Ever since Donald Trump emerged as a credible threat to return to the White House, the guardrails that seemed to restrain him in his first term—political, legal, psychic—have collapsed with astonishing speed. His nominees are sailing through their confirmation hearings, including some who are underqualified and ideologically extreme. Titans of business and media are throwing themselves at his feet as supplicants. He has obliterated long-standing norms, unashamedly soliciting payoffs from corporations with business before the government. (The Wall Street Journal reports that Paramount, whose parent company needs Trump’s approval for a merger, is mulling a settlement of one of his groundless lawsuits.) Steps that even his allies once dismissed as unthinkable, such as freeing the most violent, cop-beating January 6 insurrectionists, have again reset the bar of normalcy.

These displays of dominance have convinced many of Trump’s critics and supporters alike that his second term will operate in a categorically different fashion from the first. Where once he was constrained by the “deep state”—or, depending on your political priors, by the efforts of conscientious public servants—Trump will now have a fully subdued government at his disposal, along with a newly compliant business and media elite. He will therefore be able to carry out the sorts of wild policy objectives that failed to materialize during his first term.

The earliest indications, however, suggest that this might prove only half true. Trump has clearly claimed some territory in the culture wars: He is now dancing with Village People in the flesh, not merely to a recording of the group’s most famous track. And when it comes to getting away with self-dealing and abuses of power, he has mastered the system. But a politician and a party that are built for propaganda and quashing dissent generally lack the tools for effective governance. As far as policy accomplishments are concerned, the second Trump term could very well turn out to be as underwhelming as the first.

Trump has promised a grand revolution. At a pre-inaugural rally, he announced, “The American people have given us their trust, and in return, we’re going to give them the best first day, the biggest first week, and the most extraordinary first 100 days of any presidency in American history.” He branded his inauguration “Liberation Day,” labeled his incoming agenda a “revolution of common sense,” and boasted, “Nothing will stand in our way.” After being sworn in on Monday, he signed a slew of executive orders in a move that has been termed “shock and awe.”

[David A. Graham: The Gilded Age of Trump begins now]

Those orders fall into a few different categories. Some are genuinely dangerous—above all, the mass pardon of about 1,500 January 6 defendants, which unambiguously signals that lawbreaking in the service of subverting elections in Trump’s favor will be tolerated. Others, including withdrawing from the World Health Organization and freezing offshore wind energy, will be consequential but perhaps not enduring—that which can be done by executive order can be undone by it.

What’s really striking is how many fall into the category of symbolic culture-war measures or vague declarations of intent. Trump declared a series of “emergencies” concerning his favorite issues, just as Joe Biden had. His order declaring an end to birthright citizenship seems likely to be struck down on constitutional grounds, although the Supreme Court can always interpret the Fourteenth Amendment’s apparently plain text as it desires. He is re-renaming a mountain in Alaska—which, in four years’ time, could be renamed yet again, perhaps after one of the police officers who fought off Trump’s insurrection attempt. He has ordered the federal government to officially recognize only two genders, male and female. “You are no longer going to have robust and long drop-down menus when asking about sex,” an incoming White House official said. Ooooh, the federal intake forms will be shorter!

Meanwhile, Trump has already scaled back many of his most grandiose day-one promises from the campaign. Broker an end to the Ukraine war before taking office? He has “made no known serious effort to resolve the war since his election,” The New York Times reports. Ask again in a few months. Bring down grocery prices? Never mind.

Trump’s supporters probably realized that some of his campaign pledges were hyperbolic. Even by realistic standards, however, Trump seems unprepared to deliver on some of his biggest stated goals. Take his signature domestic policy. Trump loudly promised throughout the presidential campaign to impose massive global tariffs once he took office. And yet, even that proposal remains theoretical. Trump’s executive order on trade instructs, “The Secretary of Commerce, in consultation with the Secretary of the Treasury and the United States Trade Representative, shall investigate the causes of our country’s large and persistent annual trade deficits in goods, as well as the economic and national security implications and risks resulting from such deficits, and recommend appropriate measures,” and then proceeds to issue more solemn calls for study of the matter.

Presidents don’t always come into office with fully formed plans, but Trump doesn’t even have concepts of a plan, or any way to resolve fundamental tension between his belief that foreign countries should pay tariffs and the reality that tariffs raise prices for Americans. Another White House document announces, “All agencies will take emergency measures to reduce the cost of living.” What measures? We can be fairly sure that there is no secret plan waiting to be unveiled.

None of this is to say that Trump will accomplish nothing. At a minimum, he will restrict immigration and sign a regressive tax cut. But even his policy successes will likely sow the seeds of a thermostatic backlash in public opinion. Americans favor mass deportation in the abstract, but their support dwindles when they contemplate specifics. An Axios poll found that strong majorities oppose separating families, employing active-duty military to locate undocumented immigrants, and using military funds to carry out immigration policy. Even some high-level Trump allies have warned that mass deportations will cause immediate economic disruption.

Trump’s fiscal agenda is where the desires of his wealthy benefactors, the preferences of his voters, and economic conditions will clash most violently. The previous two Republican presidents to take office—George W. Bush in 2001, and Trump in 2017—inherited low inflation and low or falling interest rates. Both were able to cut taxes and raise spending without facing any near-term economic costs. In his second term, Trump faces an economy that, while growing smartly, is still plagued with high interest rates relative to the pre-COVID norm. If Trump revises the old playbook of cutting taxes now and worrying about the cost later, he may discover that “later” happens right away.

One answer to the dilemma would be to pay for tax cuts with deep cuts to social spending on the poor, a staple of past Republican budgets. Yet Trump’s strength with low-income voters turns that maneuver into another potential source of backlash. Last month, The Washington Post’s Tim Craig interviewed low-income Trump voters in a poor town in Pennsylvania who earnestly believe that he will not touch their benefits.

[Russell Berman: What Trump can (and probably can’t) do with his trifecta]

Meanwhile, some of Trump’s most prominent backers refuse to acknowledge that any tough choices await. In a recent interview, the New York Times columnist Ross Douthat presented Marc Andreessen, one of the Silicon Valley billionaires hoping to influence Trump’s domestic agenda, with concerns that Elon Musk’s plans to cut the budget would alienate voters. In response, Andreessen insisted that the very suggestion reflected “absolute contempt for the taxpayer,” repeating versions of the line rather than engaging with the problem. Musk himself recently reduced his goal of cutting $2 trillion from the budget to a mere $1 trillion. When the brains of the operation are picking arbitrary round numbers and then revising them arbitrarily, one begins to question their grasp on the challenge they face.

Whether Trump pays any political price for failing to deliver on unrealistic promises—or for succeeding at delivering on unpopular ones—is an open question. Political difficulties won’t generate themselves. They will require an energetic and shrewd opposition. And a major purpose of Trump’s maneuvers to intimidate corporate and media elites is to head off a backlash by gaining control over the information environment.

One of Trump’s greatest strengths as a politician is to constantly redefine his policy goals so that whatever he does constitutes “winning.” The success of this tactic reflects the degraded intellectual state of the Republican Party’s internal culture. The conservative movement rejected institutions such as academia and the mainstream media decades ago, building up its own network of loyal counterinstitutions that would construct an alternate reality. This has helped Republicans hold together in the face of corruption and misconduct that, in a bygone era, would have shattered a governing coalition. (Today, Watergate would just be another witch hunt.) But the impulse to disregard expertise and criticism has also disabled Republicans’ ability to engage in objective analysis. The past two Republican administrations accordingly both ended in catastrophe, because the president had built an administration of courtiers who flattered his preexisting beliefs, whether about weapons of mass destruction and Iraq or COVID and the economy.

[George Packer: The end of democratic delusions]

None of those pathologies has disappeared. To the contrary, the MAGA-era GOP has grown more cultlike than ever. The rare, feeble attempt to steer Trump away from bad decisions is usually buried in obsequious flattery. The Trump presidency will be, by definition, a golden age, because Trump will be president during all of it. But it is a measure of his allies’ decrepitude that, whatever positions he ultimately lands on, they are prepared to salute.

Trump has struck fear into his party and America’s corporate bosses. His inauguration was a display of mastery, a sign that none will dare defy his wishes. But a leader surrounded by sycophants cannot receive the advice he needs to avoid catastrophic error, and to signal that his allies can enrich themselves from his administration is to invite scandal. In his inaugural spectacle of dominance and intimidation, Trump was planting the seeds of his own failure.

For more than a decade, I have hosted an hour-long cable TV show on MSNBC. When I got my own show, I imagined it as something akin to the experience of first-time car ownership. I could drive wherever I wanted to drive; although I would have to obey the law, I just had to figure out where I wanted to go, push the pedal, and go. I could cover whatever I thought was most important, whenever I wanted, for as long as I wanted.

I learned quickly, it doesn’t work like that. A cable-news show is powered by attention. It has no internal combustion engine to make it go. Yes, you can cover whatever you desire, night after night, but if no one watches it, the show will be canceled. This is what almost happened to me.

