A new ruling by an administrative immigration court ends a pathway to citizenship for DACA recipients who are married to U.S. citizens.

Iran is betting that military pressure will ultimately force the United States to accept Tehran's control over the Strait of Hormuz — and that time is on its side. But its strategy carries risks.

Francesca Hong is the frontrunner to win the Democratic nomination for governor of Wisconsin next week. If she goes on to win the general election, she’ll become the first democratic socialist governor in American history. 

But, when Bernie Sanders, the most famous democratic socialist in the country, was asked Wednesday if he’d endorse her, he said: “I don’t think so.” He said he’d met her a few years ago, and that she “seems very very nice” — but said he wasn’t familiar with her race.

Indeed, while leftists and socialists who’ve long been eager to overthrow the Democratic establishment are excited about Hong’s campaign, some are increasingly sounding a bit wary of her chances — and wondering whether she’s the best representative the movement has to offer given the electoral stakes in this swing state. 

For instance, when Hong was asked this week about an old deleted tweet in which she called to cancel Thanksgiving due to its celebration of colonialism, she didn’t exactly disavow it. Instead, she told CNN’s Kaitlan Collins that “views can evolve” while also stressing the holiday was “incredibly painful for many people in our communities.”

Moderate Democrats cringed, of course. But what was more notable was how many fellow leftists joined in — even to some of her biggest fans, the answer seemed like political malpractice. It also brought to the surface simmering tensions within the left over how to navigate social issues more broadly, a divide that’s becoming more relevant now that their candidates are on the cusp of wielding actual power. 

Left-wing streamer Hasan Piker, fresh off campaigning with Hong, posted on X: “love fran, this was an opportunity to turn this back on how thanksgiving is about to be unaffordable due to trumps wars.” (Two days later, Hong tried a do-over on the answer, claiming Thanksgiving was actually her favorite holiday.)

Another source of concern, for some, is Hong’s tendency of giving elliptical answers when asked about her old support for abolishing police and prisons — saying she won’t do it as governor, but remaining reluctant to disavow the idea as a long-term goal. 

Sanders has been a longtime critic of “defund the police” rhetoric. And in the same interview where Sanders said he likely wouldn’t endorse Hong, he said, in response to a separate question: “No serious person that I know who is running for office believes in quote-unquote defunding the police.”

Hong’s rhetoric is reminiscent of how many people in progressive spaces talked about culture, identity, policing, and prisons back during the “Great Awokening” era, peaking in the “racial reckoning” of 2020. But some on the left increasingly believe that those positions alienate voters — particularly the working-class voters they’re trying to mobilize. 

This new left conventional wisdom, said to be embodied in Zohran Mamdani’s New York City mayoral campaign, is that socialist candidates for office should quietly downplay or even explicitly renounce those old causes — as Mamdani did for police defunding — in favor of a laser focus on issues like affordability, stopping data centers, and opposition to Israel, where public opinion is on their side. 

It’s a sort of left-wing version of “popularism” — the center-left credo that Democrats should campaign on popular ideas that poll well, and abandon unpopular progressive stances. In other words: Don’t scare the normies.

But not everyone on the left is so eager to jettison these stances for purportedly optimal campaign messaging: After all, a major organizing principle for many on the left is their willingness to stand up for what they believe in even when it isn’t popular. 

For instance, Darializa Avila Chevalier, the Mamdani ally who successfully challenged a House Democratic incumbent this year, stood by her old calls to abolish policing and borders — though, unlike Hong, she’s running in extremely blue terrain. 

“Five years ago, the left was collectively making the case for abolition &/or defund, & gaining public opinion wins,” leftist podcaster Briahna Joy Gray wrote. “Today, they’re making the case for why elected progressives are justified in abandoning this agenda.”

All this is symptomatic of a deeper divide on the left, not just about today’s political strategy, but about race, class, and gender more broadly, and how 2020-era cultural issues fit into their movement today. 

Many class-focused leftists view the period they now jokingly call “woke 1.0” or “woke 1” as a cringey mistake, and seek to blame Democratic elites for it. But others on the left still think and talk about race, identity, and social justice causes just like they did in 2020 — indeed, to them, these issues might be why they joined the left in the first place.

Some on the left now want to move on from “woke 1.0”

In 2021, Chi Ossé, campaigning for New York City Council, tweeted: “A cis white man should not be the next speaker of the Council.”

When a critic of his on X unearthed that old post earlier this year, Ossé — now a council member — gave a pithy response: “Woke 1 was crazyyyy”.

The citation of “woke 1.0” or “woke 1” is a now-common shorthand among parts of the online left to describe — and distance themselves from — what they now view as the more dated or inconvenient aspects of the impassioned social justice activism they participated in during the late 2010s and early 2020s.

Typically, this doesn’t necessarily mean rejecting causes like racial justice altogether. Rather, it is often intended to acknowledge that the tactics used a few years back didn’t work, and that a new approach is necessary to try and achieve those goals. (Indeed, “woke 1.0” implies that “woke 2.0” is either coming or already here.)

Among those who use the term, there isn’t a consensus about what’s an outdated relic worth abandoning, and what’s a worthy cause worth preserving. However, there’s probably the most consensus that the sweeping, totalizing identity-related rhetoric and assertions that were common at the time haven’t aged well. Not only did they repel winnable voters, but they fueled constant arguments inside progressive organizations, to the point that some activists likened the discord to undercover federal plots to disrupt left-wing groups in the 1960s. 

Take it from Chevalier. The victorious congressional primary challenger has stood by her old tweets about police and borders being fundamentally wrong. But when the New York Editorial Board asked her about “woke 1,” she said it was “indeed crazy” — because there was too much “divisive rhetoric” that hurt the left’s effort to build solidarity.

“At the core of what it means to organize is to bring people together behind a vision,” Chevalier said. “And you can’t do that when you are spending time trying to show who’s more progressive or who’s more woke. That actually causes more division, and it makes folks feel that there is no space for them in our movements.”

To others, the true core of “woke 1.0” is unpopular, fringe-sounding cultural causes — like, say, calling Thanksgiving problematic. In response to the Thanksgiving clip, independent journalist Ken Klippenstein posted: “Hong has a lot of strengths but this woke 1 stuff is a major weakness.”

“Socialists must practice effective communication,” Nathan J. Robinson, editor-in-chief of the socialist publication Current Affairs, wrote. “Reply to a Thanksgiving question: The only thing threatening to cancel Thanksgiving is the rising cost of groceries.”

The deeper disagreement inside the left on economics and identity issues

Underneath some leftists’ attempt to turn the page from “woke 1.0,” there’s a deeper and more longstanding divide on the left between those who want to prioritize economic issues — and those who care deeply about identity-related causes too.

To broadly generalize, we can think of the left as having three main strains, focused on economic justice (class politics), social justice (causes related to identity and culture), and foreign policy (war, empire, and — especially nowadays — Israel). But not everyone prioritizes them in the same way, or joined the movement because of the same issue.

Amid the rise of social media-powered identity related activism, some on the economics-focused left have expressed concern that progressives’ language, approach, and tactics were hampering what should be the left’s top priority: mobilizing the working class. The Marxist scholar Adolph Reed, for instance, has criticized “left identitarians” as “fundamentally antagonistic to working-class politics.”

Some on the class-focused left go further, characterizing “wokeness” as essentially an op by their political enemies. 

According to this potted history, it was Hillary Clinton who first opened the Pandora’s box of weaponized identity politics, and she did this to defeat a Bernie Sanders campaign that was overwhelmingly focused on economic justice. Clinton characterized Sanders as insufficiently attentive to gender and racial issues, famously questioning whether breaking up the big banks would solve racism and sexism. His record of more moderate positions on hot-button issues like guns and immigration, which had helped maintain support with culturally conservative independents back in Vermont, also came under attack. 

But by 2018, the rising left — embodied by Reps. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Ilhan Omar, Rashida Tlaib, and Ayanna Pressley, all first elected that year — had fulsomely embraced identity-related causes alongside economic ones, believing them to be compatible and interconnected.

All this built up to the 2020 racial reckoning, in which the murder of George Floyd by Minneapolis police Officer Derek Chauvin spurred massive nationwide protests and impassioned demands from the left for societal change. And some activists insisted this change had to include not just defunding but outright abolishing the police.

Yet the racial reckoning ended in disappointment, an “anti-woke” backlash soon followed, and rising crime seemed to discredit the idea of doing away with police. And though the platform of the Democratic Socialists of America still calls for taking “steps towards fully abolishing the police and prison system,” there’s an increasingly open debate on the left about whether it should.

“The idea that police/prison abolitionism flow from ‘core socialist principles’ is pretty odd,” Ben Burgis, a columnist for Jacobin magazine, posted recently.

“We need to create a permission structure on the left that allows socialists to have normal socialist beliefs about police & prisons (fairer, fewer, and more humane) instead of “abolish” which is flatly anarchist, and incompatible with any form of state socialism,” the socialist Cassie Pritchard wrote.

Sociologist Alex Vitale, author of The End of Policing, fired back: “In what fantasy land are police not the natural enemies of workers and their movements? There is no ‘reforming away’ that core truth.”

How these tensions play out in Francesca Hong’s campaign

With Hong holding a large lead in recent polls, some Democrats — fearing what lies ahead for her in the general election — have essentially been trying to coach her into giving what they view as better answers on these “woke 1.0” questions.

