Sunday, May 17, 2026

The Times Has Been Getting the Israel–Hamas War Wrong from the Start

By Becket Adams

Sunday, May 17, 2026

 

Trust is an especially precious thing for the press, considering that nothing we do matters unless audiences believe us. Your solid sourcing and top-notch writing skills matter little if readers think you’re a weasel.

 

This is why it has been astonishing, over the past 20 or so years, to watch major newsrooms fritter away what public trust they had in pursuit of political or cultural aims, with little to no thought given to the long-term consequences of sacrificing the one thing they need to remain functional and effective.

 

It beggars belief, then, that the New York Times would publish a flimsily sourced op-ed in this environment alleging that Israeli officials have trained dogs to rape Palestinian prisoners. It is incredible to have published such a claim without providing any serious authentication, evidence, or proof beyond a simple “trust me” from the story’s author, a man long known for being a dupe.

 

Trust Nicholas Kristof? Nah.

 

Trust the New York Times more broadly? Why?

 

That trust was lost long ago with the paper’s kneejerk defenses of its preferred political players, its kid-glove treatment of in-the-club magnates and nepo babies, and its decades-long effort to put the most flattering shine on murderous regimes, including Stalin’s Soviet Russia and Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge. And when it comes to the war between Israel and Hamas specifically, the paper has repeatedly gotten the story very wrong, making it senseless to take either its news or opinion teams at face value.

 

As I’ve said elsewhere, the dog-rape story may end up being the worst of the worst in terms of the paper’s shoddy reporting during this conflict, but it’s certainly not the first example.

 

You might recall the following incidents of Times malfeasance, many of which have already been detailed here at National Review.

 

On October 17, 2023, not long after the single greatest day of slaughter of Jews since the Holocaust, the Times was among the many outlets that scrambled to accuse Israel of bombing the Al-Ahli Hospital and killing more than 500 Palestinians. The Hamas-controlled Gaza Health Ministry was given pride of place in the Times’ coverage, while Israel’s immediate denials were downplayed or treated as incidental. As it turned out, the hospital was not hit by an Israeli airstrike. The hospital wasn’t even attacked. A rocket had exploded in a nearby parking lot, and it turned out that the terrorist group Palestinian Islamic Jihad had fired it.

 

Yet here is the progression of the Times’ reporting: from “Israeli Strike Kills Hundreds in Hospital, Palestinians Say” to “At Least 500 Dead in Strike on Gaza Hospital, Palestinians Say” to “At Least 500 Dead in Blast at Gaza Hospital, Palestinians Say.”

 

The Times later conceded that its initial reporting “relied too heavily on claims by Hamas” and “left readers with an incorrect impression about what was known and how credible the account was.”

 

Gee, when you can’t trust terrorist death cults, whom can you trust?

 

Later that November, the Times again let Hamas dictate the terms of its reporting when it claimed that Israel’s civilian-killing rate after a few weeks of fighting was “unprecedented” in modern warfare, even when compared with Russia’s multiyear war in Ukraine. The report was debunked almost immediately, and not just because the Hamas-provided figures were unverified and obviously inflated, but because the fake numbers still weren’t greater than those from other recent conflicts.

 

In December 2023, the Times, citing Hamas sources again, reported that Gaza deaths had surpassed “any Arab loss in wars in past 40 years.” This was obviously false, as anyone familiar with Syria, Iraq, Yemen, or Lebanon could attest. The paper eventually issued a correction.

 

Then, in July 2025, the New York Times ran a front-page story on supposed Gaza starvation that prominently featured a photo of an emaciated child named Mohammed Zakaria al-Mutawaq.

 

“He was born healthy,” read the original caption for the photo, which was featured above the fold. The original version of the feature story also quoted the boy’s mother as saying, “Mohammed . . . was born a healthy child.”

 

Unfortunately for the Times, other news outlets later discovered that the child isn’t the victim of wartime starvation. He has severe cerebral palsy and other neurological and muscular disorders that make it difficult for him to eat. The Times later removed the mother’s quote and the photo caption from its website. It also added an editor’s note revealing that it hadn’t confirmed the child’s medical background prior to publication.

 

“Had the Times known the information before publication,” the note said, “it would have been included in the article and the picture caption.”

 

Yes, this is why we ask questions first and publish second.

 

It’s all there in the Times “reporting,” practically every journalism sin imaginable: botched math errors, bogus allegations that don’t hold up under even a whiff of scrutiny, and details about things that simply never happened.

 

Yet we’re supposed to trust the Times’ opinion section when it prints allegations that the paper’s own news side has yet to confirm or substantiate?

 

We’re supposed to believe that a paper that can’t get basic facts correct somehow has an opinion desk that did its due diligence on the dog-rape story — a claim that is conspicuously absent from the paper’s news coverage?

 

No thanks.

 

Not all of us are as gullible or pliant as Kristof.

The Perversion of Martyrdom

By Zohar Atkins

Sunday, May 17, 2026

 

It is 203 C.E. Vibia Perpetua is 22 years old, a Roman noblewoman nursing an infant, waiting in a prison in Carthage to be killed in the arena. She keeps a diary. The entries are calm. She records visions. She records her father’s visits—he weeps, he begs, he calls her daughter. She records that she will not recant her Christian faith. The last entry is not hers. Someone else picked up the pen.

 

Then Perpetua walked into the arena, was tossed by a wild heifer, guided the gladiator’s trembling hand to her own throat, and died.

 

She did not kill anyone. She went alone.

 

Nearly two millennia later, a young man walks into a crowded market and detonates a vest. He also dies. The tradition that produced him also calls him a martyr—shahid, witness.

 

Both deaths were offered to God. Both are understood by their community as the highest form of sacrifice.

 

But they are not the same act. They are not even the same category of act.

 

Every religion has martyrs. What distinguishes the modern suicide bomber is not the willingness to die. It is the mechanism: The death is made to cause other deaths. The martyr’s body becomes the weapon. Dying and killing are fused into a single transaction.

 

This fusion is recent, and it did not begin with Islam. The Tamil Tigers of Sri Lanka—Marxists, not Islamists—invented the suicide vest in the 1980s. They were tactically effective. The Tamil Tigers built no theology of paradise around the bomber. When the separatist organization was finally defeated militarily in 2009, the bombers stopped. The tactic went with it.

 

Between 1982 and 2015, there were more than 4,800 suicide attacks worldwide. Over 90 percent were carried out by Islamist groups. Islamic political movements took this military tactic and gave it metaphysical infrastructure. The bomber became the shahid whose death was not a loss but a transaction with God. The IRA had explosives, but they did not build a paradise theology around the bomber.

 

The question is not whether Islam is violent. Every religion can be violent. The question is structural: What does each tradition believe about powerlessness? The answer determines everything about how its martyrs die and whether they die alone.

 

***

 

Jesus said, “Turn the other cheek,” “Love your enemy.” Jesus said, “The meek shall inherit the earth.” In every Catholic church, Jesus appears as a victim on a crucifix—not a soldier, not a conqueror. Muhammad was a general. His hijra to Medina in 622 C.E. was not a retreat from a fallen world but the founding of a polity. Within a decade of his death, Islamic armies had taken Arabia, Persia, and the Levant. The religion was born in victory and has never fully forgotten what victory felt like.

 

The Koran is unambiguous: “God has purchased from the believers their lives and their wealth in exchange for paradise; they fight in the way of God and kill and are killed.” Kill and are killed. Bilateral. Suicide bombing collapses the classical distinction between soldier and civilian. The bomber is simultaneously soldier, civilian, and weapon. The raw material for this is right there in the founding texts.