After a lot of trial and error, I now view audience attention as something like the wind that powers a sailboat. It’s a real phenomenon, independent of the boat, and you can successfully sail only if you harness it. You don’t turn the boat into the wind, but you also don’t simply allow the wind to set your course. You figure out where you want to go (in the case of my show, what you think is important for people to know), you identify which way the wind is blowing, and then, using your skills and the tools of the boat, you tack back and forth to manage to arrive at your destination using that wind power.

This essay has been adapted from Hayes’ new book, The Sirens’ Call.

This experience has given me a certain perspective on how attention functions. Every moment of my work life revolves around answering the question of how we capture attention. And it just so happens that the constant pursuit of others’ attention is no longer just for professionals like myself.

[Read: A ‘radical’ approach to reclaiming your attention]

Attention is a kind of resource: It has value, and if you can seize it, you seize that value. This has been true for a very long time. Charismatic leaders and demagogues, showmen, preachers, great salespeople, marketers, advertisers, and holy men and women who rallied disciples have all used the power of attention to accrue wealth and power. What has changed is attention’s relative importance. Those who successfully extract it command fortunes, win elections, and topple regimes. The battle to control what we pay attention to at any given instant structures our inner life—who and what we listen to, how and when we are present to those we love—and our collective public lives: which pressing matters of social concern are debated and legislated, which are neglected; which deaths are loudly mourned, which are quietly forgotten. Every single aspect of human life across the broadest categories of human organization is being reoriented around the pursuit of attention. It is now the defining resource of our age.

The rearrangement of social and economic conditions around the pursuit of attention is a transformation as profound as the dawn of industrial capitalism and the creation of wage labor as the central form of human toil. Attention now exists as a commodity in the same way labor did in the early years of industrial capitalism. What had previously been regarded as human effort was converted into a commodity with a price. People had always “worked” in one way or another, but that work was not embedded in a complicated system that turned the work into a market good. This transition from “work” to “labor” was, for many, both punishing and strange. The worker, Karl Marx observed in Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844, “does not feel content but unhappy, does not develop freely his physical and mental energy but mortifies his body and ruins his mind. The worker therefore only feels himself outside his work, and in his work feels outside himself.”

This was the fundamental insight of Marx’s theory of labor and alienation: that a social system had been erected to coercively extract something from people that had previously, in a deep sense, been theirs. Even today, those words feel fresh. The sense of dislocation and being outside oneself. The inability, even amid what is ostensibly boundless choice and freedom—What do you want to watch tonight, babe?—to “develop freely” our mental energy. The trapped quality of the worker caught in a system he did not construct and from which he cannot extricate himself.

The epochal shift of industrial capitalism required what Marx described as the commodification of labor. Labor—what we do with our body and mind, the product of our effort and exertion—is quite an alienating thing to have turned into a market commodity. The transmutation of what had always been “work” or “things humans did for specific purposes” into “labor” as a category of activity with a price required an entire transformation of the structure of society and the daily experience of human life.

Indeed, to extract labor from a person, you need to compensate them through wages, coerce them, or use violence—such as the overseer’s whip—to force it out of them. All these methods have been used. But the extraction of our attention happens in a different way. People can be forced to work in all kinds of cruel and oppressive ways, but they cannot be forced to do it purely through the manipulation of their preconscious faculties. If someone puts a gun to your head and tells you to dig a ditch, you know you are being coerced. If someone fires a gun in the air, your attention will instantly shift to the sound even before you can fully grasp what’s happening.

This feature of attention—that it can be taken from us at a purely sensory level, before our conscious will even gets to weigh in—makes it a strange and powerful force. Attention is the stuff of consciousness itself, where we choose to place our mind’s focus at any given moment. And yet it can always be wrenched from us seemingly against our will by the wail of the siren, the bark of a dog, or the flash of a prurient image on our phone. The more competitive an attention market it is, the more it will select for involuntary methods of capturing attention. Think of Times Square with its blinding lights, or a casino floor or a supermarket checkout counter. More and more, our entire lives have come to resemble those spaces.

Centering attention as a resource and understanding both its existential primacy and its increasing social, political, and economic domination is the key to understanding disparate aspects of 21st-century life. Attention comes prior to other aspects of speech and communication that we associate with power—persuasion, argumentation, information. Before you can persuade, you must capture attention: “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!” Before you inform, insult, or seduce, you must make sure that your voice doesn’t end up in the muted background static that is 99.9 percent of speech directed our way. Public discourse is now a war of all against all for attention. Commerce is a war for attention. Social life is a war for attention. Parenting is a war for attention. And we are all feeling battle weary.

The trajectory of Elon Musk is a perfect fable for the attention age. By the third decade of the 21st century, Musk was the richest man on Earth. He had every material and financial resource, enough to purchase anything that the totality of human history up until that point could produce to be bought or owned by one man. And yet he was willing to trade it all for attention.

Not at first—for a good portion of his early career, Musk was relatively press shy. But then, like so many, he joined Twitter. He posted more and more, with greater degrees of pathetic desperation, until he made the most expensive impulse purchase in history, buying the platform for a wildly overvalued $44 billion.

Perhaps having realized how much he had overpaid, Musk then tried to back out, but facing a lawsuit from Twitter and a potentially disastrous trial, he was all but forced to complete the sale. Although he made all kinds of high-minded noises about free speech and diversity of viewpoints, it became immediately clear from his incessant, compulsive posting and trolling that what he really wanted was to be Twitter’s Main Character.

In becoming Twitter’s Main Character, though, he boosted vile and false conspiracy theories about a savage attack on the husband of the House speaker, mocked the notion that a mass shooter with literal swastika tattoos could possibly be a white supremacist, and consistently boosted racist posts about the inherent criminality of Black people and degrading tweets about trans people.

This did succeed in getting Musk attention: He was always one of Twitter’s top stories, and his antics even became a fixation of mainstream news coverage. But all of this was a bit much for many Twitter users. Crucially, advertisers began to pull back, and then flee en masse. By May 2023, seven months after Musk bought Twitter for $44 billion, Fidelity Investments estimated the platform’s total worth to be just $15 billion. To most observers, this looked as though Musk had lit nearly $30 billion on fire, but he had used it to purchase something: the world’s attention. It was more valuable to him than anything else.

When asked by a CNBC interviewer why he was constantly sending such tweets as “[George] Soros hates humanity,” Musk—with a little extra pause for effect—said, “There’s a scene in The Princess Bride—great movie—where he confronts the person who killed his father. And he says, ‘Offer me money. Offer me power. I don’t care’ … I’ll say what I want to say, and if the consequence of that is losing money, then so be it.” Although it was cloaked in principle, what Musk was really saying was The attention is worth it to me. There is quite literally nothing I value more.

But if Musk was sent on this trajectory through sheer broken need, carried along by compulsion, in his brokenness he stumbled on the simple truth that to control the attention of others is to exert power. His pursuit of Twitter might have started as a form of addiction, but it has transformed into a strategy. His obsession with attention cost him billions of dollars in the beginning, but it has now helped him elect a president, positioned him to influence government policy, and increased his fortune.

And in this, Musk is an extreme example, but he is by no means alone. What you can see throughout his generational cohort is the same thirsty, grasping desire for attention: Silicon Valley billionaires starting their own podcasts, like the hosts of All In, or posting compulsively, like the hedge-fund billionaire Bill Ackman. This age’s new plutocrats are obsessed, for understandable reasons, with attention.

If attention is the substance of life, then the question of what we pay attention to is the question of what our lives will be. And here we come to a foundational question that is far harder to answer than we might like it to be. What do we want to pay attention to? If we didn’t have all the technologies and corporations vying for our attention, if our attention wasn’t being commodified and extracted, what would we affirmatively choose to pay attention to?

You hear complaints about the gap between what we want to pay attention to and what we end up paying attention to all the time in the attention age. Someone ambitiously brings three new novels on vacation and comes back having read only a third of one of them because she was sucked into scrolling through Instagram. Reading is a particular focus of these complaints, I find. Everyone, including myself, complains that they can’t read long books anymore. We have a sense that our preferences haven’t changed—I still like to read—just our behavior. And the reason our behavior has changed is that someone has taken something from us. Someone has subtly, insidiously coerced us.

But maybe we have multiple selves who want different things—a self who wants to read, a self who wants to scroll. There’s a tension here between different aspects of the self that can be hard to reconcile. We contend with what our superego wants (to go on vacation and read novels) and what our actual self does (scrolls through Instagram). As is so often the case, our revealed preferences are different from our stated ones. And who is to say what our real and true desire is?

So much of modern self-help is geared toward closing the gap between what we say we want and value and how we act. And here, in the instant-to-instant unfolding of our inner lives, we can imagine a similar project, at least at the individual level. The solution, to the extent that there is one, to alienation caused by this gap between what we pay attention to and what we want to pay attention to is to begin with the question of what we actually want. If you had full power over your own attention, a kind of X-Men-style hyperfocus that could, at will, always be directed on whatever you chose, for as long as you chose, what would you do with this superpower?

I have to say that I think most people would offer a fairly similar set of answers. I would focus on my family and friends, my hobbies and interests, things that bring me joy, personal projects—whether taking photos, gardening, or building a deck—that give me satisfaction.

We are not required to suffer under the current form of attention capitalism forever, or even for that much longer. We can create alternative markets for attention, alternative institutions, and businesses that create models different from those that now dominate. We can also create noncommercial spaces where we can pay attention to one another, our hobbies, and our interests and communities without that attention being captured, bought, and sold. And there is yet another path forward that is more radical than these other approaches, one that fundamentally relies on people voluntarily creating new alternatives: We can regulate attention.

If we look back to the labor movements of the 19th century, they came to advocate for two particularly rudimentary and fundamental forms of regulation: a ban on child labor and limitations on total hours worked. Neither of these restrictions seemed obvious and commonsense at the time, at least not to the titans of industry and politicians who fought them. Moving governments toward these goals took a tremendous amount of political mobilization, agitation, and persuasion.

[Megan Garber: The great fracturing of American attention]

What if we viewed attention in similar terms? It’s obviously not a perfect analogy, but a lot is similar. In the legal context, one of the biggest challenges is that attention is a difficult thing to regulate because in the United States it is so connected to, and difficult to sever from, speech. The First Amendment provides extremely strong speech protections, and any attempts to regulate attention—telling social-media companies how they can and can’t operate, for instance—inevitably raise profound First Amendment questions. But there are ways to regulate attention that plausibly sidestep the speech question by simply imposing non-viewpoint-specific limitations that apply across the board.

There are already bills in state legislatures and in Congress that would create legal age minimums for social-media platforms. Although the details vary, as a general matter this seems obvious and sensible. We as a society can say that children’s attention should not be sold and commodified in the aggressive and alienating fashion of current social-media networks. Just as 12-year-olds can’t really consent to a wage contract, we could argue they can’t really consent to the expropriation of their attention in the way that, say, Instagram exploits it.

But what about adults? What if we decided to apply the basic lessons of labor law to attention and simply impose limits on how much attention can be monetized from us? I am fully aware that heavy-handed regulation of attention markets, such as a cap on hours of use, would face steep political and legal opposition. But there’s another way to view efforts to regulate the marketing of our attention.

One of the earliest slogans pushing the eight-hour workday was “Eight hours for work, eight hours for sleep, and eight hours for what we will.” It feels as if more and more of that leisure time is now taken from us, not willed by us. Our control over the space of our mind, stolen. Are we really spending the precious hours of our waking, nonworking lives doing “what we will”? Or has the conquering logic of the market penetrated our quietest, most intimate moments?

We don’t have to accept this. It does not need to be this way. We must use every tool and strategy imaginable to wrest back our will, to create a world in which we point our attention where we—the willful, conscious “we”—want it to go. A world where we can function and flourish as full human beings, as liberated souls, unlashed from the mast, our ears unplugged and open, listening to the lapping of the waves, making our way back home to the people we love, the sound of sirens safely in the distance.

This essay has been adapted from Chris Hayes’ new book, The Sirens’ Call.

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In politics, compromising with one’s ideological opponents is like walking a tightrope while both your allies and foes jeer at you. Democrats, now the out-group facing a Republican trifecta, will have to decide when to fight nominations, laws, and executive orders and when to step into that circus ring.

Jennifer Pahlka, a former Obama administration official and an author of a new report on government reform, kicked up a storm some weeks ago when she encouraged Democrats to work with Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE).

“We do need to talk about government reform, and while I’m sorry the conditions are quite a bit less than ideal, I think it’s time we admitted they were always going to be. Democrats did not do this work,” Pahlka wrote.

Pahlka was in part responding to arguments by people like Leah Greenberg, a co-founder and co-executive director of the progressive group Indivisible, who scolded Democrats for promising to work with DOGE: “Democrats should be planning to fight these corrupt plutocrats, not offering to work with them.”

On today’s episode of Good on Paper, I explore whether liberals can actually find any common ground with DOGE and whether Pahlka’s focus on what she calls “state capacity” actually explains government dysfunction. (This episode was recorded earlier this month and references Vivek Ramaswamy’s involvement with DOGE, before it was reported that he would no longer be a part of it.)

“It’s an uncomfortable position to be in because it’s not like I have a crystal ball to know what Musk and Ramaswamy are going to do. And I may disagree with some of what they do, or maybe a lot of what they do, but they’ve really kind of moved the Overton window and the conversation about this inefficiency, the sludge. And I think that’s valuable, frankly, and I want Democrats to kind of get in the game of that reduction,” Pahlka tells me.

The following is a transcript of the episode:

Jerusalem Demsas: While 75 percent of Democrats tell Pew that they prefer a bigger government providing more services, fewer than a quarter of Republicans say the same. This divide is a persistent feature of modern American politics and can make it seem like government-reform efforts—like civil-service reform and getting rid of costly, inefficient regulations—are the purview of the Republican Party.

Elon Musk and Vivek Ramaswamy certainly think so. They aim to cut $2 trillion from the roughly $6 trillion federal budget under the banner of the Department of Government Efficiency, or DOGE. This could be a nearly impossible feat, seeing as discretionary spending by the federal government was only $1.7 trillion in 2023. Perhaps realizing this conundrum, Musk and Ramaswamy have negotiated against themselves and revised the number to $1 trillion or $500 billion. We’ll see.

[Music]

Demsas: I’m a bit tired of how reasonable-sounding concerns around government efficiency and effectiveness get shoehorned into a witch hunt for government waste. There are serious problems with how the federal government’s processes and regulations harm economic growth and the effectiveness of important social-welfare programs. I’m skeptical that focusing on budget cuts does much to change that, but I’m also frustrated that it seems the only political actors talking about this seriously are on the right.

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 Jennifer Pahlka, a senior fellow at the Niskanen Center and founder of Code for America. She worked in the Obama administration as deputy chief technology officer, and her recent book, Recoding America, argues that the federal government is hobbled by its inability to implement its stated priorities.

Jennifer has a message to people across the political spectrum: If you want government to work, you need to reform it. In that vein, she’s much more optimistic than I on the potential for good-government types to work with DOGE and the Trump administration.

Demsas: Jen, welcome to the show.

Jennifer Pahlka: Thanks so much for having me.

Demsas: I am so excited to have this conversation. I feel like me and you—our work has been in conversation for years now, and we’ve been at some of the same conferences and things. So I’m really excited to dive in.

Pahlka: Me too.

Demsas: So you’re someone who has worked in government and now works trying to make government better. Give us the liberal case for government reform.

Pahlka: Well, I feel like liberals talk about government reform. I’m not sure they necessarily need to be sold on it so much. I think the kind of reform that we need today is a little bit of a hard pill for liberals to swallow, because we need government to sort of be faster, a little bit less process oriented and more outcome oriented. And there has been a pattern, I think, of liberals being very fond of process, of additional rules and regulations, for all the right reasons.

And with great success, right? I mean, the environmental movement really cleaned the air and our water, and that was through regulations. The civil service went from being a place where you would get a job because you were someone’s friend or you’d given money to a campaign, to a professional place. And those are all rules and regulations that have made government better and fairer and made our country better.

But we’re kind of at a point where there have been so many of them, and they’ve stacked on top of each other so much that we’re just moving very slowly. And so the kind of reform I’m talking about now does involve some things like maybe reducing, especially, regulation on government itself—reducing procedures and moving a little faster. And that is the part that liberals need to be convinced about, let’s say.

Demsas: You have a new report out with the Niskanen Center called “The How We Need Now: A Capacity Agenda for 2025 and Beyond.” What’s the main takeaway? What are you trying to solve here?

Pahlka: We’re really trying to help people understand that when you think about government reform, it just seems so big and impossible. So we’re trying to break it down and say, Actually, there are specific things that you could do if you want a government—and this could be, you know, we wrote it for federal government, but you could use it for state or local government as well—if you want government to be able to do what it says it’s going to do, to achieve its policy goals.

And so those things come in four buckets, you know—four pillars. The first thing is: You need to be able to hire the right people and fire the wrong ones. The second is: You have to reduce the procedural bloat. We’ve also talked about that as reducing the administrative burden on public servants—in addition to on the public, but we’re really talking about on public servants—so that you get more public servants focused on outcomes and less on process and compliance. The third thing is: You need to invest in digital and data infrastructure to enable all of this. And there’s a bunch the federal government could be doing at the start of the Trump administration to do that, including getting the United States Digital Service funded again and the Technology Modernization Fund funded again.

And then last, and the one I’m most interested in, is that we need to close the loop between policy and implementation. And what I mean by that is: Right now it functions as this sort of waterfall process, where you have a law, and then maybe it gets handed off to an agency to write regs, and then, you know, into the implementation phase. And it doesn’t ever sort of circle back and say, Is this working? What are we learning? What needs to be adjusted?

