Democrats that share your workplace—and divides it by the share of Democrats in your local labor market, which we operationalize as a commuting zone. Commuting zones are sort of aggregations of counties that are precisely designed to capture these kinds of commuting patterns, who could reasonably share your workplace.

And it turns out—I’m going to forget the exact number, but you know, it turns out—that share is quite high for Google in Mountain View. So you’re a Democrat at Google Mountain View—your co-workers are 6 percent more likely to share your party affiliation than you would expect based on the local shares of Democrats and Republicans. And then we generalize that for everyone. We do that for every person in our sample, tens of millions of people, and that’s how we arrive at that 10 percent number.

Demsas: This is, I think, a really great way of putting it, because, obviously, someone’s going to say, you know, Okay, Google—you’re in California. You’re in Silicon Valley. This is just a high-Democrat place, so are you just, like, looking at, basically, that there is geolocation sorting that’s already happening? And you’re saying it’s not just the fact that, like, there are locational differences in partisanship. It’s that even taking that into account, workplaces are even more segregated based on party than you would expect just by, like, walking around and taking a random sampling of people who live in the commuting zone that Google is in.

Chinoy: Yeah, that’s exactly right. And, you know, I can compare against the national shares, and if I do that, that number is 20 percent. It’s twice as high as the baseline statistic that I quoted for you earlier. And that’s a meaningful number, too, but what sort of intuitively accords with people’s sense of how to measure partisan segregation? It’s probably comparing against the local environment. And that’s why that 10 percent number is kind of our preferred estimate.

Demsas: How does this compare to the level of partisan segregation that we observe in other places? We know, for instance, that there’s partisan segregation happening in schools or in dating markets and churches and stuff like that. Is the workplace the most segregated based on party in America, or is this in line with other places?

Chinoy: Yeah, so it’s hard to answer this directly for every other social environment or every other group of people. I can tell you a couple things. So one is: I think a natural comparison is residential partisan segregation. This is something that people study a lot, right—the extent to which Democrats live on the same block as Democrats, and Republicans live next to other Republicans. And so we can sort of compare what I told you—that 10 percent number, that overexposure ratio—against partisan segregation across neighborhoods.

And you can define neighborhoods in different ways. One way to do it is a zip code. And when we do that, we find that partisan segregation at work is pretty similar. So, like, a little bit less than but overall pretty similar to partisan segregation across zip codes. We can go one step further and say, you know, maybe the zip code is a little bit bigger than what you have in mind when you think of neighborhood-level sorting. And so we have individual addresses in our data, and so we can say, you know, You have 15 co-workers. Let me figure out how many of them share your party affiliation, and let me look at our sample of the 15 people who live closest to you and figure out how many of those people share your party affiliation.

And when we do that, we find that workplace-level segregation, workplace-level overexposure ratio is a little bit less pronounced than that sort of nearest neighbor level of segregation, but still pretty similar, not so different. It’s not orders of magnitude different. So that’s kind of why we say that it’s a little less pronounced than residential segregation as a whole but still pretty sizable.

This isn’t in the paper, but we can also look at colleges. That’s the other thing that we can really observe well in our sample, and when we do that, we find that colleges are less segregated along party lines than our workplaces.

Demsas: Wow.

Chinoy: And sorry—that’s college cohorts.

Demsas: Wait. Sorry. Can you break that down? College cohort—you mean, the people who went to your college and then are in the class of 2017 as well?

Chinoy: Exactly. Yes.

Demsas: Okay, so that group, the people who went to my college and are in the same class as me, are less segregated than my workplace? Well, maybe not me, in particular, but on average.

Chinoy: Yeah. And I think a lot of that is just the size of these groups. College cohorts are quite big compared to workplaces, which tend to be relatively smaller. And so there’s a little bit more room for that kind of political diversity in college cohorts. And so the extent to which you think that’s an apples-to-apples comparison, I think it is up for debate because of that size issue.

Demsas: So you’re not going to take the hard position that colleges are more open than workplaces in America? (Laughs.)

Chinoy: I wouldn’t say they’re more open, but certainly you’re in this group of people that, for many people, is quite large and might include people from diverse geographic backgrounds. That’s also something that happens at colleges.

Demsas: So is this a function of income or racial or gender segregation? Like, how much of this can be explained by the fact that our workplaces are segregated by factors that are correlating with partisanship but are not partisanship, in particular?

Chinoy: Yeah, that’s a great question, I think a natural question. I think it is important to note, though, that overall, like, what is the phenomenon of interest? It’s partisan segregation without differencing out all of those other background characteristics, right?

And I think that there’s an analogy to gender segregation at work. You know, to what extent is gender segregation at work driven by different occupational choices? The different occupations that men and women sort into or are sorted into—that’s sort of an interesting question. At the end of the day, that’s part of the phenomenon of interest. That’s part of what creates segregation at work. And so I think a similar thing applies here.

That said, we can do, I think, the kinds of exercises you have in mind, where, instead of benchmarking just against the share of Democrats and Republicans in your local labor-market area, in your commuting zone, we can additionally incorporate information about those co-workers in predicting their partisanship.

And so what I mean is: If we knew not just where your co-workers lived, in terms of which commuting zone they live in, but also their exact year of birth and their gender and their race—things which are, as you know, very correlated with partisanship and politics in the U.S.—would we still be surprised that Democrats disproportionately work with Democrats, and Republicans disproportionately work with Republicans? So these are pretty fine predictors, right? We actually interact [based on] year of birth and gender and race. So for me, you know, an Asian male born in 1995 tends to be registered with the Democratic Party at a particular rate. We can incorporate that information and say, Is it still the case that we see this partisan sorting?

And we find that, indeed, that explains some segregation but certainly not all of it. And we can add even more predictors, so not just the education level of everyone, whether they went to high school or college or have a postgraduate degree—again, something that’s highly correlated with partisanship—but also the exact college that they went to. And we can show there are partisan differences across schools.

And we can incorporate that information as well. We can incorporate not just the exact college that you went to but what you studied when you were there. And there, again, we see large gaps in the college major choices of Democrats and Republicans, which I think actually is independently quite interesting also. So college and major and then industry and occupation—we can incorporate all of these predictors, and we still find that a Democrat or Republican’s co-worker is about 4.3 percent more likely to share their partisanship than we would expect. So we bring that ratio down from 10 percent to 4.3 percent. All of these things clearly matter, but they don’t explain all the segregation that we see.

Demsas: I think that’s really significant. I think when I first saw your abstract, I was like, Okay, well, is this just like, Black people are Democrats, and women are Democrats, and men are Republicans, when we’re looking at averages?

And seeing that significant difference even without that—and I mean, I take your point well that looking at partisanship is relevant, even if it is the case that race and gender are playing into that. Like, that overall partisanship still tells you something about workplaces in America.

But I also want to ask, because I think in your paper that you’re seeing more heterogeneity for different income bands and educational attainment, that there’s a different level of partisan segregation for people who make more money or for people who have, you know, graduate degrees or college degrees.

Can you tell me about that? What’s going on there?

Chinoy: Yeah, so that’s exactly right. You know, the 10 percent number that I was quoting for you before is an average across everyone in our sample. We can see what that looks like among subgroups and, in particular, we can see what that looks like among subgroups defined by education and by income.

When we do that for education, we see something pop there, which is that people with postgraduate degrees, people who are more highly educated, tend to be in workplaces that are more segregated. And there’s a little bit of something going on for high-school graduates versus people with bachelor’s degrees, but really where it tends to stand out the most is people with a postgraduate education.

Demsas: It’s you, Sahil. You’re causing all our problems.

Chinoy: (Laughs.) I mean, yeah, like, kind of, though, right? And you can think of stories why this might make sense. Maybe these people have more of an ability to choose an employer that really aligns with their ideological interests in a way that isn’t true for other groups of workers. I can’t say for sure why.