 

Judaism and early Christianity were born under empires. Egypt. Babylon. Rome. Their primary theological challenge was not how to win but how to remain elect while being crushed. The answer was transcendence through suffering. The martyr’s death was a refusal—a no to the state’s claim of ultimate power. It was not a contribution to a military campaign. Islam was born into a vacuum of power. Powerlessness, in this framework, is not a spiritual condition to be sanctified. It is a temporary problem to be solved.

 

Islam proves itself by winning. Judaism proves itself by surviving. These are different epistemologies, and they produce entirely different martyrologies.

 

Consider the greatest of Jewish martyrs, Rabbi Akiva. The Romans are executing him for teaching Torah in 135 C.E. He is 85 years old. They use iron combs, tearing the flesh from his bones in strips.

 

His students ask: To this point?

 

He answers: “All my life I have been troubled by the verse ‘with all your soul’—even if He takes your soul. Now I have the chance to fulfill it.” He recites the Shema. He holds the word echad—one—until his soul departs with it.

 

Akiva’s death is between himself and God. He is not taking anyone with him.

 

***

 

Nine centuries later, the medieval philosopher-poet Yehuda Halevi offers this argument in his Kuzari: The survival of Israel under total powerlessness is itself the proof of election. A religion that needs conquest to validate itself does not fully trust its God. The Jewish truth claim runs through what Halevi calls the inyan elohi—the divine matter, the irreducible something that persists through catastrophe. The martyr who dies al kiddush Hashem—by the sanctification of God’s name—is not contributing to a military campaign. He is preserving the inyan elohi in his own person, at the cost of his person. The death is vertical. There is no horizontal ambition.

 

Jewish law’s martyrdom principle is yehareg ve-al ya’avor—be killed rather than transgress. The near-absolute commandment to preserve life has only three legal exceptions: idolatry, sexual immorality, and murder. Murder of innocents is on the list. The Talmud’s formulation is devastating in its simplicity. Mai chazit d’dama didach sumak tfei—what makes your blood redder than his? You cannot purchase your survival with an innocent life. The moment you kill, you have violated the very logic of kiddush Hashem.

 

Critics might point to Samson, who pulled the pillars down on himself and his enemies. But Samson is not a role model in Judaism. He is a tragic outlier. The tradition did not turn his final act into a doctrine. There is no School of Samson. The tradition remembers him. It does not follow him.

 

When Jews finally reclaimed the sword, they did so through state institutions with halachic constraints, under the principle of Tohar HaNeshek—purity of arms. Zionism is the attempt of a people formed entirely by powerlessness to reclaim power without adopting the theology of power. It produced no suicide bombers.

 

Christianity begins in catastrophe and constructs its entire theology around it. The cross is not an interruption of Jesus’s mission. It is the mission. God absorbs the violence of the world into Himself. The martyrs of the early church did not fight back because they were following the template of their founder, who explicitly refused to: Do you think I cannot call on my Father, and he will at once put at my disposal more than 12 legions of angels? He doesn’t call them.

 

Then Constantine happened. The Roman emperor became a Christian and so did his empire. The theology of powerlessness suddenly had to manage an army. Augustine’s just-war theory, which emerged a few decades after, was the first serious attempt to make sense of this new reality. In Augustine’s view, violence is sometimes necessary, but only in defense, only by legitimate authority, only with right intention. Seven centuries on, the Crusades inverted Augustine—an offensive war, with paradise promised to those who died prosecuting it. The lamb had become a lion.

 

When Christianity evacuated its content—God, Resurrection, the specific demands of the Gospel—it did not evacuate its structure. What remained was the skeleton of a martyrology without the theology that gave it meaning. The oppressed are sacred. Suffering confers authority. Power is guilty by definition. These are Christian propositions that survived the death of their metaphysical ground. Nietzsche defamed this attitude in the Genealogy of Morals, saying it was resentment elevated to a moral system. He called it slave morality and traced it to Christianity. Yet, ironically, the slave morality Nietzsche diagnosed did not end with the “death of God” he pronounced at the turn of the 20th century. Instead, it has been a mainstay of Western secularism, particularly on the left.

 

***

 

In Christian theology, the martyr’s suffering points beyond itself—toward resurrection, toward God, toward a cosmic vindication that transcends the political. In the secular version, suffering is self-validating. You do not need a God to redeem it. You do not need to be good. You merely need to have suffered at the hands of the strong.

 

This is not a minor revision. It is a structural collapse. The Christian martyr’s death had content—it was death for something, in fidelity to something, pointing toward something. The secular victim’s suffering has only form: oppressor above, oppressed below. And the oppressed are always right because they are below.

 

This is where the relationship between post-Christian progressivism and modern Islamism becomes legible. They do not share values. What they share is a structural dependency. The post-Christian West has built a massive infrastructure of human rights and humanitarian intervention premised on the sanctity of the victim. Its immune system is calibrated to recognize one thing: power attacking weakness. It cannot recognize a martial ideology wearing the costume of weakness.

 

Modern Islamist movements have learned to operate inside this framework. They present themselves as the powerless while pursuing a theology entirely about power: the establishment of the ummah, the recovery of  historic Islamic sovereignty. They engage in martial martyrdom while being coded by the Western host as passive victims. The host’s immune system extends its protection to a force that does not believe in weakness as a permanent condition, only as a temporary embarrassment on the road to victory.

 

This is why so many on the Western left find themselves sympathizing with Hamas, Hezbollah, and the Iranian regime. By any progressive criterion—women’s rights, pluralism, freedom of conscience—these movements are reactionary to the marrow. But they are the victims of Western power. And in the secularized Christian martyrology that now dominates elite culture, that is sufficient.

 

Yehuda Halevi would have named this instantly. In the Kuzari, he distinguishes between suffering that purifies and suffering that merely accumulates bitterness—resentment without refinement. A truth claim that depends entirely on who is suffering, with no reference to what is being suffered for, is not a theology. It is resentment in vestments.

 

The early Christian martyrs died rather than worship the Roman emperor. They died for the proposition that there is an authority above Caesar. That proposition is the theological root of every liberal freedom the West currently enjoys. Now the secular heirs of this tradition are carrying placards for movements that execute people for apostasy—movements that would reinstate the very condition against which the martyrs died. The formal structure of the martyrology survives. The content has been discarded. When you remove the content from a martyrology, you do not get neutrality. You get a form available for any content. And the content that has filled it is not liberation. It is the oldest thing in the world: the strong man who claims to speak for the weak.

 

***

 

Pikuach nefesh—the near-absolute sanctity of human life—means that the Talmud suspends virtually every commandment to save a life. The martyrdom principle is the exception, not the rule. The Jew is not supposed to want to die. He is supposed to want to live: ve-chai bahem—and you shall live by them, not die by them.

 

When death becomes necessary, the martyr does not kill others, does not romanticize his death, and does not expect to win. Maimonides is explicit: One who could have found a legal workaround and chose martyrdom instead is not praiseworthy but irresponsible.

 

Perpetua walked into the arena in 203 C.E. She did not take anyone with her. The structure of her death—the vertical death, the death that preserved something rather than destroyed something, the death between herself and God—is still legible.

 

The Islamic martyr dies to conquer.

 

The Western campus radical taking the form of Christian submissiveness without the content performs his suffering to accumulate moral capital.

 

The Jewish martyr dies to preserve the integrity of a law he believes is worth more than his life, while refusing, structurally and legally, to impose that cost on anyone else.

Trump’s Latest Gaffes Could Hurt the GOP

By David A. Graham

Friday, May 15, 2026

 

Donald Trump deserves plenty of criticism for his serial dishonesty, but on the rare occasions when he speaks frankly, that causes problems too.

 

This week, a reporter asked the president whether the deteriorating economic situation has created any urgency for him to reach a peace deal with Iran. “Not even a little bit,” he replied. “I don’t think about Americans’ financial situation. I don’t think about anybody.”

 

Who can doubt that he was being sincere? Trump has conducted the war as though he is both uninterested in and unaware of the economic effects that it is having. He has reportedly mused about simply withdrawing from the field of battle and leaving the Strait of Hormuz closed, despite the disruption that has caused for global trade. He’s previously called talk about affordability a “hoax.” And with his own bank accounts growing fatter through corruption, he doesn’t feel the pinch of inflation himself.

 

Trump, a billionaire who inherited a real-estate fortune, has always been a curious sort of populist. As I have written, he managed to convincingly campaign as one by flaunting his genuine scorn for cultural and intellectual elites. This served him well for many years, especially during the 2024 presidential election, when inflation was a major concern for many voters. Once in office, however, Trump didn’t actually have any ideas for combating rising prices. He’s hardly unusual in this—elected officials have few good tools for fighting inflation, though most of them at least act sympathetic. Joe Biden tried a different path, trying to convince voters that they weren’t really experiencing high costs. (It didn’t work out well for him.) Trump’s decision to tell voters that he just doesn’t care is a novel strategy, but not a very promising one.

 

The sentiment that Trump was (apparently) trying to convey might be defensible in some cases. When the nation is at war, a president must at times call on the people to make sacrifices in the name of the greater good. Abraham Lincoln, Woodrow Wilson, and Franklin D. Roosevelt all did this. The conservative commentator Marc Thiessen, using tortured logic, argues that “if we cannot accept a few months of higher inflation and a few months of higher gas prices in order to stop Iran from getting a nuclear weapon, we’re not a superpower anymore.” The problem is that Trump hasn’t definitively stated that ending Iran’s nuclear program is the goal of the war, nor has he laid out any reasonable path to achieving it. As a result, the president is asking Americans to suffer for no clear reason, and he is also suggesting that he doesn’t care about their suffering.

 

This was only the worst in a string of notable gaffes from Trump over the past few days. Over the apparent objection of First Lady Melania Trump, he said that the White House was a “shit house” when he arrived. Trump used to be celebrated for the creativity of his insults, but this week he kept it simple, snapping at a reporter who asked him about the ballooning cost of his planned East Wing ballroom: “I doubled the size of it, you dumb person.” The president also can’t get his story straight on whether he selected or even knows the contractor adding a garish cerulean hue to the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool.

 

When a reporter asked the president how he’d respond to Black voters worried that changes to congressional districts—changes spearheaded by his GOP allies and urged on by his Justice Department—would reduce Black representation, he replied, “I think it’s been a wonderful process.” This may have been another moment of imprudent honesty, but at least he’s answering his 2016 question to Black voters: “What the hell do you have to lose?”

 

Will these remarks hurt Trump? One plausible answer is that they won’t. He’s been making outrageous statements for years, and it hasn’t slowed down his political career. Another possibility is that they will but that it doesn’t matter to him. His approval rating continues to decline steadily. CNN’s Harry Enten noted with amazement this week that Trump owns the five worst polls on inflation of any U.S. president in history. But Trump, who won’t face voters again, seems less concerned with poor polling than he was in his first term.

 

The catch is that although Trump won’t face another election, many of his fellow Republicans will in less than six months. Republicans have been pleading with the White House to formulate and stick with a consistent message for the midterms. Instead, they’re getting a president who is either nodding off in public or dismissing the concerns of the public.

 

The media have puzzled over Trump’s fixation on footwear this spring. The president has commented on aides’ choice of dress shoes, and he presented a visibly ill-fitting pair to Secretary of State Marco Rubio. But perhaps Trump cares so much about feet and what goes on them because he knows that, sooner or later, he will place his own in his mouth.

When the Guns Fall Silent: Ukraine After the War

By Oleksandr Kraiev & Andreas Umland

Sunday, May 17, 2026

 

Kyiv, the EU, and the coalition of the willing to help Ukraine must prepare for numerous new challenges once the war ends.

 

In the spring of 2026, the chances of a cease-fire between Ukraine and Russia appear as slim as ever. Moscow remains unwilling to settle for anything less than at least a partial victory, yet it lacks the military strength to enforce one. A “balance of death” has taken hold on the front lines, characterized by swarms of drones, attrition, and incremental territorial gains. On May 13 and 14, Russia launched over 1,400 drones, missiles and decoys on Ukraine — the war’s largest air attack so far. War, not peace, remains the most likely scenario.

 

Yet history rarely ends as expected. Europe cannot afford to be unprepared for the consequences of a sudden cease-fire. Should the fighting cease, Ukraine would not face a simple recovery period, but rather the beginning of a new, multidimensional struggle — one that would simultaneously test its security, economy, institutions, demographics, and political cohesion. Winning peace, especially under an imperfect cease-fire agreement, will be just as demanding as surviving the war.

 

The first and most important challenge remains the establishment and sustainability of security. On its own, a cease-fire would not signal a shift in the Kremlin’s strategic objectives. Without a fundamental transformation of the Russian regime, Moscow would interpret a cease-fire not as an endpoint but as a mere pause — an interregnum in Russia’s long imperial campaign. Reduced activity on the battlefield would likely be accompanied by intensified hybrid warfare from the Kremlin: cyberattacks, disinformation, industrial sabotage, and political subversion aimed at undermining the Ukrainian state from within.

 

A long-term peace treaty poses its own challenges. Indeed, the stability of a postwar order depends less on the legal wording of an agreement than on the balance of power it leaves behind. Pressure on Kyiv to demilitarize fortified areas in eastern Ukraine would be particularly dangerous, as such a requirement would pave the way for deeper Russian incursions and increase incentives for Moscow’s eventual resumption of war to capture even more territory. For this reason, Western security promises would only be meaningful if they were backed by concrete capabilities.

 

Given Washington’s fluctuating stance toward Ukraine since 2025, the primary responsibility for enforcing a cease-fire or peace treaty’s provisions will likely lie with Europe. Even once fighting pauses, military aid and defense cooperation would need to continue almost to the same extent as during wartime. The most effective deterrent will not lie in declarations, but in swiftly implemented practical measures, such as integrating Ukraine’s air defense into NATO’s eastern flank, deploying Western aircraft to protect Ukrainian airspace, and enabling the resumption of civilian air traffic. Security integration should also work in both directions: Ukraine’s battle-tested armed forces could strengthen deterrence against Russia in the Baltic region and position the country as a pillar of a new European security architecture.

 

Once security is established, economic recovery will be the decisive test. After a GDP slump of over 30 percent in 2022, Ukraine returned to growth in 2023–25 despite labor shortages and repeated Russian attacks. Yet the damage wrought has been immense. Direct material destruction by Russia has amounted to over $195 billion, with the total need for reconstruction over the next ten years estimated at $588 billion.

 

Ukraine’s rebirth cannot mean simply restoring the pre-war economy. Instead, a new approach is necessary: decentralized infrastructure, modernized institutions, resilient logistics, and a focus on human capital. Fragmented, privately funded donor projects will not suffice. Instead, international aid — through the EU’s €50 billion facility for Ukraine and G7 loans secured by frozen Russian assets — would need to be used to attract private investment. The extent of investment potential in postwar Ukraine would, of course, also depend on the security outlook, the state of the rule of law, and the country’s increasing integration into the EU single market.

 

Energy supply will also be a critical bottleneck. After Russia’s many targeted attacks over the last four years, the Ukrainian energy system is producing 4 gigawatts less than the country needs, and it remains vulnerable despite replacement supplies from Europe. A reconstruction of Soviet-era centralized systems would be both impractical and misguided. The war suggests a more resilient model: decentralized renewable energy, microgrids, and diverse storage capacities. Modernizing the energy sector alone will require over $90 billion in the next ten years and at least $5 billion for immediate stabilization once the fighting subsides.

 

The problem beneath Ukraine’s soil is also fundamental. About a quarter of the country — roughly 137,000 square kilometers — is contaminated with unexploded ordnance. Ukraine is now the most heavily mined country on Earth. The cost of mine clearance is estimated at $34.6 billion over ten years, while the extent of environmental damage exceeds $60 billion. Without large-scale clearance and remediation efforts, reconstruction, agriculture, and the return of refugees will remain impossible. These are not minor environmental issues — they are a physical prerequisite for the country’s survival.

 

Economic recovery will almost certainly be uneven. While Ukraine’s central and western regions have preserved or resumed much of their pre-war social and economic life during the war, the devastated frontline areas in the east and south require tailored strategies to prevent permanent depopulation and impoverishment.

 

Parallel to reconstruction is Ukraine’s long march toward the European Union. Accession is often discussed in political terms, but in reality, it remains a deeply technical matter. EU accession requires the implementation of approximately 100,000 pages of EU law — a task that would constitute an extraordinary endeavor even in peacetime. Corruption remains a serious obstacle, although recent scandals have also shown that Ukraine’s post-Euromaidan anti-corruption institutions are becoming increasingly effective.

 

The political sustainability of future EU membership will also depend on the achievement of intermediate steps toward the ultimate goal of accession. Gradual sectoral integration into the EU single market — transport, energy, digital services — would yield visible results while negotiations on full membership continue. Yet Ukraine’s success will also depend on reforms within the EU. Unanimity rules make enlargement vulnerable to vetoes, and, absent institutional reforms, the integration of a large agricultural and industrial country like Ukraine will challenge existing EU policies.

 

The process of addressing war crimes, meanwhile, will span decades. By early 2026, Ukrainian authorities had already recorded more than 213,000 suspected war crimes. Only a fraction of these will ever be prosecuted. Establishing accountability and justice must therefore be approached in a nuanced manner. High-ranking Russian officials may one day face international tribunals; however, most perpetrators will never appear before a Ukrainian or international court. Trials in absentia, systematic truth-seeking, and comprehensive commemorative work will therefore be crucial to achieving a historical reckoning.

 

Domestically, transitional justice with a nuanced approach will be necessary. Blanket punishment of all forms of collaboration with the occupiers would overwhelm the courts and alienate the liberated territories from the nation. Extrajudicial mechanisms — lustration, conditional amnesties, and victim-centered reparations — offer more realistic paths to reconciliation without negating responsibility.

 

Underlying all these challenges is a demographic shock unprecedented in Ukraine’s post-World War II history. The population in government-controlled areas has fallen from around 42 million before 2022 to about 31.5 million today. Over 6 million Ukrainians are living as refugees abroad; the birth rate has plummeted to less than one child per woman; and mortality has risen sharply.

 

Even a permanent peace deal would not automatically reverse these trends. Some refugees would no doubt return, but the lifting of martial law could also trigger a new wave of emigration as men join their families abroad. To rebuild, Ukraine may have no choice but to become a country of immigration, which would mean a profound transformation for society and politics alike. Should the war drag on, population decline threatens to become irreversible, further undermining the country’s economic viability.

 

Finally, social stability will be put to the test as soon as martial law ends. Elections will revive political competition and expose social divisions between various groups: between returnees and those who stayed behind; between veterans and civilians; and between regions scarred by occupation and those that have been comparatively spared. Unresolved territorial issues will remain politically explosive. A new, powerful voter bloc of war veterans — numbering over 800,000 people — will likely shape politics for decades to come. Their reintegration is already one of Ukraine’s most urgent social tasks and, at the same time, one of its greatest potential strengths.

 

All of this gives rise to three strategic imperatives. First, current planning for the “day after” must not distract from sustaining Ukraine’s defense efforts today; for the time being, military support must remain the overriding priority. Second, reconstruction and the safeguarding of human capital must begin now and should not wait for peace. Third, Kyiv and its partners must prepare intellectually and institutionally for turbulent developments following the cessation of war.

 

A Ukrainian victory would consolidate European security and strengthen the European project. Ukraine’s decline during or after the war, on the other hand, would grant Russia a belated victory and spur authoritarian revisionism far beyond Eastern Europe. The end of fighting — whenever it comes — will be celebrated by Ukrainians, yet will neither reduce Russian imperialism nor resolve many of Ukraine’s accumulated domestic problems. It will merely mean the transition to a new phase of intense political developments whose outcome will continue to significantly impact the future of Europe.

Harvard and Yale Discover (Gasp!) the Importance of Viewpoint Diversity

By Frederic J. Fransen

Sunday, May 17, 2026

 

America’s elite universities are finally acknowledging they have problems. Among the most serious: They’re perceived as echo chambers for just one side in the ongoing national conversation about America’s past, present, and future. As Representative Elise Stefanik (R., N.Y.), Harvard alumna, writes in her new book Poisoned Ivies, “it simply does not register to many faculty and administrators that their view of the world is wildly to the left of the American mainstream, or that this could be a problem. Yet the left-wing monoculture of the university today has an immiserating effect on intellectual life.”

 

It won’t be easy to make things right — as the early efforts of Harvard and Yale indicate.

 

Yale has chosen to do what large bureaucracies often do when faced with problems: They delay, by calling for “internal reviews.” Harvard has chosen another common tactic: to deflect, asking alumni and other donors for huge sums of money to fix a problem the university played a significant role in creating.

 

In an April report, Yale’s Committee on Trust in Higher Education acknowledged (but neither concurred with nor rejected) the “echo chamber” charge. Committee members did concede, in no uncertain terms, however, that “echo chambers do not produce the best teaching, research, or scholarship.” The committee went on to propose that the university “undertake a multi-pronged series of initiatives and experiments, with the goal of enhancing open and critical debate.” The committee offered examples of several possible initiatives but left any decision-making for the future.

 

While the university was urged to devote “substantial resources” to these future efforts, it also was urged to spend the 2026–27 academic year on “self-studies” (known elsewhere as navel-gazing), analyzing the breadth and depth of the echo-virus in each department and school — a seemingly unnecessary exercise at a university where Democratic faculty members outnumber Republican faculty by a ratio estimated “at more than 36 to 1,” and where 27 of the 43 academic departments that grant undergraduate degrees have no Republican faculty at all.

 

Perhaps the reason the Yale committee was in no hurry to advocate specific actions that might improve teaching, research, and scholarship is that time is needed to monetize any future activities. Those “substantial resources” need to come from somewhere.

 

That’s clearly the calculation Harvard has made. And on that score, Harvard seems to be ahead. According to reports in the Harvard Crimson, Harvard officials for months have been discreetly banging the tin cup, asking potential donors for big money to endow an undisclosed number of new academic chairs, presumably for a cadre of right-of-center scholars. The stated objective: “viewpoint diversity”; the asking price: $10 million each.

 

Harvard and Yale are arguably the two most prominent universities in the United States. There can be no argument about their wealth, however: Harvard’s endowment, at last report, was about $57 billion, and Yale’s about $44 billion. One billion dollars is a million dollars a thousand times ($1,000,000 x 1,000). At $10 million a pop, Harvard easily could afford to add 250 new faculty chairs. The total cost would be $2.5 billion — which would reduce Harvard’s endowment to a mere $54–$55 billion.

 

Which raises the question: Does Harvard want to solve a problem, or does it see an opportunity to add to its endowment?

