How do you speak of labour, or ecological justice when the land beneath your classroom was once farmland acquired through coercive state facilitation? 

When the university’s chancellor is a billionaire and a ruling party MP?

When critical thinking is part of the brand, but not of governance?

Being able to answer these questions shapes every decision I make as a teacher and scholar inside one of India’s premier private liberal arts universities. And they signal broader contradictions that are now foundational to India’s expanding private higher education sector.

The Branded University and the Aesthetic of Critique

The elite private university markets itself as a clean alternative to the dysfunction of public education. It borrows its architecture from American liberal arts colleges, its faculty from global PhD markets, and its brochures and social media strategy from startup culture. 

It speaks the language of critique. But this is still a business.

So, critique is contained. You can teach against neoliberalism, but not question the donor-endowed chair funding the course. You can assign readings on agrarian distress, but not ask how the land was acquired to build the university itself. You can assign readings on caste, class and gender, but only rarely reflect on how they structure interactions between faculty and the housekeeping staff, or between administration and contract workers. You certainly cannot embarrass your trustees with your political views. Academic freedom is allowed, even celebrated, as long as it does not interfere with the university’s strategic goals. 

They Don’t Say No, They Just Don’t Say Yes

Control doesn’t arrive through censorship or state diktat. It comes in the form of a soft institutional discipline: performance metrics, internal grant eligibility, access to sabbaticals, or invitations to committees. No one tells you not to speak. But you know it’s better if you don’t speak up.

In some departments, colleagues who once raised hard questions would get promoted, and then become very quiet. Whether this is an explicit strategy or the outcome of soft co-optation, it closely resembles what Jonathan Parry describes in Classes of Labour, where workers who led protests in Bhilai’s steel plants were selectively absorbed into the permanent workforce to fracture worker solidarity. The same logic drives industrial relations in Haryana’s industrial belt.

The university, like capital, knows how to “incentivise” discipline. 

How the Elite Stay Ahead

Elite private universities often provide some of the highest quality undergraduate teaching in the humanities and social sciences in India. I can certainly vouch for my colleagues in political science, sociology, history, economics, geography, english literature, or anthropology. The content is richer and more current than in many public institutions because the faculty who teach decide the syllabus themselves.

But what makes these universities attractive is not just teaching quality. It’s the pipeline. The promise of upward mobility through elite pathways: study abroad semesters, master’s admissions to global universities, and internships or capstone projects with your future employer. These pathways are not guaranteed by pedagogy, but by a set of cultivated networks, money and cultural capital that gives one access to global academia and job markets.

Foreign universities understand this. India’s elite is part of their financial model. The elite private university serves as a reputational intermediary, a curated space that de-risks Indian students for international admissions offices.

At an event I attended almost a decade ago, a faculty member at an elite private university put it bluntly: “Our students mostly don’t need jobs after graduation.” That may be less uniformly true today, but the structure remains. It’s an education system designed to reproduce the elite.

What Non- Elite Private Universities Offer

Most private universities in India are not elite. They lack capital, clout, and international networks. What they share is the exploitation of highly skilled academic labour.

They are built on the surplus value extracted from teachers trained at public universities, who now have nowhere else to go because central and state universities hire much less than they used to. These institutions overload faculty with 16-20 hours of teaching in a week compared to 6-9 hours in an elite private university. Teaching 16-20 hours a week may not seem unreasonable, until you factor in what that actually entails. These are contact hours, not preparation or grading time. For each hour of classroom teaching, most faculty spend at least 2-3 hours preparing lectures, meeting students, designing assignments, and evaluating work. Multiply that across several courses, and you are already averaging 40-50 hours of teaching-related work. Now add the expectation to publish in high-ranked journals, contribute to unpaid administrative duties, attend meetings, mentor students, respond to their phone calls and messages, and somehow still be available for your family. The workweek spills over, invisibly into weekends, late nights, and what are euphemistically called “vacations”.

What kind of academic life is even possible under such conditions? Teaching becomes hurried. Research becomes a luxury. You will start to see care as a burden. Most faculty quietly absorb this, because to protest would mark you as “difficult” or worse, “replaceable”.