Demsas: Or they’re more motivated, right? Like, you might be more ideological or partisan.

Chinoy: Totally. Also true. And, actually, on that point, when we subset to people who have made campaign contributions and might be more politically motivated or politically interested kind of in the way you were describing, we also see that those people are experiencing more segregation at work, particularly the people who donate to very liberal or very conservative candidates.

And then you also asked about income. And here we see a little bit less of a clear pattern, actually. So the gradient seems more pronounced for education than for income. There’s a bit of a technical point here, which is that we don’t know someone’s exact income in the LinkedIn data. You don’t put them on your LinkedIn profile, mostly. So we infer it from where people live, based on the block group that they live on, and so you might worry that’s sort of an inexact measure of income, but the education measure we have is more specific. We try to do some things to alleviate that concern.

Overall, we stand by the idea that the gradient is stronger for education than for income.

Demsas: But for income, higher-income people are more likely to have a more-segregated workplace?

Chinoy: Barely, among our sample. And our sample is people who have LinkedIn profiles, and so that’s a higher-income slice of the population than the overall workforce. And among that sample, we don’t see too much in terms of the highest-income people among them experiencing more segregation than the lowest-income people.

Demsas: This is a bit afield from your specific paper, but I remember there being a lot of talk about how diverse workplaces were more creative, and I think that literature is actually kind of more mixed, so I don’t know how good that literature actually stands up. But there’s a lot of talk about how having kind of ideological diversity, background diversity, etcetera can make for more creative teams. Does your research look at whether these sorts of workplaces, you know, have any impact on productivity? Do you have thoughts on whether that would play out, given other research you’ve looked at?

Chinoy: Yeah, it’s a great question. I think that’s the next paper I want to write.

Certainly, there are countervailing forces here. It’s probably bad for, you know, workplaces to have 100 percent people who think a certain way. That seems not optimal. It also seems like you probably want to be able to get along with your co-workers to some extent. And, you know, if partisanship and political affiliation is a measure of that, then, probably, a little bit of homophily might actually be productive. So my speculation is that there would be a bit of a U shape there. I don’t know for sure. I think that would be super interesting to study.

I think that where people do study this question, specifically, is among corporate leaders. It’s been, like, historically, a little bit easier to get information about the political affiliation and donation behavior of executives and board members, and so people have focused on that. There is one paper that basically claims that increasing political polarization of corporate America is not in the financial interest of shareholders. I’d have to remember exactly what they study in that paper, but I think they’re looking at the alignment between corporate executives and their boards, the political alignment, and looking at what happens when they leave.

Demsas: Yeah, we can put that paper in show notes for people to take a look at if they want.

There’s another paper—also, we’ll put that in the show notes—from Christopher Rosen last January [2024], and they found that employees experience negative affect after overhearing political conversations at work. Essentially, the effects are amplified when employees think their co-workers are less similar to them. So you’re more negative when you overhear someone who’s a Democrat, and you’re a Republican having kind of a conversation. And they’re attenuated when you overhear someone who has your viewpoints or you feel like it’s aligned with your ideological or partisan goals.

And so that seems pretty straightforward there, and I agree, these countervailing forces here feel difficult to sort out, particularly because an individual firm’s goal might be to increase the amount of good feelings that people within their company feel, but an industry or our goal as a society to try to create the most productive companies might be to have a lot more frictions happening in the workplace for the societal benefits that might bring.

It’s also like, the incentives are also countervailing here. There’s not really an incentive from workplace leadership, maybe, to try and make their workplaces more diverse in ideology, which I feel like is why there was such a push to try to find productivity benefits from ideological diversity—to try to incentivize this kind of corporate shift. But it seems rough.

Chinoy: I think that’s a good point. And I think the other thing I would add is that the conversation we just had is kind of focused on the interests and the efficiency and productivity of companies and workers. We also might have a social interest in partisan mixing and people who don’t think the same way politically interacting with each other.

Again, this is the kind of thing that, on its face, seems right. Like, we probably want people to interact with people who don’t think like them. Actually saying why that is good, politically, is not terribly obvious. Is it going to reduce support for, like, political violence or things like that? Probably not.

I think people have shown that people don’t generally believe in that kind of thing anyways. But you know, the extent to which I think mixing between Democrats and Republicans is good for our politics, I think that’s sort of another reason to be interested in this issue.

Demsas: Yeah, I want to emphasize for listeners, we’re not saying that, like, all these workplaces—and you’re not finding that all these workplaces—are 100 percent Democrat or 100 percent Republican. It’s just more likely to be. And so people might look around and say, I know the conservative at my job, and it’s like, Yeah, you know the conservative at your job.

So I think what you just said kind of segues into another finding in your paper, which is that there’s a persuasive aspect to this too. Just to tell you my prior, I feel like if I was constantly surrounded by very right-wing people at my job, I would probably only become more left-wing. But I do think that maybe your paper indicates that that effect is not the same for everyone—or maybe I’m just wrong about myself. Maybe I would be persuaded. But tell me about that finding. What did you see?

Chinoy: Yeah, so the story there is mixed. I don’t think what you’re saying is wrong about yourself. So the idea here is: What could explain political segregation? Well, one channel that could explain political segregation is sort of this conformity effect. People become like their co-workers, like their workplace over time. If I end up in a workplace with a lot of Democrats, I might be more likely to affiliate with the Democratic Party, and sort of vice versa with Republicans.

This has been shown, actually, with neighborhoods, and so people tend to adopt, to some extent, the partisanship of their neighbors or the people that they live around. And so we were interested in whether something similar could be happening at work. I’ll spare you the details of exactly how we estimate this, unless you want me to get into it, but the basic finding is that we find that the workplace can causally affect people’s partisan affiliation but only for people who don’t start out as committed Democrats or Republicans.

And so you’re not really getting people to change their mind. I think that’s kind of consistent with, perhaps, the story that you were telling about yourself. But people who start out as either independents or who start out as not registered with a particular political party, we find that moving to a workplace where the co-workers are more Democratic or more Republican tends to make those individuals more Democratic or more Republican, on average.

So there is some evidence of a little bit of an effect of the workplace on an individuals’ partisan politics or party affiliation. It’s not as big as in the case of neighborhoods, and so it seems like this channel has less power to explain the segregation that we see.

And in particular, the timing of this is kind of interesting. It looks less like the case that people switch to a new workplace and then adopt the politics of that workplace, and rather the case that people update their own party registration and then move to a compatible workplace, a co-partisan workplace. And that’s what kind of leads us to think, like, maybe it’s less the case that people are picking up the politics of their workplace and more the case that people are selecting jobs or workplaces, in part, based on politics or things correlated with their own party affiliation. And that’s the direction that we go in the paper.

[Music]

Demsas: After the break: how firms use partisan language to appeal to Democratic versus Republican job seekers.

[Break]

Demsas: What is driving this, I think, is a very useful thing to spend some time on now. I could theorize a bunch of different streams by which partisan sorting shows up, like word of mouth and recommendations, or it might be driven through partisan networks, or Democrats are more likely to be academics, and Republicans are more likely to be petroleum engineers or business owners or whatever. And when you’re able to drill down into how people are sorting, what part of the employment timeline is this actually coming up in?

Chinoy: Yeah, that’s right. So it’s not a straightforward answer, in the sense that certainly it’s the case that we can see in our data that Democrats and Republicans are choosing different schools and majors and occupations and industries. And so, clearly, all of that matters. It sort of limits the available workplaces and the kinds of people that you could even possibly interact with at work. That is something we can account for statistically when we measure segregation. I kind of described how we did that earlier, and we still find that there’s residual segregation.

So what is explaining that residual? There are a couple of different ideas. And I think the two probably main ones are workers selecting partisan or compatible workplaces, or it’s some kind of employer-discrimination channel, where employers are hiring people of a particular party or want things correlated with a particular partisanship, partisan identity.

And we focus on worker selection in this paper, kind of for the reason that I mentioned, that suggestive timing of when people are moving to co-partisan workplaces after sort of updating their party registration. And we focus on the worker-selection channel. And we try to say, you know, Is it the case that workers are actually selecting jobs based on something related to their political identity and something related to how they perceive the politics of the company?

We do this in a survey, and sort of the key question, I think, to begin studying this is, you know, What do workers actually know about a company when they choose whether or not to apply for a job there? It could be the case that segregation is driven because Democrats, you know, want to work at companies with more Democrats, but, like, is that something you really know when you apply for a job? You don’t know that it’s 60 percent Democrats versus 40 percent or something like that.

And so to study this, we look at our big data set that we’ve assembled of all these companies and shares of Democrats and Republicans who actually work there. And we look at how these companies are signaling. We look at the language that they used to describe themselves, and we see how that correlates with partisanship, with the shares of Democrats and Republicans who are actually at that company. And we actually find that there’s quite a bit of signal here, that the Democratic companies are advertising themselves in a way that’s quite different from the Republican companies, even within the same industry.

And a lot of the actual signaling language probably won’t surprise you. It’s words related to the environment and diversity and community for the Democratic companies, and sort of the absence of those for the Republican companies. But the fact that these signals kind of come through so clearly in our data kind of leads us to study the extent to which this can drive sorting. And I’ll pause there for a second, but I can tell you more about that.

Demsas: I would like to talk more about that because I saw the ideological signals and company descriptions, and this is on LinkedIn, right? So how are Democratic firms versus Republican firms describing themselves?

Chinoy: Yes, exactly. So, again, I want to emphasize this is all within industries. So we’re not just comparing, you know, nonprofits, which tend to have more Democratic employees, to, say, energy companies or oil-and-gas firms, which tend to have more Republican employees. This is saying, Take two firms within the same industry. Look at the text that they use, the words that they use on LinkedIn to describe themselves. And we find empirically that there are these words that are quite correlated with the partisanship of the employees.

And again, it’s a lot of the kind of bundle of things related to ESG practices and things related to diversity initiatives and things that are related to more subtle, perhaps, things, like, We’re a company that really emphasizes community and teamwork among our co-workers—that tends to be empirically more Democratic—versus, We’re a company that really emphasizes customer service and efficiency and excellence. That tends to actually be more correlated with companies that have more Republicans, which maybe wasn’t necessarily obvious to me.

Demsas: Yeah. I saw this other paper come out recently by Erika Kirgios and her co-authors that looks at whether communicating measurable diversity goals attracts or repels historically marginalized job applicants. It’s a bit orthogonal to the broader conversation, but I think it plays into this part of your paper quite well.

They look at whether “adding a measurable goal to a public diversity commitment,” like, instead of, quote, “We care about diversity.” You might say, like, We care about diversity and plan to hire at least one woman or racial minority for every white man we hire. And they look at whether that impacts application rates from women and racial minorities. They find that it increases application likelihood among those groups by 6.5 percent, without sacrificing candidate quality. Interestingly, it’s mostly driven by white women. I’m not even sure that the racial-minority finding is statistically significant, though they do find that it’s positive.

I think about this in relation here to whether there are different subgroups that are more motivated to find a job with more of their co-partisans at work and how that changes with racial and gender—different subgroups. I don’t know if you have thoughts on that.

Chinoy: Yeah, that’s interesting. There’s a lot of interesting work studying how these kinds of job ads affect who applies. The other big one I alluded to before is about ESG practices. And there’s another case, I think, where you can think of ways to make that, like, verifiable. You could say that this company actually has some particular ESG designation.

And I think what is maybe interesting about our survey and our paper is that we actually aren’t signaling anything that is explicitly verifiable. There’s no stamp associated with, you know, a company that is more pro-Democratic or more pro-Republican. And yet, this sort of matters. And yet, job seekers clearly seem to pick up on these things and care about them.

Demsas: I think someone listening to this might feel like, Okay, is this just a function of this current moment right now? Like, overt partisan politics in the workplace is much more commonplace in recent years. And this prevailing narrative about, like, Politics shouldn’t be discussed at work. You know, Politics, religion—you know, leave that outside the workplace. That’s kind of an older view of the workplace.

When exactly were you conducting this? And do you have any sense of whether or not this is just, like, a 2017–2022 moment?

Chinoy: Yeah, it’s a great question. So to answer the question, our LinkedIn data is a snapshot from 2022, and our voter-file data, which we’re kind of using to track how people’s party affiliation changes as they move from workplace to workplace, starts in 2012. And so it’s covering, you know, a more recent time period, for sure.

The question of, Can we measure how this is changing over time? I think it is super interesting and a little bit hard, in the sense that you can see in our LinkedIn data, where everyone was working in 2010, but then you worry, Who are the kinds of people who have gone through and listed where they worked in 2010? And so you worry about selection, and so I find that kind of a hard question to answer.

I think that there’s suggestive stuff. So, you know, if you ask people in surveys if they’re willing to leave a job over political differences, you’ll find that it’s the case that young people are much more likely to say that. Now, was that true in 1962? I’m not quite sure. But that sort of points in that direction. You find that in other countries—in Brazil, for example—that this kind of political assortative matching has been increasing over time. You find that among corporate boards, again, this kind of thing has been increasing over time.

And so I think there are a lot of sort of suggestive indications that this might be something that is more pronounced today than it was a couple of decades ago. It’s really hard to say for sure, though.

Demsas: Yeah. It’s funny, too, because part of what’s happened over this time period, at least in the United States, is that our parties have become much more sorted on ideology. And so in the 1950s or whatever, there were a lot more conservative Democrats and liberal Republicans, and that has changed significantly over time. And now most people who are ideologically liberal have sorted into the Democratic Party, so it becomes kind of difficult to measure this if you’re looking at just partisan measurements. Like, maybe there was more partisan diversity at workplaces in 1962, but ideological diversity was still really low, and people were still sorting. So I think there’s quite a difficulty with measurement there.

Chinoy: That’s a good point. It makes me sort of think of one other point, which is that for a smaller set of our sample, about 10 percent of our sample, we can measure their donation behavior. And so there, we can actually look at sort of a within-party measure of sorting. We can say, Is it the case that the more liberal Democrats, as measured by who they’re actually donating to, are sorting into workplaces with more Democrats, and vice versa for Republicans? And there, we also find pretty strong patterns. So there is an extent to which this exists even within party.

Demsas: Another question I have is about, like, obviously 2022—pretty tight labor market. So workers had tons of choice and ability to sort based on a bunch of different amenities. And I wonder if you think that this kind of sorting happens less in a high-unemployment environment. So, you know, God forbid, when there’s a recession at some point, or there’s a period of high unemployment, do you expect this kind of ideological sorting to go down?

Chinoy: Yeah, so I think the answer is yes. And I think that, again, that would be a pretty cool follow-up paper. I think that’s something that we can probably study directly in the data that we have.

I think that one piece of evidence here is, you know, how important are these kinds of what we call “ideological amenities” or “partisan amenities”? How much are these characteristics about a job—how much do workers value them, relative to other things that they might care about in a job? Our survey is designed to precisely measure the quantitative trade-offs people would make for these kinds of ideological amenities, you know, trading off against wages. It turns out to be about 3 percent of their salary.

Demsas: (Laughs.) That’s wild.

Chinoy: Is that big or small? I think it depends on your priors. But, you know, it’s certainly way smaller than what people would pay for health care or, you know, some of these sort of more—

Demsas: How do you measure that? How do you know someone’s willing to trade 3 percent of their salary?

Chinoy: Yeah. So this is kind of what I was getting at before. We pick up these ideological signals in the way these companies describe themselves. We use them to generate synthetic job ads. We want to ask workers in a wide range of occupations and industries about these different kinds of jobs. How do we do that without me sitting down and writing, you know, 10,000 job ads?

This turns out to be exactly the kind of thing that ChatGPT is good at, a large language model is good at. We can give it these kinds of ideological signals that we find, in our data, are correlated with companies with more Democrats and Republicans. We can give it a particular occupation and industry, and it’ll come back with a job ad that does emphasize these signals or doesn’t emphasize these signals, and then we ask workers about them in an online survey.

We ask them to explicitly make choices between these companies that are framed in different ways, and we vary the wages associated with these job ads, and that’s how we can sort of capture the strength of this trade-off. And so that’s where we get this 3 percent number. Is it big or small? It’s less than something like health care. It’s sort of actually comparable in magnitude to some of these softer amenities, things like having a relaxed versus a fast pace of work, for example, or having training opportunities at work.

People seem to care similarly about the ideological nature of the job. Of course, the difference is that our ideological amenities are precisely designed to split Democrats and Republicans. You know, Democrats care about the liberal one, and Republicans care about the other one. Whereas, Democrats and Republicans care similarly about, say, a relaxed pace of work. And so those other amenities can’t generate segregation, but the stuff that we study and design actually can generate segregation.

Demsas: I’m not surprised that people would trade off a little bit on wages in order to feel more comfortable at work with their ideological co-partisans. But I wonder if you were to tell people, Hey—your revealed preference is that you would sacrifice, like, X thousand dollars a year. Do you actually want to take that trade? With remote work, for instance, they’re doing these experiments now where people are like, Yeah, I will take a pay cut in order to be able to be fully remote. I wonder if people would explicitly say, Yes, in order to be at a more Republican firm, I will give you $3,000. I wonder if that’s a self-conception problem that we might run into if you made that explicit.

Chinoy: Yeah. So certainly we’re asking people in the survey to kind of make these trade-offs explicitly. You know, it’s job A or job B, and it’s $3,000 or not. I will say, also, that in the observational data, we don’t know individuals’ wages directly.

Again, that’s the problem I mentioned. People don’t list their salary in their LinkedIn profile, but we do know something about where they live and their occupation and their industry. We know what college they went to. And so we can take similar Democrats and Republicans—similar in terms of their demographics and where they live, and in terms of what exact college they went to, which is a pretty good measure of education or perhaps labor-market skills—and find that the Democrats are consistently choosing occupations and industries that pay less than the Republicans. And so there’s certainly some evidence, or some suggestive evidence, that there’s some trade-off that people are making between fit with the workplace, or their job more generally, and the actual salary associated with that job.

Demsas: There’s Gallup polling from February of last year that asked about U.S. employees’ experience with political conversations at work. And conservatives were much more likely to say that they had a discussion with co-workers about politics: 60 percent of conservatives versus 48 percent of liberals. That is contrary to, at least, my expectations. I’d expect parity, or maybe liberals would be doing it more. I don’t know why I had that expectation, but I was surprised.

It makes me think that maybe there’s some sort of mobilization aspect happening here, if conservatives are saying, in 2024, that they’re having conversations with co-workers about politics, and then, all of a sudden, conservatives win a trifecta. I don’t know if that’s playing into it.

Chinoy: That’s interesting. That probably goes against my priors a little bit too. I think I would have expected liberals or Democrats to be having more of these conversations at work. That’s interesting.

I think that, certainly, studying mobilization—it’s actually not clear to me, right? If you’re part of the majority group at your workplace, and then everyone’s like, Hey, let’s go vote for our guy, for our candidate. Is that actually going to make you more likely to turn out? Or is there some sort of backlash effect if you’re a minority and you say, you know, I really hate all these conversations I’m having with my co-workers. I’m going to go try to vote them out of office, or something like that? It’s not super clear to me what direction that goes in. I think that it is a great question.

Demsas: I’m revealing a lot about my psychology in this episode, going, like, Well, if I had 60 percent people who disagreed with me, then I’m definitely gonna go vote, you know? So maybe that’s not the average experience for people. (Laughs.)

Chinoy: Well, to tie this back, again, I think we find these, like, pretty heterogeneous effects on partisanship for people who start out as committed, versus not. And so I think there’s some sense in which maybe people who are younger and who are susceptible to political influence might adopt the politics of their workplace and perhaps turn out, and then people who already have a particular ideological stance or particular partisan attachment might be motivated to turn out as a backlash against the prevailing politics of the workplace. I’m not sure. I think that’s an interesting question.

Demsas: So we mentioned a couple times—I mean, you’re on the job market right now. You’ve mentioned academia a bit. I mean, have you seen any of this playing out in your own field? Like, this kind of sorting?

Chinoy: Yes. And I think that one fascinating thing, I think, is the sorting across college majors, which is something that we can see—sorting across colleges but also across college majors. And we can see this explicitly in our data. It turns out that economics is pretty much in the middle, which, when I tell economists, makes them very happy that it’s a discipline that doesn’t necessarily lean so far one way or another.

But certainly, higher education leans to the left in our data. Certainly, elite colleges lean to the left in our data. Certainly, many academic disciplines lean to the left in our data. And so I guess for lack of a more sophisticated answer, if you’re looking for a place with a good deal of partisan segregation, looking at universities is not a bad place to look.

Demsas: The mechanisms are interesting because you have this self-sorting. You lean a lot on people choosing these sorts of majors that are kind of correlated with their partisan identities or may help shape their partisan identities. And then they choose workplaces and things like that, and colleges, and down the line, etcetera.

But is there any impact that you can find on the employer side of selection? Like, I don’t know if you’re experiencing this at all, too, but there’s some level to which, when you’re in a job interview, they’re trying to suss out if you’re a good fit for the company. And part of that fit, I assume, might be ideological or partisan.

Chinoy: I think that’s absolutely right. And so I think that just isn’t the main mechanism or the main channel that we study in this paper, honestly, because we have to choose something. And so we focus on the worker side. Again, there’s evidence—from Brazil, in particular, there’s a paper looking at employer, you could call it, discrimination. There are audit studies in the U.S. looking at callback rates for résumés that signal whether you’re a Democrat or Republican, and there’s some evidence for that as well. So yes, I do think that kind of employer-selection story is certainly part of what’s going on.

Demsas: I think your focus on the employee side is actually really interesting, because I think it raises questions about allowing this kind of free choice, how that can lead to, maybe, societally suboptimal ends. There’s a new paper in the American Political Science Review from Jon Green and several of his co-authors that looks at demand for echo chambers.

And we think about echo chambers, and we’re like, Oh man, social media. It’s such an echo chamber. We’re talking about it as if it’s kind of imposed on us. And their intro of that paper has something interesting. They argue that “networked curation processes lead information consumption on social media in particular to be more politically homogeneous than [this] empirical literature has thus far suggested. However, this is more a reflection of democracy than a threat to democracy—a product of individuals engaging with information, and each other, on their own terms.”

Essentially, people are choosing to follow certain people. They follow creators. They follow influencers. They follow their friends. They follow people that make them feel good about themselves. There was this big outrage recently. I don’t know if you noticed—people were following the VP account on Instagram and then were shocked to realize that they were now following J. D. Vance, and now a mass unfollowing happened. And it’s like, you had curated your Instagram feed to be people you wanted to follow, and all of a sudden you see, like, J. D. Vance being inaugurated on your feed, and you’re like, How did I get on here? What’s going on?

And it’s an interesting question about—in previous generations, people went and they bought a newspaper, and you couldn’t just choose to take the parts of the newspaper that you wanted. You had to take it all. And you don’t do that anymore. So I don’t know if you have thoughts on that. Or should you want to change this, are there even ways to change this?

Chinoy: Yeah. I think that’s a really good point and interesting question: Is partisan segregation bad? Should we be worried about it? I think it is a very important, interesting question.

I will note that when labor economists study racial and gender segregation at work, they have a different set of motivations in mind. They have equity motivations in mind. These are protected categories. We really are worried, in particular, about differences in pay between groups doing the same work, whereas I don’t think we have the same equity motivations for being worried about Democrats and Republicans at different workplaces.