 

I’ve been looking over universities’ shoulders (and advising potential university donors) for some 30 years. Universities are notorious for promising one thing and doing another. Bait and switch is endemic.

 

When Thomas Hollis III endowed the first professorship in the United States at Harvard, it was to go to a man who was “in Communion with some Christian Church of one of the three denominations, Congregational, Presbyterian or Baptist” and who would adhere to strict orthodox standards in his teaching. Today’s holder of the Hollis chair is affiliated with the Episcopal Church and studies early Christian heresy. I have nothing against Episcopalians, but that’s not what Hollis’s gift requires.

 

When Nicholas Boylston endowed a chair in rhetoric and oratory at Harvard, he intended it to be used to train students in public speaking and rhetoric. The first holder of the chair, John Quincy Adams, was a gifted orator, known as “Old Man Eloquent” during his presidency and long tenure in the House of Representatives. Today’s holder of the Boylston chair is a gifted poet, but her work is unrelated to helping students become better speakers.

 

This idea of creating chairs aligned with a set of ideas has been tried before. In the 1970s, more than 150 chairs in free enterprise were created at universities across the country. Few, if any, are still held by economists who advocate the free market system. Some teach the opposite.

 

Funding a chair or professorship is functionally equivalent to contributing to the university’s general budget. The donor pays the line item for the professor, freeing up his former salary to be used elsewhere.

 

Worse, endowed chairs are typically given to professors toward the end of their careers. After they retire, their successor may have an entirely different agenda.

 

Sometimes universities don’t even wait that long. I worked with a family several years ago that wanted to create a chair in Austrian school economics. The university was happy to create a Friedrich A. Hayek Chair, named for the prominent Austrian economist and Nobel Prize winner. What the school didn’t tell the family was that it had no intention of allowing the Hayek chair to be filled with someone specializing in Austrian economics. After the school’s real agenda became clear, the family moved on — taking their gift with them.

 

If endowed chairs are such a bad investment, why are they so popular?

 

My theory is that it’s the price. An endowed chair usually costs several million dollars. That hits a sweet spot for a relatively large number of wealthy parents and alumni. Creating a new school or funding a new building requires gifts many multiples of the size of an endowed chair, putting such gifts out of reach of most donors.

 

Moreover, development offices have lots of ways to pitch the idea to anyone with a million or so charitable dollars, even if the money won’t fully fund a chair. One way is to accept the funding but not fill the position until additional funds are generated. (UCLA, at one time, acknowledged having 86 “endowed chairs” with no professor occupying them.)

 

There are lots of ways for donors to get value out of a donation to a college or university. If they care about what is done with the money, however, endowing a chair is not among them. It is much more cost-effective for a donor to provide discretionary funds to a specific professor whose work the donor wishes to support. The cost is a fraction of a chair, and the professor (and his or her students) will actually see more benefit.

 

Most of the problems facing American colleges and universities today are self-created. Donors should be cautious about bailing them out.

Saturday, May 16, 2026

The Scourge of Left-Wing Violence

By Noah Rothman

Thursday, May 14, 2026

 

The demonic year 2020 was the source of innumerable indignities and insults. The American right was afflicted by too many to count, but one that was perhaps more vexing than most was the American left’s unwillingness to call the violence on our streets by its name. Instead, the institutions in their control sought to dismiss the violence as somehow both a figment of Republican imaginations and an understandable response to the oppressive conditions that prevail in modern-day America.

 

A September 2020 study of the violence by a group affiliated with Princeton University found that no fewer than 220 American towns and cities were convulsed by “riots” over the course of that summer. But the study blamed this historic outbreak on the “longstanding crisis of police violence and structural racism in America,” attributing the worst of it to covert “white supremacist” agitators and the police’s attempts to “violently disperse peaceful protests.” Indeed, in some cities, demonstrators were met with ever-increasing “state force,” the report observes without ever asking why. We’re left with the implication that such force was gratuitous.

 

Even Seattle’s Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone, or CHAZ, was woefully misunderstood, according to the report’s authors. “While CHOP” (Capitol Hill Occupied Protest, as it was rebranded) “was marred by criminal violence,” the authors insisted that “the creation of the encampment coincided with a lull in violent demonstrations.” Indeed, during the autonomous zone’s short life, “only peaceful protests were recorded.”

 

The implicit distinction the report tried to draw — one that other progressives would soon make more explicit — was the difference between violent but unremarkable criminality and political terrorism. That is a real distinction with serious policy implications. It is important to establishing why the mobs of 2020 did not merely comprise opportunists and thoughtless but well-intentioned bleeding hearts, so many of whom were themselves victims of circumstance.

 

***

 

Here, we should define our terms. As the National Counterterrorism, Innovation, Technology, and Education Center notes, the shape that “anarchist violent extremism” (AVE) takes is distinct within the broader landscape of threats posed by “domestic violent extremism” (DVE). A document produced by the Department of Homeland Security for the Office of the Director of National Intelligence in 2021 defines active AVE threats as “DVEs who oppose all forms of capitalism, corporate globalization, and governing institutions, which are perceived as harmful to society.” True AVEs eschew “traditional hierarchies, leadership structures, and organization that characterizes other DVE groups.” Instead, they “prefer small-cell activities, organize violence to coincide with or target major events . . . and tend to prefer violence against property.”

 

The National Counterterrorism Innovation, Technology, and Education Center (NCITE) study is valuable not just for its concise definitions and its historical breadth, but also for the fact that its authors were brave enough to conduct the inquiry in the first place. “Many researchers consider study of AVE to be a ‘third rail,’” the report concedes, “entailing ostracization, backlash, or other negative perceptions against those who assess AVE as part of a multivalent threat picture from violent extremism in the U.S.”

 

The authors courageously call out their colleagues for creating an atmosphere — real or perceived — in which students of “left-wing extremism” fear “smear campaigns, loss of professional reputation, or social isolation within academic circles,” to say nothing of the possibility that their work “may provoke harmful responses by leftwing extremists themselves.” In other words, the goal of a terrorism campaign, i.e., terrorization, had been achieved.

 

The fear that NCITE’s researchers identified was on display in the response to 2020’s rolling riots from honest liberals who found themselves on the receiving end of the social justice they’d once welcomed. “I wasn’t sure what side I was supposed to be on,” said then-33-year-old Meredith Webb, a resident of an affluent Minneapolis suburb, who waged a war against common sense to position herself on the right side of history. “It felt wrong to say we’re with you until you start looting.” Though she admitted to fearing that her own neighborhood could be next “to burn,” she successfully pushed those thoughts aside. “I didn’t want to let myself default to the simplistic reaction of wanting this all to go away,” Webb confessed.

 

Webb’s equally terrorized neighbor, Michelle Garvey, admitted to having briefly entertained counterrevolutionary thoughts, like the notion that violence of any sort against any target was wrong. She was cured of her doubts when she read a Facebook post from the owners of a restaurant that had been torched during the initial rioting. “Let my building burn,” the restaurateur declared. “Justice needs to be served.” Somehow, that made sense to Garvey. “It’s a form of taking back by the vulnerable,” she said of the riots. “That’s why it felt righteous.” Webb nodded. “I am trying to push myself to understand looting and understand that we have to go outside the law sometimes to make things happen,” she agreed.

 

In Webb’s effort to “understand” the incomprehensible, she could count on the assistance of a sprawling intellectual apparatus dedicated to rehabilitating the riots and lionizing the vandals.

 

“The demand to protest peacefully is a trap,” the New Republic’s John Patrick Leary wrote in June 2020. After pretending to be confused by what constitutes a violent demonstration, he mocked the notion that a mob that hurls rocks and water bottles at riot police could be considered violent. After all, it’s the police that enjoy the legal monopoly on force and have access to “rubber bullets and gas,” he protested. In Leary’s estimation, the presence of a power imbalance, not the discrete actions of individuals, is the primary determining factor distinguishing wanton violence from noble resistance. “What good, then, is this ‘peaceful protest?’” Leary asked. “Until justice is served, don’t expect any peace.”

 

Leary was not innovating a novel argument. Throughout that summer, the rarefied ranks of respectable American society treated the violent radicals in the streets to endless flattery.

 

“Show me where it says protesters are supposed to be polite and peaceful,” former CNN host Chris Cuomo asked on air. “Because I can show you that outraged citizens are what made the country what she is and led to any major milestone.” Cuomo’s confusion was further illustrated by his contention that “police are the ones required to be peaceful, to de-escalate, to remain calm,” an assertion betrayed by the First Amendment’s protections on the right of the public to “peaceably” assemble.

 

In a conspicuously soft NPR interview with author Vicky Osterweil, the outlet summarized the author’s outlook as one that viewed “looting [as] a powerful tool to bring about real, lasting change in society.” Indeed, Osterweil implicated herself even further than NPR had. “When I use the word ‘looting,’” she said, “I mean the mass expropriation of property, mass shoplifting during a moment of upheaval or riot. That’s the thing I’m defending.”

 

The author objected to the use of the word “violence” to describe physical force that damages or destroys. Violence is such an “incredibly broad category,” she reasoned. The word has the power to describe but fails utterly at “guiding me morally,” which, we should say, is not a word’s job.

 

In her theatrical befuddlement, Osterweil settled on a subjective definition of the word “violence” that she left open to the interpretation of the violent. “Ultimately, what nonviolence ends up meaning is that the activist doesn’t do anything that makes them feel violent,” Osterweil concluded. “We have to be willing to do things that scare us and that we wouldn’t do in normal, ‘peaceful’ times, because we need to get free.”

 

So the riots were political. Of course they were political.

 

As the Princeton study was even forced to concede, throughout the summer, there were “at least 38 incidents in which demonstrators have significantly damaged or torn down memorials around the country.” Only some of those monuments and memorials were dedicated to Confederate military figures, whom the anti-fascist rioters duly reviled.

 

The rioters also targeted figures from the Founding as well as postbellum giants of American political and commercial history. In Portland, Ore., a statue venerating Thomas Jefferson was marred with graffiti labeling him a “slave owner.” He was torn from his pedestal to the cheers of the crowd. George Washington, a “genocidal colonist,” met a similar fate. Lest you conclude that the protesters practiced some anti-racist consistency, they applied the same tactics to a statue of Abraham Lincoln.

 

It was not inchoate or directionless violence. It was revolutionary.

 

Democrats in positions of power followed the rioters’ examples. New York City officials would follow the vandals’ lead in tearing down the statue of Theodore Roosevelt outside the American Museum of Natural History and removing Thomas Jefferson’s visage from City Hall. In Congress, Democratic lawmakers took to Statuary Hall, adorned themselves in scarves with thematically African colors, and silently knelt to honor the memory of George Floyd, a conscious mimicking of the protest movement’s aesthetics. They adopted the protesters’ slogans, too, including “I can’t breathe,” “Say their names,” and “Defund the police,” the latter of which some Democratic lawmakers took quite literally, to the party’s lasting political detriment.

 

If the riots were not political, neither their participants nor their spectators acted like it.

 

We cannot say how many well-adjusted Americans were swept up in the moral panic of it all. But we should not pretend that the riots did not fit within the parameters of AVE violence. It was a radical moment in which small-cell terrorism and violence were deployed to advance a political program. Indeed, it wasn’t just the American right but those on the far left who drew equivalencies between the revolutionary violence of 2020 and similar periods of left-wing violence in America.

 

“In 1919, African Americans tried, in various places, to fight back during the Red Summer,” Claflin University assistant professor Robert Greene II wrote for the far-left journal Jacobin. “In 2020, demonstrators in Minneapolis and around the country are struggling to overturn a brutally racist social order. We are now living, it seems, in a Red Spring.”

 

***

 

Slapping a pseudo-intellectual gloss on 2020’s violence only to smooth out its terrifyingly sharp edges was just part of the trick the left played on themselves. Many of those who did not believe that the summer’s violence could be honestly considered political violence also conveniently defaulted to their belief that domestic political extremism was a right-wing thing. After all, that’s what they’ve been told for decades.

 

“The extreme right has held a near-monopoly on political violence” since the 1980s, as The Nation’s Joshua Holland tells it. The growing threat posed by “right-wing extremists” coincided with a “decades-long drop-off in violence by left-wing groups,” the Anti-Defamation League’s Center on Extremism averred. The very idea of a “violent left” is a “myth,” according to the Southern Poverty Law Center. A Washington Post analysis in 2018 also identified a long-running “drop-off in violence by left-wing groups.” By contrast, “violence by white supremacists and other far-right attackers has been on the rise since Barack Obama’s presidency.”

 

The growing threat posed by “white supremacist and far-right violence,” PBS reported at the outset of the Biden administration, represents “the biggest domestic terrorism threat facing the country.” As late as 2023, Biden himself maintained that “the most dangerous terrorist threat to our homeland is white supremacy.” That same year, the FBI “created a new category of extremists that it seeks to track and counter: Donald Trump’s army of MAGA followers,” Newsweek reported. The threat posed by right-wing “anti-government activists” was so acute that it rivaled even the prospect of foreign-directed plots.

 

There is no symmetry in the coverage of left-wing political violence. Indeed, in some circles, left-wing intimidation tactics — they so rarely rise to the level of “violence” — are considered a necessary remedy to the ever-present threat of right-wing terror. As the NCITE study observed, “Several recent popular books extol the virtues of anarchist groups in the U.S. by painting them as necessary to respond to right-wing extremist groups’ increased violent activity while denying outright any linkage between the groups and violent actors.” In some cases, the authors are themselves “long-time participants in their movements.”

 

Just to confuse the left further still, NCITE’s researchers contend that much of the data in this realm is plagued by category errors and sins of omission. The authors allege that the “political dynamic” in which AVE researchers feel intimidated has “seeped into some of the major databases that researchers use to evaluate incidents of terrorism in the U.S.” For example, in one “recent study, [terrorism researcher Benjamin V.] Allison found that several datasets on terrorism and political violence since 9/11 either systematically omitted cases of left-wing violence or, alternatively, miscoded their perpetrators under other ideological categories even when some evidence suggests they were partially driven by left-wing or AVE-related motivations.”

 

NCITE’s authors are not alleging that a conspiracy is afoot. Rather, the perpetrators of political terrorism can and often do subscribe to what “the FBI refers to as ‘salad bar’ terrorism,” in which violent extremists create their own bespoke blend of seemingly incompatible extremist doctrines to justify violence. In other words, the violent mind is an addled mind. That’s hardly a revelation.

 

Or at least it shouldn’t be. But the professional left’s resistance to the notion that their ideological allies are responsible for anything other than a paltry handful of violent events in America is vehement. And their allies in media, academia, and advocacy have armed them with statistics to support their self-deception.

 

“If you actually care about political violence, you should not spread wild lies about it,” wrote Vox scribe Eric Levitz. The “lies” he sought to stigmatize were those that ignored an Anti-Defamation League information graphic that alleged that “left-wing extremism” is responsible for only 4 percent of fatalities in the U.S. from 2013 to 2022. It is a popular chart that is disseminated by those who do not expose themselves to the myriad critiques of it.