And especially in the era of Loper Bright, this decision from the Supreme Court that’s really going to change how the executive-branch agencies relate to Congress, we have kind of an opportunity to rethink that relationship. And I think we should rethink it along the lines of creating feedback loops that let us adjust along the way so that we actually get the outcomes that the laws and policies that we pass intend.

Demsas: I think you’re right when you talk in the abstract. Like, most people, liberal or conservative, would say, Yeah, you know, red tape is bad, and the government should definitely update technology, and, you know, it’d be good if we had a government that worked efficiently. And then when you get into the actual policy prescriptions and the trade-offs, things become more controversial, particularly when you’re talking about civil-service reform and regulatory reform.

So one of the third rails has long been hiring and firing. I want you to talk to us a little bit about what’s broken in that space and how you would change it, and I’d also like you to talk to us about the story of Jack Cable.

Pahlka: Oh, gosh. Jack, yeah. Well, first of all, what’s not broken? So, you know, we had the Civil Service Reform Act of 1978, which established these Merit System Principles. They are very good. If you read them, you are very likely to agree with them. They talk about integrity and fairness and, you know, promoting people on the basis of merit. They’re called the Merit System Principles. And I think they are a strong foundation for our civil-service system.

The problem is that (A) that was 1978, and so we’ve had many years now for those things to be operationalized with a lot more ornaments that have been attached to them, right? It’s not just those principles. It’s the regulation and the guidance and the operating manuals and the processes and the forms that have derived from those that have really, I think at this point, kind of perverted their intent.

So for instance, we say we’re going to hire on the basis of merit. We also say we’re going to hire in a way that’s nonbiased. Well, what happens is that you have HR managers who kind of control the process of selecting a candidate. What they do—I’ll give you sort of the very specifics of how this works in 90 percent of cases. This is not the accepted services, and it’s not political appointees, but open-to-the-public, competitive jobs. They get, like, a big pool of resumes, and they have to down select. The first down select they do is by looking for exact matches between the language on the resume or cover letter and what’s in the job description.

Demsas: So if you copy-paste the job description into your resume, that’s, like, points?

Pahlka: Yes, and I have a friend of mine who’s in my book—I actually originally interviewed her about this. I didn’t put that in the book. But she was looking at a resume that had not just been copied and pasted, but copied and pasted and not reformatted. Like, that part was in a different font.

Demsas: Oh my god.

Pahlka: Like, the same font, right? And she points this out to the HR manager, and they’re like, Yeah, that means that this person’s the most qualified, because it’s the exact same language. And she’s like, This person is clearly unqualified because they didn’t even know to reformat. And this is not an outlier. Like, this happens a lot.

So first they’re looking for these exact matches. And then they take everybody who was really close in language—and also, by the way, who has something called a government resume, which is different from a private-sector resume, and you have to know that somehow, magically, before you apply. Then from that pool, they send everyone a self-assessment questionnaire, and everybody who marks themselves as master, and I literally mean master—I think that’s the top rating in a lot of these—they make the next down select, so they move on to the next pool.

Demsas: Wait—so if you just say that I’m a master at this, like, without any double-checking, you just get to move forward?

Pahlka: I mean, somebody could send me a self-assessment saying, Are you a master programmer in Python? And I would just be like, Yes, and I would move into that pool. Nobody checks it. It’s actually worse—not just that no one checks it; it’s that the HR people will tell you that subject-matter experts (SMEs) are not allowed to be in that part of the process.

I mean, there are processes that do include them, and I can get to that, but you can’t have SMEs look at these resumes and exert their judgment, because they may introduce bias into the process. Now, again, I think the idea of keeping bias out is something I agree with, and I’m going to assume you agree with, and most people agree with. But that’s not actually keeping bias out, right? That’s what I mean about sort of a perversion of the intent.

But anyway, so you have this now smaller pool of people who are great at cutting and pasting and great at, you know, self-aggrandizement—or really what it is, is they just know what to do. They know how to play the game. And then from that list, you apply veterans’ preference. In other words, any veterans in that pool float to the top, and that’s the “cert,” which is just the name for the list the HR manager gives to the hiring manager. That’s the cert that the hiring manager is supposed to choose from. So this is not consistent, to me, in my mind, with Merit System Principles of fairness, and not bias, and certainly not merit.

And so what you are looking at when you see that kind of behavior is a system that’s designed to be completely defensible from the critique of your judgment, because you have exercised no judgment at all. And I understand why people defend them and do these processes to be defensible, but I think, in the end, they come up actually indefensible.

So I learned about this process, in part, through a young man named Jack Cable. I was on the Defense Innovation Board at the time, and he won the Hack the [Air Force] contest. So all these security researchers from around the country come together, and, you know, they’re looking at bugs and security bugs and Pentagon software. This young man wins the whole contest. He’s the best out of the group.

And of course, you know, the people at the Defense Digital Service and other parts of the Department of Defense say, Great. We need this guy on our team. He applies with a resume that lists his programming languages and the frameworks that he is expert in, and he is cut in the first batch because he did not cut and paste. And the people reviewing his resume see this sort of gobbledygook of programming languages—they’re not technical people. They’re not even sort of supposed to know what those are, and so he gets cut.

And it’s not just that—then the Pentagon folks intervene and try to get him hired something like 10 different times. He does eventually get hired, but even with these interventions from people in power, and sort of as it escalated with increasing levels of power in the Pentagon, this very talented security researcher continues to get cut from the process before hiring managers ever see his resume.

Demsas: Wow.

Pahlka: Oh, and one more thing: He’s told by the HR people along the way—he’s quite young—they say, Go work at Best Buy selling TVs for a year, and then you’ll be qualified for this job.

Demsas: Wow. And I feel like in that time period—obviously, this is an exceptional case where a lot of people took effort to try to get him hired. But, you know, private-sector processes are much faster than this. And what’s most likely to happen is you get all of these top performers going into the private sector.

Pahlka: Oh absolutely. And I mean, it’s just a testament to his commitment that he stuck through it. And that young man has actually stayed in government. It’s amazing. He’s done some really wonderful work.

Demsas: So there’s that part of the government reform that you talk about, which is about hiring and firing. I mean, obviously, we only touched on it a little bit. But the other part of it that you focus on a lot is around regulatory reform. And one of the laws that you’ve pointed out is the Paperwork Reduction Act. Can you walk us through how that act hobbles government?

Pahlka: Yes. I will say, we’ve had some good progress on PRA, and I should also mention that we’ve had some good progress on that assessment problem. The [Fair] Chance to Compete Act passed both houses of Congress, and it actually directs agencies to stop using those self-assessments.

I have high hopes for it, but I also will say: There was an executive order saying that under Trump. Biden renewed that executive order. And it hasn’t really gotten the agencies to change their practices yet. So there is an implementation issue, I think, and we’re going to really have to watch if the [Fair] Chance to Compete Act does what we hope it does.

Demsas: Wait—if both Trump and Biden issued the executive orders, why aren’t the agencies doing it?

Pahlka: It’s very hard to change the practices of agencies, even under direct order.

Demsas: Yeah. Mechanistically, though, what’s going on? Are there people who are just refusing to change? Or, like, what’s happening?

Pahlka: Well, it wasn’t in statute. I don’t think there was a timeline or a deadline for it. I think if you really read the language and translate it into, you know, what’s practical, it’s sort of more encouragement. I mean, it does direct them, but there’s sort of very little teeth in it.

Government moves slowly. HR people move particularly slowly. I mean, until you fix some other problems—like how detailed it is, how many rules you have to comply with in order to use a subject-matter expert in that process—it actually is, like, enormous amounts of time to run a hiring process using real assessments.

Demsas: So tell us about the Paperwork Reduction Act. What is it doing, and how is it preventing government from acting quickly and nimbly?

Pahlka: So there’s sort of the general level of it, which is just: It’s a lot of work to comply with. So imagine you’re charged with implementing the CHIPS and Science Act, for instance, and you want to stand up a form to allow companies to express their initial interest or even apply. You want to know early on what kinds of projects might companies, you know, bring to the Department of Commerce, to apply for funding under CHIPS.

Well, you can design the form. There’s going to be a lot of process and a lot of stakeholders that want to look at it. You don’t get to write something up and throw it up on the internet. But once you’ve done all that work for your internal agency stakeholders and sometimes cross-agency stakeholders, then your form, because it’s an information collection, is subject to review by the Office of Information and Regulatory Affairs at the White House.

And so you’ve got to sort of do all this pretty heavyweight documentation of your form and why you’re asking these particular questions, and you submit it to them. And because that process needs review by people—there’s only so many people in OIRA, the Office of Information and Regulatory Affairs—and because the process requires two separate times that you post it to the Federal Register, get comments from the public, respond to those comments, then potentially do a revision, then post it again, get comments, respond to those comments. And those time periods are designated in statute—I think it’s 30 days the first one and 60 days the second one—like, right there, that’s at least a month, but more because you have to do all the lead-up and then follow-up.

