For many Texans, the second weekend of September was a moment for the state to shine. The Texas Longhorns, the University of Texas at Austin’s storied football team, upset the No. 1 Ohio State Buckeyes in a dramatic comeback win. 

But for Bo French, the Republican candidate for railroad commissioner, a powerful position that was born to regulate railroads but today oversees the state’s sizable oil and gas industry, the most notable part was the number of South Asians in the crowd. 

“I heard UT graduation this year looked like this. I didn’t believe it. The problem is now obviously far worse than anyone imagined,” he posted on X over a picture of celebrating students. In case there was any ambiguity as to the problem, he added that images like the one he shared showed “how many Americans have been displaced by foreigners.”

At least some of the students in the viral photograph were US citizens. And the post — and French’s candidacy — have since become a major political flashpoint, even weeks later, pushing a growing far-right campaign to demonize people of Indian descent into the national conversation. 

“He assumed every brown person in that picture is not American, which is scary because he is a politician running for statewide office,” said Sidharth Ram, the founder of the Indian American Advocacy Council and a technology consultant who lives in San Antonio.

This phenomenon has become especially prevalent in Texas, which has one of the largest concentrations of Indian Americans in the country — over half a million people, according to one estimate by Pew Research Center. Many community members there have been shocked by the rise in prejudice in a state that has long been a haven for South Asian immigrants seeking a better life with few incidents. 

Karthik Soora, a Houston-based entrepreneur and former candidate for state senate, said that his experience in Texas has been mostly positive.

“I’ve just never experienced any of this in real life,” he said of the online hate.

But over the past two years, he’s seen a marked change in the discourse and a shift toward what he called “vitriol and hatred.” 

Much of this vitriol has been boosted by online influencers who have descended on bustling Indian American communities like Frisco, a suburb of Dallas. They’ve trained their cameras on South Asians, warning about a desi takeover of Texas.

Ravi Kapur, an Indian American and the founder of the South Asian television network Diya TV, said that social media incentives are helping drive the influencers to embrace anti-Indian messaging online.

“You are inciting rage,” he said. “You are inciting the public to engage on your post, and thus you become a bigger figure online.”

Some of the videos are completely banal; one viral post just features Indian Americans walking peacefully around a Costco doing their shopping like anyone else. 

It would be easy to dismiss all of this as a purely online phenomenon. But as French shows, far-right nativists, who are broadly hostile to immigrant and minority groups, are increasingly finding a footing in electoral politics. And while a few GOP dissidents like the outgoing Sen. John Cornyn (who lost his reelection primary bid) have said they will not vote for French, the state’s most prominent candidates like Gov. Greg Abbott and Senate candidate Ken Paxton have not pulled their support.

Meanwhile, parts of the right-wing coalition turned one immigration debate — access to the H1B visa — into a lightning rod, highlighting it as a pathway for Indians to immigrate to the United States. The late Charlie Kirk singled out Indians, once saying that “America does not need more visas for people from India.” Turning Point USA, the organization Kirk led, is one of the organizations deploying influencers to scandalize the Indian community in Texas.

But the question remains why Indian Americans have become a target. 

In the Trump era, the minorities who’ve faced the brunt of right-wing attacks tend to be working class: think Trump’s false claims about Mexicans deploying rapists across the border or Haitians devouring people’s pets. A typical MAGA critique is that immigrants soak up safety-net funding or that their “third world” culture — another Bo French obsession — is dangerously incompatible with American life.

Some influencers on the far right, like Laura Loomer, do point to poverty in India to denigrate Indians in similar ways to other immigrants. But, broadly speaking, this attack has little resonance in America. 

Indian Americans are among the most successful diaspora groups in the United States. The stereotypes about Indians typically revolve around Tiger Moms and small business owners. They have some of the highest incomes and strongest families while disproportionately being represented in the ranks of elite professions like doctors and the tech sector. And the community is widely seen as well-integrated — the cheering students at the Longhorns game were, after all, doing exactly what every other UT college football fan was doing that day.

Swapan Dhairyawan, a Houston-based Indian American who has long participated in GOP politics, has always seen his community fitting into American life with ease. He posed the hypothetical of asking his daughter whether she was Indian.

“She would say no — I’m an American!” he said.

So why then are we starting to see this white nationalist backlash against immigrants who are by all indications rapidly assimilating — the very thing conservatives often say they want?

The roots of anti-Indian hate 

A 2024 study conducted by a team led by Yale immigration researcher Leah Boustan may provide one part of the answer: Indian immigration is helping provoke the latest wave of middle-class status anxiety. 

Boustan and her colleagues examined the composition of high-income suburban school districts in California between the years 2000 and 2016. What they found was that as more Asian students arrived in a school district, white enrollment started to go down. Essentially, they found a new form of “white flight” — the phenomenon that originally described white families leaving areas that were populated by African Americans and Hispanics.

Why might white families be fleeing from Asian students, who are often stereotyped as studious?

Boustan said in an interview that her paper could not deduce exactly why the white flight was occurring. But she offered a theory, pointing to the fact that the University of California system offers admissions benefits to some applicants who are in the top of their high school class.

“What we saw is that when Asian students arrive in one of these high-income school districts, overall test scores go up, but white test scores do not. They just stay flat,” she said, suggesting that this might be one factor driving white families to leave these districts.

Asian Americans’ success in top state schools was a sensitive political issue in the run-up to the period covered by Boustan’s study. California voters passed a ballot initiative banning consideration of race in public colleges and universities admissions in 1996 over the objections of critics, who sometimes warned schools would be overrun with Asians if it were enacted, and that it would keep out other minority students. Without some form of affirmative action, President Bill Clinton warned in one 1995 interview, “there are universities in California that could fill their entire freshman classes with nothing but Asian Americans.”

Although Boustan’s team studied California, not Texas, it’s worth mentioning that for almost 30 years Texas has had a law in place guaranteeing entry to its public colleges and universities to eligible students in the state who graduate in the top 10 percent of their high school class (the law works differently for UT Austin, which for fall 2026 automatically admitted students in the top 5 percent of their class).

This sets up a potentially fierce competition between the high-performing children of ambitious Indian American immigrants and the rest of Texas.

With that finding in mind, maybe what bothered French and like-minded nativists so much is not that Indians are refusing to integrate into American society as much as their rapid rise while other groups are left behind. The more uneasy that middle-class families feel about their own prospects, the more they’ll see successful newcomers — like, say, students at the state’s most competitive school — as a threat. And while those conditions have existed in prior eras, the rise of far-right influencers who can prey on those fears for an audience of millions — and link them to explicitly nativist or racist views — adds a new dimension.

How immigration became a target  

The policy fight over the H1B visa reflects how these tensions can play out in public in similar ways to other immigration debates. While labor advocates have often raised economic concerns that H1B visas — like immigration more broadly — can loosen labor markets and reduce worker power, many of the far-right influencers are combining these economic concerns with a broader culture war against Indians themselves. They make up the largest share of H-1B visa beneficiaries, with Chinese workers being a distant second.

Sara Gonzales, for instance, a Texas-based right-wing pundit, has simultaneously waged war on H1B visas while also targeting the Indian community as a whole, claiming that they are “mass immigrating here” and “scamming” