Trump’s mass deportation agenda is already taking shape—for a second time—in coastal Oregon.

A racist letter reportedly circulating through Lincoln County, which has a population of about 50,000 people and is located on the state’s western coast, encourages residents to surveil and report “brown illegals…who you suspect are here in our country on an illegal basis” to the Department of Homeland Security.

The letter implores white locals to help facilitate “the largest round-up of brown illegals in our history,” referring to Trump’s pledge to begin mass deportations of approximately 11 million people, and promises white residents a chance to seize the victims’ homes.

In starkly racist language, it proceeds to outline a dystopian vision for surveillance of people of color everywhere from churches to schools and grocery stores:

Sit in your church’s parking lot and write down the license plate [number] of brown folks. This is extremely important if you attend a catholic church—many brown folks are catholics!! Shopping, again if you see a bunch of brown folks getting in a car—write down the plate [number]. Schools, as you wait in line to pick up the kiddos or the grandkiddos—if you see brown folks—record the plate [number]. Your neighborhood—you know where the brown folks live in your neighborhood—again record the plate [numbers]. If you see a construction crew and/or a landscaping crew who have brown folks—write down the name of the company and a phone [number].”

This is the full letter being distributed around Lincoln County Oregon pic.twitter.com/VlvbzFldzZ

— Rachel Bitecofer (@RachelBitecofer) December 20, 2024

Perhaps most disturbing are the ways that the letter directly echoes some of the Trump administration’s own anti-immigration talking points: Attacks on sanctuary cities, promises of detention, and allegedly solving the housing crisis through mass deportations, which the letter compares approvingly to Japanese internment.

The letter claims Oregon’s status as a sanctuary state makes it especially fitting for its perverse anti-immigrant demands: “We have received information brown folks, who are currently in Idaho and Montana, are planning to move to our state, because they believe it will be ‘safer’ for them. So don’t limit the license plate to just Oregon—brown folks from any state will be able to be reported to the Department of Homeland Security.”

And it outlines Trump’s vision for how deportations will be enacted, writing, “the brown folks will remain [in county jails] until the camps are completed in Texas—then these folks will be transferred there,” referring to the detention camps that, as my colleague Isabela Dias has reported, Trump’s acolytes plan to build.

“When the brown folks are rounded up,” the letter continues, “their properties will be confiscated just like the properties belonging to the Japanese in California were during World War II. So, within a short term, there will be a whole lot of homes on the market for us white folks to purchase and with the inventory so high—the prices will be very low and affordable.” (Again, experts say otherwise.)

It is unclear how many people have received the letter, but the recipients included local lawmakers in the city of Toledo, including its mayor, who received a copy in the mail, Portland NBC affiliate KGW reported. He, and other local officials, have publicly condemned the letter: In a Facebook post, Lincoln County Sheriff Curtis Landers characterized it as “harmful, divisive, and inconsistent with the values we uphold as public servants and community members.”

“We strongly advise against engaging in activities such as those outlined in this letter, including collecting or sharing information about individuals based on their demographic or perceived immigration status,” Landers added. His post also notes that state law “generally prohibits the inquiry or collection of an individual’s immigration or citizenship status, or country of birth,” and that the sheriff’s office “does not inquire about, document, or share such information with” ICE. The sheriff could not immediately be reached for comment on Sunday.

Oregon’s Democratic Attorney General Ellen Rosenblum also condemned the letter. ABC affiliate KATU of Portland reported that the FBI’s Oregon office is aware of the letter, and encouraged “community members who feel they are being physically threatened” to report concerns to local law enforcement.

Oregon’s Democratic senators, Ron Wyden and Jeff Merkley, do not appear to have publicly commented on the letters, and their offices did not immediately respond to requests for comment. Spokespeople for the Trump transition team did not immediately respond to requests for comment on Sunday afternoon.

The letter is reminiscent of the racist texts, now the subject of an FBI investigation, sent to Black people in the days after the election, demanding they “pick cotton,” as my colleague Anna Merlan reported at the time; other texts also targeted Hispanic and LBGTQ people. Anna also reported on a theory of where they originated:

Researchers at the Bridging Divides Initiative, a nonpartisan think tank at Princeton that studies and attempts to mitigate political violence, wrote in a rapid response analysis that the language of the texts appears to have been drawn from 4chan and from a now-deleted subreddit that was removed by Reddit’s moderators.

“An individual or individuals likely copy-pasted the text and used virtual phone numbers to send out the texts, selecting recipients based on their demographic profile,” the researchers wrote. “The recipient phone numbers could have been obtained via a data broker or a pre-existing data breach.” 

While the identities of the senders of those texts, and the letter in Oregon, may be unknown, one thing is clear: Right-wing racism is gaining steam.

President Joe Biden has officially surpassed president-elect Donald Trump’s record of judicial appointed to federal courts—by one single judge.

On Friday, the Senate Judiciary Committee, tasked with carrying out the confirmations of Biden’s appointees, announced that it had confirmed Biden’s 235th judge—one more than Trump during his term in office, when he blitzed the courts with white, male, right-wing judicial activists. “We just beat Donald Trump’s judicial confirmation record,” the committee announced in a post on X. “Our 235 judges confirmed under President Biden are diverse, fair, qualified, and will be a frontline of defense on attacks against our democracy.”

The judges will be “a significant protection for our civil rights and civil liberties to preserve our democracy” in Trump’s next term, Sen. Richard Blumenthal (D-Conn.), a member of the committee, told reporters on Friday. As I have reported, the judges—who are appointed for life—play a significant role in deciding cases focused on reproductive rights, among many other issues of major importance to Americans; it was Matthew Kacsmaryk, a Trump-appointed federal judge in Texas, for example, who issued the anti-science ruling last year that paved the way for anti-abortion activists to bring an ultimately unsuccessful case to the Supreme Court challenging the FDA’s approval of mifepristone, one of the two drugs used in a medication abortion.

The sheer amount of cases federal judges take on also contributes to their power: “The power of lower court federal judges is immense,” David Cohen, a law professor at Drexel University, told me last month, “because the Supreme Court only deals with such a limited number of cases.”

The courts are also expected to play a particularly significant role in light of the threats posed by Trump, who has threatened to prosecute his political enemies, and the ultra-conservative Supreme Court that has enabled political corruption, as my colleague Pema Levy recently wrote.

“The rule of law, which we used to take for granted, is under enormous stress, and is really threatened,” Sen. Peter Welch (D-Vt.) said Friday, “and the importance of what we did is that we have 235 jurors who are committed to the rule of law—and that includes a respect for judicial restraint, a respect for the proper role of the legislative branch, and a willingness to step in when there’s overreach, either by the legislature or the executive branch.”

According to the committee, the confirmed judges include 187 district court nominees, 45 circuit court nominees, one Supreme Court nominee—Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson, the first Black woman on the high court—and two Court of International Trade nominees. About two-thirds of the judges confirmed under Biden are women and about two-fifths are women of color—both records, the committee says.

“Judges shape our lives,” Biden said in a post on X, announcing the record-setting confirmation. “I’m proud of those who heeded the call to serve, and of the legacy I’ll leave with the men and women I’ve appointed.”

“These exceptionally qualified individuals are dedicated to upholding the rule of law,” added Vice President Kamala Harris, “and they reflect the diversity of America.”

Trump does not appear to have publicly commented on Biden beating his record—but he may be glad to know that there are still 36 judicial vacancies he can fill in the federal courts, all but 2 in the district courts. (A couple of Biden’s nominees did not wind up being confirmed after he reportedly did not formally submit their nominations to the Senate in time.) Republicans are already preparing to squash Biden’s newly-established record: “On January 20 of 2029, Trump’s going to brag about having 240,” incoming Senate Judiciary Chairman Chuck Grassley (R-Iowa) told NBC News.

To Cohen, the law professor from Drexel, the news is more nuanced than either Democrats or Republicans would like it to be. “Multiple things can be true at the same time,” he told me Sunday. “It’s fantastic they confirmed so many judges to counterbalance the Trump cadre of judges. But also, there should be zero vacancies remaining.”

When Valentino Rodriguez started his job at a high-security prison in Sacramento, California, informally known as New Folsom, he thought he was entering a brotherhood of correctional officers who hold each other to a high standard of conduct.

Five years later, Rodriguez would be found dead in his home. His unexpected passing would raise questions from his family and the FBI. 

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Before he died, Rodriguez was promoted to an elite unit investigating crimes in the prison. His parents and his widow say he had been hoping for the position for a long time. 

But once inside the unit, the job consumed him. From day one, his fellow officers began to undermine and harass him. Stressed and fed up with how he was being treated, Rodriguez reached a breaking point. 

He left the prison, but his experiences there still haunted him—so he went in for a meeting with the warden. He didn’t know it would be his last.

This week on Reveal, we partner with KQED reporters Sukey Lewis and Julie Small and the On Our Watch podcast to explore what this correctional officer’s story shows about how the second-largest prison system in the country is failing to protect the people who live and work inside it.

This is an update of an episode that originally aired in March 2024. 

This story was originally published by Grist and is reproduced here as part of the Climate Desk collaboration.

I was 11 years old the year my older stepsister brought her high school boyfriend home for the first time. It was Thanksgiving 2006, and his Southern manners fit right in as we bantered between mouthfuls of cornbread stuffing, fried okra, and marshmallow-topped sweet potato casserole. Then, in the overstuffed lull before the desserts were served, my dad plunked his laptop in the center of the table. He opened it up and began clicking through a PowerPoint presentation chock full of data on ice sheet melt and global atmospheric carbon dioxide concentration. 

My stepsister’s eyes grew wide with embarrassment. In an effort to welcome her sweetheart to the family, my dad had rolled out his version of a red carpet: one of his many family lectures on the horrors of climate change. 

This wasn’t the first—or last—time my dad’s climate obsession took center stage at our family gatherings. On that particular occasion, he was doling out factoids about Arctic amplification—the prevalence of which was then a debate among climate scientists. It was just a warm-up to a typical holiday season spent quibbling over the ethics of farmed Christmas trees and openly scoffing at scientific inaccuracies during a movie theater showing of Happy Feet, the year’s seasonal offering about a dancing penguin named Mumble. A month later, on Christmas Eve, he forwarded me an email about how Santa Claus’ body would disintegrate if he were to travel through the atmosphere at the speeds necessary to meet his seasonal duties, adding a personal note: “Not to mention the emissions!”

Over the years, these tendencies earned him the family nickname “Dr. Doom”—a nod to his university professor title and compulsive need to share terrifying facts about our warming world. My dad hammed it up, interrupting his own lamentations by hooting out, “We’re all gonna die!” in a cartoonish falsetto. More than anything, it was a term of endearment. After all, we knew other households that spent their holidays arguing over whether climate change was even real.

Many of us know a Dr. Doom in our lives, or at the very least, a pessimist with a particular fixation. We each have our own ways of responding to it, such as my brother’s pragmatism, my stepmom’s knee-jerk optimism, my stepsister’s exasperation. Or, perhaps you are the doomer yourself. 

I’m usually tempted to respond with, “I see hope in the next generation.” But doomerism—a label often used to describe climate defeatists—doesn’t typically leave room to talk about a better future. It’s a contagious kind of despair, often too credible to dismiss. Nowadays, my brother and I both work in climate-related fields, undeniably thanks to Dr. Doom’s influence. But growing up, it only took a few days of dad’s soapboxing before I’d tune out of anything climate-related until the New Year.

This Christmas, as we once again prepare to pass around the cranberry sauce and discuss the end of the world, I can’t help but wonder how my dad became Dr. Doom. And in a world of rising doomerism, what influence do such tidings have on others?

My dad’s journey to becoming “Dr. Doom” started with his formal training as a tropical ecologist. Until the early 2000s, his work meant trudging through rainforests, studying photosynthesis while battling mosquitoes. Then, the wear of human activity on his surroundings became too much to bear. He switched gears and has since spent his career leap-frogging between climate education jobs—from director of an environmental science program at the University of Idaho to president of a small school in Maine, which, in 2012, he led to become the first college to divest fully from fossil fuels.

Those entrenched in science, like my dad, seem to be especially susceptible to climate despair. That’s according to experts like Rebecca Weston, the co-executive director of the Climate Psychology Alliance of North America, a community of mental health professionals trained to address the emotional and psychological challenges emerging in our warming world. Many in scientific fields, Weston says, are first to document and review the data behind irreversible loss.

The facts of the crisis are so dire that despair seems to be a hazard for many—scientists or not. After all, a study by researchers at the Yale Program on Climate Change Communication found that some 7 percent of US adults report potentially serious levels of psychological distress about climate change. Gale Sinatra, a professor of psychology at the University of Southern California’s Rossier School of Education who studies how people learn about climate change, put it more simply: “Your dad’s problem is that he knows too much.”

The issue only gets worse when the climate-informed try to share what they know. In a short-lived position in 2007 as science advisor to the Florida state government (back when then-Governor Charlie Crist would actually acknowledge “climate change”) my dad was silenced during a presentation to the legislature. A report later said that the “awkward” situation arose when a Republican senator took issue with a discussion topic that “had not yet been accepted as fact.” According to my dad, the controversy stemmed from his decision to share the famous “hockey stick” graph, a data visual that shows that global average temperatures began spiking after human societies industrialized.  