Demsas: DEI for conservatives in the academy is a very controversial conversation. (Laughs.)

Chinoy: Exactly. Yeah. So without going there, I think that we have different motivations to study partisan segregation at work versus these other forms of segregation.

I think that—and this is kind of getting to a conversation that we had a little bit earlier—it’s probably good that people get to do what they want and put themselves in workplaces where they feel happy and where the organization kind of aligns with their goals. It’s probably good that people work with co-workers who they get along with. It probably makes them, to some extent, more productive. Does it make the actual firms more or less productive? I think that is an open question, and certainly one that factors into this calculus about whether we think this is ultimately helpful or harmful.

And then, of course, I think the other really hard question to answer, which we talked about before, is: What does this do for democracy generally? Should we think that it’s bad that this place where we thought that partisans might be mixing more than other environments actually isn’t going to provide that kind of kind of mixing? What are, exactly, the consequences of that lack of contact between people who don’t think the same way? I think it is a hard question to nail down. I think we have this intuitive sense that probably it’s not so good if we really segregate ourselves politically. But actually quantifying or measuring and thinking about, What are the effects of that? I think is still an open question.

Demsas: One note of hope I might relay here is that—I thought about this in the context of my job, which is, obviously, not the average job in the United States, but I come into contact, in the context of my work, with people who don’t work here, all the time.

So for instance, I might come into contact with people who I’m interviewing, who are different from me, when I’m walking down the street, doing man-on-the-street interviews. But if I also conceptualize other jobs—if you’re in the service industry and you’re a restaurant worker, maybe all your co-workers behind the bar are on the same team as you, but you’re serving customers and talking to them and interacting with them, and that may also lead to a lot of that cross-partisan contact.

I think it’s both difficult—impossible, maybe even—and undesirable from a business perspective to be able to even do that sorting. Obviously, at some level, businesses do this, right? Like, if you have a rainbow flag in the window or something, you’re signaling to people. But, you know, in general, most jobs force you to interact with people outside of your workplace. And that sorting may happen much less in that context. So you could think of, like, your workplace as your home, versus, you know, when you go outside, and then you’re like, Okay, well, I’m interacting with people who are different than me, but I have a place to go back and, you know, dish with my co-workers about how rude they were.

Chinoy: Yeah, so I think that studying the extent to which different occupations interact with customers or with the public and whether that sort of has some bearing on these effects on political views, I think would also be interesting. When they say the workplace is a context for this kind of cross-cutting discourse, I think what they usually have in mind is, like, with fellow co-workers. But certainly, you’re right that those aren’t the only people that you interact with in the context of work. And so that would be super cool to study.

Demsas: Well, that’s a great place for, I think, our final question, which is: What is an idea that you once thought was a great one but ended up only being good on paper?

Chinoy: So I thought about this a bit, and if you’ll forgive me, I think I’m going to mention another academic paper, which is related but not exactly the same. So one thing that I’m super interested in, as someone who’s interested in politics and demographics and data, is the extent to which these demographic characteristics, some of which we’ve been talking about, are really predictive of politics and party affiliation and things like race and gender and age.

And I think what is tempting, then, is to say, There are these strong correlations that exist between politics and demographics. We know something usually about demographic trends in the U.S., whether a particular racial group is growing, whether people are becoming more educated, on average, or not. And so using that to make predictions about what’s going to happen to politics and to elections, I think, is really tempting.

This is the idea that, you know, people are becoming more educated, on average, and more-educated people tend to vote for Democrats, and so the Democrats are going to do better in the future. There are various versions of this argument, and it’s quite tempting to make, but it turns out it doesn’t really work.

There’s a paper by one of my advisors, Vincent Pons, as well as Jesse Shapiro and Richard Calvo where they test this. So they look at the correlation between politics and demographics in a particular election. They say, If these correlations were the same in the next election and we sort of just tracked the evolution of demographics from election to election, how good would that prediction be? And it turns out that it’s quite bad. It’s sort of worse than just guessing that it’s gonna be 50–50, Democrat or Republican.

And I think that sort of goes to show that—it’s kind of interesting that these demographic correlations are so strong in the moment. But also, these trends are kind of slow moving, and politics responds kind of quickly, and parties respond to where they see their electoral advantages.

Demsas: Demographics are not destiny.

Chinoy: Yeah, I could have just said that, and I think I probably would have gotten the same point across. But this is a longer way of saying that.

Demsas: No, it’s great. We’ll put the papers in the show notes as well. But thank you so much, Sahil. This was fantastic.

Chinoy: Thanks for your time.

[Music]

Demsas: Good on Paper is produced by Rosie Hughes. It was edited by Dave Shaw, fact-checked by Ena Alvarado, and engineered by Erica Huang. Our theme music is composed by Rob Smierciak. Claudine Ebeid is the executive producer of Atlantic audio. Andrea Valdez is our managing editor.

And hey, if you like what you’re hearing, please leave us a rating and review on Apple Podcasts.

I’m Jerusalem Demsas, and we’ll see you next week.

A New Kind of Crisis for American Universities

The Atlantic

www.theatlantic.com › health › archive › 2025 › 02 › nih-trump-university-crisis › 681634

Updated at 5:49 p.m. ET on February 10, 2025

“I personally think that the post–World War II system of big research universities funded heavily by the government will not continue.” That’s how one professor at a big state research university responded when I asked how he was feeling about our shared profession. That system is the cornerstone of U.S. higher education—at Harvard or Princeton, yes, but also the University of Michigan and Texas A&M. The research university has helped establish the meaning of “college” as Americans know it. But that meaning may now be up for grabs.

In the past two weeks, higher ed has been hit by a series of startling and, in some cases, potentially illegal budget cuts. First came a total freeze of federal grants and loans (since blocked, perhaps ineffectually, by two federal judges), then news that the National Science Foundation, which pays for research in basic, applied, social, and behavioral science as well as engineering, could have its funding cut by two-thirds. On Friday night, the National Institutes of Health, which provides tens of billions of dollars in research funding every year, announced an even more momentous change: According to an official notice and a post from the agency’s X account, it would be slashing the amount that it pays out in grants for administrative costs, effective as of this morning.

This latest move may sound prosaic: The Trump administration has merely put a single cap on what are called “indirect costs,” or overhead. But it’s a very big deal. Think of these as monies added to each research grant to defray the cost of whatever people, equipment, buildings, and other resources might be necessary to carry out the scientific work. If the main part of a grant is meant to pay for the salaries of graduate students and postdocs, for example, along with the materials those people will be using in experiments, then the overhead might account for the equipment that they use, and the lab space where they work, and the staff members who keep their building running. The amount allotted by the NIH for all these latter costs has varied in the past, but for some universities it was set at more than 60 percent of each grant. Now, for as long as the Trump administration’s new rule is in place, that rate will never go higher than 15 percent. Andrew Nixon, the director of communications for the Department of Health and Human Services, told me the administration takes the view that it could force universities to pay back any overhead above this rate that was received in the past. “We have currently chosen not to do so to ease the implementation of the new rate,” he said.

In practical terms, this means that every $1 million grant given to a school could have been transformed, at the stroke of midnight, into one that’s worth about $700,000. Imagine if your income, or the revenue for your business, was cut by nearly 30 percent, all at once. At the very least, you’d have a cash-flow problem. Something would have to give, and fast. You’d need to find more money, or cut costs, or fire people, or cease certain operations—or do all of those things at once.

It’s safe to assume that those consequences now affect every American research university. Some campuses stand to lose $100 million a year or more. Schools with billions of dollars in endowments, tens of thousands of students, or high tuition rates will all be affected. Just as your family has to pay bills or your business has to pay salaries, so do universities. “I think we could lose $1 million to $2 million a week,” one top university administrator, who declined to be named to avoid political scrutiny, told me. But the loss could also be much larger. Administrators can only guess right now. They don’t yet know how to figure out the impact of this cut, because they’ve never been through anything like it.

Within an hour of this article’s initial publication, a federal judge in Massachusetts put a hold on the cap on indirect costs, just as the freeze on federal funds was quickly stopped in court. (Stuart Buck, who has a law degree and is the executive director of the Good Science Project, a think tank focused on improving science policy, had told me that the cut probably wouldn’t pass legal scrutiny.) But whatever happens next, a jolt has already been administered to research universities, with immediate effects. And the sudden, savage cuts are setting up these institutions for more punishment to come. A 75-year tradition of academic research in America, one that made the nation’s schools the envy of the world, has been upset.

The “post–World War II system” of research that the state-school professor mentioned can be traced back almost entirely to one man: Vannevar Bush. His diverse accomplishments included his vision, published in The Atlantic, for a networked information system that would inspire hypertext and the World Wide Web. In 1941, Bush became the first director of the Office of Scientific Research and Development, funded by Congress to carry out research for military, industrial, medical, and other purposes, including that which led to the atom bomb.

Universities in America received little public-research funding at the time. Bush thought that should change. In 1945, he put out an influential report, “Science: The Endless Frontier,” arguing that the federal government should pay for basic research in peacetime, with decisions about what to fund being made not by bureaucrats, but by the scientific community itself. Bush advocated for a new kind of organization to fund science in universities with federal money, which was realized in 1950 as the National Science Foundation. Then his model spread to the NIH and beyond.

Money from these agencies fueled the growth of universities in the second half of the 20th century. To execute their now-expanded research mission, universities built out graduate programs and research labs. The work helped them attract scientists—many of them the best in their field—who might otherwise have worked in industry, and who could also teach the growing number of undergraduates. The research university was and is not the only model for college life in America, but during this period, it became the benchmark.

Now many university professors and researchers believe that this special fusion of research and teaching is at risk. “I feel lost,” a research scientist at a top-five university who works on climate and data science told me. (She asked not to be named, because she is concerned about being targeted online.) Like others I spoke with this week, she expressed not only fear but anger and despair. She feels lost in her own career, but also as an American scientist whose identity is bound up in the legacy of Bush’s endless frontier. It’s “like I don’t know my own country anymore,” she said. Even though her work isn’t funded by the NIH, she worries that similar cuts to indirect costs will come to the NSF and other agencies. She said that her salary and benefits are paid for entirely by federal grants. If money for overhead gets held up, even temporarily, the work could get stopped and the lab shut down—even at a wealthy and prestigious school like hers.

Others I spoke with had similar reactions. Bérénice Benayoun, a gerontologist at the University of Southern California who studies how male and female immune systems respond differently to aging, has already heard that the NIH overhead cut might lead to salary freezes and layoffs at her institution. The people working in administrative, purchasing, and shared-services roles are all funded by this pool of money, she said, so they might be the first to lose their job. Mark Peifer, a cell biologist at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, worries that his doctoral students and research techs might not get their paycheck if the lab’s accounting staff, which is also paid from overhead, are let go.

Both Benayoun and Peifer suggested that, in addition to harming their friends and co-workers, these changes would affect the pace of science overall. Some administrative duties might be handed off to faculty. “We’ll be able to do less science and train fewer talented people,” Benayoun said. Support for doctoral tuition—often paid from grants—could also be at risk, which would mean fewer graduate students doing lab work. That would slow down research, too. Some of these consequences might arrive “within weeks,” she told me.

Peifer told me he feels “both devastated and defiant.” His research relies on advanced confocal microscopes that are priced as high as $1 million each. Indirect costs on grants help a school like UNC invest in that equipment, along with laboratory cold rooms, electricity bills, and other, more mundane needs. Universities also use overhead to cover start-up costs, sometimes millions of dollars’ worth, for setting up new faculty with labs. Those kinds of investments would also be endangered if the NIH overhead cut is maintained. “It will mean the end of biomedical science in the United States,” Peifer said.

Biomedical science is probably not about to end. But Peifer and his peers do have reason to worry. Many scientists have devoted most of their lives to doing research, and they’ve done so in a system that is designed, through its structure and incentives, to wind them up. Even as their fields have grown more crowded over time, and grant funding more competitive, they may be pressured by their universities to spend more money on their work. The schools compete for rankings, status, talent, and students based in part on the number of dollars that they dole out in doing research, a metric known as “research expenditures.” Given all the pressure on professors to win more grants, and pay more bills, even just the prospect of a major funding cut can feel like a cataclysm.

The one that kicked in and then was stopped today may not be coming back. When the first Trump administration tried to limit overhead on NIH grants in its 2018 budget proposal, its plan didn’t work. Congress rejected the idea, and the NIH appropriations language that lawmakers adopted in response is very clear: Indirect-cost rates cannot be touched. The fact that the administration went ahead and changed them anyway suggests “no theory of reform,” Stuart Buck said.

At the very least, the cut to indirect costs has precipitated a short-lived funding crisis, of a type that should now be familiar to American scientists. George Porter, a computer-science professor at UC San Diego whose work focuses on how to reduce the energy required to run big data centers, has been through similar scares. In 2017, the Department of Energy briefly halted payment on a $12 million grant he was awarded after the administration sought (unsuccessfully) to eliminate the agency that funded it, Porter told me. Government shutdowns in 2018 and 2019 created further obstacles to his getting access to federal grants. “I’ve been trying to tell people that science funding is very fragile for some time,” he said.

But after most of a century of success and support from the federal government, research universities and their faculties may have become inured to risk. One computer-science professor who declined to be named because he was coming up for a performance review told me that few of his colleagues believed that anything would really change that much because of Donald Trump. “Everyone was wondering whether their grant funding would be delayed. The idea that it might be canceled, or that two-thirds of the NSF budget may be cut, just wasn’t something anyone believed could happen,” he said.

Now the sense of dread has reached even those in computer science, where grant money tends to come from other sources—the NSF, the Department of Defense, NASA, the Department of Energy. Any budget cuts brought on by the NIH could be felt by everyone across the university. “Suddenly there are some very serious rumors going around,” the computer-science professor said, including the possibility that faculty in his department would have to pay some of their grant funds back to the university to make up for the total shortfall. Even university leaders seem surprised. “This literally breaks everything,” one senior administrator at a major public university told me after learning about the NIH overhead cut. “What are they doing?”

If this cut is reinstated, or if new ones follow, universities will need to figure out how to respond. Some might press researchers to make up the deficit with future research funds, a practice that would make an already hard job even harder. Some might choose to invest more of their endowment or tuition proceeds in research, a choice that could cut financial aid, making college even less affordable. Big state schools could try to appeal to legislatures for increased funding.

Even if they head off a crisis, other institutions of higher ed might suffer in their stead. Nicholas Creel is a business-law professor at Georgia College & State University, a small, public liberal-arts college. Schools like his focus on teaching, which might suggest that it’s immune to the sort of government cuts that would be catastrophic for a large research university. But Creel worries that his college could be in trouble too, if the state government responds by shifting money to the bigger institutions. “That’ll mean less funding for schools like mine, schools that operate on a budget that those major research universities would consider a rounding error.”

In the meantime, the Trump administration’s cuts aren’t even set up to make research more efficient. The real problem, Robert Butera, an engineering professor and the chief research operations officer at the Georgia Institute of Technology, told me, is compliance bloat. Buck agrees. More changes to the regulations and policies affecting federal grants have accrued since 2016 than they did in the 25 years prior, and universities must hire staff to satisfy new demands. In other words, the federal government’s own rules have helped create the rising overhead costs that the same government is now weaponizing against higher ed.

Inside universities, faculty members squabble about the details. Many scientists would agree that overhead is too high—but only because they perceive that money as being taken from their own grant funds. Administrators say that overhead never covers costs, even at the rates that were in place until last week. Despite all of this, few of those I’ve spoken with in the past few days seem to have considered making any lasting change to how universities are run.

Maybe this was never about efficiency. American confidence in higher education has plummeted: Last year, a Gallup poll reported that 36 percent of Americans had “a great deal or quite a lot” of confidence in higher ed, a figure that had reached nearly 60 percent as recently as 2015; 32 percent of respondents said they had “very little or no” confidence in the sector, up from just 10 percent 10 years ago. These changes don’t have much to do with scientific research. According to Gallup, those who have turned against universities cite the alleged “brainwashing” of students, the irrelevance of what is being taught, and the high cost of education. Destroying American university research does not directly target any of these issues. (It could very well result in even steeper tuition.) But it does send a message: The public is alienated from the university’s mission and feels shut out from the benefits it supposedly provides.

Scientists, locked away in labs doing research and scrabbling for grants, may not have been prepared to hear this. The climate and data scientist, for one, simply couldn’t believe that Americans wouldn’t want the research that she and others perform. “I just can’t understand how so many people don’t understand that this is valuable, needed work,” she said.

But now may not be the perfect time to make appeals to the value and benefit of scientific research. The time to do that was during the years in which public trust was lost. In a way, this error traces back to the start of modern federally funded research on college campuses. In “Science: The Endless Frontier,” Vannevar Bush appealed to the many benefits of scientific progress, citing penicillin, radar, insulin, air-conditioning, rayon, and plastics, among other examples. He also put scientists on a pedestal. Universities make the same appeals and value judgments to this day. Cutting back their research funding is not in the nation’s interests. Neither is insisting on the status quo.

Trump Signals He Might Ignore the Courts

The Atlantic

www.theatlantic.com › politics › archive › 2025 › 02 › trump-vance-courts › 681632

The United States is sleepwalking into a constitutional crisis. Not only has the Trump administration seized for itself extraconstitutional powers, but yesterday, it raised the specter that, should the courts apply the text of the Constitution and negate its plans, it will simply ignore them.

The Spanish political scientist Juan Linz once theorized that presidential systems are more likely than parliamentary systems to undergo constitutional crises or coup attempts, because they create dueling centers of power. The president and Congress both enjoy popular elections, creating a clash of popular mandates when opposing parties win simultaneous control. “Who has the stronger claim to speak on behalf of the people,” Linz asked, “the president or the legislative majority that opposes his policies?” Presidential systems would teeter and fall, he argued, when the president and Congress could not resolve their competing claims to legitimacy.

A dozen years ago, when Republicans in Congress presented their majorities as having negated Barack Obama’s electoral mandate and began threatening to precipitate a debt crisis to force him to accept their domestic economic plan, Linz’s ideas began attracting renewed attention among liberal intellectuals. And indeed, the system is teetering. But the source of the emergency is nearly the opposite of what Linz predicted. The Trump administration is not refusing to share power with an opposing party. It is refusing to follow the constitutional limits of a government that its own party controls completely.

Donald Trump is unilaterally declaring the right to ignore spending levels set by Congress, and to eliminate agencies that Congress voted to create. What makes this demand so astonishing is that Trump could persuade Congress, which he commands in personality-cult style, to follow his demands. Republicans presently control both houses of Congress, and any agency that Congress established, it can also cut or eliminate.

Yet Trump refuses to even try to pass his plan democratically. And as courts have stepped in to halt his efforts to ignore the law, he is now threatening to ignore them too. “If a judge tried to tell a general how to conduct a military operation, that would be illegal,” Vice President J. D. Vance posted on X yesterday morning. “If a judge tried to command the attorney general in how to use her discretion as a prosecutor, that’s also illegal. Judges aren’t allowed to control the executive’s legitimate power.”

Now, Vance was not quite making an unconditional vow to ignore a court order. Rather, he was stepping right up to the line. Obviously, judges aren’t allowed to control the executive’s legitimate power, but determining whether orders are legitimate is the very question the courts must decide.

Elon Musk has described one judge who issued an unfavorable ruling as “corrupt”—using the word in the Trumpian sense, not to describe flouting ethics rules or profiting from office, but rather to mean “opposed to Trump”—and demanded his impeachment. Trump told reporters, “No judge should frankly be allowed to make that kind of a decision; it’s a disgrace.”

Vance proposed in 2021 that Republicans, when they regain power, should replace the entire federal bureaucracy with political loyalists, and be prepared to refuse court rulings against such a clearly illegal act. “And when the courts—because you will get taken to court—and when the courts stop you,” he urged, “stand before the country like Andrew Jackson did and say: ‘The chief justice has made his ruling. Now let him enforce it.’” So Vance has already reached the mental threshold of defying a court order. The question is whether he will see any of the current battles as presenting the right opportunity to take this step, and whether he will prevail on Trump (and, realistically, Musk) to do so.

Just as Trump and Musk are refusing to submit their plans to a Congress that their party controls, they are at least toying with the notion of ignoring orders by a court they have shaped. The Supreme Court, which has final word on all constitutional disputes, has a two-to-one majority of Republican appointees. When Vance floated the idea of defying the courts in 2021, he was anticipating his party taking actions so indisputably illegal that not even friendly justices would swallow them. They are prepared to smash a system they control, simply because it won’t move at the frantic pace they demand.

Will Trump actually go as far as he, Vance, and Musk have suggested? The notion that they would so early in their term escalate to the highest level of constitutional crisis short of canceling elections seems difficult to believe. Quite possibly, cooler heads will prevail.

The trouble is that the Republican Party’s cooler heads have been on a losing streak since November. Trump has appointed some of his most radical, unhinged, and unqualified followers to the Cabinet, and—with the sole exception of Matt Gaetz, whose attorney-general nomination failed because he’d alienated so many fellow Republicans in Congress—they are sailing through. Trump freed all the January 6 insurrectionists, and has begun firing and investigating the people in law enforcement who investigated the insurrection.

Trump appointed a former January 6 lawyer, Ed Martin, as U.S. attorney for the District for Columbia. Martin has presented himself in public as a kind of concierge lawyer for Trump and Musk, promising them special protection. “If people are discovered to have broken the law,” he wrote to Musk, “or even acted simply unethically, we will investigate them and we will chase them to the end of the Earth to hold them accountable.” The chief law-enforcement officer in the nation’s capital is stating in writing that he will investigate people for actions that he does not believe violated the law, but merely violated his own ethical sensibility, a rather frightening prospect.

Just this weekend, The Washington Post reported that the administration is asking candidates for national-security and law-enforcement positions to answer questions such as “Who were the ‘real patriots’ on Jan. 6? Who won the 2020 election?” and declining to offer jobs to those who fail to supply MAGA answers. Trump has sanctified the insurrection, has criminalized the prosecution of even its most violent activities, and is screening out anybody willing to question his belief that he is entitled to absolute power.

If you had predicted things like this before the election, most Republicans would have accused you of Trump derangement syndrome. Yet Republicans have barely uttered a peep of protest in the face of these actions.

Given his party’s near-total acquiescence in every previous step toward authoritarianism, perhaps Trump would not have to be crazy to take the next one. The entire administration is intoxicated with power. The crisis lies not in the structure of government so much as in the character of the party that runs it, which refuses to accept the idea that its defeat is ever legitimate or that its power has any limits.

How the Tariff Whiplash Could Haunt Pricing

The Atlantic

www.theatlantic.com › newsletters › archive › 2025 › 02 › how-the-tariff-whiplash-could-haunt-pricing › 681617

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When it comes to tariffs for Canada and Mexico, America is ending the week pretty much as it started. Over the course of just a few days, Donald Trump—following up on a November promise—announced 25 percent tariffs on the country’s North American neighbors, caused a panic in the stock market, eked out minor concessions from foreign leaders, and called the whole thing off (for 30 days, at least). But the residue of this week’s blink-and-you-missed-it trade war will stick.