The average time to get through—or actually, I think it’s the minimum time to get through—a standard PRA review is nine months. And that’s just to get one form up. And it can be longer. Now, there is a fast-track process. If you get a fast-tracked application, that runs out in six months. So in six months, you’ll have to do it all over again. When you’re supposed to have moved on to the next phase of your project, you’re kind of going back to zero.

And there’s certainly value in a centralized office knowing all the things that agencies are asking the public, or companies, or anybody who would be filling out a form. And there’s absolutely value in knowing, like, Oh we have this data here. Maybe we shouldn’t be asking for it. Maybe we can get it from another agency. That would be, like, the best use of this kind of centralized function. But we have let this become quite a heavyweight process that really slows agencies down.

Demsas: You’ve outlined quite a few things in your public research and writing around how you think government—both whether we’re talking about Congress but also the executive branch—should reform in order to make things more efficient. You know, some of these things are just common-sense requirements to make hiring practices align with things that people think are good, like merit.

But most people who are talking about this, I think, are often on the right. And increasingly, I think this conversation is being brought up by people like Elon Musk and Vivek Ramaswamy, who are heading the Department of Government Efficiency, DOGE, for President-Elect Donald Trump.

You wrote, recently, a piece for your Substack called “Bringing Elon to a Knife Fight,” where you said that you support Democrats, like Congressman Ro Khanna, for pledging to work with DOGE. Why is that?

Pahlka: Well, I did say that until we know more about what they’re going to do, I think we should take an open stance. It’s very hard to know what they’re going to do. But ultimately, I said that because, as much as I may disagree with the policy goals of the administration that Musk and Ramaswamy are serving, there is so much work that needs to be done to subtract from government instead of constantly adding to it, to make it easier to get stuff done in government. I mean, people talk about regulation always as, you know, we’re regulating companies so they can’t, you know, pollute a stream. That’s wonderful.

There’s also enormous regulation on government itself, like the Paperwork Reduction Act, or like these hiring practices that really keep us from being able to serve the public in the way that we need to. And so it’s an uncomfortable position to be in because it’s not like I have any crystal ball to know what Musk and Ramaswamy are going to do. And I may disagree with some of what they do, or maybe a lot of what they do, but they’ve really kind of moved the Overton window and the conversation about this inefficiency, the sludge.

And I think that’s valuable, frankly, and I want Democrats to kind of get in the game of that reduction. And I think that if some of what they do is the wrong thing to do, but they shake government up in a way and maybe even pull some stuff out, we may be able to build back things that are kind of right-sized, the right-size procedures—not no procedure, not no process, but maybe not the heavyweight process that we have today.

Demsas: The thing I hear you saying here is, sort of, what I hear from people who have given up on their own side doing the right thing. And this is, I guess, reflected in the end of your piece, where you write, “We can wish that the government efficiency agenda were in the hands of someone else, but let’s not pretend that change was going to come from Democrats if they’d only had another term, and let’s not delude ourselves that change was ever going to happen politely, neatly, carefully.”

So, I mean, part of what it sounds like you’re saying is, Yeah, nobody wants this version of government efficiency, but there’s no other way it’s going to happen. Why is that the case? Like, why do you think the Democrats have been so unwilling to engage on this issue? I mean, you’re a Democrat. You worked in a Democratic administration, and you’ve talked to many other Democrats who have very similar views to you. Why is this such a third rail for them?

Pahlka: I’m not sure I know the exact answer to that. I think if you want to look at the Biden administration, in particular, you know—they went in with a big set of policy goals, and they actually achieved a lot of them. The four big bills are legislative accomplishments, significant legislative accomplishments. So they went for the what, but they neglected the how. And I think in their minds, it’s like, You’re going to do one or the other.

I think they should have paid equal attention to the how, to cleaning out the pipes so that the what could get through them faster. And that speed has clearly been a real problem. I mean, we’re writing now about the amount of money that could be clawed back because it didn’t get through those pipes, so really, really reducing Biden’s legacy. The frustration of not having that many electric-car chargers that were promised under the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law—all that stuff is due to this lack of focus on the how, and I don’t think it was a binary choice. I think Biden’s team could have said, We’re going to spend as much energy on the how as we are on the what.

But I do think there’s something about the way the Democrats, of course, want to be thoughtful and considered and hear all voices. And if you are thoughtful and considered and hear all voices, you tend to add policy and procedure and ways of looping everybody in. And that, actually, you know, adds instead of subtracts. Just naturally that’s sort of what happens. And in some ways, the destruction from which you can hopefully rebuild kind of needs to be done by somebody who kind of doesn’t care about that, in a certain way.

Demsas: I wonder, though, because it feels that, you know, two different theories of government reform—I worry about being [them] conflated, right?

So let’s take the DOGE theory, the Vivek-Elon theory. They presuppose that there are all these bureaucrats that are not really needed and all of these wasteful programs. And in a Wall Street Journal op-ed, they essentially have this idea that the executive branch has wildly overstepped its small-d democratic authority by being allowed to interpret laws that Congress passes as they’re implementing them.

And if that’s your theory of government reform—if your theory of government reform is that there’s just all these people who are dead weight, who are clogging up the process—then their answer, which is “mass head-count reductions across the federal bureaucracy,” is reasonable.

But as I understand it, your theory of government reform is very different. It’s that you need a capable and nimble executive branch in order to deliver on priorities like—I don’t know—providing health care to poor children. But in order to do that, you actually need a highly competent, well-paid, expensive labor pool and a good deal of it.

And so to me, it feels like, while both of these things can call themselves government-efficiency complaints—while they’re both motivated by a concern about the costs put on both private actors, individual citizens, and other government entities—they’re actually, fundamentally, two different political projects. So how do you see these things working together?

Pahlka: I agree. I have a very different view of it, and there’s some part of me that just thinks that if Elon and Vivek come in and spend any amount of time, if they don’t just get bored or frustrated and wander off, they’re gonna learn this. And they may have a different set of values, but I think it’s hard to miss it when you get into government that there are a lot of incredibly smart, talented, creative, dedicated people doing really amazing work. And you just fall in love with them once you actually get in the door. It’s from a distance that they look like, you know, these unaccountable, lazy bureaucrats. Up close, they’re pretty impressive.

But I think where I would put a little nuance on what you just said is that I do think we need this incredible workforce. And I think we’ve done a bad job of balancing between what I, in my very fancy language, call “go energy” and “stop energy.” So you have more people doing various forms of compliance and safeguards than you have the people trying to build something and get it out the door. And somebody I worked with at one point said, It’s like we’ve got six people building this product and at least 60 people telling us all the things we can’t do.

Now, those people who are saying, You can’t do that, are not dumb. They are not lazy. I mean, there are, of course, a few bad apples in government, and we can talk about that. I’m not saying everyone’s perfect. But you have people who, in fact, are—because they’re good, and because they really know the law, and because they really feel like it is their job to protect the public using this law, policy, and regulation—are very zealous in telling builders what they can’t do. And you have the very well-intentioned stop energy that overwhelms the people who have sort of go-energy jobs.

And I’m a little biased because I work with people a lot who do technology. They’re doing things like trying to get that form up, you know, trying to make sure that veterans can get their benefits. They are focused on, Can we get this application up so they can apply? Can we get the check to them? Can we get them their health care? Like, the actual outcome.

And a lot of people’s job isn’t to focus on the outcome but to make sure that all these things have been complied with, and they can do their job very well, and it slows the people who are outcome focused down. And it’s not their job, necessarily, to—you know, they’re not supposed to do their job less well. It is the job of leadership, of [the Office of Personnel Management], of the White House, of Congress, to look around and say, Why do we have so many people saying no, no, no? Oh because we put all these rules in place, and we’ve developed a culture of risk aversion that means we’re really, really focused on making sure nobody breaks any rules, at the expense of getting the job done. Leadership needs to balance the workforce between go energy and stop energy, and really take a hard look, if you’re going to add a regulation, you’re going to add a rule, Okay, what is the cost of adding that to the actual outcome that the American public expects?

[Music]

Demsas: After the break: Jen and I hash out the difference between political will and what she calls state capacity.

[Break]

Demsas: One phrase that you use a lot, and this is included in your recent report with the Niskanen Center, is state capacity. Can you define that for us?

Pahlka: Well, I didn’t even know the term until after my book came out and people were like, This is a state-capacity book. But I have since learned it’s an academic term that simply means the ability of a government—at any level and any government—to achieve its policy goals. So it is essentially, like I said, the how to the what.

Demsas: Yeah, this is a term that I think I first heard in the development-economics, development-political-science space. And it’s most commonly used to talk about the ability for these developing nations to effectuate their political priorities.

So for instance, like: Can a country collect taxes? Can it maintain the monopoly on the use of violence? These are core questions of state capacity because if you can’t collect taxes, you can’t run programs, you can’t have a police force that enforces laws. Like, there’s very little you can do on top of that, right? You can’t run a CHIPS program if you can’t do those things to begin with.