When Jon Favreau interviewed Hong on Pod Save America this week, he asked about her old tweets — saying he was only focusing on this because Republicans would be sure to spend millions attacking her, and “I just want to make sure you have the best possible answers to what’s coming.”

Asked about how her views on policing have evolved, Hong said: “My views have only become stronger in that I’m serious about public safety and I will not abolish the police.”

Favreau then asked if she still believed police exist to uphold white supremacy (as she tweeted in 2021), and Hong said, “No.”

But when Favreau asked specifically why she changed her mind on that, her answer was difficult to parse.

“When you talk to people who are most justice-impacted — a mother who lost a child to police violence, people who have contended with injustices in historically marginalized communities — justice also looks like making sure that we are implementing solutions and helping to change the material conditions of people’s lives,” she said.

Then, when asked how her long-term vision of a world without prisons would work, Hong said: “What I know is attainable and the policies that actually meet the urgency of the moment and understanding the realities of it, means that we have to ensure that we’re funding our local governments, that we’re bringing justice to victims.”

She added, more succinctly: “What may have been aspirational is not primary.”

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In the teensy Midwestern town of Braham, homemade pie capital of Minnesota, something unusual in the municipality’s computer systems knocked the city’s entire water supply offline last week.

Within a few hours, dozens of other Minnesota cities discovered that their water and wastewater utilities, too, had been compromised, most likely as part of a massive Iranian cyberattack, the kind that US officials have been warning about since the war began. 

At least a dozen states have been affected by the attack, which briefly led to a flurry of small-town service disruptions, boil-water notices, and local flooding. Water wells, dams, sewers, and pipelines are some of America’s oldest and creakiest pieces of infrastructure, built long before the internet existed, and certainly long before AI made hacking much easier. While you may assume most hackers are in it for the money or for data, some have targeted critical infrastructure like water systems or energy grids in ploys for control or disruption — or worse still, as acts of war. 

And, as last week’s attacks show, the nation’s water system is woefully unprepared. But how worried should you be that the very infrastructure that keeps our water taps running is, apparently, hackable? 

Quite worried, indeed. 

When we say the water supply got hacked, what we really mean is that someone, somewhere has broken into the computer that controls a local water treatment plant or reservoir, and is now pulling the levers, like the one that decides how much of a corrosive chemical can safely go into cleaning the water that comes out of your tap. 

These levers were once manual buttons and knobs operated in-person by real live humans, meaning that — barring a natural disaster, bomb, or break-in — protecting them was about as simple as building a fence and hiring guards. Increasingly, however, these levers have gone digital, meaning that they are now remotely operable from anywhere in the world. 

Those upgrades have been convenient, allowing technicians to monitor and troubleshoot problems in real time. But, in the process, they have exposed at times centuries-old infrastructure to distinctly modern vulnerabilities. Most local water systems are operated by local authorities, don’t have a dedicated IT team, and lack the money or resources to thoroughly protect themselves without some extra help. Hackers know this, which is why they’ve increasingly targeted local agencies in such attacks. 

“With great connectivity comes great responsibility,” said Joshua Corman, founder of I Am The Cavalry, a nonprofit focused on helping critical infrastructure withstand hackers. And yet, even when it comes to critical services like water, “our dependence on connected technology is growing faster than our ability to secure it.” 

About 97 percent of water systems are small, run by local agencies that often barely lock the proverbial front door. America’s water system is like an expensive heirloom bicycle that’s been left on a busy street, protected by only the flimsiest of padlocks. And that very vulnerability has made tiny towns like Braham prime targets for faraway adversaries. Accessing the computers that operate most water systems — known as programmable logic controllers or PLCs — is often as simple as entering a username and password on a public-facing webpage. Sometimes, there is no real password at all, because PLCs were initially intended to be accessed only within locked, secure facilities, not on the open internet. If the US wants to avoid a far more severe version of what happened last week, then it will need to start taking the security of tiny water systems like Braham’s seriously.

“Any sociopath from anywhere in the world can see these things on the internet,” said Corman. And in the case of last week’s attacks, “these were devices with no password, no firewall or VPN shielding them — they just had to log in” as whoever the intended operator was, and just like that, they were inside a local water plant. 

How did this happen at all? 

When municipalities began hooking up their old water and wastewater systems to the internet — a trend that accelerated during the pandemic as water operators, like everyone else, adapted to remote work — cybersecurity was rarely front of mind, neither for individual utilities nor for regulators as a whole. 

“We have more cybersecurity regulations for your credit card than we have for the nation’s water supply,” said Corman. Only recently have some municipalities begun to take steps to decrease the exposure of their water plants to hacks. In March, New York state, for example, launched a set of grants and basic cybersecurity regulations mandating security training for all water operators. 

Basic cybersecurity hygiene isn’t always enough. More than half of all credit card holders have been hacked, even with the help of mandatory firewalls and data encryption. You can imagine how vulnerable our water must be without the assistance of such guardrails. In a worst-case scenario, a malicious actor could quite literally open the floodgates, as Russian hackers did to a Norwegian dam last year. They could poison the tap water, as a still unidentified hacker almost did in Florida in 2021, dialing up the levels of sodium hydroxide used at a water treatment plant by over 100 times its normal levels. In a severe scenario, they could indefinitely cut off access to all water entirely.

The good news is, none of this happened last week. Nobody died, nobody lost water for more than a few hours, no fire hydrants ran dry, and no hospitals were forced to cut off their dialysis machines (which can use more than a hundred gallons of water per treatment session). There’s no need to panic, and your drinking water is almost certainly still safe to drink, assuming it was safe before. Even the city of Braham, within a few hours, was able to bring its water tower back online, pumping groundwater back to its 1,800 residents. 

How do we avoid cyber-armageddon?

If you’ve watched the Julia Roberts and Mahershala Ali-starring thriller Leave the World Behind, in which a cyberattack apocalyptically spoils a family vacation, then you might have some idea of where this story could go. 

Cyberattacks on critical infrastructure can be extraordinarily dangerous, but thankfully, none have directly cost lives or severely disrupted services in this country so far. If the US wants to keep it that way, that will mean doing more to help small cities like Braham adapt and better monitor for potential threats. As it stands, of the roughly 151,000 water facilities in the US, only about 420 participate in voluntary information sharing on their own cybersecurity practices, says Corman, who has been leading his own project that recruits volunteers to give free cybersecurity support to water utilities in the nation’s roughly 6,000 hospital towns, where a disruption could be particularly deadly. 

Cybersecurity experts like Corman believe that hackers from other nations like China have already quietly established cyber intrusions in countless local US utilities, water systems, and power grids, lying in wait to attack or act as leverage if a conflict arises. 

Unfortunately, the Trump administration has hardly treated last week’s attacks as symptoms of a system in need of much broader strengthening, at least in its public statements. “I think Minnesota is behind it. You know who’s behind it? Minnesota,” the president baselessly claimed during a Cabinet meeting last Friday. “I think the governor is behind it. I don’t think there was an Iranian cyber attack.” 

Just a few months ago, he proposed $707 million in cuts to the US Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency (CISA), the agency responsible for protecting the nation’s infrastructure from cyberattacks. He did so, at least in part, out of anger over the agency’s role in confirming the validity of the 2020 election results. If Iran is, indeed, responsible, for the recent water system intrusions, all of this means that Trump has effectively made us more vulnerable to the consequences of a conflict he initiated.

At the end of the day,“nation-state hackers do not respect the jurisdictional lines separating federal, state, and local responsibility,” Jen Easterly, who led CISA under the Biden administration, wrote in the New York Times this week. “They search for the most vulnerable way to disrupt American life, and too often they find it in small communities that lack the resources to defend themselves.” Easterly’s role has remained vacant for the past 18 months.

Kurt Gaudette, a senior vice president at the cybersecurity firm Dragos, told me that water systems have got to get into the habit of monitoring their networks for suspicious activity. Most power utilities have begun doing so in recent years, with some bipartisan backing from Congress. 

In some cases, however, the most cost-effective and safest way to avoid a repeat of last week’s mess might be to unplug the most vital controls — like the one that decides the chemical levels in a water treatment plant — from the web entirely. 

As Corman puts it, “if you can’t protect it, disconnect it.”

Well before he became CEO of one of the most valuable startups of all time, Dario Amodei was a 26-year-old PhD student studying biophysics at Princeton, obsessing over how his money would leave its mark on the world. 

On what one might assume was likely a fairly modest academic stipend and with no discernible inheritance from his parents, an Italian-American leatherworker and a project manager for libraries, Amodei gave $10,000 in 2009 to a relatively new charity evaluator called GiveWell. Founded by two ex-hedge funders before effective altruism was even a phrase, GiveWell ranked charities primarily by a single dispassionate metric: dollars per lives saved. 

It was the kind of approach that clearly appealed to Amodei — though it may not have gone far enough for him. In 2010, he wrote a guest blog post for GiveWell dissecting the effectiveness of two of the group’s top global health charities: VillageReach and StopTB. Both charities could save a life at roughly comparable costs — around $545 — but while StopTB treated or prevented tuberculosis in adults, VillageReach’s interventions mostly saved babies and children. Most people would probably feel that saving a child trumps saving an adult; indeed, even effective altruists often agree on the grounds that children have more life to live left. 

