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When colleges began announcing the makeup of their incoming freshman classes last year—the first admissions cycle since the Supreme Court outlawed affirmative action—there seemed to have been some kind of mistake. The Court’s ruling in Students for Fair Admissions v. Harvard had been almost universally expected to produce big changes. Elite universities warned of a return to diversity levels not seen since the early 1960s, when their college classes had only a handful of Black students.

And yet, when the numbers came in, several of the most selective colleges in the country reported the opposite results. Yale, Dartmouth, Northwestern, the University of Virginia, Wesleyan, Williams, and Bowdoin all ended up enrolling more Black or Latino students, or both. Princeton and Duke appear to have kept their demographics basically stable.

These surprising results raise two competing possibilities. One is that top universities can preserve racial diversity without taking race directly into account in admissions. The other, favored by the coalition that successfully challenged affirmative action in court, is that at least some of the schools are simply ignoring the Supreme Court’s ruling—that they are, in other words, cheating. Finding out the truth will likely require litigation that could drag on for years. Although affirmative action was outlawed in 2023, the war over the use of race in college admissions is far from over.

History strongly suggested that the end of affirmative action would be disastrous for diversity in elite higher education. (Most American colleges accept most applicants and therefore didn’t use affirmative action in the first place.) In the states that had already banned the practice for public universities, the share of Black and Latino students enrolled at the most selective flagship campuses immediately plummeted. At UC Berkeley, for example, underrepresented minorities made up 22 percent of the freshman class in 1997. In 1998, after California passed its affirmative-action ban, that number fell to 11 percent. Many of these schools eventually saw a partial rebound, but not enough to restore their previous demographic balance.

Something similar happened at many selective schools in the aftermath of the Supreme Court’s 2023 ruling. At Harvard and MIT, for example, Black enrollment fell by more than 28 and 60 percent, respectively, compared with the average of the two years prior to the Court’s decision. But quite a few institutions defied expectations. At Yale, Black and Latino enrollment increased, while Asian American enrollment fell by 16 percent compared with recent years. Northwestern similarly saw its Black and Latino populations increase by more than 10 percent, while Asian and white enrollment declined. (In Students for Fair Admissions, the Court had found that Harvard’s race-conscious admissions policies discriminated against Asian applicants.)

[Rose Horowitch: The perverse consequences of tuition-free medical school]

Figuring out how this happened is not easy. Universities have always been cagey about how they choose to admit students; the secrecy ostensibly prevents students from trying to game the process. (It also prevents embarrassment: When details have come out, usually through litigation, they have typically not been flattering.) Now, with elite-college admissions under more scrutiny than usual, they’re even more wary of saying too much. When I asked universities for further details about their response to the ruling, Dartmouth, Bowdoin, and Williams declined to comment, Yale and Northwestern pointed me toward their vague public statements, and a Princeton spokesperson said that “now race plays no role in admissions decisions.” Duke did not reply to requests for comment.

The information gap has led outside observers to piece together theories with the data they do have. One possibility is that universities such as Yale and Princeton are taking advantage of some wiggle room in the Supreme Court’s ruling. “Nothing in this opinion should be construed as prohibiting universities from considering an applicant’s discussion of how race affected his or her life, be it through discrimination, inspiration, or otherwise,” Chief Justice John Roberts wrote in his majority opinion. This seemed to provide an indirect way to preserve race-consciousness in admissions. “It’s still legal to pursue diversity,” Sonja Starr, a law professor at the University of Chicago, told me. Her research shows that 43 of the 65 top-ranked universities have essay prompts that ask applicants about their identity or adversity; eight made the addition after the Court’s decision.

Another theory is that universities have figured out how to indirectly preserve racial diversity by focusing on socioeconomic status rather than race itself. In 2024, Yale’s admissions department began factoring in data from the Opportunity Atlas, a project run by researchers at Harvard and the U.S. Census Bureau that measures the upward mobility of children who grew up in a given neighborhood. It also increased recruitment and outreach in low-income areas. Similarly, Princeton announced that it would aim to increase its share of students who are eligible for financial aid. “In the changed legal environment, the University’s greatest opportunity to attract diverse talent pertains to socioeconomic diversity,” a committee designed to review race-neutral admissions policies at the college wrote.

Some evidence supports the “socioeconomics, not race” theory. Dartmouth announced that it had increased its share of low-income students eligible for federal Pell grants by five percentage points. Yale has said that last year’s incoming freshman class would have the greatest share of first-generation and low-income students in the university’s history. Richard Kahlenberg, a longtime proponent of class-based affirmative action who testified on behalf of the plaintiffs challenging Harvard’s admissions policies, told me that, by increasing economic diversity as a proxy for race, elite colleges have brought in the low-income students of color whom purely race-based affirmative action had long allowed them to overlook. (In recent years, almost three-quarters of the Black and Hispanic students at Harvard came from the wealthiest 20 percent of those populations nationally.) “While universities had been claiming that racial preferences were the only way they could create racial diversity, in fact, if we assume good faith on the part of the universities, they have found ways to achieve racial diversity without racial preferences,” Kahlenberg said.

[Richard Kahlenberg: The affirmative action that colleges really need]

If we assume good faith—that’s a big caveat. Not everyone is prepared to give universities the benefit of the doubt. Edward Blum, the president of Students for Fair Admissions, the plaintiff in the case that ended affirmative action, has already accused Yale, Princeton, and Duke of cheating. And Richard Sander, a law professor at UCLA and a critic of affirmative action, said that if a university’s Black enrollment numbers are still above 10 percent, “then I don’t think there’s any question that they’re engaged in illegal use of preferences.”

The skeptics’ best evidence is the fact that the universities accused of breaking the rules haven’t fully explained how they got their results. Yale, for example, has touted its use of the Opportunity Atlas, but hasn’t shared how it factors information from the tool into admissions decisions. Before the Court’s ruling, a Black student was four times more likely to get into Harvard than a white student with comparable scores, and a Latino applicant about twice as likely.

To keep numbers stable, race-neutral alternatives would have to provide a comparable boost. According to simulations presented to the Supreme Court, universities would have to eliminate legacy and donor preferences and slightly lower their average SAT scores to keep demographics constant without considering race. (In oral arguments, one lawyer compared the change in test scores to moving “from Harvard to Dartmouth.”) With minor exceptions, selective universities have given no indication that they’ve made either of those changes.

Even the data that exist are not totally straightforward to interpret. Some universities have reported an uptick in the percentage of students who chose not to report their race in their application. If that group skews white and Asian, as research suggests it does, then the reported share of Black and Latino students could be artificially inflated. And then there’s the question of how many students choose to accept a university’s offer of admission, which schools have little control over. Wesleyan, for example, accepted fewer Black applicants than it had in prior years, Michael Roth, the university’s president, told me. But a larger share chose to matriculate—possibly, Roth said, because even-more-selective schools had rejected them. The University of Virginia similarly had an unusually high yield among Black students, according to Greg Roberts, its dean of admissions. He couldn’t tell whether this was thanks to the school’s outreach efforts or just a coincidence. “I think what we’re doing is important, but to the extent it will consistently impact what the class looks like, I have no idea,” he told me. (Both Roth and Roberts, the only university administrators who agreed to be interviewed for this article, assured me that their institutions had obeyed the Court’s ruling.)

None of those alternative explanations is likely to sway the people who are convinced the schools cheated. With Donald Trump back in office, colleges that don’t see a meaningful uptick in Asian enrollees will likely face civil-rights investigations, says Josh Dunn, a law professor at the University of Tennessee at Knoxville. “If everything ends up looking exactly like it did prior to SFFA,” he told me, then the courts will “probably think that the schools were not trying to comply in good faith.”

Blum, the head of Students for Fair Admissions, has already threatened to sue Yale, Princeton, and Duke if they don’t release numbers proving to his satisfaction that they have complied with the law. (Blum declined to be interviewed for this article.) A new lawsuit could force universities to turn over their admissions data, which should reveal what’s really going on. It could also invite the Court to weigh in on new questions, including the legality of race-neutral alternatives to affirmative action that are adopted with racial diversity in mind. A resolution to any of these issues would take years to arrive.

In many ways, the endless fight over affirmative action is a proxy for the battle over what uber-selective universities are for. Institutions such as Harvard and Yale have long been torn between conflicting aims: on the one hand, creating the next generation of leaders out of the most accomplished applicants; on the other, serving as engines of social mobility for promising students with few opportunities. It will take much more than the legal demise of affirmative action to put that debate to rest.

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Addiction comes in many forms and a lot of them are perfectly legal.

Daily, I fight the urge to scroll—for hours—on various social-media apps, yet I can go months without drinking alcohol and not even think about it.

The question of whether to ban harmful behaviors or substances is one laden with competing priorities: How intrusive is the government intervention? How harmful is the substance? Would banning it even work to curb the behavior? What about the economic impact of a ban? What sorts of revenues can be gained from taxation instead?

On today’s episode of Good on Paper, I talk with the journalist Danny Funt, who has been reporting for years on a behavior that’s come under much scrutiny lately: sports betting. Renewed debate over bans on sports betting erupted into public view nearly seven years ago in a pivotal Supreme Court case. The decision opened the door to a variety of new state legalization schemes and the outcomes have been mixed, at best. Although states may have stumbled onto a new source of revenue (albeit weaker than some were expecting), it has come at a cost to gamblers’ financial and mental health. The results have turned even vocal proponents into skeptics.

“I interviewed Charlie Baker, the former governor of Massachusetts who signed the bill legalizing bookmaking there in 2022, and then a few months later became president of the NCAA and has become a really vocal champion for limiting the amount of betting on college sports, particularly in light of the brutal harassment that college athletes and coaches get whenever their performance costs someone a bet,” Funt recalled. “It’s honestly horrifying, the sort of stuff they see on social media and in real life. And he has said point-blank, ‘I wish, in hindsight, this had stayed in Las Vegas.’”

The following is a transcript of the episode:

Jerusalem Demsas: The Super Bowl is coming up, and so today we’re talking about the most important part of sports: gambling.

In 2018, the Supreme Court struck down a federal ban on sports betting that spurred four years of nonstop ads enticing me and you and everyone I know to spend all our discretionary income on FanDuel or DraftKings. At the time, advocates believed that the revenue streams that could come from sports betting were too good to pass up. After the Great Recession, states were cash-strapped and hungry for new sources of money.

States have unevenly legalized, meaning in some places, you can log onto your phone to place a bet, and in others, you might still need to go to a physical location. The Court left open other pathways for the federal government to curb or ban sports betting, and as many of the negative impacts of gambling have metastasized, more policy makers are questioning whether legalization is worth the revenue.

My name is 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 Danny Funt, a journalist who has tracked the rise of sports betting for The Washington Post and is now working on a wide-ranging book on the topic.

[Music]

Demsas: Danny, welcome to the show.

Danny Funt: Thank you for having me.

Demsas: So I have actually never bet on sports. I grew up in a Christian household—I am Christian—and it’s just not a thing that my parents ever allowed. We couldn’t even make dollar bets at home. Like, it was just not allowed. And I feel like I knew later on that I had kind of an addictive personality. So I was like, I’m not going to do this. I’m just never going to get into betting or gambling. Have you bet on sports? Is this something that you do?

Funt: Oh yeah. I’m trying to be more honest about that. I used to be like, Well, if you were a restaurant reporter, you’d have to eat out. You’d sort of be obligated to see what the culinary scene is like. So I do the same with sports betting. But truthfully, I was betting on sports long before I ever wrote about it.

I will say that the more you learn about how significant the house’s upper hand is, it definitely gets in the back of your head, and I do a lot less now just knowing I don’t stand a chance.

Demsas: How significant is it?

Funt: It depends on what you’re betting. The standard is actually pretty low. They’ll win $5 for every $100 you bet. But nowadays, that’s getting jacked up. So you might have heard of things like parlays. The parlay hold percentage, which is like the house revenue or the house edge, can be as high as 20 percent. So you’re getting beat pretty bad if you bet a lot of parlays.

Demsas: So sports betting, I feel like, I really did not hear a lot about, other than just when the World Cup is on, and your friend might bet you 20 bucks about the outcome or something like that. And now I feel like it’s everywhere. I feel like I’m seeing ads everywhere. I feel like every time I look over on the Metro, like, there’s some 17-year-old guy on DraftKings—well, let’s hope he’s 19, not 17. But it feels like it came out of nowhere. What happened?

Funt: It really did. That’s really what got my attention: It just felt like, overnight this went from something that we had all been taught was this existential threat to sports, that the professional leagues and the NCAA would never support—there were basically a century’s worth of scandals involving gambling that motivated that concern—and then, suddenly, there was a Supreme Court decision in 2018 that struck down a federal ban on bookmaking outside of Nevada.

And that really was a starting gun for all of these states to say, Hey. This is a way we can raise money and cash in on this opportunity. And it was incredible how night and day it was, where what I described as this existential evil was suddenly repackaged as this wholesome way of enjoying sports that every sports fan ought to consider.

Demsas: So take us back to 1992, where that federal ban was enacted. It’s called the Professional and Amateur Sports Protection Act. What led to that effort? Who was pushing for it, and why did they think it was necessary?

Funt: Yeah, I was surprised to learn that it was the professional sports leagues, mainly the NFL, that went to Congress and said, Hey—we need this. So a lot of states back then were facing severe budget deficits. You know, it’s the tail end of the Reagan era; there’s a lot of resistance to tax hikes.

And naturally, when you need to raise money, but you don’t want to raise taxes, states will look at gambling. And there was sort of a groundswell of loosening the laws around tribal casinos and state lotteries. And a lot of states began looking at, basically, a version of state-sanctioned sports betting, where a state lottery is giving people the chance to wager on sporting events.

And the sports league said, We hate this idea. We’ve allowed it in Nevada because it’s been there forever, but we don’t want this to be the way that our fans engage with our product.

Demsas: Why? Why were they opposed?

Funt: For one, the 1919 Chicago White Sox scandal, where, famously, the team rigged the World Series in cahoots with gamblers—that is front and center still. Pete Rose had just been banned for life for betting on baseball as a player and as a coach. Really every decade, if you look back in the history books, there’s a major scandal involving college sports or professional sports or whatever. Beyond that, they just thought, We like the idea of fans liking the games for the games’ sake, and if they’re looking at it through this cynical gambling lens, it’ll kind of cheapen their relationship with sports and diminish our product.

Demsas: That’s very altruistic, right? I mean, I would imagine these sports leagues are just like, What can make us money? You know what I mean?

Funt: Definitely. At the same time, that does make them a lot of money. Think of all the jerseys and pennants and other merch that people buy because they’re lifelong sports fans. It fuels a lot of irrational, obsessive behavior. And then again, so does gambling.

So you can understand why it was very tempting, over time, for the leagues to flip-flop and come around on that. But the Senate and the House held these really robust hearings to evaluate the threat of gambling, the benefit that state-sanctioned gambling might pose. And it was just so striking, to me, that they laid it all out on the table in the early ’90s, and then fast-forward: 25 years later, there was really none of that. It was just, Okay, let’s cash in.

Demsas: So Nevada, you mentioned, has always been exempt from PASPA. What has been their experience?

Funt: Around the ’50s, when casinos were taking off in Nevada, sports betting was sort of an amenity, kind of like an all-you-can-eat buffet, you know? It’s just one more thing to draw people in so that they go to the table games and the slot machines that really make money. So in a lot of ways, sports betting was an afterthought.

And yet, many of us thought, If we ever wanted to bet legally on sports, that’s the place to do it. So people would schedule March Madness trips to bet on college basketball, or they’d go during the Super Bowl to bet on that. So it was a pretty big draw, but it was also very marginal in terms of the bottom line for Nevada gambling operators.

But gambling on sports still existed well beyond Nevada in the U.S., because there’s this thriving black market. And one of the big arguments for legalization, just like with cannabis, was, People are going to find a way to do it, so let’s bring it above board, tax it, implement consumer protections. And at least that was a pretty convincing argument in favor.

Demsas: You mentioned the Supreme Court decision, Murphy v. NCAA. That’s the Supreme Court decision that basically strikes down this federal ban. What was the legal argument at issue there? Why did the Supreme Court find that the federal government cannot ban sports betting?

Funt: So crucially, they very explicitly said they can ban sports betting—they had just gone about doing it with a defective bill. So naturally, Supreme Court decisions tend to get oversimplified in the public conscience, but this one is so crucial because sports betting’s advocates took the decision and said, Aha! The Supreme Court has given the green light for sports betting or okayed sports betting.

Really, the case turned on a fairly obscure Tenth Amendment concept about states’ rights. And sports betting was the focus, but it was also kind of beside the point. So New Jersey said that what the federal government has done, in essence, is said, We want to ban sports betting, but we don’t want to regulate it. So we’re going to commandeer the states to do the federal government’s bidding. If they had legalized sports betting before 1992, that’s grandfathered in; it can remain on the books. If they hadn’t, they’re prohibited from changing their mind and legalizing it.

So this argument before the Court wasn’t, Should the federal government be allowed to ban sports betting? It was, Should they be able to tell the states that if they have an existing law, they can’t change it? And, you know, it sounds like the most thrilling Supreme Court oral argument. It was actually pretty dry because it’s so obscure in that way. But the effect was to overturn this ban that had been on the books for a quarter century.

Demsas: What was the state interest in legalization? This is Murphy v. NCAA. That’s Governor Phil Murphy of New Jersey, a Democrat. Why was he so hell-bent on taking this on?

Funt: The funny thing is: It was really Chris Christie, his predecessor, who was hell-bent on taking it on, and it really annoys Christie, who views bringing sports betting to New Jersey as one of his crowning achievements. It pains him to this day that the title of that case was updated to reflect Murphy because he took office before the decision came out.

But they had this long-standing economy, mainly in Atlantic City, that was really struggling. They looked at Nevada and were quite envious that sports betting brings people to the state around these major sporting events, year after year, and they said this would be a way to revitalize Atlantic City.

So the argument they brought to the Court wasn’t, Let’s have online sports betting across the country. It was, Let’s have in-person sports betting in these casinos in Atlantic City to jumpstart this ailing economy. As you can imagine, after that, all these states said, Hey—we also could use a lot of tax revenue and jumpstart our economies. Especially during COVID, when so many states were facing pretty dire budget deficits, they said, This is a fairly easy way to snap our fingers and have access to this influx of cash.

And that tends to happen a lot with gambling—is you’re facing some sort of economic or state budgetary issue, and this is a quick fix. So once New Jersey did it, and Delaware and Pennsylvania and a number of other early adopters, there was this ripple effect, where states look to their neighbors and say, Hey—they’re making money off this. We feel like chumps because we’re not. Let’s get on board. And the bandwagon really got off and running.

Demsas: So one thing that’s interesting is that—I’m confused why there’s been such a big focus or why sports betting has been so central to this story, when it feels like all types of online gambling are legal in lots of places now. So can you help me understand why that’s been so front and center?

Funt: I mean there’s so many video games or phone-based apps where it’s like, Hey—do you want to buy some tokens with real money? And then you’re playing with tokens, and then you convert the tokens back to real money, so it’s very sly.

There’s this whole phenomenon of what are branded as sweepstakes, where it’s essentially a loophole to allow people of all ages to risk money on sports, but it’s not called gambling. And you might remember: There’s a long history of things finding loopholes to offer gambling by a different name, most notably the whole daily-fantasy-sports boom that paved the way for sports betting.

So you’re right. It is part of a wider phenomenon. It’s interesting that true online casino gambling, like slots and roulette and poker, was predicted to follow from legal sports gambling. That was what a lot of these companies were banking on. And although about a half dozen states have legalized it, it hasn’t caught on quite as quickly as some of their investors’ hopes, and we could get into that.

Demsas: Yeah, why not?

Funt: The main reason is that the brick-and-mortar casinos think it’ll cannibalize their business, that if people can bet on those games on their phones, they’re not going to bother to make the trek to a retail casino to do the same thing. So I still think that’s going to be in the headlines a lot in the coming years, as states look for more ways to bring in tax revenue.

But to your question about why sports betting seems so dominant, part of it is just: The advertising is unbelievable. These companies are spending billions of dollars every year to get it in front of potential customers in as many ways as possible. As you were saying, you see it on the train. Same here in North Carolina. Billboards, signs downtown—everywhere you look there’s an appeal to get you to start betting on sports, not to mention all the TV ads. So the marketing is just overwhelming.

And then beyond that, it is startling, in that this was seen as something that was done in the shadows, and now it’s so mainstream and really being rammed down people’s throats in a way that a lot of people are quite concerned about.

Demsas: So what is the landscape now, right? Like, after Murphy, states had to pass their own legalization schemes. Right now, D.C. and 27 states allow online sports gambling, and there’s some regional concentration here that I thought was interesting—basically, the entire Northeast and the mid-Atlantic, as well as the Midwest. But lots of the South hasn’t. The Pacific Northwest hasn’t. California and Texas haven’t. What kind of explains this regional variation?

Funt: I think in the Northeast, state lotteries are so deeply rooted. Massachusetts, for example, has the highest-grossing state lottery per capita. So I think it’s easier to transition people into a new form of gambling. In a lot of parts of the country, like California and Texas, tribal interests are so powerful—they’re resisting anything that would threaten their business. In parts of the South, there’s a strong conservative Christian aversion to gambling still, although I think that’s dissipated a lot from one of the main reasons why the country didn’t adopt more gambling sooner. So yeah, it’s a lot of cultural and political reasons.

Demsas: One story of yours really kind of shows how haphazard the legalization process has been. Can you tell us about the Abunai gambler in D.C.?

Funt: Yes, so as you mentioned, D.C. is one of the places that legalized sports betting. Like many places, they did it quite hurriedly and sort of made things up as they go. And one interesting decision the D.C. government made was to have a city-sponsored sports-betting operation, as opposed to letting these companies like FanDuel and DraftKings run the show. So you could bet through those companies at stadiums and arenas, but if you are out and about on your phone or at a lot of these betting terminals in cafés and restaurants and bars, you are betting with a city-sponsored sportsbook called Gambet[DC].

And these terminals—they sort of look like ATM machines. They popped up all over the place, including at this tiny poke shop called Abunai. And one of the interesting things about betting terminals that professional gamblers were quick to pick up on is: Unlike if you’re going to a brick-and-mortar sportsbook, where you give your ID and they pay close attention to who it is betting, you bet anonymously through these terminals. So if you’ve sort of cracked the code and figured out an edge, you can bet anonymously, basically limitlessly, through these terminals and make a killing.

And this one guy found deficiencies in the odds in this poorly run city-sponsored sportsbook. It’s kind of incredible how bad the odds were compared to the rest of the market. Like, it didn’t take a genius to pick off vulnerable games to bet on. So he just finds a list of places in the city that have these betting terminals. Abunai was the first alphabetically on the list. So he says, Okay, great. They have a nice owner and staff, who didn’t mind him basically turning it into his home office.

And day after day, he would just dump cash in this machine and bet as much as he could—so much so that it swung the entire city’s betting numbers so that an overwhelming amount of money was being bet through this one store. He was winning so much that the entire city-run sportsbook was net negative for an entire month, which is unheard of. We all know the house always wins. D.C.’s sportsbook was run so poorly the house lost, in a month.

Demsas: How does that happen? Like, what is going on there?

Funt: So basically, sports-betting odds are often like efficient markets. So just like it’s really hard to beat the stock market, it’s really hard to beat who’s gonna win, you know, a football game or a basketball game, over the long haul, because, basically, the world’s collective wisdom is informing the spreads and the odds on these games.

But the people who are running Gambet[DC], this D.C. sportsbook, were very slow to update the odds. Sometimes, they would just have errors in how they input the information, so they just clearly have the equivalent of a typo in inputting the odds. Just not a lot of oversight. Even though it’s a pretty airtight business, you still need a lot of smart people running it and automation to manage it.

So this guy just picked off all these bad lines and bad odds. And statistically, he gained the upper hand, because if Gambet[DC]’s odds are way out of sync with the rest of the market, chances are the rest of the market’s right.

Demsas: So you literally just have to look at what the market is telling you, what the odds are in other places, and then just go sit down at Abunai Poke and just say like, All right, looking at my phone, what’s going on, on DraftKings or whatever, and then just do that.

Funt: Precisely. He was betting on sports that he didn’t follow at all. He had no expert insights into them. It was just, A respected sportsbook has the odds at this number. Gambet[DC]’s are off in this way. I’m gonna err on the side of the respected sportsbook and bet against Gambet[DC]. And it was hugely profitable, at least as long as he got away with it.

Demsas: Do you know how much money he made?

Funt: Yes, so thanks to some public records that were turned over, only over the course of three months, he profited more than $400,000—pretty unheard of, even for an incredibly successful bettor. That rate of return is just remarkable.

Demsas: Wow. So I went down a rabbit hole, when I was researching for this episode, about American history on sports gambling. And I did not know the role of Attorney General Bobby Kennedy—the OG Bobby Kennedy—his crusade against sports gambling. And learning that, kind of in the middle of the 20th century—you touch on this a little bit, but—that the real focus on outlawing sports gambling was about combating organized-crime syndicates.

Bobby Kennedy wrote an article in The Atlantic in April 1962 about this issue. And just quoting from it:

As I sit down today to write this article, a business executive with an industrial firm on the Eastern seaboard is telephoning a bookmaker to place a fifty-dollar bet on a horse race; a factory worker in a Midwestern town is standing at a lunch counter filling out a basketball parlay card on which he will wager two dollars; a housewife in a West Coast suburb is handing a dime to a policy writer who operates a newsstand as a front near the supermarket where she shops.

These people, and millions like them who follow similar routines every day, see nothing wrong in what they are doing. Many of them can afford the luxury of this type of gambling. They look upon it simply as taking a chance.

He continues:

But they are taking a chance which the nation and its economy cannot afford. They are pouring dimes and dollars day by day into a vast stream of cash which finances most illegal underworld activities. The housewife, the factory worker, and the businessman will tell you that they are against such things as narcotics, bootlegging, prostitution, gang murders, the corruption of public officials and police, and the bribery of college athletes. And yet this is where their money goes.

So I did not have a sense that this was a big part of the modern conversation around sports gambling. Is this kind of resolved, or are we still worried about gambling, kind of, going to these underworld activities?

Funt: Yeah, first of all, it’s a great article you turned up. I’m excited to find it myself and read it. That was definitely one of the arguments for legalizing sports betting around 2018, after that Supreme Court decision, because a huge amount of money was being bet through offshore sportsbooks that operated illegally online, taking tens of billions of dollars in wagers from Americans. And there was some evidence that the criminal syndicates that were operating those sportsbooks did a bunch of other criminal activity.

So just as RFK was saying, you’re, in effect, patronizing those sorts of criminal activities. That’s not always the case. Some of them were just Americans who were bookmakers in the U.S. and got tired of getting arrested, so they went to Latin America and set up websites where they could take bets. It wasn’t quite as sinister as that. But at least as the argument went, it was a real boogeyman, that you’re funding criminal organizations, and, Why not fund taxed, legitimate companies by making this legal? So yes, that was definitely a significant argument.