Why does this sort of idea—and how does this sort of idea—apply in the American context, where we have the ability to collect taxes? We have, relative to the rest of the world, like, a high degree of monopoly on the use of legitimate force. It’s contained within the state. What is the purpose of applying this term here?

Pahlka: Well, I mean, since you brought up applying taxes, the individual master file at the IRS, which holds all of the data about tax returns from individuals and families since the ’60s, is written in assembly code. There are vanishingly few people in the world who know what that code looks like. And it’s pretty robust. It’s lasted a long time. But, like, you’re going to run out of the human understanding of how that thing works, and you’re going to have a crisis at some point.

That’s not a crisis now, but we also don’t collect a lot of taxes. We have a serious unenforcement policy. We’re leaving a lot of money on the table because we have not empowered the IRS to be very successful. So we’re certainly not like a third-world state or an emerging state in that regard. But we are kind of going backwards in some areas.

And there’s a million examples of this, but I think that it is sort of shocking to people that state capacity is now a big concern for the United States, when it used to be that we only thought about it in relation to the countries that we would fund through the World Bank, or whatever. But national defense is a really great example of this. I mean, we keep spending more and more money, and it is not at all clear that we are getting more deterrence or more security. In fact, my thesis there is that we’re just spending too much money, not because—we shouldn’t cut spending because we want to be less secure.

But go talk to anybody in the Department of Defense. Pretty much everyone will tell you, like, unless there’s some shock to the system, we’re not going to change how we do stuff. And the way we do stuff takes decades, and we have to be able to move faster because, you know, we’re spending, I think it’s, like—what are we up to—almost a trillion dollars on national defense. And yet we seem to get less secure every year because the more money you put in a system like that, the more people double down on these very heavyweight ways of operating that are not what we need today.

Demsas: So I want to push you here a bit because this is a place—I’ve brought up to other people: I feel like the application of state capacity sometimes doesn’t feel like it fits well, and that, sometimes, what’s actually happening is that this is just a question of political will. It’s not that the government can’t accomplish what it tries to do. It’s that it actually has competing priorities, and there are trade-offs it’s unwilling to make.

One place where people have talked a lot about regulation that is holding government back is the National Environmental Policy Act. This is a piece of legislation from the 1970s that requires that the government study the environmental impact of its major actions. And it’s often talked about that it takes years to compile an environmental-impact statement, so it can take years and years in order to get a permit for, you know, a big energy project.

But something interesting happened, and this is a stat that was surfaced by Brian Potter in his Substack, “Construction Physics.” I’m reading from it: In 2009, after the Great Recession and Congress passed the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act, there were “over 190,000 projects, totaling $300 billion worth of stimulus funds, [that] were required to have NEPA reviews before the projects could begin. After the passage of [the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act], categorical exclusions were completed at a rate of more than 400 per day, and 670 environmental impact statements were completed over the next 7 months.”

So essentially, these EISs, the environmental-impact statements that often take years to complete, all of a sudden are being completed over the course of a few weeks—670 over the course of seven months is just astronomical compared to what we usually see.

And this is an example where nothing changed about the state capacity. They didn’t change anything about the legal environment. They didn’t change anything about the number of people working in government and whether they were more qualified. The HR processes didn’t change in this time period.

What happened is that the federal government was like, We’re in an emergency space. We need to get a bunch of stimulus dollars out the door, because we’re in a free-fall recession, and we’re worried about mass unemployment. And then, all of a sudden, all of these things that seemed like state-capacity issues, that seemed like these big constraints on government, actually just disappeared, because everyone wanted them to happen.

So is it the case that the government can’t do what it wants? Or is it that there’s a lot of competing priorities, and in times of nonemergency, we’re actually not aligned on what government wants to do?

Pahlka: Well, I mean, I think COVID is another good example of when government just does it, right? Or Josh Shapiro’s getting I-95 open again. I can’t disagree with you on that. Absolutely. I will say, I remember that too, and we just looked into it, and it’s not exactly apples to apples there, so I’d just like to put a little bit of an asterisk on it.

But I think your point is valid, but it does, then, beg the question, right? So we only have 47 electric-vehicle chargers out of the money that came out of the, you know, Bipartisan Infrastructure Law. I guess it was also a bill that funded the BEAD Program for broadband-internet access, and we have zero connections from that.

Are you saying, then, that Democrats didn’t want to see those things implemented? Because I do think it is a matter of will. But we are seeing places where the political will seems to be there, but it seems to sort of stop after the law is passed.

I think I’ve also shared this with you before, but, like, I got into this through working with cities and states on benefits delivery, and we were looking at SNAP uptake. And I was in California, and it was just shocking to me that California, which had a ton of money and spent hundreds of millions of dollars on IT systems for people to apply for SNAP online, had the second-lowest rate of participation in the program in the entire country. Only Wyoming was worse than California.

Is that a political-will problem? It’s, like, a really blue state, very pro-welfare. But it kind of couldn’t get out of its own way. It so overscoped these systems that it took about almost an hour to apply online. You couldn’t do it on a mobile phone. It’s just all these ways in which they created a system which is hard to use. But it’s really clear to me that they didn’t intend to do that. They just had too much process in the way and less of a focus on the outcome.

So I do think it’s a political will, but it has to be political will to follow the thing all the way through to the outcome, to care as much about the implementation as you do about the legislative win or the money that you put into it. We’re really good at money and rules, and those things do not necessarily translate to the outcomes that we promised people. So that will has to move.

Demsas: Yeah. But I think what I’m saying is: I think this may be a case of revealed preferences, right? Like you asked me, Does this mean that Democrats didn’t really care about getting broadband out? And I don’t want to make that kind of a strong claim. I think if they could push a button, and there was rural broadband for every single person in rural America, they would have pushed the button.

But the question government asks, and government policies ask, which you’ve written about extensively, is not just: Hey—do you wish this thing existed? It’s, When you’re forced to make trade-offs between whether to push out broadband or make it easier for contractors that are different from the ones you usually go to to get access to this program, which do you choose between? If you’re going to choose between actually getting out broadband and following the most onerous environmental regulations that exist, which thing are you choosing?

And over and over again, you see, as you mentioned before, liberals choosing this process, choosing this kind of way of delaying implementation in order not to follow some shoddy or quicker, maybe more error-prone system. And in doing so, they end up not getting to the outcomes. And to me, I feel like that actually is a situation where we’re seeing what Democrats actually want, which is really clear when you look at infrastructure projects.

I mean, this is what I think is the story of California high-speed rail, where you talked to so many people, where I bet a lot of people would love for there to be high-speed rail between San Francisco and L.A. I don’t think they’re lying about wanting that to exist. But when you talk to people who are working in that program or who are working trying to implement it, and you say, Okay, well, you need to not let every single local government fleece this project for whatever priority they have on the ground, and no one wants to do that. So I’m left with the conclusion that yes, they want high-speed rail but not if it means angering a single person within the Democratic Party.

Pahlka: I completely agree with that. It’s a little bit what I was saying about, like, you kind of need a big disruptor, someone who doesn’t care, to get stuff done sometimes. I wish it weren’t Elon, necessarily. But if you’ve created a system in which you have to make everybody happy, eventually people will be so frustrated they’ll let somebody, you know, give the job to somebody who doesn’t care if he makes anybody happy.

Demsas: One of the objections I hear sometimes from liberals about making government more efficient is that all of these layers of procedure are to protect and prevent against authoritarian impulses. So yes, it’s frustrating and annoying that we have to follow all of these rules, and that there are all these government watchdogs that might sue if you don’t cross your t’s and dot your i’s. And that is annoying when you’re trying to get good policy done. But when you have someone like Donald Trump, for instance, get elected, you’ll be really happy that all of these procedures and layers of government exist. How do you respond to that?

Pahlka: Well, they’re not wrong, of course. And we just talked about trade-offs. This is exactly a trade-off conversation. The reality is that I believe that our lack of results and the slowness of government played a part, maybe not be the leading part, in driving people towards wanting someone who claims, I alone can fix it, right? Who claims to be able to bust through all that red tape.

Now, in reality, did he bust through a lot of red tape in his first administration? Well, he claimed to roll back a lot of regulations, but his team really didn’t do that much on that front. But it is a trade-off you make. I am not extreme on either end, but I do think we need a middle ground where we are looking at where safeguards and processes and procedures and the ability to sue are kind of right-sized, where there are some protections.

But where we are right now is: The extra-extra-large version of protections, which has slowed us down enough that it has driven this force in our society for, like, none, which is the pendulum swinging. I just wish the pendulum would settle a little bit in the middle. But that’s a trade-off we need to make. And we have to, as you say, piss some people off in order to get that, because you’re gonna have to say no to some people to get the job done.

Demsas: I feel like the analogy I’ve used a lot is to the filibuster—

Pahlka: Yes.