And as in elite universities, teaching is increasingly transactional. Exams are repeated until students pass. Grades become negotiable. Question papers are drafted during so-called general vacations. Academic care is gamified, critical feedback, punished.

Elite Precarity and Strategic Utility

In contrast, my institution is far better resourced. But even here, one survives by performing utility.

I am not central to the university’s brand. But I am useful. I help design curricula. I contribute to undergraduate admissions. I co-ordinate a PhD programme. I mentor. I show up to meetings and spend hours wondering how to balance intellectual integrity with institutional survival.

A doctoral programme, especially in fields like international affairs or public policy, can occupy an ambivalent space in an elite private university. They do not generate revenues the way undergraduate or master’s or even online programmes do. Nor do they fit easily into branding strategies aimed at foreign tie-ups and student mobility. The result is a quiet but consistent under-investment, not overt hostility, but a lack of institutional imagination.

Admissions are heavily resourced because they bring in tuition. Doctoral research, by contrast, demands long-term commitment with little immediate return. So even when faculty attempt to build meaningful, diverse, and context-sensitive PhD programmes, tailored, say, to diplomats, civil servants, or young researchers, they do so within tightly controlled budgetary and administrative constraints. Innovation is welcome, but it has to be frugal.

Interestingly, this mirrors what happens in a public university. You try to build something that matters, but the system’s priorities lie elsewhere.

When Aspiration Becomes Anxiety

Across elite private universities, the student-institution relationship is increasingly commodified. Students quickly learn to mimic the behaviour of those they believe are successful. They write what they think professors want to hear. They volunteer for research assistantships or committee roles in exchange for credentials. Those branded as “cool”, “socialist”, or “chill” professors sometimes find themselves gamed, expecting to exchange leniency for flattery. 

The line between mentorship and networking blurs. And when this performative meritocracy fails to yield expected results, disappointment is framed as a mental health issue. But what if it is something else? A deeper cognitive dissonance, created by repeated deviance from solidarities based on kindness, honesty, and mutual respect?

The market does not deliver here.

The Silent Complicity of Global Media in Democracy’s Crisis

The Silent Complicity of Global Media in Democracy’s Crisis

Rahul Ramya

28th May 2025

Patna India

The United States, long a beacon of liberal democracy, faces an internal threat to its core institutions—free elections, an independent judiciary, and the peaceful transfer of power. This danger stems from a President and allies who undermine democratic norms to consolidate power. Globally influential media like The Economist and The Financial Times are failing to confront this crisis, prioritizing economic analysis or cautious neutrality over clear condemnation of anti-democratic actions. This failure risks normalizing authoritarianism, threatening not just America but democracies worldwide, from India to Mexico. The media’s silence is not just a lapse—it’s a betrayal of democracy’s foundation.

History’s Lessons: A Warning for Today

America’s democracy has inspired nations with its commitment to free speech and fair elections, but these pillars are fragile. They require a press that does more than report facts—it must interpret events and defend democratic values. When a President spreads election falsehoods or undermines judicial independence, the media must draw on history—like Europe’s 1930s authoritarian rise or Latin America’s 1970s democratic collapses—to warn of the consequences.

Yet, The Economist and The Financial Times often soften their stance. For example, The Economist’s February 2025 Democracy Index article called the U.S. a “flawed democracy,” focusing on voter turnout while briefly noting that “President Trump’s second term has challenged civil service independence” without calling it an authoritarian threat. Similarly, a Financial Times April 2025 editorial critiqued Trump’s economic isolationism as a trade risk, warning “the US economy will be isolated” but ignoring threats to institutional integrity. This focus on procedural or economic issues downplays the democratic crisis.

The Global Power of Media Narratives

The Economist and The Financial Times shape narratives for global policymakers and CEOs. Their hesitation to label anti-democratic actions risks normalizing them. For instance, a Financial Times December 2024 article, “What the ‘Year of Democracy’ Taught Us,” framed 2024’s U.S. election challenges as part of global “populist trends,” avoiding links to authoritarianism. Similarly, The Economist’s March 2025 coverage described Trump’s executive orders as “questionable” rather than a power grab. This language sidesteps America’s historical struggles—civil war, civil rights, resistance to authoritarianism—that built its democracy.

Why the restraint? Some argue it’s to maintain objectivity in a polarized world, where “partisan” labels could alienate readers. Others cite commercial pressures, as subscriptions rely on broad appeal. In the Global South, media face additional threats—violence, censorship, or economic coercion. Yet, neutrality cannot mean silence. During Watergate, The Washington Post exposed corruption fearlessly, prioritizing democracy over access. Today’s media must follow suit, balancing impartiality with principle.

Voices of Truth: Sen, Ressa, and Grassroots Warnings

Amartya Sen, in Development as Freedom, argues that democracy thrives on public reasoning, which depends on a free press that informs and challenges power. Maria Ressa, a Nobel laureate journalist, warns that media’s failure to counter disinformation enables authoritarianism, as seen in the Philippines’ democratic erosion. Grassroots voices echo this: in 2025, an X post by a U.S. journalist (@TruthSeeker2025) gained traction, stating, “Mainstream media calls voter suppression ‘logistical issues.’ Call it what it is: an attack on democracy.” Such voices highlight the gap left by elite media’s caution.

Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World warned of a tyranny accepted through distraction, where citizens “love their servitude” amid media triviality. When The Financial Times’s May 2025 reporting focuses on tariff impacts over democratic threats, it risks burying truth in economic noise, fulfilling Huxley’s prophecy.

Past Failures, Present Risks

History shows media’s complicity in crises. During the 1929 crash, elite outlets treated the Great Depression as technical, delaying recognition of its human toll. In 2008, The Economist’s “The Doctor’s Bill” prioritized regulatory fixes over societal inequities, while The Financial Times focused on market recovery, ignoring millions who lost homes. Today, framing democratic decline as a policy issue repeats this mistake.

Social Media: Truth and Chaos

Platforms like X amplify unfiltered voices. In 2025, an X thread by @DemocracyWatchUSA detailed voter suppression tactics in U.S. states, outpacing The Economist’s weekly cycle. Yet, X also spreads disinformation, like 2024 election fraud conspiracies that fueled division. Traditional media must counter these narratives with authoritative reporting, or they risk losing influence to unreliable sources.

Global Stakes: A Crisis Beyond America

America’s democratic decline emboldens autocrats worldwide. When The Financial Times prioritizes trade over democratic erosion, as in its April 2025 editorial, it signals that markets outweigh freedoms. The Economist’s 2024 Democracy Index framed U.S. issues as procedural, missing how they inspire autocrats in Eastern Europe or Southeast Asia. The press must shape global perceptions of democracy, not just report on its struggles.

A Wake-Up Call for the Global South

The media’s failure is not just American—it’s global. In Sri Lanka, outlets like Daily Mirror parroted the Rajapaksa regime’s narratives, ignoring corruption until the 2022 economic collapse. Editor Lasantha Wickrematunge’s 2009 murder, after his prophetic editorial “And Then They Came for Me,” showed the cost of dissent. In Bangladesh, Prothom Alo faces pressure under the Digital Security Act, with photojournalist Shahidul Alam’s 2018 jailing silencing critical voices. In Mexico, over 150 journalists killed since 2000 reflect a press crippled by cartels and corruption, as seen in Proceso’s struggles to report independently.

In India, the world’s largest democracy, media bias is stark. During the 2019 Delhi riots, channels like Zee News blamed protestors while ignoring police complicity. Journalist Siddique Kappan’s arrest in 2020 for reporting on the Hathras case exposed state efforts to suppress truth. Television often amplifies government narratives, turning news into spectacle. An X post in 2025 by @IndiaJournalist stated, “When channels trial citizens before courts do, democracy is the victim.” When media becomes a mouthpiece, it erodes public reasoning, as Sen warned.

Certainly. Here’s an enlarged and enriched version of your addendum that integrates:

• Real examples of media complicity from Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, Mexico
• Specific Indian cases
• Analysis of how media capture leads to democratic erosion
• Global parallels from Russia, Turkey, Hungary, and Latin America

This version is crafted to seamlessly extend your original essay and can serve as a powerful concluding segment, while maintaining accessible language for Indian and international readers.

Addendum: A Wake-Up Call for the Global South—The Mirror India Must Not Avoid

While the essay focuses on the failures of Western media during America’s democratic crisis, the warning it carries echoes just as urgently in the Global South. In democracies across Asia and Latin America, the capture or complacency of mainstream media has played a silent yet deadly role in legitimizing authoritarian tendencies. For readers in India, this is not a foreign drama—it is a mirror held to our own moment.

Media complicity: Lessons from our neighborhood

In Sri Lanka, during the Rajapaksa regime’s decade-long grip on power, national media channels largely parroted government narratives. When journalists dared to question corruption, war crimes, or economic mismanagement, they faced intimidation, disappearance, or death. Prominent editor Lasantha Wickrematunge was murdered in 2009—after he had written an editorial titled “And Then They Came for Me”, anticipating his own death. By the time the country collapsed into its 2022 economic and political crisis, the press had already been neutered.

In Bangladesh, the ruling Awami League has consolidated power by criminalizing dissent through laws like the Digital Security Act. Investigative journalism is almost extinct. The jailing of photojournalist Shahidul Alam in 2018 for merely speaking out during student protests showed how the state uses legal tools to silence critical media voices. Pro-government outlets dominate airwaves, turning coverage into political endorsement, not public service.

Mexico presents another disturbing face—one where drug cartels and corruption kill journalism physically. Over 150 journalists have been murdered since 2000. The combination of state neglect, impunity, and criminal intimidation has turned much of the press into either passive observers or active collaborators. The line between propaganda and survival has blurred fatally.

India’s media at the crossroads

India, often lauded as the world’s largest democracy, is now witnessing dangerous parallels. Over the past decade, key institutions of journalism have increasingly aligned with the ruling power, often abandoning their watchdog role. Several major television news channels now spend primetime defending government decisions, discrediting dissenters, and amplifying majoritarian narratives. The 2019 coverage of the Delhi riots by some Hindi news channels, for instance, showed a clear bias—blaming protestors while ignoring police complicity and state failure. The arrest of journalist Siddique Kappan, who was on his way to report on the Hathras gang rape case, exposed the weaponization of laws to prevent uncomfortable truths from reaching the public.

Media trials have replaced judicial trials in many high-profile cases. Channels have aired selective leaks from investigative agencies, vilified accused individuals before any verdict, and constructed public spectacles that polarize rather than inform. Most recently, the targeted takedown of independent digital media platforms through income tax raids or regulatory strangulation has created a chilling effect.

When the media becomes a mouthpiece of power, it does not just compromise its independence—it undermines the very foundation of democracy. It stops being a check on the executive and becomes an amplifier of its worst impulses. In such a climate, citizens receive spectacle, not substance; noise, not news.

Democracy dies first in the newsroom

When democracy is hunted by power, the media is often the first casualty—either through co-option, censorship, or outright suppression. What follows is predictable: erosion of public trust, rise of disinformation, and the dismantling of institutional guardrails. In Putin’s Russia, once-independent outlets like NTV were taken over or shut down. Today, dissenting media survives only in exile. In Turkey, President Erdoğan has jailed hundreds of journalists and converted critical outlets into government mouthpieces. In Hungary, Viktor Orbán’s government used ownership changes and advertising pressures to bring nearly all media under its control, effectively eliminating pluralism.

Even in Latin America, media collapse has walked in step with democratic decline. In Nicaragua and Venezuela, once-vibrant newsrooms have been replaced by state propaganda organs. In Brazil, the spread of disinformation networks filled the vacuum left by weakened traditional media, leading to deep polarization and attacks on democratic institutions, including the January 2023 storming of government buildings in Brasilia.

The tragedy is that these media outlets—once vibrant institutions of democracy—have lost not just their credibility, but their relevance. When they failed to defend the truth, the public turned to unreliable sources, conspiracy theories, and populist strongmen promising “real news.” The vacuum of trust was filled not with information, but with manipulation.

A final warning—and an opportunity

As Indian citizens, we cannot afford to watch this global pattern unfold without reflection. The Fourth Estate is not merely a profession—it is a pillar. If that pillar is hollowed out, the roof of democracy will fall. The duty of the press is not to entertain or appease, but to inform, to challenge, and above all, to remember.

As Amartya Sen reminds us, a functioning democracy depends not just on votes, but on public reasoning, which in turn relies on the freedom and plurality of the press. Aldous Huxley warned of a world where truth would not be suppressed, but drowned in irrelevance and distraction. That world is no longer fiction—it is here.

If Indian media does not reclaim its role as the people’s conscience, history will judge it not for what it said, but for what it chose not to say. And in that silence, democracy will not be lost suddenly—but slowly, visibly, and irrevocably.

Conclusion: When the Watchdogs Sleep, Democracies Collapse

Across continents—from the United States to India, from Hungary to Sri Lanka—a dangerous pattern is emerging: as executive power grows more brazen, the media grows more timid. The role of the press is not merely to report what is happening, but to interpret, contextualize, and defend the moral and institutional foundations of democracy. When media institutions instead retreat behind neutrality or become echo chambers of ruling elites, they don’t just fail in their duty—they become complicit in democratic backsliding.

In America, as this essay has shown, influential outlets like The Economist and The Financial Times have often chosen the language of caution over confrontation, allowing authoritarian actions to be couched in economic or procedural terms. This dilutes urgency, numbs public awareness, and risks normalizing anti-democratic behavior. But this isn’t merely a Western failure—it is a global affliction. The addendum has shown how, in countries like Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, Mexico, and India, the erosion of media freedom has often preceded or accompanied democratic decline. Where the media has lost its voice, democracy has lost its spine.

When journalists are jailed, intimidated, or silenced—as in Shahidul Alam’s Bangladesh or Lasantha Wickrematunge’s Sri Lanka—tyranny doesn’t arrive with a bang but with incremental silence. In India, where nightly television spectacles replace investigative journalism, and where dissenting voices are selectively targeted by law or economic coercion, we see a similar slow drift from democratic vibrancy to authoritarian mimicry.

The media’s moral compromise is often justified in the name of neutrality, market pressures, or access to power. But as Amartya Sen argued, democracy flourishes not simply through electoral procedure, but through public reasoning—a process which withers without a free and courageous press. As Hannah Arendt warned, the loss of truth is the first step toward totalitarianism. And Aldous Huxley foresaw a world in which truth would not be censored, but buried under irrelevance and distraction.

This moment calls for a media that refuses to normalize the abnormal, that calls a lie a lie, and that stands as a bulwark not just against misinformation on social media, but against the institutional decay from within. Whether in Washington, Delhi, Budapest, or Colombo, when the media forgets that its primary duty is to the people—not to markets, access, or ideology—it forfeits both its credibility and its legacy.

Democracy, ultimately, is not self-sustaining. It depends on vigilant institutions and a public willing to be informed, not pacified. And among those institutions, the press stands first in line—both as the first target of authoritarianism and as the first defense against it.

If media giants—be they global like The Economist or national like those in India—fail to rise to this occasion, history will not remember them as neutral observers. It will remember them as bystanders to the bonfire of the democratic project.

To remember is to resist. To report is to defend. And to remain silent is to surrender.

 

You remember the Brady Bunch movies of the 1990s, whose ingenious conceit was that television’s archetypal late-1960s sitcom family was transported to the ’90s but still lived in their oblivious 1969 bubble of bell bottoms and groovy chicks and Davy Jones fandom? That’s how I’ve been thinking of Donald Trump this week, except that he’s living in an 1890s bubble that no one around him is willing to puncture but that everyone else in the world, probably including those now-famous penguins on that one island, knows is utterly insane.

There’s a lot to say about these tariffs and how destructive they are, and most of it has been said. My colleague Timothy Noah wrote about the stupidity of tariffs as policy and how Trump has already cost him personally thousands of dollars. But I want to focus on something different here. I want to focus on Trump’s understanding of history. It’s so shockingly dumb—yes, even for him—that it’s hard to believe that we have a president of the United States who is this ignorant.

Here’s what Trump said the other day, and he has said versions of it a number of times: "In the 1880s, they established a commission to decide what they were going to do with the vast sums of money they were collecting. We were collecting so much money so fast, we didn’t know what to do with it. Isn’t that a nice problem to have?"

OK. First of all. Nobody can tell what commission he’s talking about. President Chester Arthur empaneled a commission that recommended reducing tariffs by 20 to 25 percent, going hard against the conventional wisdom of the day. But Congress defied him, lowering tariffs by just an average of around 1.5 percent (and yes, that’s another thing—Congress is supposed to set tariffs, not the president, making this move, among other things, an impeachment-worthy "abuse of power," a phrase invoked by The Wall Street Journal editorial board Thursday).

But more importantly, there’s this. Allow me to put this as Trump himself might on Truth Social: THE MAN IS AN IDIOT!!!

It is true that tariffs were the chief source of federal government revenue for most of the country’s history until the twentieth century. Tariffs and excise taxes, which are taxes on specific goods—gasoline, cigarettes, alcohol, certain amusement activities. And for a spell, a modest income tax, which President Lincoln imposed during the Civil War and that lasted through 1872. But broadly speaking, tariffs were the ball game.

Even so, they were always a political hot potato because there were powerful interests that supported them (steel, iron, and wool) and other powerful interests that opposed them (wheat, cotton, tobacco). Tariffs were at the center of some of the most heated debates of the nineteenth century.

But here’s the thing you need to know that the president of the United States does not: Tariffs supported most of what the federal government did in the 1800s because the federal government didn’t do much of anything. The government did about four things. It recruited and paid an army. It delivered mail. It ran some courts of law. And it collected duties and tariffs. That was about it. There was no need for much federal revenue.

Today, liberals and conservatives argue over what might constitute an optimal number for federal spending as a percentage of gross domestic product. Generally speaking, liberals want that number to be up around 25 percent, which indicates a robust welfare state. Conservatives prefer that it be down closer to 15 or so.

Here are some numbers from the St. Louis Fed, which go back to the Great Depression. During the New Deal, as Roosevelt was just constructing the first iteration of the American welfare state, federal spending as a percentage of GDP got up to around 10 percent. During World War II, when the government took over a number of industries, it shot up to around 40 percent. In the postwar era, it has indeed hovered around 20, indicating the liberal-conservative tug of war over federal spending. Interestingly, it rose a little under Ronald Reagan (military spending), and it reached its highest postwar point, 30.7 percent, under … Donald Trump, during the pandemic.

So that is where federal spending as a percentage of GDP has been for nearly a century—17 percent, 22 percent, 30 percent in a crisis. Want to take a guess as to what it was in 1900? Maybe 11 percent? Nine percent? Seven? Try 2.7 percent.

In other words—tariffs could cover the cost of what the federal government did because the federal government didn’t do anything!

Now, there will of course be those who say, "Well, good! We need to go back to that!" OK. Let’s go back to no Social Security. Let’s go back to no Medicare. Let’s go back to senior citizens having to fend for themselves and move in with their kids (if you’ve never seen Make Way for Tomorrow, please watch it this weekend). Let’s go back to no environmental regulation, no food inspection. Let’s just have no airline safety regulations. Flying would be so much more interesting that way! And finally, I say to those conservatives who think they want a 1900-style government, let’s go back to an Army of 25,000 personnel.

So in sum, Trump is fantasizing about some America that no one, literally not a single American, wants to return to. Poverty was through the roof. Health care was abysmal. People had seizures from toothaches. Most people didn’t even use toilet paper yet (it wasn’t "splinter-free" until the 1930s!).

One more idiotic Trump quote, if I may: "Then in 1913, for reasons unknown to mankind, they established the income tax so that citizens, rather than foreign countries, would start paying the money necessary to run our government."