And I think as far as that kind of conscious capitalism goes, well, the sportsbooks that operate today definitely aren’t, you know, also selling drugs and prostitution and all those things. There definitely is some hand-wringing among people of, Does gambling exploit vulnerable people? Do we know that this is making problem gambling more prevalent? And by betting safely, are you still, in effect, funding companies that take advantage of people? So it’s not quite as potent as the argument RFK laid out, but it’s definitely still relevant.

Demsas: And what has the impact been on legalization? Has legalization reduced off-book gambling. Can we even really measure that?

Funt: So you’re right. It’s impossible to know exactly how much gambling is going on under the table. It always has been. I think some of the estimates were inflated to make the argument seem more convincing, but it by no means has eliminated it or even put the dent in it that a lot of the advocates for legalization promised.

Again, in 1992, they looked at all these different types of cause-and-effect things to think about, and one of them was: If you legalize an illegal activity, do you snuff out the black market, or do you just grow the pool of people doing it and, in fact, actually convert some people who might not have been doing it, who are then going to look to the black market, for a variety of reasons? So when it comes to sports betting, yes—there are definitely those offshore, illegal sportsbooks that are hurting because of this.

But there are also people who took up sports betting because they saw ads everywhere and all these generous new-customer offers and started legally, and then they said, Hey. There’s a bunch of different reasons why betting illegally might be advantageous. Maybe I don’t want it showing up on my bank statement. Maybe I don’t want my winnings taxed. Maybe I want to be able to bet much more illegally than you’re able to do so legally, if I’m a winning bettor. So yeah, in some respects, it’s put the offshore business on the ropes, and in other respects, it’s sort of created a funnel of new customers for them.

[Music]

Demsas: After the break: what’s gained and what’s lost in states where online sports betting is legal.

[Break]

Demsas: I want to delve into the welfare harms of people who are engaging in sports gambling. But before I do that, I think because of your articles and a lot of other arguments being made and research coming out, there’s a growing narrative about the potential mistake that this was in legalizing gambling. But I think that can be helpful to go back and think in the minds of states who were interested in legalizing gambling. What was going on with them? Like, how much money are they actually making off of this? And what sorts of things is it going to?

Funt: Yeah, that was definitely the No. 1 argument, was, Hey. Let’s just bring in more revenue without taxing people—always, you know, a strong selling point for at least some people.

So whether tax revenue has exceeded or failed to meet expectations varies state by state. In total, since that Supreme Court decision and all these states started legalizing, a little more than $7 billion has been raised in taxes from sports betting for state governments. It’s important to note that $2.6 billion of that has gone to New York State alone, the largest legal sports-betting state, which also has the largest tax rate, so they’re just getting an epic windfall compared to the rest of the country.

Many states simply send the money to their general fund. Some states, like Colorado, specifically earmarked it—in Colorado’s case, for water-conservation issues. But you know, tax revenue is definitely a worthwhile thing to look at, but it’s not the whole picture. I think it’s appropriate to look at a more holistic view of, Sure, states are generating this money, but it’s not like loose change they’re finding in their couch cushions. This is coming from somewhere. It’s coming from their constituents.

We know gambling is, in many respects, kind of a regressive tax in that it, you know, pulls money from a lot of vulnerable people, as opposed to a more progressive tax that proportionately takes from people who can afford to lose. And that’s why some states, like Washington State, have been much more restrictive in the way that, yes, they’ve legalized sports betting, but you can only do it on the grounds at tribal reservations. So their idea was, Let’s give a boost to tribal economies, but we don’t want to depend on revenue from gambling to fund our state’s growing needs. We’d rather do that through progressive taxes, more sustainable, healthier for our society, something that definitely not all states have taken into account.

Demsas: I have seen a lot of that research around the regressivity of these sorts of tax revenues, but I was surprised with sports betting. And there was a Pew poll looking at the demographics of people who engage in sports betting. And they don’t really find any significant differences in educational attainment or household income. They see that men are more likely than women to say they have bet on sports, and adults under the age of 50 (when compared to those over 50), and Black Americans and Hispanic adults are more likely than white and Asian American adults. But I’m surprised that there’s not more of a difference in household income here.

Funt: You’re right. In some respects, I think sports bettors skew a little bit more middle class and well-educated, compared to other forms of gambling. But when we think about the regressivity of it or just whether it’s the healthiest way for society to generate money, it’s not just that the poor are the ones doing the gambling. It’s also—think about that people with gambling problems are, in many respects, these companies’ best customers. They’re losing such a disproportionate amount of money, compared to the rest of the clientele.

Are we comfortable generating money on the backs of people who just find this ruinous, in a lot of ways beyond financially? So that, I think, should give people pause. But you’re right—for a lot of cultural reasons, the people who bet on sports tend to be much more middle class than the people who, say, do scratch-offs or play the lottery.

Demsas: So I want to now turn to all of the harms that have now become evident over the past several years. Can you walk us through the financial impacts of gambling? What are we finding about the legalization of sports gambling on the impact on households’ financial well-being?

Funt: Yes. So last year, I’d say two of the most-buzzed-about studies that came out on that topic—one of them found a direct correlation between states that had legalized sports betting and a demonstrable impact on credit scores and other measures of financial health. A similar study, also last year, found that household savings go down in places where sports betting is legal. So you are seeing a demonstrable impact on people’s financial well-being as a result of the availability of sports betting.

Part of what I find, honestly, quite frustrating about the way this has played out in the U.S. is it’s been treated like this experiment where, We’re entering an uncharted territory. We’ll see how it goes. We’ll discover things. Like, Does this hurt people financially, or does this create a public-health problem that we didn’t anticipate? There’s a whole bunch of countries that are far ahead of the U.S. in terms of legalizing, and there’s a vast body of research that looks at the consequences. This didn’t have to be this shot in the dark for the U.S. We could have looked at Europe and Australia and Latin America and Asia and a lot of other places that are farther along and have had to reconcile the consequences of making gambling so accessible.

So in the U.K., for example, where online gambling was legalized in 2005, one study recently found that Brits lose about £5.5 billion every year betting online, which results in lost economic activity of £1.3 billion. The government estimates conservatively that gambling-related health consequences cost the population more than a billion pounds every year. And again, the people who did that study said: If you actually look at the second- and third-degree consequences, on a mental-health level and all the family trauma that it causes, it’s probably much bigger than a billion pounds, but we can safely say that.

So yes, again, the evidence is starting to trickle out in the U.S., but it’s been there overseas, and I think it’s pretty irresponsible that the states that were establishing regulations didn’t heed those warnings before getting this off and running.

Demsas: Yeah, I mean, I want to underscore this. I can imagine someone going like, All right, someone is going to, you know, buy some bad fast food out there rather than cook, or they might gamble on some sports. These are all just consumption, and they’re different levels of bad, but is it really that big of a deal?

You know, one of the studies you referenced, a Northwestern University study by Scott Baker and his co-authors—they’re finding that it’s not just displacing other gambling and consumption. People are falling into debt over this. So for every dollar spent on betting, households are putting a dollar less into investment accounts. You’re more at risk of overdrafting your bank account, maxing out credit cards.

And these effects are strongest among households that are already kind of financially precarious. Charles Lehman actually wrote a great article about this for us in The Atlantic. And this is not a situation, I think, where it’s, you know, We’re just getting money reallocated from other places. People are experiencing a lot more debt delinquency over this.

The other study that you referenced, the economist Brett Hollenbeck at UCLA and his co-authors also find, similarly, that the increase of the risk that a household goes bankrupt [goes up] by 25 to 30 percent. I mean, these are really big numbers that we’re seeing here. And can you just walk us through this kind of gambling addiction? Is this a situation where it’s a very small number of people who are getting addicted, and that’s what’s driving these stats? Or are large shares of Americans experiencing financial precarity here? What do you think?

Funt: Right. So the rate of problem gambling is definitely increasing. So for a long time, it was perceived that about 1 to 2 percent of the population is prone to problem gambling. In states that have had legal sports betting and other legal online gambling for a while, they’re seeing that rate closer to 6 or even 8 percent, and it’s even higher among young men, who are often the target audience for sports betting.

But I think it’s important to look beyond problem gambling. Even though those numbers are quite alarming, it can sort of make it seem like a marginal issue. Like, As long as I’m not in that sliver of the population, I’m good. I think that those sorts of consequences that you were describing go beyond people who have diagnosable problems.

So I find quite striking or even alarming the explosion of gambling among college students. And there was a survey recently that found that one in five college students who bet on sports dips into their tuition funds to fund their betting. So obviously, fewer than 20 percent of college students have gambling problems, but you’re still seeing people affect themselves financially because of their betting. So it’s a vast problem, and it’s an under-researched area.

It’s also something that is a developing story. So you’re not going to get a full picture out the gates. Gambling disorder, unlike some addictions where you might experience something once and become hooked on it—that can happen with gambling, but—it’s often a progressive disorder, so it can take several years or even longer to develop a problem. So if you think about it, we’re really in the early innings of this. And that sort of data and that sort of picture of how this is affecting society as a whole is still going to be emerging in the coming years.