 

The ADL got to its figure by counting, for example, prison murders by gangs like Aryan Brotherhood and Nazi Low Riders as “right-wing terrorism,” the victims of which are frequently gang members themselves, prison guards, or even the perpetrators’ family members. While the ADL study is careful to note that it includes “both ideological and non-ideologically motivated killings,” those who promulgate it to settle a political argument with the right seem not to care.

 

The ADL’s graphic isn’t the only crime against informative statistics in this realm. The Prosecution Project, a University of Cincinnati–led enterprise, also produced a popular infographic that conveys visually the same notion: in short, the American right is a bigger terroristic threat than even radical Islamism. That alone should render its data suspect, at least among those who possess a cursory familiarity with the subject of terroristic violence in America. In sheer numbers, Islamist fundamentalist terrorism can claim by far the largest body count. At the very least, the Prosecution Project’s contention that political violence peaked in 2019 should trigger a skeptical impulse in curious minds.

 

Those who bother to dive into the data will find that episodes like the one in which a homeless man broke into a hotel and attacked a hotelier while deploying racial slurs are coded as right-wing violence. The arrest of a woman for spray-painting anti-Christian slogans and obscene phrases on the side of a church? That, too, is right-wing violence. In multiple instances, interracial gang violence is attributed to right-wing extremism, seemingly only because there was a racial element to those conflicts, even if all involved were of minority extraction.

 

It’s not just that the project, as its name suggests, measures only violence that resulted “in a guilty verdict.” The dataset is both comprehensive and selective, and it has led those who wield it like a weapon to draw selective conclusions.

 

Datasets like these preserve the left’s self-conception that they are only ever the victims of political violence, never the perpetrators of it. Mainstream progressives and liberals may have talked themselves into the notion that the violent right is the only threat to social stability, but the effect is the same as if they genuinely believed their own hype.

The Heist

By Nick Catoggio

Friday, May 15, 2026

 

Yesterday Xi Jinping warned Donald Trump to his face about a “Thucydides trap” potentially unfolding between our two countries.

 

Like everyone else, my first thought when I heard the news was, “There’s no way Trump knows what a Thucydides trap is.”

 

A “Thucydides trap” refers to the rising probability of war when a long-dominant power is at risk of being usurped by a rising one. America is in decline and everyone knows it, Xi was implying, and the White House should take care not to let its anxiety about that lead it to foolishly assert itself in defense of Taiwan.

 

Someone must have explained that to the president following the summit. “When President Xi very elegantly referred to the United States as perhaps being a declining nation, he was referring to the tremendous damage we suffered during the four years of Sleepy Joe Biden and the Biden Administration,” Trump clarified afterward on Truth Social, not at all defensively.

 

That was cute spin, but it ain’t Joe Biden whom Chinese nationalists have been moved to publicly thank for destroying U.S. global supremacy. Trump’s “tariffs, attacks on allies, anti-immigration policies and assaults on the American political establishment had inadvertently strengthened China while weakening the United States,” the New York Times reported earlier this week, summarizing the analysis of one Beijing think tank.

 

That analysis was published in January. Since then, the president’s war in Iran has created additional new opportunities for China to increase its influence.

 

I thought of Xi’s point about American decline last night while reading about Trump’s scheme to create a taxpayer-supported slush fund for himself and his political cronies, looting the federal Treasury in plain sight.

 

In saying that, I don’t mean to suggest that Xi would frown on the president’s corruption. Chinese communists aren’t known for their moral rectitude, needless to say. They’ve been committing atrocities against the Uyghur minority in Xinjiang for years; the father of the party died with a body count that may well exceed Hitler’s or Stalin’s. The CCP is fit to sit in judgment of precisely no one, Trump included.

 

The slush fund vindicates Xi’s point about American decline not because it proves the United States is less ethical than China but because it proves the United States is grossly less ethical than it used to be. A country in which the leader is free to write himself checks from the national checkbook in public view is a banana republic, full stop. For all its historical faults, America wasn’t one of those until very recently.

 

Let’s talk about the latest tawdry civic travesty that the disgraceful people of this declining country can’t manage to get worked up about.

 

Slush fund.

 

My editor told me this morning that our site hadn’t yet covered the new slush fund, which surprised me. After all, The Dispatch doesn’t share Americans’ apathy about Donald Trump’s ethical outrages.

 

But as I began sketching out this piece, I realized that the news isn’t very amenable to commentary. A writer’s value lies mostly in their ability to provide insight, and there’s nothing insightful to say about a politician contriving a way to pay himself and his friends out of the public till. It is what it is. It bothers you, or it doesn’t.

 

The new slush fund originated the same way Trump’s de facto bribe from Paramount did, in the guise of a lawsuit. In January, Trump sued the IRS in his personal capacity for $10 billion because an agency contractor leaked his tax returns in 2019. It fell to the Justice Department, which now functions like a mafia don’s consigliere and displays a giant banner of its boss’s image over its entrance, to oppose that lawsuit.

 

That’s like Dracula suing Renfield. How vigorous do you suppose the DOJ’s defense will be?

 

The federal judge presiding over Trump’s suit has wondered whether there’s a real “case or controversy” in the matter, given that “he is the sitting president and his named adversaries are entities whose decisions are subject to his direction.” There can’t be a lawsuit if the parties aren’t adverse. And in postliberal America, where the people in charge of law enforcement are gutter henchmen whose top priority is carrying out the president’s personal vendettas, the parties here really, really aren’t adverse.

 

The judge ordered the two sides to submit briefs addressing the issue by May 20, which apparently got them to thinking: What if we settle the lawsuit instead? That would solve the problem of ensuring that Trump extracts a big fat payout despite the fact that he “filed the suit too late and that his request for at least $10 billion was far too large,” as alleged in an amicus brief filed by former DOJ and IRS officials.

 

So that’s what the parties are going to do, it seems.

 

ABC News reported Thursday that the president is expected to drop his suit in exchange for the Justice Department creating a $1.7 billion compensation fund for victims of the Biden administration’s “weaponization” of government. Trump would be barred from receiving money from the fund for his legal claims—but “entities associated with” him wouldn’t be. He would also have the power “to remove members of the commission running the fund without cause, and the commission would be under no obligation to disclose its procedures or decision-making process.”

 

That’s similar to the authority he wielded over the board of the Kennedy Center. And you know how well that turned out.

 

Prime beneficiaries of the fund are expected to be the 1,600 or so people charged over January 6, a group that includes dozens who’ve been implicated in other crimes—including child sex offenses. If the commission wishes to, conceivably it could divide the settlement amount equally among them and make every one of them a millionaire.

 

There’s also been talk about the IRS agreeing to drop any audits of Trump’s tax returns, which are supposed to be mandatory for presidents per agency procedures. He might not get a stack of cash directly from the DOJ under the settlement, but if he’s let off scot-free for any tax cheating he’s done, that’s just as good.

 

Then again, what would it matter if the audits continue? Do we think Renfield will be bringing tax evasion charges at some point against the Count?

 

There are many things to say about all of this, but very few that you haven’t heard before.

 

You already know.

 

As news of the slush fund made the rounds on Twitter, I saw someone speculate that not only is Trump’s administration the most corrupt in American history, it might be more corrupt than every previous administration combined.

 

That’s hard to quantify, but a historian should take up the question. Measured by dollar amounts and the sheer variety of graft happening, there’s at least a prima facie case that it’s true. Bribes, influence peddling, pay-for-play pardons, foreign emoluments, oligarchical cronyism, and self-dealing via the new slush fund that’s shameless enough to make a third-world generalissimo blush: Few con artists have ever pulled off a scam worth billions, but the president and his family are artists of rare talent.

