THE ECONOMIST SPECIAL REPORT: Governments going broke – In many of the world’s big economies, public finances are heading for a crisis. Henry Curr argues the consequences will be profound
FOREIGN POLICY MAGAZINE: The latest issue features ‘The End Of Development’
The West’s aid model was always a mirage. It’s time for a realistic alternative. By Adam Tooze
Investors have drained the global south in pursuit of aggressive profit maximization. Daniela Gabor
Once dismissed from the field he helped found, Albert O. Hirschman feels newly relevant. Daniel W. Drezner
Poorer countries have become more integrated but not necessarily more united. David C. Engerman
BY INTELLICUREAN, JULY 21, 2025:
In the summer of 2025, former President Donald Trump and Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnick unveiled a bold proposal: the creation of an External Revenue Service (ERS), a federal agency designed to collect tariffs, fees, and other payments from foreign entities. Framed as a patriotic pivot toward self-sufficiency, the ERS would transform the U.S. government from a tax-funded service provider into a revenue-generating enterprise, capable of offsetting domestic tax burdens through external extraction. The idea, while politically magnetic, raises profound questions: Can the U.S. federal government become a “for-profit” entity? And if so, can the ERS be a legitimate mechanism for such a transformation?
This essay argues that while the concept of external revenue generation is not unprecedented, the rebranding of the U.S. government as a profit-seeking enterprise risks undermining its foundational principles. The ERS proposal conflates revenue with legitimacy, and profit with power, leading to a fundamental misunderstanding of the government’s role in society. We explore the constitutional, economic, and geopolitical dimensions of the ERS proposal, drawing on recent analyses from the Peterson Institute for International Economics, The Diplomat, and The New Yorker, to assess its fiscal viability, strategic risks, and national security implications.
The U.S. Constitution grants Congress the power to “lay and collect Taxes, Duties, Imposts and Excises” and to “regulate Commerce with foreign Nations” (Article I, Section 8). These provisions clearly authorize the federal government to generate revenue through tariffs and fees. Historically, tariffs served as a primary source of federal income, funding everything from infrastructure to military expansion during the 19th century.
However, the Constitution does not envision the government as a profit-maximizing entity. Its purpose, as articulated in the Preamble, is to “establish Justice, ensure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, [and] promote the general Welfare.” These are public goods, not commercial outputs. The government’s legitimacy is grounded in its service to the people—not in its ability to generate surplus revenue.
The Federal Reserve offers a useful analogy here. While not a for-profit institution, the Fed earns more than it spends through its monetary operations—primarily interest on government securities—and remits excess income to the Treasury. Between 2011 and 2021, these remittances totaled over $920 billion. But this is not “profit” in the corporate sense. The Fed’s primary mandate is macroeconomic stability, not shareholder returns. Even during economic stress (as seen in 2022–2025), the Fed may run negative remittances, underscoring its non-commercial orientation.
In contrast, the ERS is framed as a profit center—an entity designed to extract wealth from foreign actors to reduce domestic tax burdens. This shift raises critical questions: Who are the “customers” of the ERS? What are the “products” it offers? And what happens when profit motives collide with diplomatic or humanitarian priorities?
A rigorous analysis of Trump’s proposed tariffs comes from Chad P. Bown and Melina Kolb at the Peterson Institute for International Economics. In their April 2025 briefing, they use a global economic model to estimate the gross and net revenue generated by tariffs of 10%, 15%, and 20% on all imported goods.
Their findings are sobering:
These findings underscore a crucial distinction: tariffs are not free money. They impose costs on consumers, disrupt supply chains, and invite countermeasures. The ERS may collect billions, but its net contribution to fiscal health is far more modest—and potentially negative if retaliation escalates.
Additionally, tariff revenue is volatile and politically contingent. Tariffs can be reversed by executive order, invalidated by courts, or rendered moot by trade realignment. In short, the ERS lacks the predictability and stability necessary for a legitimate fiscal foundation. Tariffs are a risky and politically charged mechanism for revenue generation—making them an unreliable cornerstone for the country’s fiscal health.