Demsas: And, I mean, you talked a little about the mental-health impacts of gambling addiction here, but there was a paper that came out recently—it’s actually what spurred me to want to do this episode with you—about domestic violence. Can you talk to us about what that found?

Funt: Yes, it’s one of those things that’s terrible but, honestly, not totally surprising—that, again, you can see a correlation between the states that have legalized sports betting and those that haven’t, and when people lose bets, they’re more prone to commit acts of domestic violence.

There’s, similarly, a correlation, in that same respect, where sports betting is legal and higher rates of binge drinking. So you can think about it either fueling or just coinciding with a lot of other problematic activity. And it’s why, to really take stock of what this means for society, you’ve got to look at the bigger picture, not just some of these raw numbers that are thrown in our faces all the time.

Demsas: Yeah, I mean, I think that most people have probably heard there’s an older study that’s not about sports betting, but it’s just about, you know, an NFL home team’s upset loss can cause a 10 percent increase in the rate of at-home violence. This is a famous David Card study.

And the thing that I think is really interesting about the Card-Dahl study is that when we’re talking about upset losses—these are, like, unexpected losses, when the home team was predicted to win, and then they lose—you would think, Oh well, maybe in the states where there was an upset win, when the home team was predicted to lose and they actually win, maybe you see a decline in domestic violence, but that doesn’t happen. There’s basically an asymmetry here—

Funt: Oh gosh.

Demsas: —in the gain-loss utility function. So it’s like: You’re actually just gonna get more domestic violence. You’re not gonna even it out or something like that. And that, I think, becomes a really big problem when you are thinking about this paternalism issue here, because I can imagine people hearing this episode are just like, Yeah, this sounds really bad, but do I think the government should be in charge of banning something just because people are making bad decisions?

The downstream effects here are what I think are really convincing. You know, no one consents to having domestic violence happen to them, obviously, ever. But that that might increase as a result of someone else choosing to bet on sports seems, you know, even beyond the pale.

Funt: Yeah, absolutely. I think this debate often gets reduced to, Should this be outlawed, or should it be legal with hardly any restrictions? And I think it oversimplifies the argument, and it—we’re really past that. I don’t know how many states that have legalized it are going to go ahead and say, This was a mistake. Let’s outlaw it.

But there’s such a spectrum within that dichotomy, of: Should there be restrictions on advertising? Should there be restrictions on the enticements for customers? Should we require affordability checks to make sure people are betting at least vaguely within their means? All these different regulations that ought to be debated instead of, Should we ban this? which, of course—you’re right—is going to get a bad reaction from a lot of people who don’t like the government overstepping in the decisions we make.

I think consumer protections were the main argument for legalization. So whether we’re living up to that promise and delivering actual protections that protect the people who were betting illegally, and now we’ve said this is a safer way to do things—that, I hope, is where the conversation goes.

Demsas: I actually was surprised. I was trying to look up what people actually want to happen with legalization here, and I was shocked. Only 8 percent of people—there’s a Pew poll about this—only 8 percent of people thought it was good for the country that sports betting was legal. And 34 percent said it was a bad thing. The rest said they thought it was neither good nor bad. I would not have expected that. Is that what you find when you’re reporting, that people are saying that they think it’s bad that we’re allowing this?

Funt: Yeah, I try not to put too much stock in the anecdotal. Even though I’ve interviewed so many hundreds of people for my work, I’d rather rely on an academic who’s doing a proper study.

That said, yeah, I find it interesting, not only how many average people feel that way, but how many professional bettors, who you’d think would be the biggest evangelists for legalization and defending the way they make their livelihood—a lot of them are some of the most vocal about, This has gotten out of control. It’s crazy that there aren’t more guardrails to protect ordinary people.

I even hear plenty of people who work in the industry say, States and even perhaps the federal government could be doing more to protect customers. So it’s not just casual people who see all the ads and say, Gee, this has run amok. It’s people who are right in the middle of it who feel that way.

Demsas: So you mentioned that other countries have had experiences with this as well. Are there regulations you would copy from other places that maybe can improve our situation?

Funt: Yeah, and I try not to be, you know, a public-policy advocate as a reporter, but I will just say things that a lot of people, whether they’re health experts or player-safety advocates, are encouraging to at least be debated.

So one of them is: Countries that have banned advertisements that use expressions like free or risk-free or no sweat or bonus deceptively—so they’re basically making it sound like a can’t-lose proposition, when either you can lose the money you’re betting on the bonus, this offer, or you might get a little money through the bonus, but you’re obviously going to lose money over time—some countries have tried to weed that out.

There have been a lot of countries that have restricted when and how you can advertise, to try to minimize the number of young people that are seeing gambling ads day after day. So they might say you can’t advertise during sporting events or during certain hours of the day when kids are more likely to be watching TV.

Affordability checks are a polarizing one because that does tend to feel quite paternalistic, but in a lot of the places that have imposed those, the thresholds are sky-high. They’re not telling you, You should spend your money here or there. They’re saying, If someone’s spending hundreds of thousands of dollars within a day of signing up, maybe you ought to check in and see if they can afford to be doing that—things that are a lot more palatable than you might think when you hear a phrase like affordability check.

So there’s so many different reforms. Another one that is getting a lot of buzz at the federal level is this idea of a national self-exclusion list. So one thing that’s quite helpful for people with problems is they say, I’d like to cut myself off from gambling, to remove that temptation. But currently, let’s say I live in New Jersey—I can do that in New Jersey, but if I drive 15 minutes into New York or Pennsylvania, that exclusion doesn’t apply in those states. So it’s enormously tempting to do that. It might make sense to have a national self-exclusion list. So operators that are functioning across state lines have to honor exclusion, no matter where you are.

Things like that, again, it’s not about, Should we outlaw this? or, Should we backpedal on the decision to legalize? There’s this whole host of consumer protections that might be worth considering.

Demsas: Yeah, one thing I’d heard talked about is also not allowing people to make bets with credit cards, such that you have to have the money, so you can’t run up these large bills that you literally cannot pay back. And it seems like something about allowing it everywhere you are is a problem, right?

There’s a level to which I don’t know that we’re putting the genie back in the bottle on online betting, but the idea that you can pull out your phone at any point when you’re stressed out, that you don’t have to go somewhere, seems like a problem. And maybe creating some sort of temporal bounds, like maybe you can’t do it on college campuses or something like that—you can’t do it in schools in general, or you can’t do it at bars or something—you know, that might create some backlash here, but it indicates that, you know, there are ways to reduce the problem here.

Funt: You’re right that you have to use geolocation when you use these apps so that they can tell that you’re in a legal betting state, and it’s extraordinarily precise and effective. So if you’re in D.C. and you go into a federal building, suddenly your sports-betting app no longer works. It literally, like, works if I’m in a yard within the okay zone versus the not-okay zone. It’ll pick up on that.

There’s a state delegate in Maryland named Pam Queen, who’s also a professor at Morgan State University, who had the idea of: We could use this to either ban sports betting on college campuses or do something even more modest, like ban it in classrooms or in underage dorms or dorms during certain hours. The possibilities, as you were saying, are limitless, and it doesn’t have to be as severe as, you know, You can’t bet at a stadium or at a bar. It could be things that I think most people would agree sound appropriate, like, You shouldn’t bet in a freshman dorm or, you know, during class.

So yeah, that is a really potent tool that hasn’t caught on anywhere, but I think she and other people are going to be pushing for that.

Demsas: I then also want to ask you about your experiences interviewing legislators. So there are a lot of legislators who are involved in this effort, a lot of governors who have signed bills to allow sports betting or to allow online betting in their states. Have you talked to anyone who’s exhibited any kind of concern with how things have gone?

Funt: Buyer’s remorse, in some cases. Most notably, I’d say: I interviewed Charlie Baker, the former governor of Massachusetts who signed the bill legalizing bookmaking there in 2022 and then a few months later became president of the NCAA and has become a really vocal champion for limiting the amount of betting on college sports, particularly in light of the brutal harassment that college athletes and coaches get whenever their performance costs someone a bet.

It’s honestly horrifying, the sort of stuff they see on social media and in real life. And he has said point-blank, I wish, in hindsight, this had stayed in Las Vegas. As you were saying, it’s pretty commonsense that if you can bet from literally anywhere at any time of day, that’s gonna be quite a different situation than if you have to go to a casino, or even go to Las Vegas, in order to bet—or hunt down a bookie and find ways to bet through crypto or other sort of sketchy things that a lot of people are uncomfortable doing.

The idea that you can swipe to deposit money on your phone and then tap a couple of times and bet limitless amounts at any time of day is such a game changer. He was saying, We didn’t really process what a difference that would make, and I wish we had. So yes, he’s maybe the most forthcoming about that, but there are a lot of lawmakers who are seeing the fallout, in a lot of different respects, and saying, Maybe we need to re-regulate, as a lot of the rest of the world has decided is appropriate.

Demsas: Well, Danny, always our last and final question. This has been an episode chock-full of ideas that were good on paper. But what is an idea that you had that you thought was good at the time but ended up being only good on paper?