Amodei, though, viewed that as a liability for VillageReach. An adult death, he wrote, is “perhaps 2 or 3 times worse than an infant’s death,” because adults “are capable of deeper and more meaningful experiences.” As uncomfortable as such a calculus may be, he wrote, “on a practical level one is forced to make difficult decisions with limited funds.”

Though he declared StopTB to have “superiority on cost-effectiveness,” Amodei ultimately gave VillageReach higher marks for their tightly controlled “chain of execution” — the full sequence of steps between a dollar of donation and a vaccine reaching a child. That was important enough to Amodei that, despite his initial reservations, he ultimately gave VillageReach his entire $10,000 donation in 2009 — enough to save, he estimated, the lives of 20 babies across rural Africa. 

But Amodei hoped the ultimate impact would be even greater. “The money I give out is not just a one-shot intervention,” he concluded, “but also a vote on what I want the philanthropic sector to look like in the future.”

The future, it seems, has arrived. Amodei is now a multibillionaire, his fortune poised to skyrocket further if and when Anthropic goes public, as many expect it to do later this year. He is one of dozens of new billionaires and millions of new millionaires minted virtually overnight by the AI boom. 

There have already been plenty of aftershocks to this emerging AI megawealth, like the stratospheric San Francisco housing market, the nerdmaxxing of sex work, and the proliferation of all-you-can-biohack peptide raves. 

But the most consequential, and perhaps weirdest, way this burgeoning AI-ristocracy plans to burn through its cash is by giving a huge chunk of it away. Amodei is one of several AI multibillionaires — alongside his co-founders at Anthropic and OpenAI’s Sam Altman — who have pledged to donate most of their wealth in their lifetime. But even their obscene degree of collective wealth — they are worth $111.8 billion as of this writing — is only one slice of an AI bonanza that seems poised to balloon into one of the most consequential waves of American philanthropy of all time, one deeply shaped by the same utilitarian impulse that guided one of young Amodei’s first big donations. 

“I am having thousands of conversations with people who are perplexed by their own fortune and determined to give with thoughtfulness and urgency in a way that I haven’t, frankly, experienced before,” said Nick Allardice, CEO of the effective-altruism-aligned anti-poverty group GiveDirectly, whose work is grounded in research on the efficacy of unconditional cash transfers. “It’s just really important that people get started, that they don’t let perfect be the enemy of the good.”

This is neither your father’s, your grandfather’s, nor your great-great-grandfather’s philanthropy. If Gilded Age industrialists like John D. Rockefeller, a devout baptist, gave in service of their religiosity or, as was the case for Andrew Carnegie, their reverence for civic duty, then most of today’s AI barons carry forth their own spiritual tradition, one at the very least informed by the vigorously optimized commandments of the effective altruism movement. They appear far less likely to fund Carnegie-style works like opera houses or libraries than they are to put their faith — and their billions — in what they believe they can measure, calculated on the cost benefit analysis of a life saved or an apocalypse averted. 

In some cases, as Amodei did as a grad student, they’ve already begun the process. “These are people who have committed themselves to giving back even before they were very wealthy,” said Sjir Hoeijmakers, CEO of Giving What We Can, an organization that developed a campaign popular with effective altruists to give away at least 10 percent of their yearly income, “people who have been building the habit of giving for a very long time.”

And it is, to be clear, a very particular kind of giving. Amodei was the 43rd person to sign the 10 percent pledge the year after it launched in 2009, and its roster has since swelled to over 11,000 people, including more than a dozen current or former Anthropic employees. Donations made through Giving What We Can’s platform are on track to grow by 40 percent this year, Hoeijmakers told me, and support for animal welfare charities — a cause particularly and unusually popular with effective altruists — has already exceeded its 2025 total. 

“We have the resources available to tackle things that we should have tackled a long time ago,” like eradicating malaria or putting an end to factory farming, Hoeijmakers said. “I hope this funding wave, if it comes, will show that we can actually solve global problems at scale if we put our mind to it and our resources.”

Devoutness has long been a virtue in philanthropy, which largely originated in religious tithing, and there are plenty of worse things to have faith in than numbers. Having a communal guiding philosophy will undoubtedly help effective altruism’s newly flush disciples follow through on their promises far more prolifically and consistently than they would without it. And despite its high profile, less than 1 percent of total philanthropy came from effective altruism last year, according to Hoeijmakers. Most rich people prefer to give to the normie causes, like their alma maters, not to the sort of chronically underfunded global problems — like protecting animals or fighting lead poisoning — that effective altruists justifiably care most about. 

Now, quite suddenly, there’s about to be much more money to go around for these causes, which as Hoeijmakers hopes, could help finally address some of the enormous, entrenched global problems that more traditional philanthropists have all but ignored. 

But such piety also carries its own risks. In a viral Substack post from May, Stripe executive Nan Ransohoff argued — rather dismissively, but not incorrectly — that “traditional philanthropic orgs and people won’t cut it” in this new wave of AI-funded effective philanthropy, that these donors “will have an affinity” for “tech-caliber talent and execution” and will be “by default wary of folks who come from traditional philanthropy.” Ransohoff called instead for Silicon Valley to build its own new ecosystem of funds and “philanthropic startups” to cater to this new wave of wealth, emboldened with the “speed, intensity, and execution of a top technology startup.” Many of those old-school philanthropic people wrote indignant rebuttals to Ransohoff’s piece, arguing against their own obsolescence at a time when a number of the organizations they support are increasingly starved for funding. 

Those responses are, in aggregate, also correct, after their fashion. The new AI philanthropists will likely aspire to new models and approaches, as Ransohoff rightly argues. But they reinvent the wheel at our collective peril, not least of all because ignoring past efforts and steamrolling over existing infrastructure might make even the most optimized giving less efficient, and certainly less informed, than it would be otherwise. 

“Acknowledge what’s here and what’s working — don’t just ignore it,” said Nicole Taylor, president and CEO of the Silicon Valley Community Foundation. “These folks are transforming our daily lives with their technology, and they have the opportunity to be as transformational with their philanthropy. My fear is that they think that they can do it alone.”

How much money are we actually talking about?

As Ransohoff pointed out in her piece, a lot of money is on the line here — and, along with it, a lot of cautious hope about how it might get spent. 

Ransohoff posits that if you add up the promises of Amodei and his fellow co-founders, the worth of the OpenAI Foundation — the nonprofit that owns a big chunk of OpenAI’s profits — and rumored contributions from Anthropic employees, then the AI wealth boom could, in theory, lead to at least $37 billion and as much as $100 billion in total annual giving, a sizable boost to the roughly $617 billion that was given in the US in total last year.

This projection should be treated with cautious skepticism. For one thing, hundreds of billions in cash are not just sitting around in some Bay Area money vault; much of today’s AI wealth is wrapped up in potentially volatile equity, and many lofty philanthropic pledges ultimately fail to reach their full potential. 

“What people say before they become extremely wealthy, and then how they behave after they become extremely wealthy, sometimes diverge,” said David Goldberg, founder and CEO of Founders Pledge, which recruits tech leaders to donate a portion of their future earnings. It doesn’t help either, he said, that some tech luminaries — namely, Elon Musk and Peter Thiel – have come to treat most philanthropy with disdain in recent years, an ethos that has permeated some parts of the sector. Musk, it’s worth noting, actually pledged to give most of his wealth away himself back in 2012, though, like many other ultra-wealthy signatories of the Giving Pledge, he seems quite unlikely to keep that promise.  

That’s not to say AI money isn’t already flowing. Coefficient Giving, a grantmaker that evolved out of GiveWell, is poised to steward a large portion of the coming philanthropic bonanza. For most of its history, the group operated essentially as the private grantmaking operation for Facebook co-founder Dustin Moskovitz and his wife Cari Tuna. But it recently made a significant pivot towards operating pooled, multidonor funds for anyone interested in causes like lead exposure, farm animal welfare, or questions of AI safety. Just last month, Coefficient Giving announced it would donate $1 billion to GiveWell alone this year, more than five times the $175 million the group initially pledged seven months ago. They chose to do so explicitly, because Coefficient Giving expects to receive much more funding very soon.

There’s also the OpenAI Foundation, which has already begun pumping $100 million into Alzheimer’s research, and Anthropic, which recently announced a partnership with the Gates Foundation to invest $200 million worth of grants, API credits, and technical support into global health work. And plenty of Silicon Valley elites have begun making promises of their own. Earlier this summer, David Silver pledged to donate 100 percent of his equity proceeds from his UK-based $1.1 billion startup Ineffable Intelligence — the largest commitment in Founders Pledge history — and many signers of the Founders Pledge will see their portfolios skyrocket in response to the coming wave of AI IPOs. 

But Goldberg does believe there’s a risk that as people get rich fast, they will donate money “much, much slower” than they intended, simply because they get “too busy, they don’t have the right support, or there’s some form of analysis paralysis.” 

All of this is to say that the biggest beneficiaries of the AI boom are not going to function as some sort of charitable monolith. Some, like Musk, probably won’t give much or anything to charity at all. Others may park their money in donor-advised funds — a kind of secretive charitable investment fund — or, eventually, a private foundation, both of which tend to dole out their money gingerly, meaning donors can enjoy the tax benefits of charity many years before they actually opt to help anyone with their money. 

Effective altruism is about to have its big break

While its name recognition may be relatively high these days, the effective-giving movement is still on the margins of American philanthropy. But if this new wave is anywhere near as big as everyone says it will be, then that won’t be the case for long. 