Beyond economics, the ERS proposal carries significant geopolitical risks. In The Diplomat, Thiago de Aragao warns of a phenomenon he calls reverse friendshoring—where companies, instead of relocating supply chains away from China, move closer to it in response to U.S. tariffs.
The logic is simple: If exporting to the U.S. becomes prohibitively expensive, firms may pivot to serving Asian markets, leveraging China’s mature infrastructure and consumer base. This could undermine the strategic goal of decoupling from Chinese influence, potentially strengthening Beijing’s economic hand.
Examples abound:
This unpredictability erodes trust in U.S. trade policy and incentivizes supply chain diversification away from the U.S. As Aragao notes, “Protectionism may offer a temporary illusion of control, but in the long run, it risks pushing businesses away.”
The ERS, by monetizing tariffs, could accelerate this trend. If foreign firms perceive the U.S. as a hostile or unstable market, they will seek alternatives. And if allies are treated as adversaries, the strategic architecture of friendshoring collapses, leaving the U.S. economically isolated and diplomatically weakened.
Perhaps the most damning critique of the ERS comes from Cullen Hendrix at the Peterson Institute, who argues that imposing tariffs on U.S. allies undermines national security. The U.S. alliance network spans over 60 countries, accounting for 38% of global GDP. These partnerships enhance deterrence, enable forward basing, and create markets for U.S. defense exports.
Tariffs—especially those framed as revenue tools—erode alliance cohesion. They signal that economic extraction trumps strategic cooperation. Hendrix warns that “treating alliance partners like trade adversaries will further increase intra-alliance frictions, weaken collective deterrence, and invite potential adversaries—none better positioned than China—to exploit these divisions.”
Moreover, the ERS’s indiscriminate approach—levying duties on both allies and rivals—blurs the line between economic policy and coercive diplomacy. It transforms trade into a zero-sum game, where even friends are fair targets. This undermines the credibility of U.S. commitments and may prompt allies to seek alternative trade and security arrangements.
The ERS proposal is not merely a policy—it’s a performance. Nowhere is this clearer than in Howard Lutnick’s keynote at the Hill and Valley Forum, as reported in The New Yorker on July 21, 2025. Addressing a room of venture capitalists, defense contractors, and policymakers, Lutnick attempted to explain trade deficits using personal analogies: “I have a trade deficit with my barber,” he said. “I have a trade deficit with my grocery store. Right? I just buy stuff from them. That’s ridiculous.”
The crowd, described as “sophisticated tech and finance attendees,” was visibly uncomfortable. Lutnick’s analogies, while populist in tone, misread the room and revealed a deeper disconnect between economic complexity and simplistic transactionalism. As one attendee noted, “It’s obvious why Lutnick’s affect appeals to Trump. But it’s Bessent’s presence in the Administration that reassures us there is someone smart looking out for us.”
This contrast between Lutnick and Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent is telling. Bessent, who reportedly flew to Mar-a-Lago to urge Trump to pause the tariffs, represents the limits of ideological fervor when confronted with institutional complexity. Lutnick, by contrast, champions the ERS as a populist vessel—a way to turn deficits into dues, relationships into revenue, and governance into a business plan.
The ERS, then, is not just a fiscal experiment—it’s a philosophical battleground. Lutnick’s vision of government as a money-making enterprise may resonate with populist frustration, but it risks trivializing the structural and diplomatic intricacies of global trade. His “barber economics” may play well on cable news, but it falters under scrutiny from economists, allies, and institutional stewards.
The idea of a “for-profit” U.S. government, embodied in the External Revenue Service, is seductive in its simplicity. It promises fiscal relief without domestic taxation, strategic leverage through economic pressure, and a reassertion of American dominance in global trade. But beneath the surface lies a tangle of contradictions.