“We’re starting to understand it as moral injury,” said Kristan Childs, co-chair of a committee to support climate scientists with the Climate Psychology Alliance, referring to a psychological phenomenon that happens when people witness actions that violate their beliefs or damage their conscience. “They’ve been informing people for so long, and there’s just such a betrayal because people are not believing them, or are not doing enough to act on it.”

Like many, my dad’s response to this was to get louder—and darker. There’s conflicting research on how different kinds of messaging can affect people’s behavior. Some studies show that those experiencing distress are also more active, while others say that emphasizing worst-case scenarios, like so-called climate “tipping points,” is an ineffective strategy that can overwhelm and de-motivate audiences instead. It can also backfire on a personal level: Listeners of the podcast “This American Life” may be familiar with a story about a climate activist dad whose zeal led to his children cutting him out of their lives. 

As a journalist on the climate beat, I’ve interviewed dozens of self-described “doomers,” and yet I’ve found the term is a bit of a misnomer. While many fixate on the worst possible climate scenarios, they’re generally not quitters. As Childs put it, “I don’t know anyone who’s just given up on it all.” Instead, nearly all have dedicated their lives to addressing climate change. And they can’t help but evangelize, warning everybody within earshot of the ways the coming century could change their lives. 

Throughout these interviews, I’m tacitly looking for any insight that might help my own Dr. Doom. (Recently, I accompanied my dad to a physical therapy appointment where, upon seeing a disposable blood pressure cuff, he attempted to regale his doctor with facts about the greenhouse gas emissions associated with the US health care system.) Childs might just have some. She offers a 10-step program for professionals who work in science-oriented fields, affiliated with a larger collection of support groups offered by the Good Grief Network, a nonprofit organization dedicated to processing emotions on climate change. 

“The group work is powerful because it really, really helps dissolve the sense of isolation,” Childs said. As she spoke, I shifted uncomfortably, wondering how many times my teenage tendency to tune out or respond flippantly made my dad feel I was invalidating his concerns.

The best place to start is often the hardest: acknowledging how bad the problem is. “It’s actually helpful to give people a place to share their biggest fears,” she said, adding that the typical workplace culture in scientific fields discourages expressing emotions. “Somehow some acceptance of how bad it is, and the fact that we can then still stay engaged, shifts the question to who we can be in these times.”  

Weston agrees that entirely erasing climate anxiety isn’t realistic, especially as the effects of Earth’s changing atmosphere become more apparent and frightening. Instead, her group suggests reframing ideas of what having a meaningful impact looks like. “It depends on breaking through a kind of individualist understanding of achievement. It’s about facing something that will be resolved past our own lifetimes,” she said.

My dad has spent his career chasing that elusive sense of fulfillment—never quite satisfied with the work he’s doing. But lately, he’s found a reason to stay put. In 2019, he returned to my hometown to teach climate change to undergraduates at the University of Florida. Now and again, I’ve wondered how these 18- to 22-year-olds, many of whom grew up in the increasingly red state, respond to his doomsaying.

This year, while home around Thanksgiving, I sat in on his last lecture of the semester—a doozy on how economic systems can destroy natural resources. His students seemed completely at ease—chatting with him at the beginning of class, easily participating when he asked questions. I was already surprised.

“He’s just sharing the facts,” one of his students told me, when I asked a group of them about his teaching style after the class. 

Another quickly interjected: “He’s too dogmatic. It’s super depressing, it’s super doom.” Others nodded. 

A third chimed in: “It helps me feel motivated.” 

Later that week, while I was reporting a different story at a local climate event, both his former students and local activists flagged me down to say how much they appreciated my dad’s courses and op-eds in local newspapers. 

“We need all sorts of climate communication. People are responsive to different messages,” said Ayana Elizabeth Johnson, the markedly anti-doomer author of What If We Get It Right?, a recent book that puts possibility at the center of climate action. In 2019, a Yale study on how people respond to different messaging tactics underscored this point—finding that “hope is not always good, and doubt is not always bad.”

For Johnson, getting through the climate crisis starts with who you surround yourself with. “This is not solitary work. Individual changemakers are not really a thing,” she said. “We never know the ripples that we’re going to have.”

The Christmas stockings on the mantle at my dad’s house haven’t changed in years, but the dinner conversations have. Now, instead of trying to brush aside Dr. Doom’s digressions, we lean in. Our evenings are spent butting heads over the recent climate optimism book, Not the End of the World, by data scientist Hannah Ritchie; swapping notes on heat pumps; and debating how to make the most of used-EV tax credits. My baby nephew, Auggie, of the latest generation to be saddled with our hopes and fears, brightens the room with his cooing at all manner of round fruits and toy trucks. 

Between sips from warm mugs, my dad leans back in his chair and frowns at some news on his phone’s screen. “The wheels are really coming off the wagon, kids. Humanity faces an existential threat,” he says, to no one in particular. From the next room, my stepmom calls, “The sky’s been falling since I met you, Stephen.”

It’s hard not to smile. Who knows how many people my dad has influenced, or if he will ever feel satisfied with his mission. But as his doomy, gloomy self, he’s built a community and family that share his values. At that moment, I find myself thinking of something Childs told me: “You cannot protect your kids from climate change. But you can protect them from being alone with climate change.” 

In our changing world, these conversations feel like something to be thankful for. 

Last month, Missourians voted to add the right to abortion until viability into their state constitution—making their state one of ten to enshrine abortion rights since the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade.

But simply having the constitutional right to abortion does not alone change anything on the ground: The courts must enforce this right by affirming that anti-abortion laws violate states’ newly amended constitutions. A ruling this week by a Missouri judge shows just how fraught it is to depend on the courts for abortion access—even after the people, by popular vote, demand it.

Within 24 hours of the November election where Missouri voters passed the state’s abortion-rights amendment, Planned Parenthood sued to ask the courts to enforce this change. On Friday, a state judge weighed in for the first time: She temporarily blocked the state’s near-total abortion ban. But she left in place several anti-abortion laws that will continue to prevent abortion providers from serving patients.

In a partial preliminary injunction issued on Friday, Jackson County Judge Jerri Zhang temporarily allowed the state’s licensure law to remain in place, giving the Missouri Department of Health and Senior Services the power to withhold licenses from abortion clinics if their hallways, rooms, and doors don’t meet the architectural requirements of ambulatory surgical centers. The hallway width requirement is a classic example of what’s known as a TRAP law, standing for “targeted regulation of abortion providers.” Back when the United States still had a national right to abortion, passing TRAP laws that were near-impossible to comply with was the strategy of choice for the anti-abortion movement in its quest to shut down clinics. Missouri’s TRAP laws were so effective at achieving this goal that in the years before Roe was overturned, just one abortion clinic in the state was still in operation—providing only around 100 abortions per year at a Planned Parenthood facility in St. Louis.

“While Planned Parenthood stands ready to start providing abortions in Missouri again as soon as the Court permits, the abortion restrictions remaining in effect—including Missouri’s medically unnecessary and discriminatory clinic licensing requirement—make this impossible,” Planned Parenthood Great Plains said in a statement after Zhang’s ruling. “The vast majority of Planned Parenthood health centers cannot comply with the medically irrelevant size requirements for hallways, rooms, and doors.”

In her order, Zhang said she was allowing the licensure law to remain in place while the lawsuit continues because it involves rules for facilities rather than “the right of individuals seeking care”—without addressing the reality that the facility rules were designed to undercut the right to abortion. Either Zhang has been duped, or she’s playing along: “The Court finds there may be a compelling governmental interest in licensing abortion facilities in this manner,” she wrote in her order.

Now, no Missouri abortion clinics have a license. To get one, they’ll have to apply to some of the same state officials who fought this year’s abortion rights ballot initiative tooth and nail, earning rebukes from the court system. Their track record runs deep: Back in 2019, the state health department did its utmost to close the St. Louis Planned Parenthood clinic, declining to renew its license and imposing shifting requirements that providers likened to harassment, my former colleague Marisa Endicott reported.

Ultimately, the clinic was only able to keep its doors open thanks to court orders and an administrative hearing officer. “The licensure requirement also leaves Planned Parenthood facilities at the whim of anti-abortion officials in Missouri, who can continue to weaponize the licensure process to limit abortion access, as they have done for decades,” Planned Parenthood Great Plains said in its Friday statement.

There is a silver lining to the ruling: Doctors in hospitals who need to perform emergency abortions will no longer be operating under the threat of state punishment.

“Hospital-based providers across the state are able to provide more care today than they could yesterday now that the fear of criminal prosecution has been removed,” said ACLU of Missouri litigation director Gillian Wilcox in a statement on Saturday. Zhang also granted the preliminary injunction blocking other TRAP laws: a 72-hour waiting period for abortions, a requirement that patients take abortion medication in the presence of a doctor, and a rule stating that abortion providers have admitting privileges at a hospital within 15 minutes’ drive of a clinic, among others.

There is also another threat coming down the line. While the legal battle continues over which Missouri anti-abortion laws can coexist with the new abortion-rights amendment, state legislators are weighing their own ballot initiatives for the next election cycle. That includes a proposal to ask voters to re-impose a blanket abortion ban, and another that would shift “fetal viability,” generally understood as the time when a fetus could survive outside the pregnant person’s body, from around 24 weeks gestation to the 6-week mark of pregnancy—when embryos measure around the size of a pea and have almost no organs.

The Supreme Court agreed last week to hear a case that could pave the way for states to kick Planned Parenthood clinics and affiliated doctors out of their Medicaid programs. The case threatens the ability of the nation’s largest family planning organization to provide their low-income patients with birth control, cancer screenings, and STI testing and treatment—services that have nothing to do with abortion.

Back in June, the Alliance Defending Freedom (ADF), the religious-right legal group behind the fall of Roe v. Wade, legal attacks on the abortion pill, and some of the most important anti-LGBTQ laws and Supreme Court cases of recent memory, filed the request that the nine justices hear this case.

They asked on behalf of their client, the South Carolina health department. That is part of a pattern: ADF has increasingly represented state governments in efforts to defend abortion bans and anti-trans laws. My colleague Pema Levy reported earlier this year that this work has raised ethical questions about how a religious organization that brings in over $100 million annually from mostly undisclosed donors can represent the public in court while also advancing a religious agenda.

The case, known as Kerr v. Planned Parenthood South Atlantic, dates back to the summer of 2018, when South Carolina Republican Gov. Henry McMaster ordered his state’s health department to declare any doctors or clinics who provided abortion “unqualified” to offer other family planning services. McMaster’s order didn’t have anything to do with the doctors’ resumes or the quality of their healthcare. Instead it was calculated to punish Planned Parenthood financially by making it ineligible to receive Medicaid reimbursements for the non-abortion services that, contrary to popular misconception, make up the vast majority of its work. Medicaid, which provides health coverage for people who are low-income, already does not cover abortion—a prohibition that has been federal law for decades. But “the payment of taxpayer funds to abortion clinics, for any purpose, results in the subsidy of abortion and the denial of the right to life,” McMaster reasoned in his executive order.

Politically, the executive order was a way for McMaster to “take an anti-abortion stand,” per the resulting headlines. But practically, it hurt South Carolinian women on Medicaid who relied on their local Planned Parenthood clinic for everyday reproductive healthcare.

South Carolina wasn’t the only state to attack Planned Parenthood in this way. Arizona, Arkansas, Indiana, Kansas, and Texas all tried to impose similar restrictions, according to Jane Perkins, litigation director for the National Health Law Program. Texas was one of the few to succeed, and as I wrote in October, the attacks on Planned Parenthood there forced many reproductive health clinics to close, cut hours, charge patients new fees, or ration IUDs and birth control implants. Ultimately, they could only serve half as many patients. The teen birth rate rose an estimated 3.4 percent. 

In response to the restrictions, Planned Parenthood patients and state affiliates have filed a series of lawsuits, arguing that they violate a federal Medicaid provision dating back to 1967 that guarantees patients the “free choice” to see any “qualified” provider who agrees to take Medicaid. The whole point of that provision was to stop states from restricting patient options, which Congress worried would be a step toward socialized medicine.

Federal appeals courts have mostly agreed with this argument. At least four of them have decided that states that exclude Planned Parenthood from Medicaid are violating the “free choice” provision, and that abortion clinics and their affiliates “are qualified providers, and what the state’s doing here is essentially a policy or politically motivated activity to ban Planned Parenthood,” Perkins says. But a couple of courts, including the far-right Fifth Circuit, have thrown out the lawsuits on technical grounds, ruling that states have the power to decide if providers are “qualified,” and that individuals can’t sue over their decisions.

That’s the question the Supreme Court has now agreed to review in Kerr. If the court sides with South Carolina, “it would certainly pull the door open” for more states to kick Planned Parenthood out of their Medicaid programs, Perkins says. Such a ruling could have consequences beyond reproductive healthcare—giving states greater power to pick and choose which doctors can see Medicaid patients.

It would also be in line with the conservative justices’ recent tendency to declare that courts should defer to state decision-making on whether to restrict healthcare for women or trans people. That’s essentially what happened in Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization, which allowed states to ban abortion. The same outcome appears likely in a current case, United States v. Skrmetti, where the justices seem poised to green-light state bans on puberty blockers and hormone therapy for trans minors. 

Perkins is worried about Kerr. “I sort of went through a hair-stand-on-end,” she says. Just two years ago, the Supreme Court took a case on a similar question, and reaffirmed the framework courts use to decide when individuals can sue over Medicaid provisions. That case is similar to this one, though it involved nursing homes rather than abortion providers.  “To come along not two years later and take a case on…enforcement of Medicaid provisions, it’s startling,” she says. “But I understand that this is a politically charged subject matter.”

Another factor that makes it different this time: It’s the Alliance Defending Freedom asking. “This is really different,” Perkins says. “This is a nonprofit organization that, my understanding is, has a religious mission. So here’s the question: What about the establishment clause [requiring separation of church and state] of the Constitution?”

“So where’s my German friends?” Donald Trump asked a fawning Mar-a-Lago crowd on Election Day, before flashing a grin and a thumbs up for a photo with a group of young men.

The German friends in question: Fabrice Ambrosini, a former politician forced to resign after a video surfaced of him doing a Hitler salute; Leonard Jäger, a far-right influencer who has promoted the Reichsbürger movement, an extremist group behind a failed coup attempt in 2022; and Phillipp-Anders Rau, a candidate for Alternative für Deutschland (AfD), Germany’s far-right party.

Giddy with excitement, shoulder-to-shoulder with Trump, they cheered “fight, fight, fight,” echoing Trump’s post assassination-attempt rallying cry, before repeating it in German—“kämpft, kämpft, kämpft”—fists pumping. 

“Let’s hope Donald Trump creates the renewal for his country that we in the AfD are planning for our country,” Rau wrote on Instagram after. 

Inspired by his tough-guy bravado and promises to expel immigrants from the US, the German far-right has projected onto Trump a “fantasy of ethnonational power” they seek to replicate, says Mabel Berezin, director of Cornell University’s Institute for European Studies. 

To them, he’s not just a kindred spirit—he could also be a harbinger. A mere 10 hours after he cemented his return to the White House, the German government dramatically collapsed over a budget dispute, opening up the German far-right’s best chance at seizing power since World War II. With support from about 1 in 5 Germans, the AfD has become the country’s second most popular party ahead of new elections in February.

And on Friday it received backing from one of Trump’s top allies. Elon Musk called the AfD Germany’s savior in a Tweet seen by more than 33 million people, sparking another round of far-right digital fist-pumping. The AfD instantly plastered Musk’s face on an ad and its co-leader recorded a video message profusely thanking him.

https://twitter.com/elonmusk/status/1869986946031988780

“History has shown that developments that start in America eventually spill over across the Atlantic and ultimately influence our lives as well,” reads a translated post from Journalistenwatch, an influential far-right blog. “And we also know that in the USA, thanks to the triumphant success of Donald Trump, the pendulum has finally swung in the other direction and freedom for everyone has finally risen from the ashes.”

At the core of this transnational love affair—more so than their admiration for Russia, their demonization of the LGBTQ+ community, and their romanticized nostalgia for the past—is a single racist idea: that dark-skinned immigrants pose an existential threat and must be sent back to their home countries, a political concept known as remigration, which has become the global far-right’s cause célèbre over the last decade.

The AfD’s central pledge is to counteract the so-called Great Replacement, a conspiracy theory that claims white Europeans or Americans are the victims of a plot by non-white immigrants to “replace” them and poison their societies. It was the inspiration for shooters to take up arms and target Muslim victims in Christchurch, Jews in Pittsburgh, Black people in Buffalo, and gay people in Bratislava.

“It’s the thing that brings together the far-right in multiple countries,” Heidi Beirich, co-founder of the nonprofit Global Project Against Hate and Extremism, told Mother Jones. 

If Great Replacement is the myth, remigration is its manual, taking the conspiracy theory’s white supremacy at face value and proposing the mass deportations Trump has championed. In fact, Trump used the term in a September post on Truth Social promoting his candidacy, writing, “[We will] return Kamala’s illegal migrants to their home countries (also known as remigration). I will save our cities and towns in Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Pennsylvania, North Carolina, and all across America.”

A viral dance hit among the party’s younger supporters, played at an AfD election party, features lyrics like “remigration is happening, put the turbines up real high” and the chorus “we’re deporting all of them!”

The term was popularized by Europe’s Identitarian movement (whose American offshoot, Identity Evropa, helped plan the 2017 Charlottesville riots) and its Austrian leader Martin Sellner (who was investigated for corresponding with the Christchurch shooter). 

The AfD found itself in hot water last January when German journalists at Correctiv uncovered a clandestine conference with Sellner as keynote speaker. There, he pitched a remigration plan to senior party members that would deport millions of Germans, including citizens with non-German backgrounds and the “non-assimilated,” sparking nationwide protests and a debate about banning the party. Sellner has since been banned from entering Germany.

Since then, the party has been cagey about what exactly it means by remigration, with some AfD officials describing it simply as deporting asylum-seekers who’ve broken the law. Still others are more clear about their intentions to carry out widespread deportations, a taboo and unconstitutional idea that for many Germans is reminiscent of the not-so-distant history of the Holocaust.

This November, the AfD in the state of Bavaria passed a “resolution for remigration,” calling for the creation of new ways “to more easily revoke German citizenship that has already been granted” and “comprehensive remigration in the millions over the next 10 years.” The party has started using plane imagery in official posters and advertisements, like one papered all over the city of Erfurt showing a bright blue sky and a jet airliner above the words: “Summer, Sun, Remigration.” 

A viral dance hit among the party’s younger supporters, played at an AfD election party, features lyrics like “remigration is happening, put the turbines up real high” and the chorus “we’re deporting all of them!” over AI-generated images of dancing flight attendants and downtrodden Black and Brown men pushing luggage through an airport. 

“Within the AfD there’s people who say the quiet part out loud,” says Jakob Guhl, a researcher of the far-right at the Institute for Strategic Dialogue, a counter-extremism think tank. “There might even be some people who don’t think there is a quiet part.”

One of those people is certainly Björn Höcke, head of the AfD in the state of Thuringia, where the party won a landmark victory this fall, toppling a nearly eight-decade postwar norm. A German court ruled Höcke could legally be described as a “fascist,” and he’s been convicted twice of using banned Nazi slogans.

“If Björn Höcke becomes Bundeskanzler,” Guhl says, using the German word for chancellor, “I think then really the aim is to make Germany more ethnically homogenous and revoke people’s citizenship in some way and then force them to leave.” In August, Höcke weighed in on a government proposal to regulate knives, writing on Telegram that the real problem was “the attitude of people who have a foreign background and despise our way of life and are prepared to use lethal force.”

He added, “We are confronted with mass immigration that can lead to a collapse in civilization. People from foreign cultures, whose lives are shaped by different values ​​than ours and who are not prepared to assimilate, are permanently changing our social life simply through their numbers.”

“The implication of the AfD’s messaging is, these aren’t real Germans,” Beirich says. “They don’t belong here. They’re the ones causing crime, taking your jobs. This all sounds very much like Trump.”

This ideology spreads easily across a digital ecosystem of alternative media and social media apps. Central to the ecosystem is Telegram, known for its nearly non-existent content moderation and ability to create broadcast-style channels of unlimited size, which has become the app of choice for neo-Nazis, extremists, and conspiracy theorists. 

In the two-month window surrounding the US presidential election, 449 far-right German Telegram channels mentioned Trump in more than 10,000 messages—that’s about 5 percent of the total messages these channels sent during that time. 

There, users have breathlessly followed Trump’s cabinet picks and shared clips from American influencers, including Tucker Carlson and Alex Jones. They’ve borrowed American complaints of a “censorship industrial complex” and amplified unfounded allegations of election fraud. 

Watching what resonates in America, Germans then deploy their network of far-right podcasters, media personalities, influencers, and politicians to echo similar claims and conspiracy theories.

“The implication of the AfD’s messaging is, these aren’t real Germans. They don’t belong here. They’re the ones causing crime, taking your jobs. This all sounds very much like Trump.”

For example, Stefan Magnet, founder of the Austrian far-right news broadcaster AUF1, wrote in October without any evidence to his nearly 75,000 Telegram followers about a “globalist world of lies” in which German government ministers “are preparing to censor Elon Musk’s news service ‘X’ in Europe. Above all: If Trump wins, they will shut down the platform or brutally censor it.” 

“Some of these debates are certainly being repackaged and refought with very different narratives and angles and in the German context as well,” Guhl says. “So you definitely see certain things that first pop off in the US seem to be working quite well there and that are then being adopted in Germany as well.”

German Chancellor Olaf Scholz lost a vote of confidence in mid-December, officially triggering a snap election on February 23, only the fourth ever in the country’s modern history. The Christian Democrats, former Chancellor Angela Merkel’s old party and the current opposition, are expected to come to power and invite other parties to form a coalition government. 

Thus far, the Christian Democrats have promised to uphold a “firewall” against far-right parties like the AfD, forbidding them from joining a coalition. While that firewall is likely to hold in 2025, there’s already been collaboration between the Christian Democrats and the AfD in local government; and the more votes the AfD receives, the greater its ability to steer Germany rightward.

Take this statement from the center-left Scholz in August, after the AfD spent all summer hammering him on immigration: “We will have to do everything we can to ensure that those who cannot and are not allowed to stay in Germany are repatriated and deported.”

It marked a departure for a longtime supporter of Germany’s migration policies and a recognition that the AfD’s messaging—and, to some degree, Trump’s—was resonating with voters. 

“Trump says he’s going to deport millions. He’s going to have huge raids.
That is something that brings joy to the hearts of people like those in the AfD and other far-right parties,” Beirich says.

This story was originally published by Grist and is reproduced here as part of the Climate Desk collaboration.

As global temperatures rise from the burning of fossil fuels, researchers and policymakers have proposed solutions like installing renewable energy, replacing gasoline-powered cars with electric ones, and developing technology to suck carbon out of the air. But these policies often address climate change in isolation—without regard for other pressing issues like a decline in biodiversity, the contamination of freshwater sources, and the pollution of agricultural soils. 

A new report released Tuesday by the United Nations’ expert panel on biodiversity makes the case for a different approach based on addressing the “nexus” between two or more out of five essential issue areas: climate change, biodiversity, food, human health, and water. Such an approach is not only more likely to help the world meet various UN targets on biodiversity, sustainable development, and climate mitigation; it’s also more cost-effective.

“We have to move decisions and actions beyond single-issue silos,” said Paula Harrison, a professor of land and water modeling at the UK Centre for Ecology and Hydrology and a co-chair of the report, in a statement. Other scientific reports have studied the interlinkages between two or three of these issues, but she told reporters on Tuesday that this latest report is the “most ambitious” to date.

The new report was the result of three years of work of the Intergovernmental Science-Policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services, or IPBES, an expert body that’s analogous to the United Nations’ Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, which periodically assesses the state of the science on global warming.

The report centers on biodiversity—that’s the IPBES’s remit, after all—describing how the variety of life on Earth is “essential to our very existence.” But it goes out of its way to show how rapidly accelerating biodiversity loss is both contributing to and being exacerbated by other crises. Climate change, for instance, is making some habitats inhospitable to their erstwhile animal populations, while the loss of those populations can have impacts on freshwater availability and carbon storage. The five interlinking issues were selected by representatives of the 147 IPBES’s member countries.

Meanwhile, solutions that focus on just one issue may have detrimental effects on other elements. Pete Smith, a professor of soils and global change at the University of Aberdeen in the United Kingdom, gave the example of bioenergy with carbon capture and storage, or BECCS, a climate solution in which crops are grown to draw CO2 out of the air and then burned to generate energy. The resulting greenhouse gas emissions are captured and stored in rock formations, with the aim of removing them from the carbon cycle permanently.

The problem, Smith said, is that to implement this process on a large scale would require vast tracts of land that might otherwise have been used to grow food crops—so BECCS can unintentionally harm food security. Devoting land to single-variety crops can also use up lots of water and jeopardize biodiversity.

“When you just focus on climate change,” he told Grist, “you might end up with some solutions that damage other elements of the nexus.”

In other scenarios, it’s not the solution itself that’s problematic; it’s the way it’s implemented. Planting trees, for example, can be done in consultation with local communities and taking into account unique ecosystem needs. Or, as Smith described, a big company seeking to generate carbon credits could evict Native peoples from their land and start a plantation of fast-growing, nonnative tree species. 

The latter situation might benefit climate change in the narrowest sense, Smith said, but “with a whole bunch of negative impacts on people, on health, on water.”

The assessment finds that, between 2001 and 2021, every one of the five issues analyzed has been damaged by factors including urbanization, war, and growing per capita consumption—except for food availability. That could be explained by a kind of decision-making the report describes as “food first,” in which more food is grown to benefit human health at the expense of biodiversity, freshwater availability, and climate change.

Decision-making built solely around climate change or conservation could be similarly counterproductive, the report says, based on an analysis of 186 future scenarios crafted from 52 scientific studies. The most promising alternative is a “nature-oriented nexus” focused on all five target areas, emphasizing “strong environmental regulation, sustainable agricultural practices, lower rates of global per capita consumption, and strong development of green technologies.”