Funt: All right, so I was living in New York after college. I had a tiny balcony. I went and bought seeds to grow. I think it was, like, cucumbers and basil. And I was getting breakfast with my buddy Brian, and I was like, Dude, you will not believe how cheap these seeds are. We could totally grow vegetables and herbs and whatever else and sell it, and the margins would be crazy, and we’d make a killing. And he was like, So your business idea is farming? And I was like, Touché, Brian. You’re right. This is maybe not the most groundbreaking business idea. So he set me straight on that one.

Demsas: Oh my gosh, you didn’t live out—I actually, so my first house when I moved out of college was this group house, and we had the idea to farm some vegetables for the house, and it was successful in that we had some kale and sweet potatoes. But I have never in my life been like, I am never getting my food from my own labor. Like, this is just never happening again.

Funt: Oh, yeah.

Demsas: It’s a lot of work, and I feel like it caused so much strife in our household, too, because people were like, Who’s gonna harvest? What do we do with all this, like, extra kale now that no one wants to eat, because we have 20,000 bushels of kale. And you’re just, like, giving it away. But I’m glad that you did not actually have to execute your good on paper idea. You just figured it out beforehand.

Funt: I liked it, the basil I grew, but it wasn’t scalable. Brian was right.

Demsas: Danny, thanks so much for coming on the show.

Funt: My pleasure. Thanks again for having me.

[Music]

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

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.

“I’d summarize it as: fuck.” That’s what one senior university administrator told me when I asked about the chaos that erupted at the National Institutes of Health this week. Academics are in panic mode in the face of sudden new restrictions from the Trump administration. The Department of Health and Human Services has told employees of several health agencies, including the NIH, to stop communicating with the public. Even more disruptive for universities, the committee meetings for reviewing NIH grant proposals have also been abruptly put on hold until at least February 1.

“This will halt science and devastate research budgets in universities,” Jane Liebschutz, a medical doctor and professor at the University of Pittsburgh, posted on Bluesky, in reference to the grant-review shutdown. The UCLA professor Lindsay Wiley echoed the sentiment, adding on Bluesky that the pause, which affects the distribution of a multibillion-dollar pool of public-research money, “will have long-term effects on medicine & short-term effects on state, higher education & hospital budgets. This affects all of us, not just researchers.”

Even if the mayhem ends early next month, it would still represent a large and lasting threat to universities in years to come. The NIH funds a major portion of the research that gets done on campus, and money from its grants also helps pay for universities’ general operations. The fact that this support has been switched off so haphazardly, for reasons that remain unclear, and despite the scope of troubles it creates, suggests that higher ed will be profoundly vulnerable during the second Trump era.

It’s hard to overstate the role of HHS, and the NIH in particular, in funding universities. In 2023, the department contributed $33 billion in research grants to American institutions of higher education, representing more than half of all federal spending on academic R&D. Indeed, HHS alone accounts for nearly one-third of all funding for university research—most of which is distributed by the NIH.

This situation makes the NIH a golden goose for universities, and also a canary in a coal mine. Researchers know just how much research capital comes from the agency—and they worry about the calamity that might ensue if those funds were to be tied up more than momentarily. NIH money funds everything from basic science research (figuring out what a particular gene does, for example) to the work that makes that knowledge useful (inventing a new gene-editing treatment, say). And its resources are put to use well beyond the field of medicine, with grants for work in biology, chemistry, physics, engineering, social sciences, and social work, among other fields. Take that all away, all at once, and a mess of different kinds of researchers are left uncertain as to whether and how long their labs, personnel, and experiments can be sustained.

Not only is the NIH the most generous provider of government funding for research, but it also gives out money in a way that has secondary benefits for grantees and their institutions. For one thing, it generally doles out funds in larger chunks than other agencies. That’s good for individual recipients: Writing grant proposals is a lot of work, so the fewer grants you have to chase, the more time you can spend doing actual science. Some NIH programs allow researchers to ask for standardized, “modular” allocations—say, $250,000 a year—instead of itemizing every element of a budget request. That saves time for science.

NIH grants have their own appeal for university administrators too, in the form of payments for what are called “indirect costs.” Most federal grants pay fees to cover overhead for whatever research has been funded. That money helps pay for all of the campus infrastructure that goes into doing the research. This includes the buildings and labs in which the work gets done; the maintenance and management of those facilities; specialized equipment; the badge scanners, payroll services, and other costs associated with the postdoctoral researchers or research scientists who staff the labs; and other operational expenses.

Exactly how much federal grant money gets added to a grant for “indirect costs” is subject to negotiation. Universities work with federal agencies to determine the percentage, which may change from year to year. Some funding sources, such as the Department of Agriculture, tend to pay lower rates, with perhaps a 30 percent premium going to indirect costs. But the NIH goes very high, in general: Its rates will at times exceed 60 percent. Under such an arrangement, for every $1 million the agency gives to a scientist, that scientist’s university gets $600,000.

These overhead funds, of which the NIH is such an important source, are mysterious and complicated. Many universities rely on them to balance their budget. The problem is, schools almost always have to spend more money to support research than they take in from grants. They do the work anyway both because research is part of their mission and because it helps them compete for better students, faculty, and rankings. But with grant-funded research already operating at a loss, any long-term interruption of schools’ indirect-cost revenue could create a real financial crisis on campus.

Holden Thorp, the editor in chief of Science and a former university chancellor and provost, told me that many schools could weather these disruptions without issue: A university with a big hospital, for example, might use clinical revenue to offset uncompensated research costs. But some schools could be destabilized by even a small-scale interference with the flow of agency grants, and most research institutions would be thrown into at least some disarray.

An extended pause on grant funding isn’t happening, or at least not yet. And Thorp said that panic isn’t a useful response to whatever is happening at the NIH. It’s totally understandable for researchers, students, and administrators to be unnerved, he said, but there are many possible explanations, and “it’s best to keep calm and carry on.” My own university, Washington University in St. Louis, made the same suggestion in a statement sent to faculty from the vice chancellor for research. It read, in part, “While these disruptions are frustrating, they are occurring government-wide and are not focusing on university research activities or targeting specific scientific disciplines.”

But the NIH freak-out may have less to do with the present disruption (however long it lasts) than with what it signifies. If the viability of university research, and of universities themselves, can be so upended by a disarrangement of a single unit of the Department of Health and Human Services, then what might be coming next? Donald Trump’s nominee to run the NIH, Jay Bhattacharya, has floated the idea of linking grants to measures of free speech on campus, according to The Wall Street Journal. And Trump’s executive orders have already made clear that any federal grantee will have to answer for its own DEI initiatives. The Trump administration has many bones to pick with higher education, and it seems willing to abide—and even encourage—whatever chaos those squabbles may produce. The present situation might be a fluke, or it might be a test.

When wildfires broke out across Los Angeles earlier this month, many publications began to frame the incalculable tragedy through the lens of celebrity news. As flames engulfed the Palisades, a wealthy neighborhood perched along the Pacific Coast Highway, a steady influx of reports announced the growing list of stars who’d lost their homes: Paris Hilton. Billy Crystal. Rosie O’Donnell. These dispatches from celebrity evacuees have broadcast the scale and intractability of the damage, underscoring something most Southern Californians already know to be true: No one, not even the rich and famous, is safe from the danger of wildfires. “This loss is immeasurable,” the TV host Ricki Lake said in an Instagram post about her home burning. “I grieve along with all of those suffering during this apocalyptic event.”

In the most basic sense, the wildfires can be understood as equalizing. An ember doesn’t choose its path based on property value or paparazzi presence, and when one part of Los Angeles burns, foreboding smoke hangs over the whole metro area. Secluded neighborhoods like the Pacific Palisades, where multimillion-dollar houses overlook the ocean, typically have far fewer evacuation routes than urban areas do. But as fires continue to ravage the area, the blazes also reflect—and exacerbate—the disparities embedded in the most mundane tenets of L.A. life. In Southern California, sights as common as a crowded freeway help explain why wildfires have become a universal threat—and why some Angelenos are less equipped than others to recover from the devastation those fires cause.

Like other extreme-weather events, wildfires are now more common and more difficult to protect against, because of climate change. The state has made some inroads in addressing greenhouse-gas emissions, which drive extreme temperatures and drought, but one of the greatest accelerants is practically synonymous with California itself. Car culture not only undermines efforts to reduce the toxic pollution that fuels climate change—it also relies on infrastructure that creates and deepens drastic inequalities among the communities that live with the consequences of climate change. Modern Los Angeles depends on cars partly because of its sprawling geography, Anastasia Loukaitou-Sideris, an urban-planning professor and the interim dean of UCLA’s Luskin School of Public Affairs, explained to me. Yet these smog-producing cars became so central to Southern California life because of “transportation policy that has quite favored the automobile and given a tremendous amount of investment to build the freeways,” Loukaitou-Sideris said.