Constitutionally, the federal government is designed to serve—not to sell. Its legitimacy flows from the consent of the governed, not the extraction of foreign wealth. Economically, tariffs may generate gross revenue, but their net contribution is constrained by retaliation, inflation, and supply chain disruption. Strategically, the ERS risks alienating allies, incentivizing reverse friendshoring, and weakening collective security.
With Howard Lutnick as the plan’s leading voice—offering anecdotes like the barber and grocery store as proxies for international trade—the ERS becomes more than a revenue mechanism; it becomes a prism for reflecting the Administration’s governing style: transactional, simplified, and rhetorically appealing, yet divorced from systemic nuance. His “barber economics” may evoke applause from certain circles, but in the forums that shape long-term policy, it has landed with discomfort and disbelief.
The comparison between Lutnick and Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent, as reported in The New Yorker, captures this divide. Bessent, attempting to temper Trump’s protectionist instincts, represents the limits of ideological fervor when confronted with institutional complexity. Lutnick, by contrast, champions the ERS as a populist vessel—a way to turn deficits into dues, relationships into revenue, and governance into a business plan.
Yet governance is not a business, and the nation’s global responsibilities cannot be monetized like a corporate balance sheet. If America begins to treat its allies as clients, its rivals as profit centers, and its global footprint as a monetizable asset, it risks transforming foreign policy into a ledger—and leadership into a transaction.
The External Revenue Service, in its current form, fails to reconcile profit with purpose. It monetizes strength but neglects stewardship. It harvests dollars but undermines trust. And in doing so, it invites a broader reckoning—not just about trade and taxation, but about what kind of republic America wishes to be. For now, the ERS remains an emblem of ambition unmoored from architecture, where the dream of profit collides with the duty to govern.
THIS ESSAY WAS WRITTEN AND EDITED BY INTELLICUREAN USING AI
Is the United States truly ready for the seismic shift in modern warfare—a transformation that The New Yorker‘s veteran war correspondent describes not as evolution but as rupture? In “Is the U.S. Ready for the Next War?” (July 14, 2025), Dexter Filkins captures this tectonic realignment through a mosaic of battlefield reportage, strategic insight, and ethical reflection. His central thesis is both urgent and unsettling: that America, long mythologized for its martial supremacy, is culturally and institutionally unprepared for the emerging realities of war. The enemy is no longer just a rival state but also time itself—conflict is being rewritten in code, and the old machines can no longer keep pace.
The piece opens with a gripping image: a Ukrainian drone factory producing a thousand airborne machines daily, each costing just $500. Improvised, nimble, and devastating, these drones have inflicted disproportionate damage on Russian forces. Their success signals a paradigm shift—conflict has moved from regiments to swarms, from steel to software. Yet the deeper concern is not merely technological; it is cultural. The article is less a call to arms than a call to reimagine. Victory in future wars, it suggests, will depend not on weaponry alone, but on judgment, agility, and a conscience fit for the digital age.
At the heart of the analysis lies a confrontation between two worldviews. On one side stands Silicon Valley—fast, improvisational, and software-driven. On the other: the Pentagon—layered, cautious, and locked in Cold War-era processes. One of the central figures is Palmer Luckey, the founder of the defense tech company Anduril, depicted as a symbol of insurgent innovation. Once a video game prodigy, he now leads teams designing autonomous weapons that can be manufactured as quickly as IKEA furniture and deployed without extensive oversight. His world thrives on rapid iteration, where warfare is treated like code—modular, scalable, and adaptive.
This approach clashes with the military’s entrenched bureaucracy. Procurement cycles stretch for years. Communication between service branches remains fractured. Even American ships and planes often operate on incompatible systems. A war simulation over Taiwan underscores this dysfunction: satellites failed to coordinate with aircraft, naval assets couldn’t link with space-based systems, and U.S. forces were paralyzed by their own institutional fragmentation. The problem wasn’t technology—it was organization.
What emerges is a portrait of a defense apparatus unable to act as a coherent whole. The fragmentation stems from a structure built for another era—one that now privileges process over flexibility. In contrast, adversaries operate with fluidity, leveraging technological agility as a force multiplier. Slowness, once a symptom of deliberation, has become a strategic liability.
The tension explored here is more than operational; it is civilizational. Can a democratic state tolerate the speed and autonomy now required in combat? Can institutions built for deliberation respond in milliseconds? These are not just questions of infrastructure, but of governance and identity. In the coming conflicts, latency may be lethal, and fragmentation fatal.
To frame the stakes, the essay draws on powerful historical precedents. Technological transformation has always arisen from moments of existential pressure: Prussia’s use of railways to reimagine logistics, the Gulf War’s precision missiles, and, most profoundly, the Manhattan Project. These were not the products of administrative order but of chaotic urgency, unleashed imagination, and institutional risk-taking.
During the Manhattan Project, multiple experimental paths were pursued simultaneously, protocols were bent, and innovation surged from competition. Today, however, America’s defense culture has shifted toward procedural conservatism. Risk is minimized; innovation is formalized. Bureaucracy may protect against error, but it also stifles the volatility that made American defense dynamic in the past.
This critique extends beyond the military. A broader cultural stagnation is implied: a nation that fears disruption more than defeat. If imagination is outsourced to private startups—entities beyond the reach of democratic accountability—strategic coherence may erode. Tactical agility cannot compensate for an atrophied civic center. The essay doesn’t argue for scrapping government institutions, but for reigniting their creative core. Defense must not only be efficient; it must be intellectually alive.
Perhaps the most haunting dimension of the essay lies in its treatment of ethics. As autonomous systems proliferate—from loitering drones to AI-driven targeting software—the space for human judgment begins to vanish. Some militaries, like Israel’s, still preserve a “human-in-the-loop” model where a person retains final authority. But this safeguard is fragile. The march toward autonomy is relentless.
The implications are grave. When decisions to kill are handed to algorithms trained on probability and sensor data, who bears responsibility? Engineers? Programmers? Military officers? The author references DeepMind’s Demis Hassabis, who warns of the ease with which powerful systems can be repurposed for malign ends. Yet the more chilling possibility is not malevolence, but moral atrophy: a world where judgment is no longer expected or practiced.
Combat, if rendered frictionless and remote, may also become civically invisible. Democratic oversight depends on consequence—and when warfare is managed through silent systems and distant screens, that consequence becomes harder to feel. A nation that no longer confronts the human cost of its defense decisions risks sliding into apathy. Autonomy may bring tactical superiority, but also ethical drift.
Throughout, the article avoids hysteria, opting instead for measured reflection. Its central moral question is timeless: Can conscience survive velocity? In wars of machines, will there still be room for the deliberation that defines democratic life?
The closing argument is not tactical, but philosophical. Readiness, the essay insists, must be measured not just by stockpiles or software, but by the moral posture of a society—its ability to govern the tools it creates. Military power divorced from democratic deliberation is not strength, but fragility. Supremacy must be earned anew, through foresight, imagination, and accountability.
The challenge ahead is not just to match adversaries in drones or data, but to uphold the principles that give those tools meaning. Institutions must be built to respond, but also to reflect. Weapons must be precise—but judgment must be present. The republic’s defense must operate at the speed of code while staying rooted in the values of a self-governing people.
The author leaves us with a final provocation: The future will not wait for consensus—but neither can it be left to systems that have forgotten how to ask questions. In this, his work becomes less a study in strategy than a meditation on civic responsibility. The real arsenal is not material—it is ethical. And readiness begins not in the factories of drones, but in the minds that decide when and why to use them.
THIS ESSAY REVIEW WAS WRITTEN BY AI AND EDITED BY INTELLICUREAN.
In the July 11, 2025 episode of Bloomberg Law’s Weekend Law podcast, the spotlight turned to the Supreme Court and one of the most urgent constitutional questions of the present era: can the federal government deny citizenship to children born in the United States based solely on their parents’ immigration status?
At the center of the discussion was a new executive order issued by the Trump administration. The order aims to withhold automatic citizenship from children born to undocumented immigrants. In response, a federal judge in New Hampshire has not only issued a temporary nationwide block on the order but also certified a class-action lawsuit that could have sweeping implications.
This development, as legal analyst and former DOJ official Leon Fresco explained, is not merely procedural—it is strategic. The case, still in its early stages, may force the Supreme Court to revisit the meaning of the Fourteenth Amendment’s Citizenship Clause.
Fresco’s key insight concerned how litigants are adapting to recent changes in judicial thinking. After the Supreme Court expressed skepticism toward broad nationwide injunctions, many believed such tools were effectively dead. But Fresco pointed out that class-action certification remains a viable, and perhaps more precise, alternative.
The New Hampshire judge’s ruling created a nationwide class of plaintiffs: all children born on or after February 20, 2025, to parents who are either unlawfully present or not U.S. citizens or lawful permanent residents. The judge carefully excluded parents from the class, narrowing the focus to the children’s citizenship claims. This move strengthens the class’s legal position, emphasizing a uniform constitutional harm.
Fresco characterized this approach as both narrow in structure and expansive in effect. By building the case around a specific constitutional injury—the denial of citizenship by birth—the lawsuit avoids the kinds of inconsistencies that often weaken broader claims.
At the heart of the dispute lies the interpretation of the Citizenship Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment: “All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States.”
For over a century, the courts have understood this to include virtually everyone born on U.S. soil, with only narrow exceptions. The Trump administration’s order proposes a reinterpretation—arguing that undocumented immigrants and their children are not “subject to the jurisdiction” of the United States in the full constitutional sense.
This argument is novel, but not entirely new. Versions of it have circulated in fringe legal circles for years. What is new is the attempt to enforce this interpretation through executive power. If allowed to stand, it would mark a major departure from long-established constitutional norms.
Fresco raised a more immediate concern: that the Supreme Court may avoid ruling on the merits of the case altogether—at least for now. The Court, he warned, might grant a temporary stay that would allow the executive order to take effect while the lawsuit works its way through the lower courts.
This would mirror a pattern seen in other immigration cases, such as those involving Temporary Protected Status and humanitarian parole, where short procedural rulings allowed sweeping policy shifts without a full constitutional review.
The danger of such a stay is not theoretical. If the executive order goes into effect, children born under it would enter legal limbo. Denied citizenship, they would lack basic documents and protections. Challenging their status later could take years—possibly decades. In this way, even a temporary policy can create permanent consequences.
A central theme of the podcast segment was the evolving role of the judiciary in overseeing executive actions. Fresco questioned how the Court could reject a class-action lawsuit like this one without also undermining the logic that allows nationwide relief in other types of cases—such as defective products that cause uniform harm across the country.
If the courts are willing to permit class certification for consumer safety, why would they deny it in a case concerning citizenship—a matter of constitutional identity?
Fresco’s analogy was sharp: the law allows national class actions over faulty cribs or pharmaceuticals; why not over a birthright denied?
His point revealed the tension between procedural restraint and constitutional responsibility. If the Court is serious about limiting nationwide injunctions, it must offer a consistent, principled rationale for where it draws the line.
Toward the end of the discussion, Fresco referenced former Attorney General Alberto Gonzalez, who has speculated that the Supreme Court may simply lack the votes to strike down the executive order directly. That possibility may explain the Court’s hesitancy to take up the issue.
Justice Neil Gorsuch’s past remarks—asking how the Court might “get to the merits fast”—suggest at least some justices recognize the urgency. But urgency does not always lead to clarity. If the Court allows the order to take effect temporarily, and then delays review, it could set in motion changes that are difficult to reverse.
In effect, the Court would be allowing the executive branch to reshape constitutional practice through interim decisions. That prospect, Fresco warned, is not only legally unstable but socially volatile.
Ultimately, what this case asks is not only a legal question but a civic one: Is citizenship a stable constitutional right, or can it be redefined by policy?
The class-action strategy now moving through the courts offers one possible defense: a method of forcing judicial engagement by focusing on clear constitutional harm and avoiding broad, unwieldy claims. It is, in Fresco’s words, an effort to meet the Court on its own procedural terms.
Yet the deeper conflict remains. The very idea of birthright citizenship—once considered legally untouchable—is now on trial. Whether the courts decide quickly or delay, the consequences will be lasting.
The Bloomberg Law discussion offered more than a legal update. It revealed how quickly constitutional assumptions can be unsettled—and how creative legal strategies are now being used to hold the line.
The New Hampshire ruling, and the class it created, represent a new phase in this fight. Narrow in scope but vast in significance, the lawsuit calls on the judiciary to answer directly: Is a child born on U.S. soil a citizen, or not?
In that answer lies the future of constitutional meaning—and the measure of whether the law remains anchored to principle, or drifts with the political tide.
THIS ESSAY AND REVIEW WAS WRITTEN BY AI AND EDITED BY INTELLICUREAN
THE FOLLOWING IS AN “AI REVIEW” OF THE JULY 3 EPISODE OF “BLOOMBERG LAW WITH JUNE GRASSO” PODCAST TRANSCRIPT:
In the dimly lit chambers of American justice, two parallel stories unfolded this term—one involving the cultural phenomenon of Sean “Diddy” Combs, the other the ideological recalibration of the United States Supreme Court. Each, in its own way, exposed the tensions inherent in a legal system grappling with the competing imperatives of moral condemnation, procedural fairness, and the inexorable gravitational pull of politics.
In federal court, Combs emerged, if not unscathed, then improbably triumphant. After six weeks of graphic testimony and the steady drip of lurid detail, jurors acquitted him of the most sensational accusations: racketeering conspiracy and sex trafficking, crimes that, had they stuck, would almost certainly have resulted in a life sentence. Instead, he was convicted only on two counts of transporting sex workers across state lines to participate in what prosecutors termed “freak-off parties.” In the pantheon of celebrity trials, this outcome was remarkable not merely for the verdict itself but for the rhetorical overreach that defined the government’s case.
Robert Mintz, a former federal prosecutor turned defense attorney, spoke to the case’s cautionary lesson about prosecutorial ambition. RICO—the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act—was never an intuitive fit for Combs, a music mogul whose business dealings, however flamboyant, bore little resemblance to the mafia syndicates the statute was designed to dismantle. In the final analysis, jurors appeared unconvinced that the machinery of Combs’s empire—record labels, promotional companies, an entourage that blurred the line between personal and professional—was itself the instrument of a criminal conspiracy. They were similarly unconvinced that the two women at the heart of the government’s sex trafficking charges had been coerced rather than entangled in a toxic, if mutually complicit, set of relationships.
Perhaps more striking still was the defense’s strategy: they called no witnesses. Rather than counter the government’s narrative with competing testimony, Combs’s lawyers focused their energy on cross-examination, unspooling the contradictions and ambivalences embedded in the prosecution’s evidence. Here, too, lay a broader truth about modern criminal justice. The power to define the contours of the case—the charges themselves—can be as determinative as the evidence marshaled to prove them. When the government chooses to depict a defendant as the capo di tutti capi of an illicit empire, it must persuade a jury not only of wrongdoing but of a sweeping criminality that often strains credulity. When that narrative collapses, as it did here, the defense is left with the simpler task of pointing out the seams.
But Combs’s legal jeopardy is not yet at an end. Though acquitted of the most serious charges, he faces up to twenty years in prison on the counts that remain, even if the federal sentencing guidelines suggest a considerably lower range. The presiding judge, troubled by videotaped evidence of Combs assaulting one of the alleged victims, declined to release him pending sentencing—a reminder that in federal court, the most powerful voice is not the jury’s but the judge’s. It is not inconceivable that the final chapter of this saga will be harsher than the defense’s celebration suggested.