For the uninitiated, my ex-colleague Dylan Matthews has written plenty on what effective altruism is, but, in sum, it is a movement that believes in goodmaxxing, in the idea of using rigorous research to save the greatest number of lives possible, including future human lives and farm animal lives. Once an EA poster boy, Sam Bankman-Fried sullied the movement in 2022, which may help explain why some prominent adherents — like Amodei and his sister and co-founder Daniela, whose husband Holden Karnofsky co-founded GiveWell — have distanced themselves somewhat from the movement in recent years. 

But even when donors shy away from the term, the causes and principles of utilitarian evaluation that have defined effective altruism from its early days still permeate the new moneyed corners of Silicon Valley, particularly among those most poised to give a lot — and to give a lot quickly. 

Ask any animal welfare or global health nonprofit — or, better yet, an expert-led pooled fund with a reputation for rigorous charity evaluations — and they will tell you that they are preparing for, and possibly even beginning to see glimmers of, a windfall. 

“We are very much anticipating a significant influx of funding,” said Dan Shannon, CEO of the Humane League, which fights to end factory farming. “I am cautiously optimistic that this could be a real sea change for us,” because “even if it’s a fraction of the big numbers being bandied about,” it could do a lot for a movement that operates on less than $300 million per year. 

He said he’s been speaking with other leaders about the possibility of creating a pooled fund to absorb more cash, which has become an increasingly popular solution for donors who want the rigor of a 2010 Dario Amodei-style deep dive on a charity’s methodology and effectiveness without having to do the math or thinking themselves.

Among the more idiosyncratic elements of their ethos is their fixation with existential risk, as in, how likely is this thing — this mirror bacteria; this nuclear war; this asteroid; or, of course, this artificial intelligence — to destroy humanity? Amodei left OpenAI to start Anthropic in the first place because he believed OpenAI had failed to take the safety risks of AI seriously enough. 

Much of the new EA wealth will likely go toward efforts to make life on Earth better now or in the near future through donations to causes like medical research, animal advocacy, or anti-poverty interventions. But another, more controversial chunk of it will go toward mitigating existential risks, especially that of Silicon Valley’s own Frankensteinian creation: AI itself.

It’s that last cause that has proven most controversial. If these billionaires are so afraid that AI will break the world, then why, you might ask, would they not just stop building it in the first place? Is there not an inherent contradiction, a conflict of interest perchance, in the sense that those tasked with making sure AI does not, let’s say, build a bioweapon, take your kid’s job, or make everyone dumb, are doing so with money made from the very thing they’re trying to regulate? 

In other words, “If you’re breaking the world and making money by breaking it, should you just not break it?” asked Goldberg of Founders Pledge. “I wrestle with the question myself.” In the end, “this is a technology that’s coming, regardless of who’s building it,” he reasoned, and it is better that the presumably good guys — the ones bothering to think about the consequences at all — build it first.

If you broke the world, can you fix it?

Even if the AI bubble pops, and if the much-discussed giving boom ends up smaller than many anticipate, it could still lead to significant changes for some of the world’s most neglected problems. And if it is close to as big as it’s expected to be, then what happens next could be gravitationally transformative, reshaping how the world lives, considers animals, and adapts to its most disruptive technological breakthrough in a century. 

“I don’t think most people think about factory farming as something that could actually be eradicated. Full stop,” Shannon said, but “my grandparents lived in a time without factory farming, and I think my grandchildren could live without factory farming,” and “that could ultimately be the legacy of this wave of philanthropy.”

Ending the pervasive use of cages — “probably the cruelest way that animals are treated on industrialized factory farms,” says Shannon — could cost as little as $500 million over 25 years, or less than 1 percent of the $60 billion that Ransohoff estimates Anthropic employees may have sitting in donor-advised funds, thanks to Anthropic’s generous early gift-matching policy, which could quickly turn into real cash once the company goes public. 

Developing a new vaccine costs an average of $886.8 million, which may sound like a lot, but it is equivalent to less than 6 percent of Amodei’s newfound fortune. It is less than what the OpenAI Foundation has pledged to invest in disease research and other causes next year alone. 

Then, there’s, perhaps, the biggest target of all. Ending extreme poverty everywhere would cost just over $300 billion annually, according to one analysis — which is a hefty price tag, but less than one-fifth of what the wealthy spend on luxury goods each year. “There’s so much needless stupid, preventable suffering in the world,” said Allardice of GiveDirectly. “We live in this time of so much abundance, so much wealth, so much technological development, and yet, there are so many people who have been left behind.” If this new wave of giving is wielded well, he said, then “we have the potential to collectively raise the floor of human experience.”

That’s a lot of responsibility to place on the shoulders of a bunch of bustling young tech workers still processing what it means to be quite suddenly, dazzlingly wealthy. It is also a lot of faith to place in an industry that has left more Americans feeling scared than hopeful about what a future flush with AI portends. 

If you aim to fix global poverty, but the technology that made you rich also threatens to make everyone else poor, then whose side are you really on? To be clear, many of the AI-ristocracy have fretted, often apocalyptically, over the implications of their creation long before most of us knew we had anything to worry about. But that doesn’t mean they know how to fix this, and, at the very least, they will not do so alone.

The last time the ground shook from such a supermassive earthquake of wealth was arguably during the Gilded Age, when robber barons and industrial tycoons turned American charity — until then, mostly almsgiving and poorhouses — into big business. They seeded enormous philanthropic empires like the Rockefeller Foundation and beloved institutions like Carnegie Hall. But, even as their exorbitant fortunes made life indisputably better — birthing the modern library, the yellow fever vaccine, and many social services — they were often built atop systems of vicious exploitation. When those systems changed, as they did eventually, it did not come from the benevolence of industrial barons, but from sustained public pressure for better labor protections.

Effective giving was born out of the conviction that many of the world’s most important causes go vastly underfunded, which, in turn, demand relentless prioritization of the limited funds that exist. If those causes are no longer underfunded — a plausible scenario if AI wealth continues to grow at the pace many expect it to — then that might change the calculus of how effective altruists decide what’s worth funding. It might even open up some wiggle room for new causes, including somewhat less measurable — but not necessarily less impactful — approaches. “Now we’ll be thinking more about what we can do with a lot of resources; which larger problems can we solve?” said Hoeijmakers. “You’ll put slightly less relatively into evaluating every small dollar on the margin.” 

This already seems to be happening, to some extent, at places like Coefficient Giving, which, in recent years, has begun adding new funds for causes like housing policy reform that fall out of effective altruism’s traditional purview. “We don’t want to be only appealing to the subset of people who happen to be interested in effective altruism,” CEO Alexander Berger told my colleague Bryan Walsh last year. “Our aim — and so far we’ve seen some success — is being a resource to people who have never heard of effective altruism or are not interested in it or don’t find it very motivating or welcoming. And I think that’s good.”

The optimal outcome here is not that Silicon Valley wealth edges out everything else, but that the siloes begin to break down altogether and that there is enough money to go around that the sector no longer needs to make overly intellectualized trade-offs, like young Amodei sitting in his dorm room, ascribing a number on the relative worth of a parent versus a child. 

“It’s tough to find the right balance between caring and hard-nosed realism,” he wrote at the time, “but it is possible, and it is, as far as I know, the only way to truly change the world.” He’s about to search for that balance on a much bigger scale.

With a new payment system still not in place, advocates for immigrant detainees fear some are going without necessary treatment as medical providers near a year without compensation.

Abdul El-Sayed has defeated Haley Stevens in Michigan’s Democratic Senate primary — albeit by a significantly smaller margin than preelection polling suggested. He’s beaten back $30 million in AIPAC spending and endorsements from top Democrats, including Michigan Gov. Gretchen Whitmer, who backed Stevens. Now he’s moving on to face the GOP nominee, former Rep. Mike Rogers, in a contest crucial to determining Senate control.

So the next question is: Can El-Sayed beat a Republican?

That will be a cinch, some in his camp claim. “For progressives, getting out of the primary is a far more difficult battle than winning in the general,” left-wing streamer Hasan Piker told CNN last week.

But the reality is that we’ve had very few true tests of how candidates associated with the left flank of the party — and specifically with the Bernie Sanders-backed revolt against the establishment — would fare in competitive swing-state general elections. 

Which means that this would be one of the first such tests, and that its outcome will have enormous stakes for the party’s future.

El-Sayed’s views on Israel and his prospective history-making turn as the first-ever Muslim senator have gotten much coverage. But El-Sayed is also a dyed-in-the-wool member of the Sanders faction, having been closely aligned with Sanders and Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez since his first political campaign in 2018. Both have campaigned for him this cycle.

If El-Sayed defeats Rogers convincingly (he’s personally predicting a 7-point victory as his baseline), he’ll become a megastar and even possibly a presidential contender. He’ll arguably be the first to prove that the Sanders formula — attacking billionaires, corporate influence, and the party establishment, while backing sweeping social welfare spending like Medicare-for-all — can win over voters who once backed President Donald Trump.

“If Abdul El-Sayed beats Stevens I actually think he’s very likely to be the next president,” Nathan J. Robinson, editor-in-chief of the socialist publication Current Affairs, posted on X last month. “If he wins the general, it’s over for centrist Dems.”

Conversely, if El-Sayed — who has trailed Rogers in recent polls — loses, skeptics may conclude that the left can’t appeal to the country’s true swing voters, and that nominating a leftist for president in 2028, or in downballot races, is too big of a risk. 