 

Anyone predicting this degree of looting and graft before January 20, 2025, would have been accused of Stage IV “Trump Derangement Syndrome.” We’ve now seen it all play out, a mere 16 months in, and we will see much more.

 

But you knew that already, just like you also already knew that systematic corruption is an inevitable byproduct of postliberalism. Postliberals perceive no distinction between the public interests of the state and the personal interests of the nationalist messiah who directs it, and they believe state power should be wielded to benefit their friends and punish their enemies.

 

That’s what the slush fund is all about. Trump is using executive authority to divert money from the federal Treasury, where it was deposited to fund public programs, into the personal accounts of, ahem, “entities associated with” him. It’s simple theft packaged in the argle-bargle of “weaponization” and “compensation” to make it palatable to populist dimwits searching for a way to excuse it morally. Even the mechanism is postliberal to the core: Trump’s habit of using flimsy lawsuits to squeeze money out of parties that he knows won’t dare refuse him reduces law—ostensibly an instrument of justice—into a vehicle of extortion.

 

How does he get away with it? You already know that, too.

 

The president behaves with impunity because he believes most of his party will unthinkingly defend anything he does, and he’s correct. The Trumpist base is a mix of degenerate postliberals, hyperpartisan zombies, and people who might object to his corruption if they heard about it, which the right-wing news outlets they patronize will ensure they don’t. The traitors to the constitutional order whom we know as “congressional Republicans” act according to the incentives that that base creates for them.

 

It can’t be overstated: The mission of the GOP in 2026 is to insulate the president from all forms of accountability as completely as possible. (That’s also the point of the civically poisonous mid-decade redistricting push, not coincidentally.) No matter how badly he behaves, he’s assured of a roughly 40-60 split in opinion at worst—and any Republicans in the latter group are apt to rationalize his actions, however indefensible, as not quite indefensible enough to justify withholding their votes. The modern right is an abomination to constitutional democracy.

 

And then there’s the “chaff” problem. You already know that, too, even if you don’t get the reference.

 

It comes from a piece that Leon Wolf wrote for RedState back in 2015, two months after Trump became a presidential candidate. The sheer volume of nonsense in his press conferences works to his advantage by overwhelming the media, Wolf observed, leaving reporters unsure of which outrageous lies they should cover and which they should ignore. There’s no way to do justice to all of his inanity. To cover him, one needs to prioritize, and that necessarily means overlooking things that really shouldn’t be overlooked.

 

Wolf compared Trump’s rhetoric to “chaff,” small pieces of metal that fighter jets disperse in the air to confuse the enemy’s radar about their position. Others have made similar points in the years since, even arguing that American media is functionally pro-Trump because the prioritization problem compels it to chronically understate the extent of his depravity.

 

That’s also why the newsletter you’re reading now is The Dispatch’s first bite at the slush-fund story, of course. It’s not that we don’t care, it’s that we’ve been too busy covering the decline of American power around the world to worry about his latest heist. One simply must prioritize.

 

It’s true for the average joe too, I’m sure. Even if you care about the president’s corruption, even if you make a meticulous effort to follow news about it, you’re destined to lose track and end up exasperated by having to keep it all straight. You might eventually stop paying attention altogether. There’s too much chaff on the radar; the position of any single piece is unclear.

 

All you know is that there’s an awful lot of it in the air.

 

Truth and reconciliation.

 

The closest I can get to finding something novel and interesting to say about all of this is to note the timing. This is a weird time politically for Donald Trump to decide that taxpayers owe him $1.7 billion to dispense as he sees fit to assorted MAGA parasites.

 

Gas prices are north of $6 per gallon in Southern California and are approaching $5 in other parts of the country. Some analysts are bracing for 6 percent inflation in the second quarter, with the producer price index having already touched that mark. A CNN poll published this week found no less than 70 percent disapprove of how the president is handling the economy. Even a politician who transparently has never cared about the cost of living should want to avoid antagonizing voters on the subject any further right now.

 

Instead Trump has decided it’s a fine time to cook up a 10-figure slush fund to line his and his courtiers’ pockets. The January 6 cretins will soon be buying Rolexes while “the forgotten man” switches from beef to beans at the supermarket to cope with what the Iran war has wrought. Even for the president, it’s an audacious provocation, the next best thing to a “let them eat cake” moment. Why would he do it?

 

Two reasons, I think. One is that he’s as much a consumer of right-wing propaganda as he is a producer. When he babbles about how terrific the economy is, how strong his polling numbers are, and how Democrats’ attacks on him over affordability are a “line of bullsh-t,” consider the possibility that it’s not just spin. He might honestly believe it, drunk as he is from imbibing an endless stream of people telling him what he wants to hear.

 

The other is the Supreme Court’s decision on majority-minority redistricting, which cleared the way for red states in the South to erase House seats traditionally dominated by black Democrats. Between that and Trump’s successful campaign to make an example of Republican state lawmakers in Indiana who opposed his demands for gerrymandering, he’s paradoxically feeling less accountable to angry voters when he should be feeling more so.

 

Between the “fake polls,” the extra House seats the GOP is likely to pick up, and his very justifiable faith that his base will swallow any scandalous sh-t sandwich he serves them, the president likely sees no reason not to plow ahead with his slush fund. He spent the morning after his China summit posting about how jealous he is of Xi’s ballroom and celebrating the grotesque golden statue of himself at Mar-a-Lago; why wouldn’t he shake down the DOJ for a billion or two while he’s at it?

 

There’s one more interesting wrinkle to his “settlement” with the IRS, actually: It poses a potential political problem for … Democrats.

 

Not in the short term. Trump looting the Treasury while Americans struggle to make rent can only help the out-party, assuming they can get swing voters to notice and care. But if the left takes back the House this fall, they’ll face a conundrum next January. How much political capital should they spend on punishing the president for what has to be the most egregious case of self-dealing in the history of the U.S. government?

 

Americans will have returned them to power expecting them to take urgent action on the cost of living. Any early deviation from that agenda—particularly if it involves partisan mud-slinging with Trump, justified or not—risks squandering public goodwill, which a party as broadly disliked as Democrats can’t afford to do.

 

Yet to ignore it would mean tacitly consenting to out-and-out robbery of the public fisc by the chief executive. Impeachment is a fool’s errand when the Republican Party is populated by civic perverts, but there’s no question that the circumstances here require it. Bribery is one of two offenses specified as a “high crime” in Article II’s impeachment clause; by ordering the Justice Department to fork over nearly $2 billion, the president isn’t just accepting a bribe, he’s functionally compelling the people themselves to pay it.

 

Democrats will need to figure out how to balance their political mandate on affordability with their civic duty not to treat the mafia-zation of the presidency as “chaff” distracting them from more important things. And I think they will: The most infuriating line in ABC News’ report on the slush fund, sure to stick in the craw of every Trump critic who reads it, is sources characterizing it as “a hybrid between a victim compensation fund … and a truth-and-reconciliation-style commission.”

 

Truth and reconciliation. That was the term used in South Africa for the government panel created after apartheid to investigate abuses by the prior regime and heal divisions over it. That this cartel of thieves and fascists, helmed by a convicted felon, would frame their cash grab for the goons who attacked Congress on January 6 as a “truth and reconciliation” gesture is so obnoxiously Orwellian that it can only be seen as a taunt. Democrats won’t be able to resist seeking accountability for it.

 

There should be a truth-and-reconciliation commission—in 2029. But that’s years away, and even January is still many months away. Until then, the federal government’s efforts to “protect taxpayer dollars” by uncovering fraud at the people’s expense unfortunately depend on J.D. Vance. Keep looking, J.D. Maybe you’ll find it.