If Combs’s courtroom drama offered a microcosm of prosecutorial overreach, the Supreme Court’s term showcased a more profound shift: a conservative supermajority willing to reconfigure the balance of power between the judiciary and the executive—and, by extension, between individuals and the state. In conversation with constitutional law scholar Michael Dorf, host June Grasso illuminated the breadth of these changes. Over the past year, the Court issued a series of rulings that, taken together, represent a quiet revolution in the way the federal courts interact with presidential authority.
At the heart of this transformation was the Court’s decision to curtail nationwide injunctions—sweeping orders issued by district judges to block federal policies across the entire country. For decades, these injunctions served as a vital mechanism by which civil rights plaintiffs, immigrant communities, and other marginalized groups could halt executive overreach before it inflicted irreparable harm. Their disappearance is no mere procedural adjustment; it recasts the balance between the judiciary’s protective function and the executive’s prerogative to govern unencumbered.
This doctrinal shift accrued almost exclusively to the benefit of President Trump, whose administration had faced a phalanx of legal challenges. Whether the issue was the forced deportation of migrants, the exclusion of transgender Americans from military service, or the elimination of birthright citizenship, the Supreme Court’s majority showed an evident willingness to side with the executive branch on an emergency basis—often with scant explanation. Dorf described this posture as striking not merely for its partisanship but for its inconsistency: lower courts that blocked Trump policies were overruled with alacrity, even as those same justices castigated nationwide injunctions as judicial overreach.
At the same time, the term’s most divisive rulings revealed a Court emboldened to advance a culturally conservative agenda. In a 6-3 decision, the justices upheld Tennessee’s ban on gender-affirming care for minors, dismissing the equal protection claims of transgender plaintiffs and casting doubt on whether such discrimination should trigger heightened constitutional scrutiny. In another ruling, religious parents were granted the right to withdraw their children from public school curricula that included LGBTQ-themed storybooks—a decision that critics warn will invite broader challenges to any teaching that conflicts with sectarian belief. In the aggregate, these rulings did more than roll back hard-won protections for LGBTQ Americans. They signaled a willingness to prioritize religious objections over the rights of vulnerable communities, an alignment that recurred throughout the term.
For Dorf, the most unsettling dimension was not the conservative tilt per se but the Court’s apparent comfort with what he called a “soft authoritarian” style of governance. The Roberts Court had already repealed the constitutional right to abortion and limited the federal government’s capacity to regulate firearms. What distinguished this term was its readiness to facilitate the Trump administration’s disregard for judicial orders—an erosion not of precedent but of the rule of law itself.
Whether these developments portend a lasting reorientation of American jurisprudence remains to be seen. What is clear, however, is that the ideological polarization of the Supreme Court is reshaping the lives of countless citizens in ways that transcend conventional partisanship. In this respect, the travails of Sean Combs and the ambitions of the Roberts Court are, improbably, two facets of the same American story: one in which the legal system’s power to punish and to protect is increasingly mediated by political will—and by the narratives that prevail when the evidence, the law, and the culture clash in the crucible of the courtroom.
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This episode of Bloomberg Law, hosted by June Grasso, offered an in-depth analysis of two major legal stories:
1. The Sean “Diddy” Combs Case
After a six-week federal trial with emotionally charged testimony, Combs was acquitted of racketeering and sex trafficking but convicted of transporting sex workers across state lines—a felony under the Mann Act. Prosecutors’ strategy to use RICO laws typically reserved for mob cases ultimately backfired, allowing the defense to argue overreach. While the jury found Combs’ conduct disturbing, they did not believe it rose to organized criminal enterprise. Despite securing partial convictions, the prosecution faces criticism for overcharging, which opened avenues for defense cross-examination and ultimately undermined their case. Combs remains in custody as he awaits sentencing, which could be significantly harsher than defense estimates due to the judge’s concerns about continued danger.