[Read: The GoFundMe fires]

In moments of tragedy or upheaval, not all Angelenos can take their freedom of mobility for granted, in part because of how Southern California infrastructure has developed over the past century. The multilane highways that now crisscross the area were first laid out in the late 1930s, not long after the idea of L.A. as “the city built for the automobile” emerged as a political campaign. (In the ’20s, an extensive transit network stretching from Venice well into the Inland Empire was the world’s largest electric-railway system; by the early ’60s, it had been completely dismantled to make room for freeways and buses.) Through the tail end of the 20th century, lawmakers prioritized suburban growth, enabled by car-friendly streets and expressways. Meanwhile, transit systems in urban areas—the ones that connect people in dense locations—received comparatively little funds. In the past decade, more funding has gone toward buses and rail systems, but ridership has decreased—in part because rising housing costs in transit-friendly neighborhoods have pushed out the low-income residents most likely to rely on it.

Beyond favoring only people with cars, these freeway networks created further social stratification. Developers often chose to place major highways in low-income areas because wealthy, and often white, homeowners lobbied against their own neighborhoods being disrupted. In their research, Loukaitou-Sideris and her colleagues traced the historical impacts of several L.A. County and Bay Area freeways built during the 1960s and ’70s. For many Californians, these roads represented freedom of movement. But researchers found that their construction had—and still has—incredibly damaging effects on the (often poor and/or Black) neighborhoods they run through. Californians in communities of color are typically not the most frequent drivers, but they live with the highest concentration of vehicle emissions—and traffic-related pollution compounds the health risks of inhaling wildfire smoke.

Because so many displaced residents need shelter, some landlords and real-estate agents are now attempting to list apartments with sky-high rents, despite state laws against price gouging after disasters. The rise of this illegal exploitation points to a sobering reality: For many Californians, the onset of a destructive wildfire is an economic catastrophe, too. That’s part of why Rachel Morello-Frosch, an environmental-health scientist and a professor at UC Berkeley, insists that evacuation maps alone don’t tell a complete story. She referred to what she and her colleagues have called “the climate gap”: how extreme-weather events disproportionately affect communities of color and those that are poor, underinsured, and underinvested. One of the most brutal fires hit Altadena, an unincorporated town north of Pasadena where people of color sought refuge from racist housing policies, and where the percentage of Black homeowners eclipses other parts of the metro area. Restoring Altadena, and preserving its Black and Latino residents’ connections to the place where they’ve built a distinct cultural history, will undoubtedly be a complicated task.  

Federal support for California’s efforts to prevent future wildfires is uncertain under the new administration—President Donald Trump has already signed several executive orders that undo climate regulations. During his first term, Trump reportedly refused to give disaster aid to California on partisan grounds—and changed his mind only when informed that a heavily Republican area had been affected by wildfires. Prior to Trump being sworn in for a second term on Monday, the president’s threats to place conditions on federal aid to California were said to be gaining traction, even as the fires continued to obliterate swaths of the state. In his inaugural speech, Trump lamented that the fires are “raging through the houses and communities, even affecting some of the wealthiest and most powerful individuals in our country.” Earlier this month, in posts on Truth Social, he cast blame on Governor Gavin Newsom for allegedly failing to deliver basic services to residents. (Newsom’s office disputed Trump’s characterization of the governor’s actions.)

But climate change poses an existential threat to all Californians, regardless of political affiliation, class, or celebrity. As I watch my home state anxiously from afar, checking my text messages constantly for updates from my loved ones, I’ve been heartened by the mutual-aid networks and community-led efforts that have sprung up. Amid so much destruction, the rare moments of hope come from seeing how many Angelenos recognize the stakes of building a different future together. Disaster response doesn’t have to look the way it did in New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina, when vulnerable groups were the slowest to recoup their losses (and, in some cases, never did). As Morello-Frosch put it to me, in order for Angelenos to “return, recover, and rebuild in a way that maybe helps fortify them against the next fire,” the government would need to be invested in the health and safety of all people—and proactively account for the inequities that vulnerable communities face before the next blazes hit.

Dale Carnegie, the self-made titan of self-help, swore by the social power of names. Saying someone’s name, he wrote in How to Win Friends and Influence People, was like a magic spell, the key to closing deals, amassing political favors, and generally being likable. According to Carnegie, Franklin D. Roosevelt won the presidency partly because his campaign manager addressed voters by their names. The Steel King, Andrew Carnegie (no relation), reportedly secured business deals by naming companies after at least one competitor and a would-be buyer, and maintained employee morale by calling his factory workers by their first name. “If you don’t do this,” Dale Carnegie warned his readers, “you are headed for trouble.”

By Carnegie’s measure, plenty of people are in serious jeopardy. It’s not that they don’t remember what their friends and acquaintances are called; rather, saying names makes them feel anxious, nauseated, or simply awkward. In 2023, a group of psychologists dubbed this phenomenon alexinomia. People who feel it most severely might avoid addressing anyone by their name under any circumstance. For others, alexinomia is strongest around those they are closest to. For example, I don’t have trouble with most names, but when my sister and I are alone together, saying her name can feel odd and embarrassing, as if I’m spilling a secret, even though I’ve been saying her name for nearly 25 years. Some people can’t bring themselves to say the name of their wife or boyfriend or best friend—it can feel too vulnerable, too formal, or too plain awkward. Dale Carnegie was onto something: Names have a kind of power. How we use or avoid them can be a surprising window into the nature of our relationships and how we try to shape them.

The social function of names in Western society is, in many ways, an outlier. In many cultures, saying someone else’s given name is disrespectful, especially if they have higher status than you. Even your siblings, parents, and spouse might never utter your name to you. Opting for relationship terms (auntie) or unrelated nicknames (little cabbage) is the default. Meanwhile, American salespeople are trained to say customers’ names over and over again. It’s also a common tactic for building rapport in business pitches, during telemarketing calls, and on first dates.

Western norms can make sidestepping names a source of distress. For years, Thomas Ditye, a psychologist at Sigmund Freud Private University, in Vienna, and his colleague Lisa Welleschik listened as their clients described their struggles to say others’ names. In the 2023 study that coined the term alexinomia, Ditye and his colleagues interviewed 13 German-speaking women who found the phenomenon relatable. One woman told him that she couldn’t say her classmates’ names when she was younger, and after she met her husband, the issue became more pronounced. “Even to this day, it’s still difficult for me to address him by name; I always say ‘you’ or ‘hey,’ things like that,” she said. In a study published last year, Ditye and his colleagues searched online English-language discussion forums and found hundreds of posts in which men and women from around the world described how saying names made them feel weird. The team has also created an alexinomia questionnaire, with prompts that include “Saying the name of someone I like makes me feel exposed” and “I prefer using nicknames with my friends and family in order to avoid using names.”

[From the April 2023 issue: An ode to nicknames]

Names are a special feature of conversation in part because they’re almost always optional. When an element of a conversation isn’t grammatically necessary, its use is likely socially meaningful, Steven Clayman, a sociology professor at UCLA, told me. Clayman has studied broadcast-news journalists’ use of names in interviews, and found that saying someone’s name could signal—without saying so directly—that you’re speaking from the heart. But the implications of name-saying can shift depending on what’s happening at the moment someone says a name and who’s saying it; we all know that if your mom uses your name, it usually means you’re in trouble. Even changing where in the sentence the name falls can emphasize disagreement or make a statement more adversarial. “Shayla, you need to take a look at this” can sound much friendlier than “You need to take a look at this, Shayla.” And, of course, when someone says your name excessively, they sound like an alien pretending to be a human. “It may be that folks with alexinomia have this gut intuition, which is correct, that to use a name is to take a stand, to do something—and maybe something you didn’t intend,” Clayman said. Another person could misinterpret you saying their name as a sign of closeness or hostility. Why not just avoid the issue?

In his case studies and review of internet forums, Ditye noticed that many people mentioned tripping up on the names of those they were most intimate with—like me, with my sister. This might sound counterintuitive, but saying the names of people already close to us can feel “too personal, too emotional, to a degree that it’s unpleasant,” Ditye told me, even more so than saying the name of a stranger. Perhaps the stakes are higher with those we love, or the intimacy is exaggerated. People on the forums agreed that avoiding loved ones’ names was a way to manage closeness, but sometimes in the opposite way. “I think this is pretty common among close couples,” one person wrote. “It’s a good thing.” Using a name with your nearest and dearest can feel impersonal, like you’re a used car salesman trying to close a deal. If I say my boyfriend’s name, it does seem both too formal and too revealing. But if I use his nickname—Squint—I feel less awkward.

[Read: Why we speak more weirdly at home]

Alexinomia is a mostly harmless quirk of the human experience. (It can cause problems in rare cases, Ditye told me, if, say, you can’t call out a loved one’s name when they’re walking into traffic.) Still, if you avoid saying the names of those closest to you, it can skew their perception of how you feel about them. One of Ditye’s study participants shared that her husband was upset by her inability to say his name. It made him feel unloved.

As Dale Carnegie wrote, “a person’s name is to that person the sweetest and most important sound in any language.” Pushing through the discomfort and simply saying their name every now and then can remind your loved ones that you care. By saying someone else’s name, even when it’s awkward, you’ll be offering a bit of yourself at the same time.