The consensus among economists is that the now-paused tariffs on Canada and Mexico would have caused significant, perhaps even immediate, cost hikes and inflation for Americans. Tariffs on Mexico could have raised produce prices within days, because about a third of America’s fresh fruits and vegetables are imported from Mexico, Ernie Tedeschi, the director of economics at Yale’s Budget Lab, told me in an email. But “uncertainty about tariffs poses a strong risk of fueling inflation, even if tariffs don’t end up going into effect,” he argued. Tedeschi noted that “one of the cornerstone findings of economics over the past 50 years is the importance of expectations” when it comes to inflation. Consumers, nervous about inflation, may change their behavior—shifting their spending, trying to find higher-paying jobs, or asking for more raises—which can ultimately push up prices in what Tedeschi calls a “self-fulfilling prophecy.”

The drama of recent days may also make foreign companies balk at the idea of entering the American market. During Trump’s first term, domestic industrial production decreased after tariffs were imposed. Although Felix Tintelnot, an economics professor at Duke, was not as confident as Tedeschi is about the possibility of unimposed tariffs driving inflation, he suggested that the threats could have ripple effects on American business: “Uncertainty by itself is discouraging to investments that incur big onetime costs,” he told me. In sectors such as the auto industry, whose continental supply chains rely on border crossing, companies might avoid new domestic projects until all threats of a trade war are gone (which, given the persistence of Trump’s threats, may be never). That lack of investment could affect quality and availability, translating to higher costs down the line for American buyers. Some carmakers and manufacturers are already rethinking their operations, just in case.

And the 10 percent tariffs on China (although far smaller than the 60 percent Trump threatened during his campaign) are not nothing, either. These will hit an estimated $450 billion of imports—for context, last year, the United States imported about $4 trillion in foreign goods—and China has already hit back with new tariffs of its own. Yale’s Budget Lab found that the current China tariffs will raise overall average prices by 0.1 to 0.2 percent. Tariffs, Tedeschi added, are regressive, meaning they hurt lower-earning households more than high-income ones.

Even the most attentive companies and shoppers might have trouble anticipating how Trump will handle future tariffs. Last month, he threatened and then dropped a tariff on Colombia; this week, he hinted at a similar threat against the European Union. There is a case to be made that Trump was never serious about tariffs at all—they were merely a way for him to appear tough on trade and flex his power on the international stage. And although many of the concessions that Mexico and Canada offered were either symbolic or had been in the works before the tariff threats, Trump managed to appear like the winner to some of his supporters.

Still, the longest-lasting damage of the week in trade wars may be the solidification of America’s reputation as a fickle ally. As my colleague David Frum wrote on Wednesday, the whole episode leaves the world with the lesson that “countries such as Canada, Mexico, and Denmark that commit to the United States risk their security and dignity in the age of Trump.”

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The tariffs were never real. How Trump lost his trade war

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The Rise of the Selfish Plutocrats

By Brian Klaas

The role of the ultra-wealthy has morphed from one of shared social responsibility and patronage to the freewheeling celebration of selfish opulence. Rather than investing in their society—say, by giving alms to the poor, or funding Caravaggios and cathedrals—many of today’s plutocrats use their wealth to escape to private islands, private Beyoncé concerts, and, above all, extremely private superyachts. One top Miami-based “yacht consultant” has dubbed itself Medici Yachts. The namesake recalls public patronage and social responsibility, but the consultant’s motto is more fitting for an era of indulgent billionaires: “Let us manage your boat. For you is only to smile and make memories.”

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Another Edgelord Comes to Power

The Atlantic

www.theatlantic.com › technology › archive › 2025 › 02 › trump-ingrassia-online-reactionary › 681608

Paul Ingrassia is just your average right-wing edgelord with a law degree and a high-level position at the Justice Department. In the past several years, on X, he has likened Andrew Tate, the misogynist influencer, to the “ancient ideal of excellence”; he has written a Substack post titled “Free Nick Fuentes” in support of reinstating the white nationalist’s X account (when it was still banned); and he has called Nikki Haley, Donald Trump’s former United Nations ambassador who ran against Trump in the Republican primary, an “insufferable bitch” who might be an “anchor baby” too. On Inauguration Day, Ingrassia was sworn in as the new White House liaison for the DOJ.

In his new job, Ingrassia—who did not respond to a request for comment—is responsible for managing other White House appointments within the DOJ, and for identifying and recommending people to potentially be hired or promoted within the agency, according to a department memo. As such, Ingrassia is part of a small but growing class of important Trump officials with a history of posting things (and doing things) that might have been disqualifying for any other administration in recent memory, up to and including Trump’s own four years ago. This group includes Darren Beattie, appointed to a top post at the State Department despite having been dismissed from his job as a Trump speechwriter in 2018 after reportedly appearing at an event alongside white nationalists, and having claimed online that January 6 was orchestrated by the FBI. And also Gavin Kliger, an employee of Elon Musk’s DOGE, who appears to have shared a Fuentes post that disparages white people who adopt Black children and uses the pejorative slang term for women, “huzz.” (Kliger did not respond to a request for comment.)

[Read: A speechwriter gets a second shot at the State Department]

Not every such indiscretion has been completely ignored by the Trump administration and its allies. Another DOGE employee, Marko Elez, resigned on Thursday, reportedly over having made racist posts including “Normalize Indian hate” and “You could not pay me to marry outside of my ethnicity.” Within 24 hours, however, Vice President J. D. Vance was lobbying to rehire him under the justification that “stupid social media activity” shouldn’t “ruin a kid’s life.” Later that afternoon, Musk announced that Elez would be brought back.

Ingrassia’s appointment represents another win for young, online reactionaries in Washington. He praised and reposted an article from the fitness enthusiast and proponent of “race science” Raw Egg Nationalist. He has worked for the Gateway Pundit—a conservative news site that frequently publishes lies and conspiracy theories. And he has extensive ties to Tate, having worked on his legal team; he even posted a picture of himself with Tate and Tate’s brother. Tate is currently being investigated by Romanian authorities for alleged rape and human trafficking, and he has been separately accused of rape and assault in the United Kingdom. He has denied all of the allegations against him.

Ingrassia’s “Free Nick Fuentes” post called for Musk to end a ban on Fuentes’s account that dated to 2021. (Fuentes was banned after what a Twitter spokesperson described as “repeated violations” of the company’s rules.) Such a move was necessary, Ingrassia argued, to “shift the Overton Window” on social media. People who argue against content moderation on social platforms often do so by arguing that more speech is always better. (In Fuentes’s case, that meant more Holocaust denial, more praise of Adolf Hitler, and more denigration of women and Black people.) But Ingrassia also appears to be drawn to at least some of the substance of what Fuentes posted.

And although there were almost certainly members of the first Trump administration who shared Ingrassia’s views, few if any publicly said so, or discussed their ideas online under their own name. They seemed to understand that there were stakes and consequences for airing such beliefs in public.

Ingrassia’s presence in the new administration reflects a departure from that era. It also shows that not all young, online reactionaries are the same. Ingrassia appears to represent the populist, nationalist wing of the MAGA coalition, which stands in opposition, in certain ways, to the tech-right faction including Kliger and led by Musk. The two groups were aligned through the election and still have many shared goals: Witness Ingrassia and Kliger’s shared interest in Nick Fuentes. But they have also aggressively diverged on some issues. The tech industry generally supports the use of H-1B visas for highly skilled immigrants, whereas MAGA nationalists tend to oppose them. Ingrassia, in the latter camp, has written that the United States should end the H-1B-visa program as well as birthright citizenship, and institute a “20 year moratorium on legal immigration.”

That this internal disagreement has been spilling out into public view may be the flip side of the no-longer-need-to-hide-it administration. The H-1B fight, which took off at the end of December, was very visible online. People like Ingrassia, Kliger, and Beattie, with their freewheeling and unapologetic social-media personas, have helped make these internal tensions very clear. They’re just posting through it.