More than 160 scientists from 57 countries contributed to the report, which was formally adopted this weekend at IPBES’s annual conference in Windhoek, Namibia. During a press conference on Tuesday, the authors said they were ending the year “on a high note for multilateralism,” in contrast to the stalemates that defined other intergovernmental negotiations in 2024, like the global plastics treaty and the climate conference in Baku, Azerbaijan.

In addition to the nexus report, IPBES member states also approved a report on the “transformative change” that is needed to address global crises connected to biodiversity, including climate change. Notably, that report says that “disconnection from and domination over nature and people” is at the root of toxic chemical pollution, deforestation, the burning of fossil fuels, and other causes of climate and environmental degradation.

Both reports highlight the need to address the inequitable concentration of wealth and power and the prioritization of short-term material gains in order to “prevent triggering the potentially irreversible decline and projected collapse of key ecosystem functions.” 

“Right now, our economic and financial system is not fit for purpose; it does not value nature,” Pamela McElwee, a professor of human ecology at Rutgers University and a co-chair of the nexus report, told reporters on Tuesday. 

The nexus report finds that $7 trillion a year in public subsidies and private financial incentives go toward activities that directly damage the five issue areas. Only $200 billion—less than 3 percent of that total—is spent directly on improving biodiversity.

Because the nexus report was requested directly by the governments of IPBES’s 147 member countries—among them, China, India, Indonesia, Nigeria, Pakistan, the United States, and most of Europe—the scientists who contributed to it are hopeful that their recommendations will be adopted by policymakers. In the report, they highlight 71 cross-cutting responses to interlinked global problems, ranging from reducing plastic pollution to conserving wetland ecosystems to providing universal health coverage. 

Smith, who is a soil researcher and has also contributed to reports of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, said working on the report has changed his own outlook. “I’ve tried to apply the nexus thinking on a couple of projects on how climate change affects the food system, and people in disadvantaged communities,” he said. “All of these things are leading me to take a broader, less siloed view than I would have done 10 years ago.”

Previous IPBES reports have shown how biodiversity is “declining faster than at any time in human history.” At the group’s next conference in 2025, it’s expected to present a new assessment of businesses’ impact and dependence on biodiversity, and IPBES plans to release its second global assessment of the state of biodiversity in 2028. 

On Wednesday, California became the first state to issue a declaration of emergency regarding the avian flu (H5N1). That same day, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) confirmed the first severe case of the flu in a human on US soil and outbreaks in cow herds were detected in Southern California.

Still, the threat to humans is low according to the CDC. The agency has traced most human infections back to those handling livestock, and there’s been no reported transmission between people.

“I have dairies that are never coming back from this.”

But for cows and the dairy they produce, it’s a different story. This year was the first time the flu was detected in cows in the US, and it has ripped through many Western states’ dairy farms with startling speed. Since March, the virus has been found in cow herds of 16 states. For the last few months, infected herds have largely been concentrated in California—the state that makes up about 20 percent of the nation’s dairy industry. Last week, Texas, another one of the nation’s top dairy producing states, saw the reappearance of bird flu after two months without a detected outbreak.

In the industry hit hardest by bird flu, the poultry industry, the virus’ spread has resulted in the culling of entire flocks which has lead to higher egg prices on supermarket shelves. Will milk and butter prices soon go the same route? And how worried should you be about consuming dairy?

How exactly does bird flu affect dairy cows?

Some farmers are first identifying outbreaks in their herds through the color and density of the milk, in what they are coining “golden mastitis,” according to Milkweed, a dairy news publication. As early studies by University of Copenhagen researchers found, the virus latches onto dairy cows mammary glands, creating complications for the dairy industry beyond just the cow fatalities.

The virus is proving deadly to cows. According to Colorado State University Professor Jason Lombard, an infectious disease specialist for cattle, the case fatality rates based on a limited set of herds was zero to 15 percent. But California saw an even higher rate of up to 20 percent during a late summer heatwave in the states Central Valley. It was a warning for how the rising number of heatwaves and temps across the country could result in deadlier herd outbreaks in upcoming summers. 

For some of the cows that survived, there was a dip in their dairy production of around 25 percent according to multiple experts I spoke with. As a farmer told Bloomberg News, some of the cows aren’t returning to full production levels, an indication of longer lasting effects of the virus. It’s a finding experts are seeing in other parts of the US, too. According to Lombard, this may be due to the severity of the virus in the cow. According to reporting in Milkweed, there may also be “long-tail” bird flu impacts on a cow’s dairy production, health, and reproduction. Additional research is likely needed to understand the extent of these potential longterm effects of the virus and whether they could spell trouble ahead for recovering farms.  

A spokesperson with the California Department of Food and Agriculture told Mother Jones, “it’s too soon to know how production has been impacted.”

How is this impacting farms and farm workers?

As of today, more than half of the people who’ve contracted H5N1 are dairy farmworkers, according to the CDC. This population is particularly vulnerable because they are often the ones handling milking or milking equipment which can lead to spreading the virus. The CDC is recommending employers take steps to reduce their workers’ exposure to the virus by creating health and safety plans.

The CDC is working with organizations like the National Center for Farm Worker Health to expand testing, PPE availability, and training. According to Bethany Alcauter, a director at the organization, ensuring dairy farmworkers have access to testing is a tricky situation. The 100,000-some workforce faces barriers to accessing health care and testing, such as an inability to take paid-time off to get themselves tested if they are sick. And the system depends on the producer to decide to bring in the health department to oversee potential outbreaks within herds and staff, which doesn’t always happen because there’s no government mandate.

“It’s all recommendations and kindness—that’s what we’re running on. It’s not regulation and enforcement.”

“It’s all recommendations and kindness—that’s what we’re running on,” Alcauter says. “It’s not regulation and enforcement.” She believes the testing infrastructure could be strengthened by “recognizing that farm workers can be public-health first responders if they have the knowledge and the access to the right contacts, in the right system.”

Outside of navigating farmworker health, farmers face economic impacts when the virus spreads through their herds. “What you’re losing at the end of the day is revenue for your farm when it rolls through,” says Will Loux, vice president of economic affairs for the National Milk Producers Federation. “Depending on the financial situation of an individual farm it can certainly be devastating.” 

There are a handful of variables and factors that shape the financial losses of a dairy hit with an outbreak. Luckily, agriculture economist Charles Nicholson at the University of Wisconsin-Madison and some colleagues created a calculator to estimate this financial impact of a bird flu outbreak. Based on Nicholson’s estimates for California, a typical farm of 1500 cattle will lose $120,000 annually. For context, this is about $10,000 more than the median household income of a dairy farmer. Based on those estimates, that would mean California’s farmers have collectively lost about $80 million at most due to avian flu so far. The US Department of Agriculture is providing support for farmers who are impacted by H5N1 outbreaks.

In reviewing a few herd datasets in Michigan, Phillip Durst, a dairy and cattle expert, noted that about half a year after an outbreak, herds were producing around 10 percent less than before. Not only do farmers face massive short term losses, they also struggle to return to full capacity again. And, there are high costs associated with putting resources into taking care of sick animals too. 

Even strong diaries that had “tip top” biosecurity measures, or comprehensive environmental protection measures in place, are shutting down, according to Anja Raudabaugh, CEO of Western Untied Dairies, a trade organization overseeing farms across California. “I have dairies that are never coming back from this,” Raudabaugh says. “This was just so cataclysmic for them. They’re not going to be able to get over that loss in production hump.”

There is some hope around the corner. A vaccine for cows, which the USDA claims is in the works, could help stop the spread and protect remaining uninfected herds. “Until we have a vaccine that we can inoculate them with at an early age, we have no choices except to hope that herd immunity sets in soon,” Raudabaugh says.

What’s the effect on milk?

In June, the US dropped 1.5 percent in production, around 278 million pounds of milk, compared to 2023. It was one of the early potential indicators of the industry’s vulnerability to this virus. However, since then, the nation’s production rebounded to above 2023 numbers. It’s largely why consumers are not seeing the same impact on the price and availability of dairy products like they are with eggs. 

“When one state gets H5N1 there are a lot of other states that tend to pick up the slack. So in general, when you look at the national numbers, you really have to squint to kind of find where H5N1 is in the milk production”,” says Loux.

California produces around a fifth of the nation’s dairy, and since August over half of the state’s herds had an outbreak. In October, California saw a near four percent drop in milk production compared to 2023, equating to about 127 million pounds of milk.

On Thursday, the USDA released November’s data on milk production showing California with the largest decrease this year of 301 million fewer gallons of milk compared to 2023. That is more than double the decrease of last month. Still, the nation only saw a near 1 percent decrease since 2023.

How the next administration handles this virus may spell a different story for the dairy industry and the country. With Trump’s history of downplaying infectious diseases and promoting unfounded cures, and public health cabinet nominations who decry vaccine effectiveness, a human-to-human outbreak could lead to another pandemic. Likely to take over the USDA is Brooke Rollins, who, according to Politico, had less experience in agriculture than others on Trump’s shortlist (though she does have a degree in agriculture development). It’s currently unclear what her plans are for handling this virus and supporting farmers and the industry at large. Rollins did not respond to my request for an interview.

Should I be worried about getting sick from drinking milk?

Drinking pasteurized milk is safe. For more than 100 years, pasteurization has kept the public safe by killing harmful bacteria and viruses.

The CDC is warning against raw milk consumption, on the other hand, due to it potentially having high-levels of bird flu. While there’s yet to be a human case of bird flu traced to raw milk consumption, there is fear that the unpasteurized product could lead to illness. And raw milk loaded with the virus has been linked to deaths in other mammals, like cats.

Robert F. Kennedy Jr, the likely soon-to-be director of Health and Human Services under Trump, has a history of promoting raw milk. Earlier this month, Kennedy’s favorite raw milk brand was recalled by California after testing positive for bird flu. Kennedy’s rise to public health power comes at time when raw milk is rising in popularity on TikTok.

In response to the spread of bird flu in raw milk, the USDA announced a national strategy requiring milk samples nationwide be tested by the agency. Since officially beginning testing on Monday, 16 new bird flu outbreaks in cow herds have been identified in two states.

For now, as the nation continues to work on controlling the spread of bird flu, consider tossing your raw milk out before it does more than just spoil.

The staff of Mother Jones is, once again, rounding up the heroes and monsters of the past year. Importantly, this is a completely non-exhaustive and subjective list, giving our reporters a chance to write about something that brought joy or discontent. Enjoy.

In the final months of his presidency, Joe Biden visited Angola. He was there to tout billions in US investment in a project called the Lobito Corridor—a railway linking the country to Zambia and Democratic Republic of Congo—and, in turn, land a light punch in our new cold war with China.

As I read about the visit, I had been listening repeatedly to “Red Dust” by billy woods, the idiosyncratic rapper from New York City. He may not be a household name, but woods is increasingly the face of a certain strain of hip-hop—even if he blurs his actual face in all public photos and videos.

Woods has been hailed in the Oxford American (“brilliant”), New York magazine (“a master of his craft”), and the Guardian (“the awesome mind of billy woods”), among others. As a solo artist, head of the label Backwoodz Studioz, and collaborator, woods has been working for decades. Mostly, he’s created underground, off-the-beaten-path rap. But more notoriety came in recent years—especially because of collaborations with ELUCID as Armand Hammer.

He famously grew up moving between Zimbabwe and the United States. His mother was a professor of English literature, and his father was a Marxist scholar who worked in politics. Perhaps this background is what leads his songs to hit on a dissonance that has been heavily on my mind in 2024: the difference between what the US says about the world and what the world says about itself.

As with most woods’ songs, I cannot sum up a clear meaning in “Red Dust”; it’s a menagerie. But a few lines had stuck in my head. Early on, woods raps:

Knock the plane out the sky
Spark the genocide
Let’s see who gives who a place to hide

You might be surprised (you might not!)

Woods here is referencing the 1994 killing of Rwandan President Juvenal Habyarimana, which ultimately led to the genocide of over 1 million people. (This year marked the 30th anniversary.) Upon first hearing the line, I was struck by the haunting parenthetical about who would aid who in a crisis (you might not!). When I was listening this year, I thought a lot about the “you.” It makes the listener complicit in the horror. You ask yourself: Where would I hide? Who would I hide? Would I be surprised in myself? In others?

In “Red Dust,” the speed at which woods moves from the global historical to the personal always stuns me. And this year, this particular gift struck me as an important one—it provided clarity as world events hit home. For how long, and for how many years, have (certain) Americans convinced themselves that history happens to other people? The consequences of this solipsism have been stunning.

In woods, I often hear the aching sadness perched as nonchalance—the barely restrained rage—of someone who knows that tragedy in textbooks happens to real people: your neighbors, your friends, and you.

As I read about Biden’s visit to Angola, woods was stuck in my head once more. As I skimmed the usual raft of clips in the mainstream press, I could not help but notice how the past relationship between the two countries was discussed. Some articles mentioned battles between the former Soviet Union and the US in Angola and the new “rivalry” with China. But I saw almost no mention of how—rather famously—the United States helped the apartheid regime of South Africa invade Angola during the 1970s.

I wouldn’t call this elision repression of a known truth or even self-censorship. Instead, it seems as if we are choosing to let the truth slip away from laziness. Our role in Angola was simply another piece of Cold War realpolitik—one of many fights, a few more foreign deaths, masses of money and arms spent sprinkled in some far-off land—which, at the end of the day, was so common it’s a bit hard to keep track of how it all happened.

After reading about Angola, I came back to his song “Cuito Cuanavale,” about a late 1980s battle in the country.

In it, Cuba fights alongside Angola against South African forces. In his writing, woods connects that warfare to Rhodesia’s Ian Smith, China’s modern push into Africa, oil, and Robert Mugabe. The most punching line for me in the song is a sigh: “History will absolve me,” woods says, maybe referencing the famous speech by Fidel Castro, followed by a half-thought: “Probably.”

Woods is the only rapper I know who writes about that part of American history. And this year, it was impossible not to see the US in that light.

It was woods I thought about while editing our coverage of the US’ role in Israel’s war in Gaza. In particular, I thought nearly every day of these lyrics to “Soft Landing”:

A single death is a tragedy, but eggs make omelets
Statistics how he look at war casualties
Killin’ is one thing, what sticks is how casually
Nonchalant, 5 in the morning, what I grew up on

I listened to woods on a long bike ride home after seeing the film Soundtrack to a Coup d’Etat, which poetically explains America’s role in the death of Patrice Lumumba, the first prime minister of Democratic Republic of Congo. (If you’re interested, I have been following up on the film by reading The Lumumba Plot: The Secret History of the CIA and a Cold War Assassination by Stuart A. Reid; it is a fantastic look at CIA meddling in the name of the Cold War.)

Put simply, this is the gift of woods. He is an obsessive, but cautious, raiser of the history many want to forget. I have continually sent around a long quote he gave in a recent interview on how random the rules of our current order can be. These few paragraphs might best explain this year—and many years to come:

Things seem like they can only be so until they’re not, you know?

My family left Zimbabwe in late 1989. In 1988—again, I was a child, but from a very political family—there was no sense in my mind that South Africa was any closer to collapsing than Israel. And within a few years apartheid rule had collapsed in South Africa. We can have a separate conversation about what came after it, but apartheid rule did indeed collapse. Majority rule came into effect, and for that to happen a lot of people died throughout the entire southern Africa region. And here we are, however many years later, and Israel is actually bigger and more powerful than it was at that time. So it just goes to show that sometimes things are not as far away as they seem, and sometimes things that seem on the verge of happening end up being far away—or they’re never going to happen. [Laughs.] Nobody knows what is under the surface.

Think of all the forces, energies, and waves of history that it took to bring about the transformation of the Republican Party into a Donald Trump cult of personality. It goes back through the Tea Party to when talk radio was dominant in the nineties. I remember going into a friend’s house, and their mom would be listening to Rush Limbaugh. He would just be droning on for hours, and I’d be like, “Is this for real?” The presentation was different from the traditional presentation of right-wing politics that I had seen up to that point. At that time Bill Clinton was president, but before that, there had been three straight terms of Republican presidencies. So all of these forces are happening, and it just takes the right person, at the right time, to light the right spark and make what previously would have seemed impossible the law of the land.

When I was a child, Somalia had a government. They might not have one again for the rest of my life.

“So where’s my German friends?” Donald Trump asked a fawning Mar-a-Lago crowd on Election Day, before flashing a grin and a thumbs up for a photo with a group of young men.

The German friends in question: Fabrice Ambrosini, a former politician forced to resign after a video surfaced of him doing a Hitler salute; Leonard Jäger, a far-right influencer who has promoted the Reichsbürger movement, an extremist group behind a failed coup attempt in 2022; and Phillipp-Anders Rau, a candidate for Alternative für Deutschland (AfD), Germany’s far-right party.

Giddy with excitement, shoulder-to-shoulder with Trump, they cheered “fight, fight, fight,” echoing Trump’s post assassination-attempt rallying cry, before repeating it in German—“kämpft, kämpft, kämpft”—fists pumping. 

“Let’s hope Donald Trump creates the renewal for his country that we in the AfD are planning for our country,” Rau wrote on Instagram after. 

Inspired by his tough-guy bravado and promises to expel immigrants from the US, the German far-right has projected onto Trump a “fantasy of ethnonational power” they seek to replicate, says Mabel Berezin, director of Cornell University’s Institute for European Studies. 

To them, he’s not just a kindred spirit—he could also be a harbinger. A mere 10 hours after he cemented his return to the White House, the German government dramatically collapsed over a budget dispute, opening up the German far-right’s best chance at seizing power since World War II. With support from about 1 in 5 Germans, the AfD has become the country’s second most popular party ahead of new elections in February.

And on Friday it received backing from one of Trump’s top allies. Elon Musk called the AfD Germany’s savior in a Tweet seen by more than 33 million people, sparking another round of far-right digital fist-pumping. The AfD instantly plastered Musk’s face on an ad and its co-leader recorded a video message profusely thanking him.

https://twitter.com/elonmusk/status/1869986946031988780

“History has shown that developments that start in America eventually spill over across the Atlantic and ultimately influence our lives as well,” reads a translated post from Journalistenwatch, an influential far-right blog. “And we also know that in the USA, thanks to the triumphant success of Donald Trump, the pendulum has finally swung in the other direction and freedom for everyone has finally risen from the ashes.”

At the core of this transnational love affair—more so than their admiration for Russia, their demonization of the LGBTQ+ community, and their romanticized nostalgia for the past—is a single racist idea: that dark-skinned immigrants pose an existential threat and must be sent back to their home countries, a political concept known as remigration, which has become the global far-right’s cause célèbre over the last decade.

The AfD’s central pledge is to counteract the so-called Great Replacement, a conspiracy theory that claims white Europeans or Americans are the victims of a plot by non-white immigrants to “replace” them and poison their societies. It was the inspiration for shooters to take up arms and target Muslim victims in Christchurch, Jews in Pittsburgh, Black people in Buffalo, and gay people in Bratislava.

“It’s the thing that brings together the far-right in multiple countries,” Heidi Beirich, co-founder of the nonprofit Global Project Against Hate and Extremism, told Mother Jones. 

If Great Replacement is the myth, remigration is its manual, taking the conspiracy theory’s white supremacy at face value and proposing the mass deportations Trump has championed. In fact, Trump used the term in a September post on Truth Social promoting his candidacy, writing, “[We will] return Kamala’s illegal migrants to their home countries (also known as remigration). I will save our cities and towns in Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Pennsylvania, North Carolina, and all across America.”

A viral dance hit among the party’s younger supporters, played at an AfD election party, features lyrics like “remigration is happening, put the turbines up real high” and the chorus “we’re deporting all of them!”

The term was popularized by Europe’s Identitarian movement (whose American offshoot, Identity Evropa, helped plan the 2017 Charlottesville riots) and its Austrian leader Martin Sellner (who was investigated for corresponding with the Christchurch shooter). 

The AfD found itself in hot water last January when German journalists at Correctiv uncovered a clandestine conference with Sellner as keynote speaker. There, he pitched a remigration plan to senior party members that would deport millions of Germans, including citizens with non-German backgrounds and the “non-assimilated,” sparking nationwide protests and a debate about banning the party. Sellner has since been banned from entering Germany.

Since then, the party has been cagey about what exactly it means by remigration, with some AfD officials describing it simply as deporting asylum-seekers who’ve broken the law. Still others are more clear about their intentions to carry out widespread deportations, a taboo and unconstitutional idea that for many Germans is reminiscent of the not-so-distant history of the Holocaust.

This November, the AfD in the state of Bavaria passed a “resolution for remigration,” calling for the creation of new ways “to more easily revoke German citizenship that has already been granted” and “comprehensive remigration in the millions over the next 10 years.” The party has started using plane imagery in official posters and advertisements, like one papered all over the city of Erfurt showing a bright blue sky and a jet airliner above the words: “Summer, Sun, Remigration.” 

A viral dance hit among the party’s younger supporters, played at an AfD election party, features lyrics like “remigration is happening, put the turbines up real high” and the chorus “we’re deporting all of them!” over AI-generated images of dancing flight attendants and downtrodden Black and Brown men pushing luggage through an airport. 

“Within the AfD there’s people who say the quiet part out loud,” says Jakob Guhl, a researcher of the far-right at the Institute for Strategic Dialogue, a counter-extremism think tank. “There might even be some people who don’t think there is a quiet part.”

One of those people is certainly Björn Höcke, head of the AfD in the state of Thuringia, where the party won a landmark victory this fall, toppling a nearly eight-decade postwar norm. A German court ruled Höcke could legally be described as a “fascist,” and he’s been convicted twice of using banned Nazi slogans.

“If Björn Höcke becomes Bundeskanzler,” Guhl says, using the German word for chancellor, “I think then really the aim is to make Germany more ethnically homogenous and revoke people’s citizenship in some way and then force them to leave.” In August, Höcke weighed in on a government proposal to regulate knives, writing on Telegram that the real problem was “the attitude of people who have a foreign background and despise our way of life and are prepared to use lethal force.”

He added, “We are confronted with mass immigration that can lead to a collapse in civilization. People from foreign cultures, whose lives are shaped by different values ​​than ours and who are not prepared to assimilate, are permanently changing our social life simply through their numbers.”

“The implication of the AfD’s messaging is, these aren’t real Germans,” Beirich says. “They don’t belong here. They’re the ones causing crime, taking your jobs. This all sounds very much like Trump.”

This ideology spreads easily across a digital ecosystem of alternative media and social media apps. Central to the ecosystem is Telegram, known for its nearly non-existent content moderation and ability to create broadcast-style channels of unlimited size, which has become the app of choice for neo-Nazis, extremists, and conspiracy theorists. 

In the two-month window surrounding the US presidential election, 449 far-right German Telegram channels mentioned Trump in more than 10,000 messages—that’s about 5 percent of the total messages these channels sent during that time. 

There, users have breathlessly followed Trump’s cabinet picks and shared clips from American influencers, including Tucker Carlson and Alex Jones. They’ve borrowed American complaints of a “censorship industrial complex” and amplified unfounded allegations of election fraud. 

Watching what resonates in America, Germans then deploy their network of far-right podcasters, media personalities, influencers, and politicians to echo similar claims and conspiracy theories.

“The implication of the AfD’s messaging is, these aren’t real Germans. They don’t belong here. They’re the ones causing crime, taking your jobs. This all sounds very much like Trump.”

For example, Stefan Magnet, founder of the Austrian far-right news broadcaster AUF1, wrote in October without any evidence to his nearly 75,000 Telegram followers about a “globalist world of lies” in which German government ministers “are preparing to censor Elon Musk’s news service ‘X’ in Europe. Above all: If Trump wins, they will shut down the platform or brutally censor it.” 

“Some of these debates are certainly being repackaged and refought with very different narratives and angles and in the German context as well,” Guhl says. “So you definitely see certain things that first pop off in the US seem to be working quite well there and that are then being adopted in Germany as well.”

German Chancellor Olaf Scholz lost a vote of confidence in mid-December, officially triggering a snap election on February 23, only the fourth ever in the country’s modern history. The Christian Democrats, former Chancellor Angela Merkel’s old party and the current opposition, are expected to come to power and invite other parties to form a coalition government. 

Thus far, the Christian Democrats have promised to uphold a “firewall” against far-right parties like the AfD, forbidding them from joining a coalition. While that firewall is likely to hold in 2025, there’s already been collaboration between the Christian Democrats and the AfD in local government; and the more votes the AfD receives, the greater its ability to steer Germany rightward.

Take this statement from the center-left Scholz in August, after the AfD spent all summer hammering him on immigration: “We will have to do everything we can to ensure that those who cannot and are not allowed to stay in Germany are repatriated and deported.”

It marked a departure for a longtime supporter of Germany’s migration policies and a recognition that the AfD’s messaging—and, to some degree, Trump’s—was resonating with voters. 

“Trump says he’s going to deport millions. He’s going to have huge raids.
That is something that brings joy to the hearts of people like those in the AfD and other far-right parties,” Beirich says.

This story was originally published by Grist and is reproduced here as part of the Climate Desk collaboration.

As global temperatures rise from the burning of fossil fuels, researchers and policymakers have proposed solutions like installing renewable energy, replacing gasoline-powered cars with electric ones, and developing technology to suck carbon out of the air. But these policies often address climate change in isolation—without regard for other pressing issues like a decline in biodiversity, the contamination of freshwater sources, and the pollution of agricultural soils. 

A new report released Tuesday by the United Nations’ expert panel on biodiversity makes the case for a different approach based on addressing the “nexus” between two or more out of five essential issue areas: climate change, biodiversity, food, human health, and water. Such an approach is not only more likely to help the world meet various UN targets on biodiversity, sustainable development, and climate mitigation; it’s also more cost-effective.

“We have to move decisions and actions beyond single-issue silos,” said Paula Harrison, a professor of land and water modeling at the UK Centre for Ecology and Hydrology and a co-chair of the report, in a statement. Other scientific reports have studied the interlinkages between two or three of these issues, but she told reporters on Tuesday that this latest report is the “most ambitious” to date.

The new report was the result of three years of work of the Intergovernmental Science-Policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services, or IPBES, an expert body that’s analogous to the United Nations’ Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, which periodically assesses the state of the science on global warming.

The report centers on biodiversity—that’s the IPBES’s remit, after all—describing how the variety of life on Earth is “essential to our very existence.” But it goes out of its way to show how rapidly accelerating biodiversity loss is both contributing to and being exacerbated by other crises. Climate change, for instance, is making some habitats inhospitable to their erstwhile animal populations, while the loss of those populations can have impacts on freshwater availability and carbon storage. The five interlinking issues were selected by representatives of the 147 IPBES’s member countries.

Meanwhile, solutions that focus on just one issue may have detrimental effects on other elements. Pete Smith, a professor of soils and global change at the University of Aberdeen in the United Kingdom, gave the example of bioenergy with carbon capture and storage, or BECCS, a climate solution in which crops are grown to draw CO2 out of the air and then burned to generate energy. The resulting greenhouse gas emissions are captured and stored in rock formations, with the aim of removing them from the carbon cycle permanently.

The problem, Smith said, is that to implement this process on a large scale would require vast tracts of land that might otherwise have been used to grow food crops—so BECCS can unintentionally harm food security. Devoting land to single-variety crops can also use up lots of water and jeopardize biodiversity.

“When you just focus on climate change,” he told Grist, “you might end up with some solutions that damage other elements of the nexus.”

In other scenarios, it’s not the solution itself that’s problematic; it’s the way it’s implemented. Planting trees, for example, can be done in consultation with local communities and taking into account unique ecosystem needs. Or, as Smith described, a big company seeking to generate carbon credits could evict Native peoples from their land and start a plantation of fast-growing, nonnative tree species. 

The latter situation might benefit climate change in the narrowest sense, Smith said, but “with a whole bunch of negative impacts on people, on health, on water.”

The assessment finds that, between 2001 and 2021, every one of the five issues analyzed has been damaged by factors including urbanization, war, and growing per capita consumption—except for food availability. That could be explained by a kind of decision-making the report describes as “food first,” in which more food is grown to benefit human health at the expense of biodiversity, freshwater availability, and climate change.

Decision-making built solely around climate change or conservation could be similarly counterproductive, the report says, based on an analysis of 186 future scenarios crafted from 52 scientific studies. The most promising alternative is a “nature-oriented nexus” focused on all five target areas, emphasizing “strong environmental regulation, sustainable agricultural practices, lower rates of global per capita consumption, and strong development of green technologies.”

More than 160 scientists from 57 countries contributed to the report, which was formally adopted this weekend at IPBES’s annual conference in Windhoek, Namibia. During a press conference on Tuesday, the authors said they were ending the year “on a high note for multilateralism,” in contrast to the stalemates that defined other intergovernmental negotiations in 2024, like the global plastics treaty and the climate conference in Baku, Azerbaijan.

In addition to the nexus report, IPBES member states also approved a report on the “transformative change” that is needed to address global crises connected to biodiversity, including climate change. Notably, that report says that “disconnection from and domination over nature and people” is at the root of toxic chemical pollution, deforestation, the burning of fossil fuels, and other causes of climate and environmental degradation.

Both reports highlight the need to address the inequitable concentration of wealth and power and the prioritization of short-term material gains in order to “prevent triggering the potentially irreversible decline and projected collapse of key ecosystem functions.” 

“Right now, our economic and financial system is not fit for purpose; it does not value nature,” Pamela McElwee, a professor of human ecology at Rutgers University and a co-chair of the nexus report, told reporters on Tuesday. 

The nexus report finds that $7 trillion a year in public subsidies and private financial incentives go toward activities that directly damage the five issue areas. Only $200 billion—less than 3 percent of that total—is spent directly on improving biodiversity.

Because the nexus report was requested directly by the governments of IPBES’s 147 member countries—among them, China, India, Indonesia, Nigeria, Pakistan, the United States, and most of Europe—the scientists who contributed to it are hopeful that their recommendations will be adopted by policymakers. In the report, they highlight 71 cross-cutting responses to interlinked global problems, ranging from reducing plastic pollution to conserving wetland ecosystems to providing universal health coverage. 

Smith, who is a soil researcher and has also contributed to reports of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, said working on the report has changed his own outlook. “I’ve tried to apply the nexus thinking on a couple of projects on how climate change affects the food system, and people in disadvantaged communities,” he said. “All of these things are leading me to take a broader, less siloed view than I would have done 10 years ago.”

Previous IPBES reports have shown how biodiversity is “declining faster than at any time in human history.” At the group’s next conference in 2025, it’s expected to present a new assessment of businesses’ impact and dependence on biodiversity, and IPBES plans to release its second global assessment of the state of biodiversity in 2028. 

On Wednesday, California became the first state to issue a declaration of emergency regarding the avian flu (H5N1). That same day, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) confirmed the first severe case of the flu in a human on US soil and outbreaks in cow herds were detected in Southern California.

Still, the threat to humans is low according to the CDC. The agency has traced most human infections back to those handling livestock, and there’s been no reported transmission between people.

“I have dairies that are never coming back from this.”

But for cows and the dairy they produce, it’s a different story. This year was the first time the flu was detected in cows in the US, and it has ripped through many Western states’ dairy farms with startling speed. Since March, the virus has been found in cow herds of 16 states. For the last few months, infected herds have largely been concentrated in California—the state that makes up about 20 percent of the nation’s dairy industry. Last week, Texas, another one of the nation’s top dairy producing states, saw the reappearance of bird flu after two months without a detected outbreak.

In the industry hit hardest by bird flu, the poultry industry, the virus’ spread has resulted in the culling of entire flocks which has lead to higher egg prices on supermarket shelves. Will milk and butter prices soon go the same route? And how worried should you be about consuming dairy?

How exactly does bird flu affect dairy cows?

Some farmers are first identifying outbreaks in their herds through the color and density of the milk, in what they are coining “golden mastitis,” according to Milkweed, a dairy news publication. As early studies by University of Copenhagen researchers found, the virus latches onto dairy cows mammary glands, creating complications for the dairy industry beyond just the cow fatalities.

The virus is proving deadly to cows. According to Colorado State University Professor Jason Lombard, an infectious disease specialist for cattle, the case fatality rates based on a limited set of herds was zero to 15 percent. But California saw an even higher rate of up to 20 percent during a late summer heatwave in the states Central Valley. It was a warning for how the rising number of heatwaves and temps across the country could result in deadlier herd outbreaks in upcoming summers. 

For some of the cows that survived, there was a dip in their dairy production of around 25 percent according to multiple experts I spoke with. As a farmer told Bloomberg News, some of the cows aren’t returning to full production levels, an indication of longer lasting effects of the virus. It’s a finding experts are seeing in other parts of the US, too. According to Lombard, this may be due to the severity of the virus in the cow. According to reporting in Milkweed, there may also be “long-tail” bird flu impacts on a cow’s dairy production, health, and reproduction. Additional research is likely needed to understand the extent of these potential longterm effects of the virus and whether they could spell trouble ahead for recovering farms.  

A spokesperson with the California Department of Food and Agriculture told Mother Jones, “it’s too soon to know how production has been impacted.”

How is this impacting farms and farm workers?

As of today, more than half of the people who’ve contracted H5N1 are dairy farmworkers, according to the CDC. This population is particularly vulnerable because they are often the ones handling milking or milking equipment which can lead to spreading the virus. The CDC is recommending employers take steps to reduce their workers’ exposure to the virus by creating health and safety plans.

The CDC is working with organizations like the National Center for Farm Worker Health to expand testing, PPE availability, and training. According to Bethany Alcauter, a director at the organization, ensuring dairy farmworkers have access to testing is a tricky situation. The 100,000-some workforce faces barriers to accessing health care and testing, such as an inability to take paid-time off to get themselves tested if they are sick. And the system depends on the producer to decide to bring in the health department to oversee potential outbreaks within herds and staff, which doesn’t always happen because there’s no government mandate.

“It’s all recommendations and kindness—that’s what we’re running on. It’s not regulation and enforcement.”

“It’s all recommendations and kindness—that’s what we’re running on,” Alcauter says. “It’s not regulation and enforcement.” She believes the testing infrastructure could be strengthened by “recognizing that farm workers can be public-health first responders if they have the knowledge and the access to the right contacts, in the right system.”

Outside of navigating farmworker health, farmers face economic impacts when the virus spreads through their herds. “What you’re losing at the end of the day is revenue for your farm when it rolls through,” says Will Loux, vice president of economic affairs for the National Milk Producers Federation. “Depending on the financial situation of an individual farm it can certainly be devastating.” 

There are a handful of variables and factors that shape the financial losses of a dairy hit with an outbreak. Luckily, agriculture economist Charles Nicholson at the University of Wisconsin-Madison and some colleagues created a calculator to estimate this financial impact of a bird flu outbreak. Based on Nicholson’s estimates for California, a typical farm of 1500 cattle will lose $120,000 annually. For context, this is about $10,000 more than the median household income of a dairy farmer. Based on those estimates, that would mean California’s farmers have collectively lost about $80 million at most due to avian flu so far. The US Department of Agriculture is providing support for farmers who are impacted by H5N1 outbreaks.

In reviewing a few herd datasets in Michigan, Phillip Durst, a dairy and cattle expert, noted that about half a year after an outbreak, herds were producing around 10 percent less than before. Not only do farmers face massive short term losses, they also struggle to return to full capacity again. And, there are high costs associated with putting resources into taking care of sick animals too. 

Even strong diaries that had “tip top” biosecurity measures, or comprehensive environmental protection measures in place, are shutting down, according to Anja Raudabaugh, CEO of Western Untied Dairies, a trade organization overseeing farms across California. “I have dairies that are never coming back from this,” Raudabaugh says. “This was just so cataclysmic for them. They’re not going to be able to get over that loss in production hump.”

There is some hope around the corner. A vaccine for cows, which the USDA claims is in the works, could help stop the spread and protect remaining uninfected herds. “Until we have a vaccine that we can inoculate them with at an early age, we have no choices except to hope that herd immunity sets in soon,” Raudabaugh says.

What’s the effect on milk?

In June, the US dropped 1.5 percent in production, around 278 million pounds of milk, compared to 2023. It was one of the early potential indicators of the industry’s vulnerability to this virus. However, since then, the nation’s production rebounded to above 2023 numbers. It’s largely why consumers are not seeing the same impact on the price and availability of dairy products like they are with eggs. 

“When one state gets H5N1 there are a lot of other states that tend to pick up the slack. So in general, when you look at the national numbers, you really have to squint to kind of find where H5N1 is in the milk production”,” says Loux.

California produces around a fifth of the nation’s dairy, and since August over half of the state’s herds had an outbreak. In October, California saw a near four percent drop in milk production compared to 2023, equating to about 127 million pounds of milk.

On Thursday, the USDA released November’s data on milk production showing California with the largest decrease this year of 301 million fewer gallons of milk compared to 2023. That is more than double the decrease of last month. Still, the nation only saw a near 1 percent decrease since 2023.

How the next administration handles this virus may spell a different story for the dairy industry and the country. With Trump’s history of downplaying infectious diseases and promoting unfounded cures, and public health cabinet nominations who decry vaccine effectiveness, a human-to-human outbreak could lead to another pandemic. Likely to take over the USDA is Brooke Rollins, who, according to Politico, had less experience in agriculture than others on Trump’s shortlist (though she does have a degree in agriculture development). It’s currently unclear what her plans are for handling this virus and supporting farmers and the industry at large. Rollins did not respond to my request for an interview.

Should I be worried about getting sick from drinking milk?

Drinking pasteurized milk is safe. For more than 100 years, pasteurization has kept the public safe by killing harmful bacteria and viruses.

The CDC is warning against raw milk consumption, on the other hand, due to it potentially having high-levels of bird flu. While there’s yet to be a human case of bird flu traced to raw milk consumption, there is fear that the unpasteurized product could lead to illness. And raw milk loaded with the virus has been linked to deaths in other mammals, like cats.

Robert F. Kennedy Jr, the likely soon-to-be director of Health and Human Services under Trump, has a history of promoting raw milk. Earlier this month, Kennedy’s favorite raw milk brand was recalled by California after testing positive for bird flu. Kennedy’s rise to public health power comes at time when raw milk is rising in popularity on TikTok.

In response to the spread of bird flu in raw milk, the USDA announced a national strategy requiring milk samples nationwide be tested by the agency. Since officially beginning testing on Monday, 16 new bird flu outbreaks in cow herds have been identified in two states.

For now, as the nation continues to work on controlling the spread of bird flu, consider tossing your raw milk out before it does more than just spoil.

On a long flight in the mid-aughts, I decided to read The Case for Israel by Alan Dershowitz. I thought of it like giving myself an assignment, the kind of thing I tended do when I was younger. I wanted to understand an argument I expected to disagree with.

But this proved to be a mistake. The Case for Israel is not a good enough book to reward that kind of exercise. I found it chock-full of conventional pro-Israel arguments that avoid the most difficult questions about Zionism.

And yet it an important book, maybe more so now than in 2003, when Alan Dershowitz was not advising the White House.

I had occasion to reconsider the Case for Israel in 2018, when Dershowitz let it be known that he had recently begun counseling Donald Trump on Middle East policy. I reported that Dershowitz had also recently agreed to a contract to provide advice to an American lobbyist who represented Qatar, an arrangement that arguably undermined the independence of the advice he offered the White House. Asked about this, Dershowitz hotly volunteered, unprompted, that he was an “expert” on Israel because he had written books, most notably, The Case for Israel, on the subject.

The problem with this argument is that the book, which I reread this year, is terrible. It would be bad even if you agreed with it. It is, first all of, kind of a gimmick. Like one of those famous coaches hawking business tips, Dershowitz tapped his fame as a defense lawyer to structure his book as a “defense of Israel…in the court of public opinion.” There are 32 chapters where he outlines what he says are common anti-Israel arguments, which he rebuts in sections that largely summarize what even then were well-worn pro-Israeli bromides.

And the book does not actually address the most compelling pro-Palestinian arguments. You might, for example, expect a chapter titled “Did European Jews Displace Palestinians?” to answer that question. The reader may look here for the author acknowledge that yes, Israelis expelled hundreds of thousands of Palestinians during the Arab-Israeli War in 1947-1948, even if he then attempted to justify that ethnic cleansing.

But Dershowitz doesn’t do any of that. Instead he details the historical presence of some Jews in Palestine, which is not responsive to his own question. He says many Jews, prior to the war, bought land in Palestine from absentee landlords, which is also off topic. And he downplays the extent of the Palestinian population in Israel at the time. He just ignores the well-documented Israeli efforts to expel Palestinians. (This policy was detailed in Benny Morris’ 1988 The Birth of the Palestinian Refugee Problem, which Dershowitz cites, for other purposes, in the same chapter.)

Dershowitz has been accused of plagiarizing material in this book, from Joan Peters’ 1984 book From Time Immemorial, a claim he denied so hard he once reportedly tried to get then-California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger to suppress publication of a book detailing the accusation. (Dershowitz has not responded to my request for comment regarding these accusations.) Regardless, the book seems hastily written. Like other Dershowitz writing, it sounds like he dictated parts in an airport bathroom and never revised.

But despite its shortcomings, this is book which informs the views of people who are about to resume making US policy on Israel. Expert or not, Dershowitz really did advise Trump on Israel during the president-elect’s first term. And he also offered advice to Trump’s son-in-law Jared Kushner that informed the so-called Abraham Accords. (Dershowitz later nominated Kushner and his deputy Avi Berkowitz for the Nobel Peace prize, a proposal substantially undermined by Hamas’ October 7 attack and ensuing war.)

Dershowitz last month claimed he is assembling “legal dream team” to defend Netanyahu and former defense minister Yoav Gallant in the International Criminal Court, which issued arrest warrants for the men. The former OJ Simpson defender is still very much making the case for Israel. Dershowitz is also a confidant of Mike Huckabee, Trump’s pick for ambassador and a frequent guest on Huckabee’s YouTube show. So his views continue to have influence.

To be clear, I’m not suggesting reading this book. From Time Immemorial might be a better choice. But it’s worth considering that this lazy, reflexively pro-Israel thinking is again informing Middle East policy. The Case for Israel is important. And it’s really bad.

The staff of Mother Jones is, once again, rounding up the heroes and monsters of the past year. Importantly, this is a completely non-exhaustive and subjective list, giving our reporters a chance to write about something that brought joy or discontent. Enjoy.

In the final months of his presidency, Joe Biden visited Angola. He was there to tout billions in US investment in a project called the Lobito Corridor—a railway linking the country to Zambia and Democratic Republic of Congo—and, in turn, land a light punch in our new cold war with China.

As I read about the visit, I had been listening repeatedly to “Red Dust” by billy woods, the idiosyncratic rapper from New York City. He may not be a household name, but woods is increasingly the face of a certain strain of hip-hop—even if he blurs his actual face in all public photos and videos.

Woods has been hailed in the Oxford American (“brilliant”), New York magazine (“a master of his craft”), and the Guardian (“the awesome mind of billy woods”), among others. As a solo artist, head of the label Backwoodz Studioz, and collaborator, woods has been working for decades. Mostly, he’s created underground, off-the-beaten-path rap. But more notoriety came in recent years—especially because of collaborations with ELUCID as Armand Hammer.

He famously grew up moving between Zimbabwe and the United States. His mother was a professor of English literature, and his father was a Marxist scholar who worked in politics. Perhaps this background is what leads his songs to hit on a dissonance that has been heavily on my mind in 2024: the difference between what the US says about the world and what the world says about itself.

As with most woods’ songs, I cannot sum up a clear meaning in “Red Dust”; it’s a menagerie. But a few lines had stuck in my head. Early on, woods raps:

Knock the plane out the sky
Spark the genocide
Let’s see who gives who a place to hide

You might be surprised (you might not!)

Woods here is referencing the 1994 killing of Rwandan President Juvenal Habyarimana, which ultimately led to the genocide of over 1 million people. (This year marked the 30th anniversary.) Upon first hearing the line, I was struck by the haunting parenthetical about who would aid who in a crisis (you might not!). When I was listening this year, I thought a lot about the “you.” It makes the listener complicit in the horror. You ask yourself: Where would I hide? Who would I hide? Would I be surprised in myself? In others?

In “Red Dust,” the speed at which woods moves from the global historical to the personal always stuns me. And this year, this particular gift struck me as an important one—it provided clarity as world events hit home. For how long, and for how many years, have (certain) Americans convinced themselves that history happens to other people? The consequences of this solipsism have been stunning.

In woods, I often hear the aching sadness perched as nonchalance—the barely restrained rage—of someone who knows that tragedy in textbooks happens to real people: your neighbors, your friends, and you.

As I read about Biden’s visit to Angola, woods was stuck in my head once more. As I skimmed the usual raft of clips in the mainstream press, I could not help but notice how the past relationship between the two countries was discussed. Some articles mentioned battles between the former Soviet Union and the US in Angola and the new “rivalry” with China. But I saw almost no mention of how—rather famously—the United States helped the apartheid regime of South Africa invade Angola during the 1970s.

I wouldn’t call this elision repression of a known truth or even self-censorship. Instead, it seems as if we are choosing to let the truth slip away from laziness. Our role in Angola was simply another piece of Cold War realpolitik—one of many fights, a few more foreign deaths, masses of money and arms spent sprinkled in some far-off land—which, at the end of the day, was so common it’s a bit hard to keep track of how it all happened.

After reading about Angola, I came back to his song “Cuito Cuanavale,” about a late 1980s battle in the country.

In it, Cuba fights alongside Angola against South African forces. In his writing, woods connects that warfare to Rhodesia’s Ian Smith, China’s modern push into Africa, oil, and Robert Mugabe. The most punching line for me in the song is a sigh: “History will absolve me,” woods says, maybe referencing the famous speech by Fidel Castro, followed by a half-thought: “Probably.”

Woods is the only rapper I know who writes about that part of American history. And this year, it was impossible not to see the US in that light.

It was woods I thought about while editing our coverage of the US’ role in Israel’s war in Gaza. In particular, I thought nearly every day of these lyrics to “Soft Landing”:

A single death is a tragedy, but eggs make omelets
Statistics how he look at war casualties
Killin’ is one thing, what sticks is how casually
Nonchalant, 5 in the morning, what I grew up on

I listened to woods on a long bike ride home after seeing the film Soundtrack to a Coup d’Etat, which poetically explains America’s role in the death of Patrice Lumumba, the first prime minister of Democratic Republic of Congo. (If you’re interested, I have been following up on the film by reading The Lumumba Plot: The Secret History of the CIA and a Cold War Assassination by Stuart A. Reid; it is a fantastic look at CIA meddling in the name of the Cold War.)

Put simply, this is the gift of woods. He is an obsessive, but cautious, raiser of the history many want to forget. I have continually sent around a long quote he gave in a recent interview on how random the rules of our current order can be. These few paragraphs might best explain this year—and many years to come:

Things seem like they can only be so until they’re not, you know?

My family left Zimbabwe in late 1989. In 1988—again, I was a child, but from a very political family—there was no sense in my mind that South Africa was any closer to collapsing than Israel. And within a few years apartheid rule had collapsed in South Africa. We can have a separate conversation about what came after it, but apartheid rule did indeed collapse. Majority rule came into effect, and for that to happen a lot of people died throughout the entire southern Africa region. And here we are, however many years later, and Israel is actually bigger and more powerful than it was at that time. So it just goes to show that sometimes things are not as far away as they seem, and sometimes things that seem on the verge of happening end up being far away—or they’re never going to happen. [Laughs.] Nobody knows what is under the surface.

Think of all the forces, energies, and waves of history that it took to bring about the transformation of the Republican Party into a Donald Trump cult of personality. It goes back through the Tea Party to when talk radio was dominant in the nineties. I remember going into a friend’s house, and their mom would be listening to Rush Limbaugh. He would just be droning on for hours, and I’d be like, “Is this for real?” The presentation was different from the traditional presentation of right-wing politics that I had seen up to that point. At that time Bill Clinton was president, but before that, there had been three straight terms of Republican presidencies. So all of these forces are happening, and it just takes the right person, at the right time, to light the right spark and make what previously would have seemed impossible the law of the land.

When I was a child, Somalia had a government. They might not have one again for the rest of my life.

Elon Musk appears to be leaning even further into a full neo-Nazi embrace. Following his social media assault to block a congressional spending bill meant to avoid a government shutdown, the tech billionaire took to X and described the racist, far-right Alternative for Germany (AfD) party as Germany’s last, best hope. 

“Only the AfD can save Germany,” he posted on X early Friday. He was responding to Naomi Seibt, a young German right-wing influencer—the Washington Post dubbed her the anti-Greta Thunberg for her climate change denialism—whose caption in part read, “The presumptive next chancellor Friedrich Merz (CDU) is horrified by the idea that Germany should follow Elon Musk’s and Javier Milei’s example.” Similar to Argentina President Javier Milei’s “chainsaw” policies, Musk has promised $2 trillion in cuts to federal spending as co-lead of the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE). 

https://twitter.com/elonmusk/status/1869986946031988780

Olaf Scholz, the current chancellor of Germany, dismissed Musk’s remarks in an unrelated press conference on Friday. “We have freedom of speech, and that also applies to multibillionaires,” Scholz said. “But freedom of speech also means that you can say things that are not right and do not contain good political advice.”

The AfD is controversial even among other European far-right parties because many of its leaders are not shy about expressing Nazi sympathies. In May, France’s far-right party led by Marine Le Pen split from the AfD in its European Parliament coalition after the German party’s top candidate, Maximilian Krah, said that a person was “not automatically a criminal” just because they had been a member of the SS, Adolph Hitlter’s paramilitary organization. 

As my colleague Isabela Dias wrote, many Germans consider the AfD party as ethnonationalists who want to mass deport all “unassimilated citizens” with non-German ethnic backgrounds. The country’s domestic intelligence agency designated the AfD as a “suspected extremist group” back in 2021 and is currently holding the party under observation. 

Reports that AfD members held a covert meeting regarding the mass deportation plan led to protests earlier this year, but despite this, the party is polling in second place at 19 percent —behind Merz’s CDU/CSU political alliance at 31 percent—in the lead-up to Germany’s snap election in February 2025. 

Musk has been amplifying right-wing, anti-immigration voices on X for years and has already questioned criticism aimed at the AfD back in June. In September 2023, he denounced Germany for giving money to charities and rescuing migrants in the Mediterranean Sea. 

In the US, many Republicans support Musk’s growing political influence. “The Speaker of the House need not be a member of Congress,” Sen. Rand Paul (R-KY) said on X early Thursday. “Nothing would disrupt the swamp more than electing Elon Musk.”

“I’d be open to supporting @elonmusk for Speaker of the House,” wrote Rep. Majorie Taylor Greene, who reposted Paul. “The establishment needs to be shattered.” 

In a world of oligarchies, the richest man in the world is pushing the most destructive policies possible, and it’s marginalized communities like immigrants who inevitably will suffer the consequences. With a looming Donald Trump administration, a Republican majority in both chambers of Congress, and a conservative Supreme Court, this spells trouble for US immigrants—GOP government officials say they intend to end birthright citizenship, limit legal immigration, and enact mass deportation. 

Musk is also increasingly going global with his attempts to influence elections. He previously has shown interest in funding other anti-immigration parties, such as Nigel Farage’s Reform UK, in which reports suggest he has contributed as much as $100 million. Musk met with Farage earlier this week at Mar-a-Lago to discuss the donation. 

The bacon in your BLT now costs nearly twice as much as it did 15 years ago, but inflation is only part of the reason. Broadly speaking, food and drink prices only grew by about 50 percent during that time. So, what’s up with the meat?

The answer may have to do with Agri Stats, a small data venture based in Indiana. In 2023, the Department of Justice, backed by a coalition of state attorneys general, sued the company, accusing it of violating the Sherman Antitrust Act by enabling the exchange of anticompetitive information, leading to artificially high meat prices. (Agri Stats has denied wrongdoing.)