In an ember storm, every opening in a house is a portal to hell. A vent without a screen, a crack in the siding, a missing roof tile—each is an opportunity for a spark to smolder. A gutter full of dry leaves is a cradle for an inferno. Think of a rosebush against a bedroom window: fire food. The roses burn first, melting the vinyl seal around the window. The glass pane falls. A shoal of embers enter the house like a school of glowing fish. Then the house is lost.

As the Palisades Fire, just 8 percent contained this morning, and the Eaton Fire, still uncontained, devour Los Angeles neighborhoods, one thing is clear: Urban fire in the U.S. is coming back. For generations, American cities would burn in era-defining conflagrations: the Great Chicago Fire in 1871, the San Francisco fires of 1906. Then came fire-prevention building codes, which made large city burns a memory of a more naive time. Generations of western firefighters turned, instead, toward wildland burns, the big forest devastations. An urban conflagration was the worst-case scenario, the one they hoped they’d never see. And for a long time, they mostly didn’t.

Now more people live at the flammable edges of wildlands, making places that are primed to burn into de facto suburbs. That, combined with the water whiplash that climate change has visited on parts of California—extraordinarily wet years followed by extraordinarily dry ones—means the region is at risk for urban fire once again. And our ability to fight the most extreme fire conditions has reached its limit. The Palisades Fire alone has already destroyed more than 5,300 structures and the Eaton Fire more than 4,000, making both among the most destructive fires in California’s history. When the worst factors align, the fires are beyond what firefighting can meaningfully battle. With climate change, this type of fire will only grow more frequent.

The start of the Palisades and Eaton Fires was a case of terrible timing: A drought had turned abundant vegetation into crisp fire fuel, and the winter rains were absent. A strong bout of Santa Ana winds made what was already probable fire weather into all but a guarantee. Something—it remains to be seen what—ignited these blazes, and once they started, there was nothing anyone could do to stop them. The winds, speeding up to 100 miles an hour at times, sent showers of embers far across the landscape to ignite spot fires. The high winds meant that traditional firefighting was, at least in the beginning, all but impossible, David Acuna, a battalion chief for Cal Fire, told me: He saw videos of firefighters pointing their hoses toward flames, and the wind blowing the water in the other direction. And for a while, fire planes couldn’t fly. Even if they had, it wouldn’t have mattered, Acuna said. The fire retardant or water they would have dropped would have blown away, like the hose water. “It’s just physics,” he said.

California, and Southern California in particular, has some of the most well-equipped firefighting forces in the world, which have had to think more about fire than perhaps any other in the United States. On his YouTube livestream discussing the fires, the climate scientist Daniel Swain compared the combined fleet of vehicles, aircraft, and personnel to the army of a small nation. If these firefighters couldn’t quickly get this fire contained, likely no one could. This week’s series of fires is testing the upper limits of the profession’s capacity to fight wind-driven fires under dry conditions, Swain said, and rather than call these firefighters incompetent, it’s better to wonder how “all of this has unfolded despite that.”  

The reality is that in conditions like these, once a few houses caught fire in the Pacific Palisades, even the best firefighting could likely do little to keep the blaze from spreading, Michael Wara, a former member of California’s wildfire commission who now directs a climate-and-energy-policy program at Stanford, told me. “Firefighting is not going to be effective in the context we saw a few days ago,” when winds were highest, he said. “You could put a fire truck in every driveway and it would not matter.” He recounted that he was once offered a job at UCLA, but when the university took him to look at potential places to live in the Pacific Palisades, he immediately saw hazards. “It had terrible evacuation routes, but also the street layout was aligned with the Santa Ana winds so that the houses would burn down like dominoes,” he said. “The houses themselves were built very, very close together, so that the radiant heat from one house would ignite the house next door.”

In California, the shift toward ungovernable fires in populated places has been under way for several years. For the former Cal Fire chief deputy director Christopher Anthony, who retired in 2023, the turning point was 2017, when wildfires in populated places in Northern California’s wine country killed 44 people and burned nearly a quarter million acres. The firefighting profession, he told me, started to recognize then that fortifying communities before these more ferocious blazes start would be the only meaningful way to change their outcome. The Camp Fire, which decimated the town of Paradise in 2018, “was the moment that we realized that this wasn’t, you know, an anomaly,” he said. The new fire regime was here. This new kind of fire, once begun, would “very quickly overwhelm the operational capabilities of all of the fire agencies to be able to effectively respond,” he said.

As Wara put it, in fires like these, houses survive, or don’t, on their own. Sealed against ember incursion with screened vents, built using fire-resistant materials, separated from anything flammable—fencing, firewood, but especially vegetation—by at least five feet, a house has a chance. In 2020, California passed a law (yet to be enforced) requiring such borders around houses where fire hazard is highest. It’s a hard sell, having five feet of stone and concrete lining the perimeter of one’s house, instead of California’s many floral delights. Making that the norm would require a serious social shift. But it could meaningfully cut losses, Kate Dargan, a former California state fire marshal, told me.

Still, eliminating the risk of this type of wind-driven fire is now impossible. Dargan started out in wildland firefighting in the 1970s, but now she and other firefighters see the work they did, of putting out all possible blazes, as “somewhat misguided.” Fire is a natural and necessary part of California’s ecosystem, and suppressing it entirely only stokes bigger blazes later. She wants to see the state further embrace preventative fires, to restore it to its natural cycles. But the fires in Southern California this week are a different story, unlikely to have been prevented by prescribed burns alone. When the humidity drops low and the land is in the middle of a drought and the winds are blowing at 100 miles an hour, “we’re not going to prevent losses completely,” Dargan said. “And with climate change, those conditions are likely to occur more frequently.” Avoiding all loss would mean leaving L.A. altogether.

Rebuilding means choosing a different kind of future. Dargan hopes that the Pacific Palisades rebuilds with fire safety in mind; if it does, it will have a better chance of not going through this kind of experience again. Some may still want to grow a rosebush outside their window. After this is over, the bargaining with nature will begin. “Every community gets to pick how safe they want to be,” Dargan said.

As Santa Ana winds whipped sheets of embers over the Pacific Coast Highway in Southern California last night, the palm trees along the beach in the Pacific Palisades ignited like torches scaled for gods. The high school was burning. Soon, the grounds around the Getty Villa were too. The climate scientist Daniel Swain went live on his YouTube channel, warning that this fire would get worse before it got better. The winds, already screaming, would speed up. Tens of thousands of people were fleeing as he spoke. Sunset Boulevard was backed up; ash rained down on drivers as they exited their cars to escape on foot. A bulldozer parted the sea of abandoned cars to let emergency vehicles pass.

The hills were ready to burn. It’s January, well past the time of year when fire season in Southern California is supposed to end. But in this part of the semi-arid chaparral called Los Angeles, fire season can now be any time.

Drought had begun to bear down by the time the fires started. A wetter season is supposed to begin around October, but no meaningful amount of rain has fallen since May. Then came a record-breaking hot summer. The land was now drier than in almost any year since recordkeeping began. Grasses and sagebrush that had previously greened in spring rains dried to a crisp and stayed that way, a perfect buffet of fuel for a blaze to feast on. As The Atlantic wrote last summer, California’s fire luck of the past two years had run out. “You’d have to go to the late 1800s to see this dry of a start to the rainy season,” Glen MacDonald, a geography professor at UCLA, told me.

Then the colder months brought the Santa Ana winds: stuff of legend, the strong downslope gusts that suck humidity out of the air, if there was any to begin with. This time, the winds were stronger than average, too. A parched landscape; crisp-dried vegetation; strong, hot winds: “The gun was loaded,” MacDonald said. And it was pointed at Pacific Palisades.

MacDonald studies climate change and wildfires, and he has published a paper with colleagues projecting that the wildfire season in Southern California would, on average, start earlier and last longer in the future, thanks to human-driven climate warming. The lengthier the season, the greater the probability that a fire-weather day would overlap with a Santa Ana–wind day, or a day when someone happened to ignite a fire—more than 90 percent of fires in Southern California are sparked by human activity, he said.

Last night, he watched an example of his work unfold in real time. He could see smoke rising off the Palisades Fire from his house in Thousand Oaks. He had important documents in bags, just in case he and his family had to evacuate. In a dry year, he told me, the concept of fire season no longer applied in Southern California: “You can have a fire any month of the year.”

This morning, a second and third major fire are pressing toward more suburban zones where people are now evacuating. The Los Angeles mayor has told the city to brace for more. Altogether, more than 5,000 acres have burned already, and an unknown number of structures along with them. Schools are closing this morning, and Los Angeles health officials warned of unhealthy air, directing people to wear masks outdoors and keep windows closed as smoke and soot blanketed some parts of the city.

As he watched the smoke, MacDonald said he had colleagues at the university who lived in the active fire zone. He hoped they were all right; he texted them, knowing that they may not respond for a while. He’d evacuated from the Woolsey Fire in 2018, which burned nearly 100,000 acres and destroyed some 1,600 buildings, including some of his neighbors’ homes. I asked what it was like to study the future of fire in California while living it. “It makes the work more immediate,” he said. “It gives you a sense of unease. As the summer ends and you know you’re dried out, you look around you at things you own, and you think, This could just be ashes.”