The core disagreement: Will the left’s approach succeed in the general election?

Over the past decade, it has become an article of faith across much of the left that their particular populist approach to economics and foreign policy would be potent in a general election.

They argue that typical Democrats have a more compromised platform and timid style, lacking the populist fire that can win over disaffected Americans. “Bernie would’ve won” in 2016, the saying goes, by using his outsider credibility and ambitious plans to appeal to the working-class voters and independents that went for Trump. Kamala Harris’s defeat, amid intense criticism on the left over her and Joe Biden’s support for Israel, further bolstered their sense that the party establishment just can’t get it done. 

Now, left factionalists are pointing to their several high-profile primary victories this year and arguing that energy and enthusiasm are on their side — and would translate to the general election too.

Many mainstream Democrats see this as naive. They believe that while talk of “socialism” and other far-left positions might work fine in deep blue cities and districts, it could well prove toxic in swing states that have voted for Trump. While public opinion on certain issues has moved in the left’s direction, especially Israel, candidates could have a tougher time on issues like crime, where El-Sayed has offered nuanced explanations of his “defund the police” rhetoric from 2020.

“Winning a Democratic primary means close to nothing when it comes to the general election, because these are functionally different voter pools,” Lakshya Jain of the center-left publication The Argument recently wrote.

Some analysts pointed to the primary results as a potential harbinger of general election struggles, with El-Sayed performing poorly against Stevens in the kinds of rural areas that have swung toward Republicans in the Trump era.

Are there past examples of Bernie-aligned candidates making it to tough general elections?

But even though the “Bernie vs. the establishment” battle has been raging on and off for the past decade, there have been very few clean tests about how Bernie-backed candidates would do in swing states.

Sanders never won the presidential nomination, and candidates aligned with him have generally preferred to run in strongly Democratic areas where, if they win the primary, the general election is a fait accompli. The now-expanding “squad” of left-wing House members that began with Reps. Ocasio-Cortez, Ilhan Omar, Rashida Tlaib, and Ayanna Pressley all fit this model.

There have, however, been a few past examples where Sanders-aligned candidates have made it to the general election in tough territory.

One is Andrew Gillum, whose 2018 bid for governor of Florida was backed by Sanders and other progressive groups, including billionaire Tom Steyer’s network. He won the nomination over establishment favorite Gwen Graham — but then went on to lose the general election to Ron DeSantis by a mere four-tenths of a percentage point, ushering in what became the era of Deep Red Florida.

In nominating Gillum, did the left blow a winnable race amid a national Democratic wave? Maybe — but one counterargument is that longtime Sen. Bill Nelson, a thoroughly mainstream Democrat, lost his seat by a similarly tight margin in that same election. Florida may have just been trending redder generally. Gillum’s post-election personal struggles also color views of his candidacy today.

That same cycle, in Nebraska, Kara Eastman upset the establishment favorite to win the nomination for a swing House district. (Sanders hadn’t endorsed her in the primary, but she ran on a platform of Medicare-for-all and free college.) She lost in 2018 — and again in 2020, even though Joe Biden won her district — and has been viewed inside the party as a cautionary tale about blowing a winnable race ever since.

The outcome was happier for Keith Ellison, a close Sanders ally who won his race to be Minnesota’s attorney general in 2018. Yet his margin of victory — about 4 percentage points — wasn’t particularly impressive in a lean blue state in a strongly Democratic year when Tim Walz won the governor’s race by 11. Later, when Ellison ran for reelection in 2022, he eked out a win by less than 1 point while Walz won by 8.

John Fetterman was generally understood to be a “Bernie faction” candidate when he ran for an open US Senate seat in Pennsylvania in 2022. (Sanders stayed neutral in the primary that year, but had backed Fetterman’s earlier lieutenant governor campaign and championed him in the general election.) But he wasn’t exactly running on a bold left platform — he backed off his past Medicare-for-all support and was pro-fracking.

Fetterman ended up winning by 5 points even though it was a favorable cycle for Republicans — but simultaneously, the more centrist Josh Shapiro won the governor’s race by 15. However, Shapiro’s opponent was believed to be weaker and more extreme, and the stroke Fetterman suffered that year complicates efforts to read too much into his performance. 

Separate from his electoral performance, Fetterman’s association with the Sanders left ended years ago as his politics moved to the right; lately, there has been talk he might switch parties. This has also fueled arguments from moderates that populist outsider candidates are less reliable than more conventional ones even if they do manage to win.

El-Sayed is running on a bold left platform in a true swing state

Taking this grab bag of outcomes together, one can see why mainstream Democrats might be skeptical that the left has the secret sauce to win swing voters. But each race has had its own unique circumstances and complications.

Furthermore, in this cycle, the electorate could be in a different place — more disenchanted by the establishment and more willing to take a chance on further-left candidates.

Graham Platner was set to be the great hope for the Sanders faction until his Senate campaign was derailed by scandal and he was replaced on the ballot by Troy Jackson — another Sanders-aligned candidate, albeit one with his own long history in state politics. But though Jackson is facing a formidable Republican incumbent, Maine is a blue state that hasn’t backed a GOP presidential candidate since 1988.

Michigan is tougher turf, having voted for Trump in two of the past three presidential elections. The conventional wisdom for how a Democrat can win a race there is to run a cautious campaign, being careful not to alienate potentially winnable Republican and independent voters. A good example is Gary Peters, the departing two-term senator El-Sayed is running to replace, who’s a traditional pro-union Democrat known for keeping a low profile in general.

El-Sayed is not doing that. He supports Medicare-for-all, a billionaire wealth tax, abolishing ICE, and a full arms embargo on Israel. While El-Sayed is not a democratic socialist, he’s very closely tied to Sanders and Ocasio-Cortez — the trio held hands and raised their arms together at a recent rally, in an image Michigan voters may well see in GOP-funded attack ads. 

And back in 2020, El-Sayed expressed sympathy with activists calling to “defund the police” and said most major cities spend far too much on police departments, though he’s tried to downplay those views this cycle.

“I’m worried that he’s more passionate about attacking other Dems than Republicans and may not be ready for what’s coming,” Adam Jentleson, president of the center-left Searchlight Institute, posted on X recently.

Now that he’s won the primary, El-Sayed will get the chance to try and show he’s ready — and to test whether his bold left platform will be his greatest asset, or a millstone.

Maybe it was never a great idea to build so many golf courses in the desert. But in the 1990s, when Tiger Woods mania was at its peak, Las Vegas went on a fairway construction spree, dotting the city with dozens of pristine, water-gobbling green oases, most woven around upscale master-planned suburbs. 

One of those new fairways was the privately owned Badlands Golf Club, whose name now evokes huffs of frustration and wistful what-ifs from Las Vegans in the know. Opened in 1995 about 15 miles west of the Strip, the luxury course once wound its way around some of the city’s most opulent mansions and gated communities. 

By the time Woods crashed his car into a fire hydrant in 2009, the golf industry was in a crisis of its own. Many Americans had lost their appetite for the sport, which began hemorrhaging millions of players during the Great Recession and Woods’s fall from grace. Thousands of golf courses built during boom times shut down as a result — Badlands Golf Club among them. 

Meanwhile, Las Vegas, like many American cities, needed more homes to help alleviate its brutally high housing costs. These days, Nevada needs 120,000 additional affordable homes, but it is running out of places to build them, in part because about 85 percent of the state is federally owned, meaning there’s little room left for its cities to grow or sprawl. Shuttered golf courses — which often had the advantage of being tied into existing urban infrastructure, unlike more undeveloped land — presented ideal spots for relatively low-cost development.

Not everyone was happy about the idea. To the ire of its affluent neighbors, the precious real estate of the Badlands Golf Club was slated for a new housing development in 2015. What came next was one of the worst land disputes in Nevada history, a decade-long legal tussle waged by the city of Las Vegas at the behest of wealthy locals. Las Vegas was forced to fork over $286 million to a developer last year — one of the largest such settlements in history, and more than the city’s entire annual municipal culture and recreation budget — for illegally denying applications and permits to build atop the Badlands, which by then sat empty, an abandoned eyesore. Eleven years after the fiasco started, a new developer finally began clearing the site for a new luxury housing complex earlier this year, while Las Vegas has had to enact hiring freezes and delay municipal projects to pay off its hefty bill.         

In cities where space is tight, underused golf courses are, in theory, ideal canvases for new housing. These huge, repurposed tracts of land can fit thousands of new units — ideally, affordable ones — alongside other amenities like parks or basketball courts smack in the middle of some of the country’s most desirable and well-connected neighborhoods. This makes such developments much cheaper to build than creating a new suburb with all new roads and power lines from scratch.

Not every attempt to turn golf courses into housing lands is destined for financial calamity. Just last year, the city of Las Vegas approved a plan to convert a separate golf course, the city-owned Desert Pines Golf Club, into a 1,500-unit housing complex, the largest affordable housing project in Nevada history and a public-private partnership between the city, the Nevada State Infrastructure Bank, a private developer, and nonprofit partners. The project is a rare win for these kinds of developments, and may offer a blueprint for how they can be accomplished in the future. But even there, the challenges are still real. 

“Everyone wants more housing at a regional level. Everyone acknowledges that we need more housing,” said Nicholas Irwin, research director at the Lied Center for Real Estate at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. “But no one wants it near them, and that’s the tricky part.” 