The exchange works like this: For two decades, Agri Stats has been collecting metrics from the country’s largest meat processors on all kinds of things—pork and chicken-thigh inventories, production speeds, meatpacking wages. It analyzes the intel and creates reports that it distributes back to its members—dominant players that can afford to pay millions for a subscription—which use the info to set prices. Agri Stats had been running this exchange within Federal Trade Commission antitrust “safety zones” guidelines that permitted “reasonable” sharing of information between rivals in a given sector.

Those guidelines were rescinded in 2023, which opened the door for the DOJ to claim the information exchanges harm competition, in part because Agri Stats focuses on boosting the industry’s profitability—in some cases, it allegedly encouraged companies to restrict output, thereby reducing supply, and jack up their prices. (Agri Stats argues that it helps protein producers identify ways to keep production costs, and prices, low.)

“Consumers have very little choice for where to purchase meat, and farmers have very little choice for where to sell it.”

Agri Stats isn’t solely to blame, of course. Just four conglomerates—JBS Foods, Tyson Foods, Cargill, and Marfrig—control up to 85 percent of the meat industry’s supply chain. For many years, Agri Stats’ member firms accounted for more than 90 percent of broiler chicken, 80 percent of pork, and 90 percent of turkey sold in the United States. As long as the giants all raised their prices, the DOJ argues, there was little competitive risk in doing so.

This is not the first time the big meatpackers have faced scrutiny for monopolistic behavior. In the early 20th century, a federal investigation concluded that the era’s five biggest players were colluding, which threatened competition. The resulting Packers and Stockyards Act of 1921 aimed to end such behavior by prohibiting unfair pricing, manipulation of supply chains, and other noncompetitive activities.

But in the 1980s, a shift in the courts and the election of President Ronald Reagan led the DOJ to abandon aspects of antitrust enforcement as the new administration embraced conservative economist Milton Friedman’s belief that markets will self-correct. A flurry of mergers followed. And tech advancements allowed large slaughterhouses to process meat faster and more cheaply than the smaller plants.

Consolidation, combined with sophisticated data tools, has created an environment ripe for manipulation, according to antitrust scholar Austin Frerick, author of the 2024 book Barons: Money, Power, and the Corruption of America’s Food Industry. As companies amass power, he told me, “data brokers become more effective,” thereby encouraging more consolidation: “It’s a system that reinforces itself.

“This isn’t rocket science—it’s really just a question of political courage.”

As a result, “consumers have very little choice for where to purchase meat, and farmers have very little choice for where to sell it,” says Jennifer Curtis, co-founder of North Carolina’s Firsthand Foods, which buys animals from local farmers, coordinates processing, and sells the meat to restaurants and grocers. With the right support, regional supply chains could loosen Big Meat’s grip on the market. Curtis says her state is making headway on boosting the little guys: A recent program, for instance, tapped into Covid relief funds to provide grants for small-scale meat processors that help them serve more farmers and get more of their products to market.

Reining in Big Meat will require bolder federal action. On the campaign trail, Kamala Harris proposed a federal ban on price gouging that could provide a legal framework to challenge market manipulators. But the most important move, Frerick says, is simply to en-force existing laws: “In the meat industry, we already did this all a century ago. This isn’t rocket science—it’s really just a question of political courage.”

Donald Trump has promised to carry out the biggest mass deportations in history during his second term—which would not only be cruel to the millions directly affected, but also disastrous for the country as a whole. As my colleague Isabela Dias wrote earlier this year: 

The nation’s undocumented immigrants grow and harvest the food we eat, construct our homes, and care for our young and elderly. They pay billions in taxes, start businesses that employ Americans, and help rebuild in the wake of climate disasters.

Not only would Trump’s plan rip families and communities apart, but it also would have devastating effects for years to come, including on US citizens who perhaps have overlooked how integral undocumented immigrants are to their everyday life. Trump frames immigration as an existential threat to the United States. He has said immigrants are “taking our jobs,” are “not people,” and are “poisoning the blood of our country.” The reality is that if his plan were implemented, American life as we know it would be ruined—even for those cheering for mass deportation.

The Trump administration’s ability to carry out those plans will be determined, in part, by how willing local officials are to cooperate with immigration enforcement. While states and cities can’t outright prevent the federal government from arresting and deporting people, they can slow them down by refusing to help. Many Democratic leaders across the country, often in regions that have already limited cooperation with Immigration and Customs Enforcement, have responded to Trump’s win by strengthening their commitment to their undocumented constituents and further restricting local resources from flowing to ICE.

Within weeks of the election, the Los Angeles City Council unanimously voted for an ordinance prohibiting the use of resources to assist in federal immigration enforcement; Chicago Mayor Brandon Johnson said the city will not “bend or break” under pressure from the administration, and will continue restricting police collaboration with ICE; Denver Mayor Mike Johnston even said he was willing to go to jail to stop Trump’s mass deportations. “I’m willing to put him in jail,” Tom Homan, Trump’s border czar, responded.

But one blue-city Democrat—among the highest-profile mayors in the world—has taken the opposite approach, cozying up to Trump on immigration and setting a worrying precedent for other sanctuary cities, which will face pressure from the incoming administration, including the threat of losing federal funds.

New York City Mayor Eric Adams, who is currently battling bribery and fraud charges in a federal corruption investigation, has already taken a decidedly more adversarial approach to the Biden administration. Shortly after being indicted, Adams suggested, without evidence, that the administration was targeting him for his criticism of Biden’s immigration policies. He has since largely avoided criticizing Trump, fueling speculation that he is angling for a pardon in his corruption case—as has a recent press conference in which Adams seemed to suggest a “politicized” Justice Department had unfairly targeted him. Trump finally said on Monday that he is considering a pardon for the mayor, saying Adams “was treated pretty unfairly.”

When I asked Adams’ press office whether the mayor was seeking a pardon from Donald Trump, they didn’t directly answer the question, but referred me to an interview earlier this month where the mayor said, “I did nothing wrong. I have a great team of attorneys and any pathway to justice, we’re going to seek that.”

New York City’s response to Trump’s mass deportation plan will not only affect the city’s over 400,000 undocumented residents, but potentially millions more in the region—and beyond, as other cities and towns look to NYC, whose size and power make it a leading example of how cities can respond to the Trump administration. Unlike, for instance, California or Washington State, New York state law does not prevent local officials from cooperating with immigration enforcement—cooperation that could also free up resources for ICE to arrest and deport more people nationwide.

Adams has repeatedly called on the City Council—which in 2014 passed laws limiting police cooperation with immigration enforcement unless a person is convicted of a serious crime—to roll back those restrictions. In February, Adams told the press he opposed New York’s current sanctuary law; advocates said a rollback would strip people of due process protections, allowing deportation without a conviction, and the council rejected the effort. “The Mayor has now made it clear that he wants to gut our detainer laws…and exile people based on their place of birth,” said Rosa Cohen-Cruz of legal defense nonprofit The Bronx Defenders at the time. Adams’ press office pointed me to previous comments by the mayor on targeting those who commit crimes, but did not directly respond to questions on the fact that rolling back sanctuary laws would lead to deportations without convictions. Current laws already allow those convicted of serious crimes like homicide and rape to be turned over to immigration agents who get a judicial warrant.

Recently Adams says his team has been looking into whether he can tweak the city’s sanctuary laws through executive orders. In a CBS New York interview, Adams said the council “stated they’re not willing to change the sanctuary city law. I think they’re wrong. I have my teams looking at my power as executive orders.” Following a meeting with Adams last week, incoming Trump border czar Tom Homan told the New York Post that Adams wants to reopen the ICE office at Rikers Island jail—which was closed down by the City Council in 2014—possibly through an executive order.

Democratic councilmember Lincoln Restler of Brooklyn told the Post that legal challenges should be expected if Adams tries to go through with the plan—and that “it’s clear Mayor Adams is more interested in securing a pardon…than protecting immigrant New Yorkers and upholding our sanctuary city laws.”

At the same press conference earlier this month Adams used to suggest that his indictment was politically motivated, he was asked whether a migrant charged but not convicted of a crime was a criminal—given that he himself is facing charges.

“Americans have certain rights,” Adams responded. “The Constitution is for Americans. I’m not a person that snuck into this country.”

This is, of course, not true: the Constitution affords due process to everyone in the United States, regardless of immigration status. Adams walked those comments back after pushback, acknowledging to New York Public Radio that the Constitution is for everyone—“even for undocumented immigrants.”

It’s not clear whether a mayor charged with, but not yet convicted of, crimes will be able to roll back due process protections for undocumented immigrants in a similar position. But if Adams is successful—especially if he also obtains a pardon—it sets a dangerous precedent for other cities to follow as pressure from the Trump administration grows.

The staff of Mother Jones is, once again, rounding up the heroes and monsters of the past year. Importantly, this is a completely non-exhaustive and subjective list, giving our reporters a chance to write about something that brought joy or discontent. Enjoy.

When you start walking around a city with a small child, you notice two things about cars. One is that a lot of drivers suddenly seem a lot more considerate. They yield at crosswalks. They stop at stop signs. They lay off the horn. People are fully capable of driving normally, in other words—when they want to. But the other thing that jumps out is that a significant number of drivers don’t seem affected at all: They just keep rolling through those stop signs; they inch forward as you cross; they honk when the car in front of them has stopped, like an absolute dipshit, to yield for some guy pushing a stroller. 

It is always a little jarring to know how little you matter. A few centimeters of metal and plastic is enough to reduce anyone outside of it to nothing. Driving, whatever the commercials say, isn’t very good for the soul. It’s not all that great for democracy, either.

The 2024 election was full-on car-brained. “Pain at the pump” is an old standby at this point, and Donald Trump’s campaign was all too eager to add gas to the long list of necessities that had gotten more expensive while Democrats controlled the White House. But it seeped into the ether in other ways. 

After falsely asserting that Haitian residents of Springfield, Ohio, were eating cats, JD Vance also tried to link them to rising auto insurance rates. He argued that the newcomers’ inability to drive responsibly was harming the community and making car ownership more difficult for working people. This narrative got so out of hand on the right that at one point, the New York Post even sent a reporter to stand at an intersection in Springfield to watch traffic for a while—eventually producing a breathless dispatch about a minor fender-bender.

Vance also tapped into genuine fears about the risk traffic violence poses to kids. In 2023, a Haitian driver crashed into a school bus in Springfield, killing one child and injuring more than 20 others. Republicans talked about the incident so often that the victim’s family pleaded with them to stop. But this was not a Haitian problem. NBC News reported that there were 6,089 crashes involving a school bus over a recent four-year period in Ohio alone. Traffic violence, like gun violence, is something that the United States excels at by design. In any given year, upward of 40,000 Americans will die in a car crash, and the only time I’ve ever heard a candidate for higher office acknowledge it is either to downplay the roughly equal toll of gun violence or as justification for mass deportation.

“Haitians” are not the reason car insurance rates have gone up across the country in recent years, either. As Marin Cogan explained at Vox, that rise is attributable to inflation, the increasing amount of tech in cars (another thing that sucks!), and a shift for the worse in driving behavior that dates to the pandemic. But that narrative fit into the broader story Vance and Trump told about how the things that make you identifiably American were getting harder and harder to attain. 

For all the talk of the freedom of the open road, Vance and his allies were seizing on the latent anxiety that a car-dependent culture imposes on citizens and the real damage it causes. One of the biggest drags on household finances is a machine that might someday kill you—and you’re surrounded all the time by other people who might do the same. That stress lends itself to reactionary politics. When you are driving, you are constantly pathologizing other drivers. 

The primacy of car culture shaped how Democrats campaigned and governed, too. In June, New York Gov. Kathy Hochul paused New York City’s long-awaited congestion pricing toll on car traffic in the southern half of Manhattan, days before the policy was set to go into effect. Hochul has denied that there was any political calculation to the decision (which she reversed almost immediately after the election was over), but the electoral subtext was obvious—the toll would affect a small minority of commuters in a few key suburban districts that Democrats were targeting in their effort to win back the House. 

It was a bad electoral calculation—in the end, Democrats barely flipped one seat in the New York City area—but I’m sympathetic, at least, with one aspect of the analysis: There was no telling how vengeful car owners would become. After this year’s election, one angry real estate broker told the San Francisco Standard that the practice of daylighting—that is, requiring cars to leave a buffer before a crosswalk so that pedestrians can see oncoming traffic—was why Democrats lose. I don’t know if it’s true with that degree of specificity (daylighting? really?), but car-brain feeds into the sort of social erosion that does. Driving makes us angrier, poorer, less healthy, and more isolated. Of course, it makes people resentful, too.

One of the most striking Republican ads I saw this year was a spot from a group called Election Freedom Inc. It starts with a Latino man clutching a hard hat. “You worked hard,” a narrator says. “You bought your truck.” While you toiled, Nevada Sen. Jacky Rosen and Kamala Harris, the ad said, were giving away millions of dollars to illegal immigrants in benefits and funding sex change operations in prisons:

This is a damn good ad guys. This is really good creative. pic.twitter.com/QEZQbRIRTz

— Mike Madrid (@madrid_mike) October 24, 2024

It was jarring to see the dynamic laid out like that. It was like someone made the Jesse Helms “Hands” ad about a Ford-250. But that was what the election was all about, in a way; Trump asked people to choose between their immediate material circumstances and their neighbors. Anyone who’s tried crossing a busy intersection on foot recently knows how that one goes.