2. The Supreme Court’s Term
Professor Michael Dorf described a term marked by sweeping decisions that advanced a conservative agenda, often benefiting the Trump administration. The Court stripped lower courts of their ability to issue nationwide injunctions, effectively removing a key check on executive overreach. In LGBTQ cases, the Court upheld bans on gender-affirming care for minors, sided with religious parents seeking exemptions from inclusive curricula, and signaled openness to further limits on trans rights in upcoming cases. While the Court maintained some gun regulations, its overall jurisprudence continues a rightward trajectory, blending traditional conservative principles with deference to Trump’s more aggressive policies. Emergency docket decisions frequently favored the administration without full briefing, raising concerns about procedural fairness and erosion of judicial norms. Ultimately, the Court’s direction was characterized as not just conservative, but increasingly aligned with authoritarian tendencies.
THIS POSTING WAS WRITTEN BY AI AND EDITED BY INTELLICUREAN
FOREIGN POLICY MAGAZINE (06.30.25): The latest issue features ‘The Historical Presidency’ – Nine essays on what the global past reveals about our confounding present…
A crisis is unfolding before our eyes—and also in our heads. By Christopher Clark
Thinking via historical analogy has become the preferred way to confront our anxieties. Ivan Krastev, Leonard Benardo
Liberal critics charge Trump with creating a cult of personality not unlike Mao Zedong’s. Julia Lovell, Nicholas Guyatt
The military tide may have turned against Putin. Michael Kimmage
FOREIGN AFFAIRS MAGAZINE (February 25, 2025): The latest issue features ‘The Center Will Not Hold’ – How an Order Ends…
FOREIGN AFFAIRS MAGAZINE (February 3, 2025): Donald Trump begins his presidency with ambitions of being a peacemaker. He laid out this vision in his inaugural address, declaring that his administration “will measure our success not only by the battles we win but also by the wars we end, and perhaps most importantly, by the wars we never get into.” Later that day, he basked in the success of the hostage cease-fire deal in Gaza, including by bringing the families of Israeli hostages to the inaugural parade. “We’re getting a lot of people out in a short period of time,” he proclaimed.
There is no doubt that Trump helped secure the cease-fire deal. But to be a peacemaker who transforms the Middle East, he has more work to do. The main issues he confronts are Gaza and Iran. In Gaza, Israel and Hamas have different views of what is required to achieve the second phase of the deal, which would save the remaining hostages and produce a permanent cease-fire. Iran, meanwhile, is accelerating its nuclear program—with its “foot on the gas pedal” according to Rafael Grossi, the head of the International Atomic Energy Agency. Tehran thus continues to existentially threaten Israel. Both issues are likely to dominate upcoming talks between Trump and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu at the White House.
DAVID MAKOVSKY is the Director of the Program on Arab-Israel Relations at the Washington Institute of Near East Policy and an Adjunct Professor of Middle East Studies at Johns Hopkins University School of Advanced International Studies. He served as a Senior Adviser to the special envoy of Israeli-Palestinian negotiations in the Office of the Secretary of State during the Obama administration.
DENNIS ROSS is Counselor at the Washington Institute for Near East Policy and a Professor at Georgetown University. A former U.S. Envoy to the Middle East, he served in senior national security positions in the Reagan, George H. W. Bush, Clinton, and Obama administrations.
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COMMENTARY MAGAZINE (January 15, 2025): The latest issue features ‘A Clockwork Blue’ – How the left has come to excuse away and embrace political violence….
by Noah Rothman
Democrats displayed more depression than anger in the weeks following Donald Trump’s 2024 victory. Alas, partisans on the progressive left and their camp followers among conventional liberals could avoid succumbing to nihilism for only so long. An occasion to indulge their negative passions came along soon after the election in an act of cold-blooded murder on a predawn December morning in midtown Manhattan.
Boomers Daily 