How to turn a golf course into housing

Desert Pines Golf Club opened in the heart of East Las Vegas in 1996, a lush, manicured 18-hole course, peppered with over 4,000 imported pine trees. Like nearly one in five fairways nationwide, Desert Pines was municipally owned, its pricey water needs subsidized by Vegas taxpayers. 

With its rolling green hills, Desert Pines was, by far, the largest contiguous green space in the mostly working-class neighborhood that surrounds it. But while golfers flocked to the course, many local residents barely even knew it was there or likely assumed it was out of their price range, said Ángeles Ramos, a local organizer with the immigrant advocacy group Make the Road Nevada. “Only the wealthy wanted it for their own purposes,” she told me in Spanish, but “what we want, what we urgently need, is more affordable housing.” 

There was a time when “we could just build anywhere and everywhere because the valley was underdeveloped,” Irwin said, but “now, we’re buttoned up against it. We are incredibly dense, because we’ve basically filled up the land we have.” Much of Nevada is undevelopable because the federal government has set it aside for other purposes like recreation, which explains the state’s bevy of tourist attractions like Lake Tahoe or Red Rock Canyon. But it also leaves the city with little space to build.  

If all 16,000 golf courses in America turned all of their land — about 2.3 million acres — into housing with the same density as Desert Pines, it would be enough space to build 22 million homes. If you applied that approach to only those courses that are, like Desert Pines was, municipally owned, then you could still build 4.3 million affordable homes, which would make an enormous dent in the nation’s current shortage of about 7.2 million affordable homes. 

That’s not to say that every golf course in every land-constrained city ought to be bulldozed to make way for new apartment buildings. Golfing, for the record, has made a bit of a comeback lately, much like its most famous star. And even if fairways were still closing at the rate they were a few years ago, there’s no way that they could solve Nevada’s housing gap alone, much less overcome the shortage nationwide. But they can still help close the gap. 

Ramos, who is among the local leaders organizing community meetings around the Desert Pines redevelopment, believes it could be transformative for the community over time. She says that in her neighborhood it’s become a luxury for many families just to live alone with their spouse and kids, rather than doubling up in cramped apartments, pooling together money each month to keep up with rising costs. 

 When the Desert Pines redevelopment opens about a decade from now, it will include not just 1,500 housing units, but also a soccer pitch, walking trails, and a job training center. In East Las Vegas, the temperature often feels more than five degrees hotter than it does in the Badlands’ affluent suburbs, where residents enjoy over nine times as much parkland per person. 

“This project brings a lot of hope,” said Ramos, who’s especially excited about the prospect of more accessible, kid-friendly green spaces. “We’re all human. We need equity, respect, and to live with dignity, and that’s why we urgently need trees too.”

As it turns out, you can do a lot with an old fairway. Even with all of those bells and whistles, the new development will still likely use less water than the golf course did. And, because the plot of land is already enmeshed within the community of East Las Vegas — close to existing sewer, water, and electricity lines — it will be much cheaper to build there than it would be to try doing so on the outskirts of the city, said Antonio Bermúdez, vice president of McCormack Baron Salazar, the developer working with the city and state government on the proposal.

“What I’ve seen so far in the state of Nevada is that the political will is there,” he said, though the question is, “how do we make this happen not just in Nevada and the city of Las Vegas, but everywhere else where affordable housing is needed.”

Not in my golfyard!

If the Badlands has become a brutal fable of bad governance and highly charged NIMBYism, then Desert Pines may prove to be the model of a golf course-to-housing project gone right.

It also enjoyed the privilege of being located in a welcoming neighborhood, filled with renters who could personally benefit from the project. By contrast, many other golf courses were instead built as a luxury perk embedded in master-planned communities, meaning they’re surrounded by homeowners who fear that losing a recreational amenity — especially if it’s replaced by less upscale housing — could affect their property value.

Just across the street from the Badlands is another golf course, Angel Park Golf Club, built on federal land granted to the city of Las Vegas. If the city ever tried to build an affordable housing complex like the one it’s planning in Desert Pines, it would almost certainly fail given the outrage with which the surrounding community reacted to a proposal for other high-end housing in their backyard. 

Victoria Seaman, a former Las Vegas City council member, was elected in 2019 to represent the district that includes the Badlands, mid-lawsuit. Even the “big, beautiful two-acre lots” the developer originally envisioned for the site, she said, were not good enough for Queensbridge, an ultra-luxury gated community abutting the course that acted as a powerful lobbying bloc during the decade-long process, influencing the city’s illegal decision to block the original property owner from breaking ground. 

The city of Las Vegas is still paying off the total $286 million settlement it made over its obstruction of the Badlands project, in part through funding cuts to projects like the Desert Pines redevelopment in East Las Vegas.

“These were expensive homes with beautiful planning,” Seaman said of the project planned for the former golf course, and yet somehow, “these very big donors in Queensbridge convinced the entire [homeowners association] that the developer would ruin the neighborhood.”

The fight over fairways is really a fight over who gets to live where

The Badlands example is particularly dramatic, but it also gets at the challenges faced by similar projects across the country. Even a decade after many fairways fell into decline, there are few other examples quite like Desert Pines, and certainly none as large. While dozens of cities — including  Denver, New York, and Virginia Beach — have made overtures to turn golf courses into housing in recent years, almost all such projects have been met with upheaval and fierce resistance from locals. 

To some extent, that’s understandable. In Sparks, Nevada, hundreds of local residents have flooded community meetings in recent months to oppose a proposal to raze the Red Hawk Golf and Resort and build over 700 new homes in its place. “Promises were made to this community,” Tom Ciesynski, one of those homeowners, told me, “these lots, these very nice homes, were sold with premiums added for those that were sitting on the golf course.” Now, he says, the fairway’s owner is trying to build “tract homes that just don’t fit the character” of a neighborhood that has come to see the Red Hawk as its centerpiece, where Ciesynski regularly goes to golf, and where his wife takes her yoga and pilates classes. 

He understands that Sparks, like most of Nevada, faces a housing crunch. “Most people aren’t opposed to all new development, but there’s a right way to do it and a wrong way to do it,” he said, and there are other places within a “stone’s throw of where we live” where he thinks the developers ought to go and build instead.

He arguably has a point. Recreation spaces are important for livable cities, too, and it’s not fair that homeowners who were promised one thing when they bought their properties are now facing a new reality. 

And yet, the most troubling trade-off is not the one that leaves a homeowner golf course-less but the one that leaves families in East Las Vegas unable to afford homes at all. It may be tempting to only build affordable housing in places that won’t put up a fight, which in practice, means avoiding most golf courses, especially those in wealthy neighborhoods that want to preserve the kind of exclusivity that many fairways were built to project in the first place. But cities can no longer afford that indulgence — and in any case, they shouldn’t be digging in their heels to protect it.

When people talk about a new development not fitting the character of a neighborhood, “what they’re describing is an amorphous feeling,” said Irwin of the University of Las Vegas, “and if you make policies based on feelings and vibes, you get bad policy.”

One of the most powerful forces in American politics is about to face a major test of its influence — and it may well come up short.

The American Israel Public Affairs Committee, or AIPAC, has for decades spent heavily to ensure that US policy remains strongly supportive of the Israeli government. The group has spent hundreds of millions of dollars on lobbying and elections to stock Congress with allies and keep them supportive of Israel’s policy priorities once they’re there. It also tries to defeat elected officials and candidates who, in its view, are too supportive of the Palestinian cause or too critical of Israel’s Gaza war.

Next week’s Democratic Senate primary in Michigan is AIPAC’s biggest-ever investment in a single election: The group has spent more than $30 million to defeat staunch Israel critic Abdul El-Sayed and to try to ensure Rep. Haley Stevens wins the Democratic nomination instead.

In the past, AIPAC has very often gotten its way. But this time may be different. El-Sayed has been explicitly running against AIPAC, arguing that the group’s heavy investment in the race discredits his opponent — and trying to capitalize on the Democratic base’s sharp turn against Israel due to the devastation of the Gaza war. And if polling is any indication, it seems to be working. Several recent surveys show El-Sayed with a double-digit lead. 

If he wins, it would arguably be AIPAC’s worst-ever defeat. It could also mean we’re in a new chapter of politics, where the group’s heavy spending is less and less effective — and even potentially toxic to voters in the Democratic base.

What has changed, and how could these changes reshape politics? 

To understand the influence of AIPAC — what it’s like to go up against the group, and also how its power may be ebbing — we spoke to a Michigan politician who ended up on their bad side, crossing the group on the Israel issue and then losing his seat. (In fact, he lost it to the very candidate AIPAC is boosting in next week’s Senate contest: Haley Stevens.)

Andy Levin was a two-term congressional incumbent and scion of a Michigan Jewish political dynasty — he succeeded his father, Sander Levin, who had served in the House for decades. Andy’s uncle, Carl Levin, had served in the Senate for decades as well; both held high-profile committee chairships.

But once in Congress, Andy Levin staked out positions on Israel that spurred furious pushback from AIPAC. A former president of the group declared he was “arguably the most corrosive member of Congress to the US-Israel relationship.”

And when, after redistricting, he and his colleague Rep. Stevens ended up running against each other in the same primary, AIPAC spent more than $4 million to boost her chances, successfully knocking Levin out of Congress.

Levin is an enthusiastic supporter of El-Sayed, and was in the car on his way to canvas for him when we spoke Thursday. Our conversation, which has been condensed and edited, follows.