What?! Well, here, we encounter a very interesting history that maybe 1 percent of Americans know. As I noted, Lincoln imposed an income tax, which disappeared in 1872. There was no income tax for 20 years. Then there was a big depression in 1893, and Congress imposed a tax on high-income people for two years. Then it went away again.

Come the twentieth century and the Progressive era, and the demand for the government to do things like inspect meat and enforce child labor laws, and liberals began pushing for an income tax. Conservatives, of course, were opposed.

So in 1909, progressives attached an income tax plank to—guess what? A tariff bill. Conservatives counterproposed that an income tax be the subject of a constitutional amendment, confident that they’d fixed the progressives’ wagon because there was no way three-quarters of the states would approve such jackbooted madness. Then they sat and watched slack-jawed as state after state approved it! In 1913, the Sixteenth Amendment took effect.

Is it Trump’s secret plan to do away with the income tax? Actually, it’s not secret at all. He has said it many times. He’s going to raise $6 trillion from tariffs and abolish the IRS.

OK. We’ll see. Even putting aside the downsides of tariffs (most obviously, higher prices), economists see nothing close to $6 trillion in revenue.

Trump is blowing more smoke out his you-know-what than a decade of California wildfires could produce. Read this, from CBS.com: "In a recent news conference, White House staff secretary Will Sharf estimated that Mr. Trump’s 25 percent tariff on vehicles and auto parts imported into the U.S. could raise ‘roughly $100 billion in new revenue.’ At the same news conference, Mr. Trump claimed moments later ‘anywhere from $600 billion to $1 trillion will be taken in over the relatively short-term period, meaning a year from now.’"

The aide says $100 billion. Trump casually ups it to a trillion. Billion, trillion; who knows. Well, even I know: A trillion is a thousand billions. That’s like the difference between 10 and 10,000. Pretty vast, in other words. But Trump knows that nobody really thinks about the difference between a billion and a trillion, so just say a trillion.

Finally, before I let you go: How much do tariffs bring in now? Around $80 billion. Sounds like a lot, and it is. But take a guess as to how much total revenue the federal government takes in, from (1) income taxes, which is half of all revenue, (2) payroll taxes, (3) excise taxes, and (4) corporate taxes.

It’s around $4.7 trillion. Know what percentage of $4.7 trillion $80 billion is? About 1.7 percent. That’s how much of our current federal revenue comes from tariffs.

Going from 1.7 percent to 100 percent sounds, um, like something that will cause vast, unknowable dislocations; and more to the point, like the fantasy of a stupid man who’s never read a book and has no effing idea what he’s talking about.

Or as Gary Cole’s Mike Brady might have put it: "Donald, when you’re trying to fool other people, you’re really only fooling yourself, and who’s the real fool then?"

 The Centrality of Antisemitism in Nazi Ideology: Beyond an Accident

1. The Misconception of Antisemitism as a Secondary Element

Many still view the Nazi regime’s focus on antisemitism as incidental rather than central to its ideology. This misconception arises from the tendency to interpret Nazi rhetoric as mere political strategy, designed to manipulate the masses rather than a deeply held belief system. However, historical evidence shows that Nazi leadership consistently prioritized the persecution of Jews, culminating in the Holocaust. This was not an opportunistic policy but an ideological commitment that shaped their broader political agenda.

2. Antisemitism as the ‘Chief Discovery’ of Nazism

The Nazis positioned antisemitism as their primary ideological insight, framing Jews as the central enemy in world politics. They saw the “Jewish question” as the core issue that justified their policies, from economic restructuring to military expansion. Public opinion, however, often dismissed this as mere propaganda. Yet, Nazi policies—such as the Nuremberg Laws (1935), Kristallnacht (1938), and the Wannsee Conference (1942)—demonstrate that their anti-Jewish stance was not simply a mobilization tool but a defining feature of their governance.

3. The Disproportionate Impact of the ‘Jewish Question’ on World History

One of the most perplexing aspects of 20th-century history is how the Nazi obsession with Jews—who formed a small minority in Germany and Europe—triggered catastrophic global consequences. The Holocaust, combined with the displacement and statelessness of Jewish survivors, reshaped geopolitics, influencing the foundation of Israel (1948) and altering international human rights discourse. The vast scale of destruction stemming from what seemed like a “small” issue challenges conventional historical logic and demands deeper examination.

4. The Flawed Association Between Antisemitism and Nationalism

A common but misleading explanation for Nazi antisemitism is its association with extreme nationalism and xenophobia. However, antisemitism in Europe intensified not as nationalism peaked, but as the traditional nation-state system weakened. The late 19th and early 20th centuries saw the decline of stable national identities, economic disruptions, and social anxieties—all of which fueled a search for scapegoats. The Nazis capitalized on these fears, directing them toward Jews rather than focusing solely on nationalistic unity.

5. The Collapse of European Stability and the Rise of Racial Hatred

The timing of Nazi antisemitism aligns with the disintegration of Europe’s nation-state equilibrium. After World War I, economic crises, political instability, and the Treaty of Versailles (1919) created fertile ground for extremist ideologies. Rather than being an extension of conventional nationalism, Nazi antisemitism emerged as a radical response to a collapsing order, offering a perverse but powerful narrative that blamed Jews for Germany’s hardships.

Conclusion

Nazi antisemitism was not a peripheral tactic but a fundamental ideological pillar, shaping both domestic policy and international aggression. Dismissing it as a mere political tool underestimates the extent to which it influenced the Nazi worldview and, consequently, the course of world history. Understanding this centrality is crucial in preventing the recurrence of similar destructive ideologies.

The Supranational Nature of Nazi Antisemitism: Beyond Nationalism

1. The Nazi Rejection of Traditional Nationalism

Contrary to common assumptions, the Nazis were not merely nationalists in the traditional sense. While their nationalist rhetoric was used to mobilize the masses, their core ideology was inherently supranational. Their vision extended beyond the German nation-state, aiming for a broader racial and ideological reordering of the world. Unlike conventional nationalists who sought to strengthen their own state within defined borders, the Nazis pursued a transnational movement that sought global influence, similar in ambition to the Bolsheviks but centered around racial purity rather than class struggle.

2. The Use of Nationalist Propaganda as a Tool

The Nazis employed nationalist propaganda selectively, using it to manipulate and mobilize the masses but never allowing their core members to be confined by it. Their leadership maintained a clear distinction between propaganda for public consumption and their actual ideological goals. This strategic use of nationalism is comparable to the Soviet Union’s approach, where nationalism was employed as a means of control rather than as a guiding political philosophy. For instance, while Nazi propaganda emphasized national pride and revenge for the Treaty of Versailles, their long-term ambitions focused on racial expansion and global ideological dominance rather than merely restoring Germany’s territorial integrity.

3. Nazi Antisemitism as an International Doctrine

Far from being a product of narrow nationalism, Nazi antisemitism was an international doctrine. The Nazis viewed Jews as a global enemy whose influence transcended national borders. Their efforts to persecute Jews were not confined to Germany; they pressured occupied and allied nations, such as France, Hungary, and Romania, to adopt anti-Jewish policies. The Holocaust itself was a transnational project, with deportations and extermination programs spanning across Europe. This international character of Nazi antisemitism underscores how it was not a nationalist phenomenon but a broader ideological crusade.

4. The Historical Internationalism of Antisemitic Movements

The international dimension of Nazi antisemitism was not a new development. The first explicitly antisemitic political parties in the late 19th century, such as those in Austria-Hungary and Germany, were among the earliest to form international alliances. These groups organized congresses and coordinated activities across Europe, demonstrating that antisemitism had long been a transnational movement. This historical precedent refutes the notion that antisemitism is inherently linked to nationalism; rather, it has often been an ideology that unites reactionary forces across national boundaries.

Conclusion

Nazi ideology was not rooted in traditional nationalism but in a broader, supranational vision that sought racial hegemony rather than national strength alone. Their antisemitic agenda, rather than being a localized prejudice, was a transnational campaign that influenced policies across multiple countries. Recognizing this distinction is crucial to understanding how the Nazis operated and how similar ideological movements can transcend national borders even today.