Demsas: —which I think that a lot of liberals were worried about when this was being debated more openly. If you get rid of the filibuster, that means Republicans will be able to pass their policies as well.

And I think the thing that’s interesting about this is, one, it’s the question of democracy—like, small-d democracy. Do you want the government to be able to do things such that the public can actually evaluate them? Versus someone who gets into office, and they can’t actually enact a bunch of their priorities. So it’s actually quite unclear what signal you’re supposed to be sending as a voter.

But also secondly, I think there’s, like, an asymmetry here, where if you are a small-c conservative, versus a lower-l liberal, you have different sorts of desires from government. Like, there are a lot more active policies that are trying to be passed by people who are liberal, who are progressive. And so there’s kind of an asymmetry of what gets constrained in that kind of a paradigm.

And so I think that it’s hard because you look at the looming potential changes in a Trump administration, and you think, like, Well, it’s really good that there are all these different ways of constraining this. But in the long run, there’s just this larger question here about whether it’s democratic at all to have that happen. Like, if people are electing an executive, how exactly are we supposed to evaluate that work if after four years, so many of the policies that they promised, whether they’re harmful or whether they’re good, don’t actually get passed?

Pahlka: It’s such a hard question. And yeah, I kind of want to stand on—as uncomfortable as this is—if you think state capacity is important to the country, you kind of have to be okay with people who you, let’s softly say, don’t agree with having it. But we’re in this sort of thermostatic nature of elections right now, and I have no crystal ball, but if the Democrats were to get the White House back in four years or even take back Congress in two years, you really don’t want them to be dealing with this huge incapacity once again, or at least I don’t. And that’s just a tough pill to swallow, but I think it’s one we have to swallow, again in the sense of making trade-offs. I agree—it’s much like the filibuster.

You could also say the Administrative Procedures Act is a lot like the filibuster. It needs to be reformed for all the reasons you mentioned when you talked about NEPA to be able to get these, you know, big infrastructure projects built, because it creates such a huge surface area for attack by minority interests. And if you were to do that today, you would really empower Trump to do a lot of what he couldn’t do last time, and that’s really problematic.

But the reality is it’s not going to get repealed today. Like, if you started working on that now, maybe it would happen at the end of the administration and benefit the Democrats. Now, I know that’s sort of like a Pollyannaish view of it, but at the end of the day, it kind of just does need to get reformed if we’re going to be able to govern at all.

And you used the word democracy, right? If we have the system in which we vote for elected officials, and then they go through that messy political process to say—well, let’s use the example of housing, right—to say, This area needs more housing. We’re going to build more housing, and then a bunch of people who have an interest in having that housing not be built can stop it, is that democracy? We have thwarted the will of what the democratic process actually came up with.

Demsas: Well, Jen, always our last and final question: What is an idea that you had that you thought was good at the time but ended up being only good on paper?

Pahlka: I love this question. You asked it of a guest a couple of episodes ago who answered, “small plates,” which just made me laugh so hard. And now I’m just not ever going to order a small plate at a restaurant again. So I’m just co-signing that.

But I guess my more original answer would be: When I started working with local governments, I really had this sense that more data was better. It was kind of shocking. Sometimes you’d go in there, and you were just like, You’re not making decisions based on data. How awful. We need more. We need more. And then over time, I realized there’s a human aspect to this that we neglect. So there became this whole trend of doing data dashboards for local governments. And then, like, no one looks at them really. They were sort of a lot of work for, in some cases, not much return, depending on the human and cultural and, you know, organizational infrastructure into which they were inserted.

But I also really saw, when I was working on the unemployment-insurance crisis during the pandemic, the ways that a lot of leaders see data as a grade that they’re getting, not a compass that they can use to steer the ship where they need to go. And I really changed my view on, like, what kinds of data are good in, like, a governing context, in a performance-management context, and really now sort of see it as good only if it’s introduced in the right ways and if the people who are supposed to be using it as a compass actually are empowered and encouraged to do that.

[Music]

Demsas: Well, Jen, thank you so much for coming on the show.

Pahlka: Thank you so much, Jerusalem. This was fun.

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.

Anyone who works in government has a favorite metaphor for major policy change. Some talk about glaciers being redirected; I prefer the image of turning a battleship. The point is that it isn’t easy and may not happen at all, but if it does, the effects are lasting and hard to undo.

As Joe Biden reaches the end of his presidency, there is one area where he undeniably turned the battleship: American antitrust law and policy, also known as anti-monopoly. Having spent two years working on the project within the White House, I concede some bias. But whatever else may be remembered or forgotten about the past four years, Biden’s antitrust achievements mark a decisive moment in the history of the American anti-monopoly movement, and by extension, the nature of American capitalism.

Once a major part of American economic and political life (the 1912 presidential election centered on it), by the 21st century, antitrust law had shrunk to a shadow of its former self: a  cautious regime, rarely enforced. Coming into office four years ago, Biden saw many reasons to undertake a major reboot. The main reason was the simplest: The problems that antitrust laws were originally intended to remedy—economic imbalance, lasting market power, growing divides between rich and poor—were glaringly obvious.

The warning signs were in fact already flashing by the mid-2010s, when Barack Obama’s Council of Economic Advisers began documenting the twin problems of economic concentration and rising inequality. At the street level, Americans were (and remain) unhappy about things such as rising drug costs, the price of essential services, and other symptoms of an economy in which so many industries—hospitals, cable providers, airlines—had consolidated, in much of the country, into just a few firms. The surprise success of the 2016 Trump campaign was, in part, a manifestation of the public’s anger at the unfairness of the modern economy.

These are all issues that the antitrust laws were enacted to address. The goal of antitrust has never been to replace capitalism but to save it from itself—to promote the kind of free-market economy that serves as a decentralized and balanced engine of wealth creation. 
 
In early 2021, Biden agreed with White House staff that bold reforms were needed to complete that turn in policy begun during the later Obama administration. The president wanted to define it as a pivot away from the 1980s and Ronald Reagan, whose administration, under the influence of the legal scholar and judge Robert Bork, entrenched an approach to antitrust that largely involved ignoring the laws as written in favor of promoting a pro-corporate version of “efficiency.” As Biden put it, “Forty years ago, we chose the wrong path, in my view, following the misguided philosophy of people like Robert Bork, and pulled back on enforcing laws to promote competition.” The experiment, Biden said, had run its course, and he announced, through executive order, a return to the older antitrust model championed by the Roosevelts—Presidents Theodore and Franklin D., both of whom saw antitrust as key to balancing economic power.

The first step of this plan was appointing officials—Jonathan Kanter at the Department of Justice and Lina Khan at the Federal Trade Commission—who were deeply committed to the antitrust revival and to enforcing the laws as intended by Congress. Those appointments resurrected the tradition of the “trustbuster”—government enforcers who are genuine adversaries of monopoly.  For Kanter and Khan, earning the enmity of the Chamber of Commerce has been a badge of honor.

Khan and Kanter rebooted the Rooseveltian tradition of bringing “big” cases (a rarity since the Clinton administration’s case against Microsoft’s monopoly). Big cases have structural ambitions: They seek to shake up an industry, whether by attacking a monopoly or blocking a merger that threatens to create one. To the surprise of many detractors, Kanter and Khan brought and won a string of these cases, including a major monopoly suit against Google (originally filed by the Trump administration) and successful challenges to major mergers by airlines (the first such legal victory ever), pharmaceutical companies, grocery giants, and publishing houses.

As in baseball, swinging for the fences risks big losses, and many critics predicted that the campaign would be rejected wholesale by courts. Kanter and Khan decided to take the chance, based on the theory that an agency unwilling to risk any losses earns a place in the “chickenshit club.” By the end, they had taken both big losses and big wins—but, when added up, there were more of the latter. In all but a few cases, the courts, even in conservative districts, have tended to accept the approach of enforcing the law as written. In merger cases, the agencies won more than 30 challenges (including many mergers that were abandoned when challenged, without going to trial), and the anti-monopoly ruling against Google is the most significant such victory in decades.

Meanwhile, back at the White House, we sought to push the antitrust revival forward by enlisting more parts of the government in the effort, borrowing from similar ideas undertaken by FDR and Obama. We set up something new: a competition council inside the White House, chaired by the president, designed to push agencies to do what they could to fight imbalances in the economy.

The first real test for our White House–driven effort was hearing aids. The president in 2021 tasked the Department of Health and Human Services with writing a rule that would allow hearing devices to be sold over the counter to treat mild to moderate hearing loss. At the time, despite years of pressure and even congressional action, hearing aids remained available by prescription only, reducing available options and allowing manufacturers to keep prices artificially high. This naturally slowed uptake among the millions of Americans with compromised hearing. Today, thanks to the administration’s efforts, there’s a healthy market for over-the-counter hearing aids. The comparative ease of market entry was illustrated most recently by Apple’s decision to include a hearing-aid function in its new AirPods Pro.

A second White House effort centered on “junk fees,” those annoying additions that make prices unclear, interfere with competitive markets, and infuriate nearly everyone. The Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, headed by Rohit Chopra, took the lead with a rule cracking down on junky banking and credit-card fees, which are expected to save Americans billions of dollars in random charges.

Four years of organized action, involving the sustained labor of a lot of people, have put antitrust and competition policy on a different course. That new course is, I would submit, more broadly in line with what Americans believe in: an economy in which monopoly is prevented or fought, not tolerated or encouraged. It has upset those who preferred the more laissez-faire approach of the previous 40 years, yet there is strong reason to doubt that a more monopolized economy has been good for our nation.  

Will the Trump administration reverse all that was done, dismissing the ongoing cases and returning things to the way they once were? No doubt many people, including some of Trump’s wealthier supporters, would relish a nullification of the law and a merger bonanza. But a party centered on economic grievance and the working class runs serious political risks if it promotes the monopolization of the economy at the expense of its voting base.

Antitrust law has never been partisan. Republican presidents, including Theodore Roosevelt, Richard Nixon, and Trump himself, commenced many of its biggest cases; it was the Reagan administration, despite its broader anti-enforcement shift, that ultimately broke up AT&T. Many outsiders seem to wrongly assume that incoming President Trump will be personally involved in assessing every merger. The fact is that the turn toward a tougher antitrust regime better reflects where the public is: No broad constituency wants more monopolies or higher prices for life’s necessities.

As politicians and historians know, but as many can forget, there is a fundamental difference between political and policy cycles. The politics of our moment are divided and subject to frequent reversals of fortune. But policy is a longer game, and since the Great Recession, there has been an undeniable shift toward questioning the wisdom of laissez-faire capitalism, globalization, and other neoliberal tenets from the 1980s and ’90s. However divided our politics may be, there is consensus that the economy should be fairer and its returns shared by more people. That is why the rehabilitation of antitrust will likely be a lasting legacy of the Biden administration.

Companies are facing a "pressure cooker" of rising costs and taxes, the British Chambers of Commerce says.

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On New Year’s Day, while looking for something to watch, I came across a channel with a loud, gray-haired British guy in a nice suit and a scarf bellowing about something or other. I assumed that I had turned to CNN and was watching its ebullient, occasionally shouty business and aviation correspondent, Richard Quest. I wasn’t even close: It was Roger Daltrey of the Who, and he was excitedly introducing the new Rock & Roll Hall of Fame inductee Peter Frampton in a condensed version of the October ceremony.

Frampton’s music was, for a moment in the 1970s, the soundtrack to my misspent teenage nights; on the broadcast, Keith Urban joined him to perform his megahit “Do You Feel Like We Do,” and I remembered every word. And Frampton seems like a man who is genuinely loved by his peers. It was a nice moment. But when 80-year-old Daltrey—who, at 21, famously sang, “Hope I die before I get old”—is introducing a man whose biggest hits were produced nearly 50 years ago, it’s a reminder that the entire Rock & Roll Hall of Fame concept is utterly wrongheaded.

As the saying goes, good writers borrow, and great writers steal. I was once a professor, however, and professors give attribution, so let me rely on John Strausbaugh, who wrote a wonderful 2001 jeremiad against Boomer music nostalgia, Rock ’Til You Drop, to explain why the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame shouldn’t exist: Because it’s “as true to the spirit of rock’n’roll as a Hard Rock Cafe—one in which there are way too many children and you can’t get a drink.”

The Hall of Fame is about old and dead people; rock’n’roll is about the young and living. The Hall of Fame tries to reform rock’n’roll, tame it, reduce it to bland, middle-American family entertainment; it drains all the sexiness and danger and rebelliousness out of it …

Strasbaugh winces especially hard at the Rock Hall tradition of “honoring” classic acts by “dragging their old butts out onto a stage” and then making them “go through the motions one more time” as they pretend to feel the music the same way they did when they were kids. Writing almost 25 years ago, he said that the Rolling Stones were way past their retirement clock, and that Cher in her late-1990s performances “was so stiff in her makeup and outfits, that she looked like a wax effigy of herself.”

Last year, the Rolling Stones went on tour again and were sponsored by—I am serious—the AARP.

And Cher was also just inducted into the Rock Hall in October, at 78 years old. When you’re asking Cher to suit up so that she can be lauded by the young-enough-to-be-her-granddaughter Dua Lipa, you may be trying to honor the artist, but you’re mostly just reminding everyone about the brutal march of time.

I am sometimes blistered on social media for my bad music takes, and I will confess that with some exceptions, I didn’t really develop much of a taste in music beyond the Beatles, Billy Joel, and Top 40 ear candy until I was in college. (My musical soul was saved, or at least improved, by the old WBCN in Boston and by my freshman-dorm neighbor at Boston University, who introduced me to Steely Dan.) But you don’t need a refined taste in music to cringe when a bunch of worthies from the music industry assemble each year to make often nonsensical choices about what constitutes “rock and roll” and who did it well enough to be lionized for the ages. Look, I sort of like some of those old Cher hits from the ’70s—“Train of Thought” is an underrated little pop gem, in my view—but Cher as an inductee into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame? If she, and Bobby Darin, and the Lovin’ Spoonful, and Woody Guthrie, and Willie Nelson are all “rock,” what isn’t?

This is where I must also admit that I’ve never been to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, or even to Cleveland, for that matter. But I’d argue that seeing it all up close—as Strausbaugh notes in his book, it’s full of this rock artist once wore this shirt and that rock artist once touched this mic stand—isn’t the point. Trying to trap the energy and spirit of youthful greatness behind the ice in some sort of Fortress of Rock Solitude is nothing more than a monument to nostalgia. Worse, it’s an ongoing tribute not to music, but to capitalism. Perhaps the music business was always a business, but most rock and roll was about opposing the establishment, not asking for a nice table at its Chamber of Commerce ceremonies.

Don’t get me wrong: I love both rock music and capitalism. I am also prone to a fair amount of my own nostalgia, and I will pay to see some of my favorite elderly stars get up onstage, wink at the audience, and pull out a few of their famous moves—as long as they do it with the kind of self-awareness that makes it more like a visit with an old friend than a soul-crushing pastiche of days gone by.

But even when a return to the stage is done with taste, age can still take its toll on both the performer and the audience: I’m now in my 60s, and as much as I liked seeing Peter Frampton get a big round of applause, I didn’t feel warm or happy; I just felt old, because he was obviously old. (Frampton has an autoimmune disease that causes muscle weakness, so he had to sit to perform his arena anthem.) And when Keith Urban is playing along as the representative of the younger generation at 56 years old, it makes me feel a certain kind of pity for people who gave me the musical landscape of my youth.

Maybe America doesn’t need to commercialize every Boomer memory. Artists become eligible for the Rock Hall 25 years from the release date of their first commercial recording, but rock can’t be distilled in 25-year batches like some sort of rare whiskey. Rock is more like … well, sex. Each generation has to experience it for themselves; later, each generation thinks they invented it; eventually, we all realize that no generation can fully explain their feelings about it to the next one.

Speaking of sex and rebellion, one of the best arguments against the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame is that Warren Zevon isn’t in it. His continuing exclusion is one of the great ongoing controversies of the selection process, but the point is not that Zevon should be in it; rather, the question is whether Zevon would ever want to be honored in such a place. The man who wrote “Play It All Night Long” and “Mr. Bad Example” simply doesn’t belong on a pedestal next to Mary J. Blige and Buffalo Springfield. And that’s reason enough that the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame should not exist at all.

Related:

The secret joys of geriatric rock Rock never dies—but it does get older and wiser.

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Today’s News

The FBI said that the attacker who killed 14 people in New Orleans on New Year’s Day appears to have acted alone. Military officials said that the driver of a Cybertruck that exploded in front of the Trump International Hotel in Las Vegas yesterday was an Army master sergeant who was on leave from active duty. Federal agents searched the home of former NYPD Chief of Department Jeffrey Maddrey, who was accused of sexual misconduct last year. Maddrey has denied the allegations.

Dispatches

Time-Travel Thursdays: The poet Julia Ward Howe wrote an anthem of fervent patriotism in 1861—and it’s remained the soundtrack to American conflict ever since, Spencer Kornhaber writes.

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Evening Read

Illustration by Giacomo Bagnara

We’re All in “Dark Mode” Now

By Ian Bogost

Dark mode has its touted benefits: Dimmer screens mean less eye strain, some assert; and on certain displays (including most smartphones), showing more black pixels prolongs battery life. Dark mode also has its drawbacks: Reading lots of text is more difficult to do in white-on-black. But even if these tradeoffs might be used to justify the use of inverted-color settings, they offer little insight into those settings’ true appeal. They don’t tell us why so many people suddenly want their screens, which had glowed bright for years, to go dark. And they’re tangential to the story of how, in a fairly short period of time, we all became creatures of the night mode.

Read the full article.

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Stephanie Bai contributed to this newsletter.

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