How Rep. Andy Levin ran afoul of AIPAC

Tell me about your history and how you’ve thought about the Israeli-Palestinian issue over the years.

I guess the thing to understand is, I’m Jewish, right? You know what a mezuzah is? I had mezuzot on all my doors in Congress. I was the president of my synagogue until I won my primary, and then I felt I had to resign and turn that over. 

I am a long, long, longtime human rights activist. My human rights grounding comes from my values as a Jew. Everyone’s created the image of God, you know, and all this. “Justice, justice shall you pursue.” Not a lot of words are repeated twice in the Torah.

So I was active on Tibetan human rights and Haitian human rights. I was in China during the Tiananmen massacre. I interviewed the Dalai Lama. In 1990, as a graduate student, I went to Israel and Palestine. We traveled all over Israel, and we could go in Gaza, there was no Hamas yet. We met the political leaders there and talked to everybody in the West Bank.

And I came home, and I wrote an article in the Detroit Jewish News that said, “Oh my God, 23 years of occupation, this is enough. It’s totally toxic. It’s bad for our soul as the Jewish people, and there’s no solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict without fully realizing the political and human rights of the Palestinians.” 

My positions never really changed. But after a quarter century of Bibi [Netanyahu] being the Israeli government — he’s always been against the two-state solution, no question, but he pussyfooted around; he played a lot of games about it. But his government’s gotten more and more right-wing. And in this century, no president of either party has done anything significant to force the Israelis and the Palestinians into each other’s arms, or just to, like, really negotiate.

So you get elected to Congress in 2018. How did you earn the enmity of AIPAC?

I get to Congress. I get on the Foreign Affairs Committee. And the Gaza war before this one happens [in 2021]. It was like a pimple compared to this, but it was terrible. 

In the House, there were eight more senior Democrats who worked on Israel and Palestine together. I was, like, the kid; they let me tag along. We were all J Street-aligned [J Street is a more progressive Israel advocacy group]. 

There were these meetings, and everyone was like, we have to do reconstruction of Gaza, we have to do aid. And I’m like, okay, I’m for all that. But this is just an endless cycle of violence. I want to focus on ending the cycle of violence and actually achieving peace. 

So I wrote the Two-State Solution Act. And, dude, it was quite a milquetoast piece of legislation, if I may say so. It was not adequate in any way. But the preamble said, “whereas” — you know, all the “whereas”-es [rhetorical throat-clearing at the beginning of legislation], which aren’t an effective part of it — it said, whereas Gaza and the West Bank and East Jerusalem, under international law and United Nations resolutions, these are occupied territory.

The Democratic Majority for Israel pollster, Mark Mellman, attacked me, saying, Andy Levin says we shouldn’t be able to pray on the Western Wall. Because of that preamble, which said East Jerusalem was occupied territory arguably — it’s ridiculous.

But with the Two-State Solution Act — this is the stranglehold that AIPAC had. Some people are sort of more intellectually serious in Congress, and some are less. Some are more like, they study things themselves, but some are more staff-driven.

Some of the more serious people came up to me and said they read the Two-State Solution Act, and they said really nice things about it. And then they said, “But of course I can’t co-sponsor it, you understand.” One colleague came and co-sponsored, but because AIPAC said “dude, no,” he withdrew.

How Levin lost to Haley Stevens — who was aided by AIPAC’s spending — in 2022

So then, in the 2022 cycle, there was redistricting, and you and your colleague Haley Stevens ended up running in the same district, and that’s when AIPAC tries to defeat you.

After the Census, Michigan went from 14 to 13 seats. Haley and I were mushed in together now. You could have argued that either of us should’ve run in the new, current, 10th district. Haley lived in the 10th district; she was more moderate, and that’s a more Republican or mixed district. I never represented any of that.

My case was, I lived in the center of the new 11th district; I still live there. My kids are the fifth generation of my family to live in the new 11th district. The whole Jewish community is almost all in the new 11th district, overwhelmingly.

But the former national president of AIPAC wrote this fundraising appeal for Haley and said, Andy Levin is the most corrosive member of Congress for the US-Israel relationship. 

So the level of threat they saw in me — if you get a Rashida [Tlaib] or even if you get an Abdul [El-Sayed], they’ll fight against them. But I’m the Jewish guy, right? I’m the son of Sander Levin, the nephew of Carl Levin.

They were these two Jewish kids from Detroit, grandsons of immigrants, who rose to be, at the same time, the chair of the [House] Ways and Means Committee — my dad — and the chair of the [Senate] Armed Services Committee. So this is super threatening to AIPAC, right? So they targeted me.

So I got trounced by Haley. And I wondered afterward; I told Celinda [pollster Celinda Lake], I should have run in the new 10th district because this intramural fight was so horrible, so unpleasant. She said, I admit it would’ve been better — but I don’t admit you would’ve won in the 10th. Because AIPAC would have backed [Republican nominee] John James, and they would have spent any amount of money to beat you.

Why the politics of Israel changed — and why he thinks Abdul El-Sayed has a better shot at winning, including in the fall

You lost your race, but it certainly seems like, four years on, your views are winning inside the Democratic Party. The party base increasingly seems to be siding with you and against AIPAC now. Take me through what changed since then. 

Horrifying things caused the change. Genocide caused the change. Seventy thousand-plus Palestinians killed in Gaza caused the change. Most houses of worship, university buildings, hospitals, residential buildings being destroyed, and the US either providing the weapons for or even paying for a lot of this. 

These huge bombs, which US military leadership said, we don’t use those in populated areas — we’re providing them to Israel, and not only was Israel using them like on apartment blocks, they were using them on places they told people to flee. Any parent seeing all these maimed and killed children — and, what’s happening on the West Bank is horrifying, right? That’s part of it.

But the other part is, it gets mixed in with the larger, horrifying phenomenon of dark money, and corporate money, and special interest money in our politics. 

I mean, the idea that AIPAC is using mostly dollars from Republican centimillionaires and billionaires to be the biggest spender in Democratic primaries — that’s so gross, and it’s a huge problem for the Democratic Party and also for our democracy. 

Most people don’t vote on Israel and Palestine at all; they vote on their pocketbook, on their kids, on their neighborhood, on inflation, on jobs. We’re at a really huge gathering crisis about income and wealth inequality in America.

So we need three things, really, in candidates this year: authenticity, boldness about policy proposals, and truth-telling. I think this year, people are so fed up with politics as usual. And can you imagine? Honestly, can you imagine Abdul could win when they’re spending $80 million to beat him?

Why do you think he’s able to pull that off — if he is? The election isn’t over, of course, but it’s on Tuesday, and the latest polling has shown him with a double-digit lead. 

Sometimes the amount of money, it does become a little bit of a story in itself. Of the money being spent on Haley Stevens’s behalf, what percentage is going to be money she raised outside of AIPAC, and what percent is going to be dark money of one kind or another? 

But one of my biggest things about this election is this notion about how to win in November, which drives me out of my mind. The idea is, the liberals are gonna vote for the Democrat. The MAGA people are going to vote for the Republicans. Therefore, it’s all about the independents. It’s all about the people in the middle. Therefore, we must run to the mushy middle to win. 

It’s a static idea of the electorate, right? They call Michigan a swing state. What is a swing? The whole beauty of the swing — when you’re a kid, you go so high, you go all the way to the back, and you feel like you’re weightless for a second, and you go all the way to the front. That’s swinging. 

That’s what Michigan does. [In presidential primaries], this state voted to nominate George Wallace in 1972. We voted to nominate Jesse Jackson in 1988. And Bernie Sanders in 2016.

Abdul can attract voters across the political spectrum who hate the system. He’s so different than Trump, but they look at him and are like, well, nobody’s going to fuck with him. I don’t think he’s going to kowtow to anybody or just do what anybody says. I think he’s gonna do his own thing, and it will be entertaining to watch this. 

I think that actually Abdul can expand the electorate, and he’s the better candidate. We must win this seat in November. Abdul’s the better choice.

It’s been quite a year for the Democratic Socialists of America.

They got one of their own, Zohran Mamdani, elected mayor of New York City. They’ve taken down congressional incumbents in New York and Colorado. Their membership has soared to 120,000 dues-paying members, the group said.

But with success has come more media interest — and scrutiny.

National coverage has focused on controversial elements in the DSA’s platform, which calls for, among other things, defunding the Pentagon, taking steps toward abolishing the “carceral forces of the capitalist state,” making Jerusalem the capital of a free Palestine, and making the president of the United States chosen by Congress rather than elected. 

Internal controversies and splits within the group — such as debates over whether, and when, it should endorse a 2028 presidential candidate (such as Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez) — have also risen to national attention. Some in the movement have also argued that candidates embracing ideas like prison abolition could limit their political upside. 

As the midterm elections near, Republicans are eager to link Democrats to the DSA as part of a broader messaging strategy. President Donald Trump derided the group as communists — a term many in DSA would reject, but that some happily embrace as a self-descriptor.

So what is the DSA all about, anyway? And what do they really want?

To answer those questions, I spoke to Peter Sterne, an editor at City & State New York who has covered the ins and outs of DSA closely in such articles as “DSA for Dummies,” “Understanding DSA’s structure,” and “Get to know DSA’s internal caucuses.” 

Sterne knows the group’s inner workings well, in part, because he was a dues-paying member himself. He joined DSA in 2017 but quit it in 2023 after taking his current role covering New York politics, viewing his membership as a conflict of interest. But, he told me, he has many sources inside the group that still keep him in the loop.

Our interview, which has been condensed and edited, is below.

Why socialists aren’t just progressive Democrats

What are the core principles of DSA? What really unites the group and its members — and sets them apart from just progressive Democrats?

I would say that everyone who is in DSA identifies as a socialist, and many of them would also identify as Marxist. So they are very critical of capitalism and a society and economy that is built on capital accumulation. 

DSA members go farther than progressives like Senator [Elizabeth] Warren in that they are not just looking to rectify the excesses of capital, or create a nicer capitalism, or a mixed economy where you still have capitalism along with a generous social welfare state.

I think that, within DSA, people are critical of capitalism itself and believe in moving toward a society in which workers have more control over their workplaces and society. In terms of what that actually looks like in the short term, there are lots of different ideas. 

Now, certainly in terms of what democratic socialist candidates are running on, it is very similar to what non-socialist progressives are running on. It is largely an expansion of the social welfare state. 

But I do think there is an important philosophical difference. The Warrenites and progressive capitalists believe in the necessity of a free market economy. Whereas socialists — even if they don’t necessarily want to abolish it overnight — don’t believe that private ownership of corporations, private ownership of utilities is necessary. And that makes them much more willing to push for policies that others would see as being beyond the pale. 

The DSA’s ideological spectrum — from Bernie Sanders fans to full Communists

So then, walk me through some of the main things people within DSA disagree over — whether tactically or philosophically.

DSA identifies as a multi-tendency organization. In other words, it is a big tent of the left. 

So you have some people who are basically where Bernie is, in terms of identifying as democratic socialists — wanting to kind of bring back an FDR-style expansion of the social safety net but not necessarily wanting to go that much further. 

And then, on the other side, you would have people who identify as Communists and as Marxist-Leninists or Maoists who believe that, ultimately, the solution is a kind of Communist revolution — that, eventually, the workers are going to rise up and institute a new form of the state and society. 

They see their role as helping to radicalize the workers and prepare for that revolutionary moment, more so than trying to get elected and pass policies that will eventually move you into more of a social-welfare-type state.

So that’s the central tension. You have, on the one hand, people who would consider themselves socialists and often Marxists but believe in a democratic road to socialism, and those who identify as more revolutionary socialists, following the model of Lenin or Mao, who believe that it is impossible to reform the system.

How does that tension play out in debates inside DSA about electoral strategy?

There’s a lot of debate over red lines for elected officials and whether DSA elected officials should work within the Democratic Party or not. 

DSA generally does not just endorse people who are running for office in the way that a lot of organizations do. They believe in strategically choosing specific races to get involved in — and ideally having their own members, people who have been involved in the organization and are accountable to the organization and loyal to DSA running as candidates. 

DSA’s official strategy is that, for now, they will run candidates on the Democratic Party line. But they want to build up the infrastructure to be their own party in everything but name. So DSA wants to have its own donor networks, its own data on who is voting, its own electoral strategy — as opposed to relying on the Democratic Party for any of that.

Ideally, then, you can imagine DSA breaking from the Democratic Party. That would be the “dirty break” strategy, as opposed to the “clean break” strategy, which is, “we just stop running anyone as a Democrat right now.” The clean break strategy has been largely discredited within DSA, and they’re largely focused on the dirty break.

But as DSA wins more power running as Democrats, it becomes harder for people to imagine them ever breaking with the party. So people say they’re now doing a “dirty stay” strategy, where they’re just going to try and do realignment, which means basically taking over the Democratic Party.

The internal DSA tensions around electoral pragmatism 

There’s been some attention around how the national DSA leadership and the New York City DSA — which is seemingly the most successful of the DSA chapters around the country — have different views on these electoral strategy questions. Can you break that down?

NYC’s DSA’s political leadership is dominated by two caucuses in particular: Socialist Majority Caucus and Groundwork. Both of those are sometimes described as being on the “DSA right” —  although, they do not like that term. 

They would say that they are focused on “mass politics,” on trying to bring in the largest number of people into DSA, on trying to get DSA members elected into positions of power who can then support legislation that will materially improve the lives of the working class, can win people over to socialism and bring in more members, and build a large influential powerful socialist organization. That is essentially the Zohran theory.

Most of the people in DSA who were involved in the Mamdani campaign, and a number of them who are now involved in NYC government — such as the head of the Office of Mass Engagement, or the head of the mayor’s office to protect tenants — those are DSA members, and specifically, they are members of the Socialist Majority Caucus. SMC and Groundwork are very focused on that kind of electoral approach and, generally, are more pragmatic. They are very averse to disciplining electeds or trying to force electeds to publicly defend positions that are politically unpopular — like, say, police abolition.

Their counterparts would be the “DSA left.” Within New York City, the main left caucus is Emerge. You also have Marxist Unity Group, Red Star, and Springs of Revolution, which is primarily an anti-Zionist faction. They have less influence within New York City overall. But they have more influence within DSA nationally. A lot of chapters outside of New York City and California are more ideologically focused — and less focused on just having the most electoral success running as Democrats. 

Recently, there’s been some discussion about the national DSA platform. Francesca Hong, who’s running for governor of Wisconsin and is a democratic socialist, distanced herself from the platform this week. How should we understand the tensions around this question about appealing to voters versus being ideologically pure?

Generally speaking, I’d say most people in DSA agree on the overall ideology. The issue is more: Are you holding candidates to support that platform publicly? Do you allow your electeds to distance themselves from DSA’s positions when that seems to be the politically pragmatic choice to make? Or does that undermine the organization or even mislead the working class?

You see this a lot around anti-Zionism. There is a faction of DSA members who have been very critical of Rep. Ocasio-Cortez, because they feel that she has been insufficiently public in terms of criticizing Israel. Initially, she voted “present” on the Iron Dome. She said she was not opposed to defensive military aid to Israel. She infamously said during the DNC in 2024 that she believed that Biden and Harris were tirelessly working for a ceasefire. 

And a lot of people within DSA have been critical of AOC for what they see as compromising with Democratic leadership when it comes to Israel and Palestine and not taking a very strong kind of unconditional stance against Israel. And there have also been a lot of people, particularly within NYC DSA, who have defended AOC. Their argument is that AOC needs to be pragmatic about these things. 

You see it with Zohran in terms of his relationship with the NYPD and with NYPD commissioner Jessica Tisch. A lot of people in DSA are very critical of Tisch, who worked for [Eric] Adams. She is a billionaire and a Zionist — definitely not in keeping with DSA’s politics. And she is someone who helped to create the surveillance dragnet under the Adams administration and the De Blasio administration. 

So there have been people in NYC DSA who have called for Zohran to fire Jessica Tisch. And there are other people who say that they do not like Tisch, but they feel Zohran needs to make the pragmatic decision of working with her and not confront entrenched police power.

The DSA’s complicated relationship with Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez

Can you talk to me about the complicated relationship, the ups and downs between DSA and AOC over the years?

That relates to the tension between national and NYC. NYC DSA is really, really pro-AOC. They have a close relationship with her and work closely with her, and she really likes a lot of the leaders in NYC DSA. National DSA is much more skeptical of her, seeing her as willing to compromise and be opportunistic in ways they don’t like. 

AOC was first elected in 2018. In 2024, she was easily reendorsed for election by the NYC DSA, which then applied for the national DSA to endorse her as well. 

The national leadership dragged their feet because they were divided, particularly around her rhetoric around Israel and Palestine. 

Ultimately, they issued a conditional endorsement, saying, “we will endorse AOC if she agrees to support the boycott, divestment, and sanctions movement and oppose all aid — defensive and offensive military aid — to Israel.”

NYC DSA was concerned that AOC would not agree to that and that requiring her to agree to those conditions would alienate her from the organization. So they told national DSA, it’s fine, if you’re only going to offer a conditional endorsement we don’t need it. 

Generally, I think it’s safe to say that NYC DSA believes DSA needs AOC more than AOC needs DSA. So they’re very wary of alienating her; they want to maintain a positive working relationship. 

And all this leads into the question of what will happen in the 2028 presidential race, right? If she runs, it doesn’t seem like there’s another plausible socialist candidate in the mix.

If you talk to people who are skeptical of AOC, they would say that they would love [Rep.] Rashida Tlaib to run, because she is obviously the most committed to Palestinian solidarity. All indications are that she is not interested in running for president, so that’s kind of a dead letter. You’ll also see people say they would like Shawn Fain to run, the head of the United Auto Workers, as a real left-labor candidate harkening back to the days when union leaders were major political figures. Again, he’s very unlikely to run.

And you have some people who say that they would support Ro Khanna, even though Ro Khanna is not a socialist and is probably worse on Palestine than AOC. 

So it really does seem like it’s going to be AOC or no one. And that’s why I think that even the people who are skeptical of AOC have largely resigned themselves to the idea that if she runs, DSA will endorse. 

I think the tension now is around how supportive DSA would be. DSA could spend 2028 being an AOC surrogate, deeply involved in the campaign, making their primary goal getting her elected president in 2028. 

I think there are also people in DSA who believe that, even if AOC is the best candidate and DSA should support her, they don’t want to fully kind of liquidate themselves into the AOC campaign. They want to maintain an independent organization where DSA could set up an independent expenditure and come out with messaging that says: we support AOC but we don’t agree with her on everything.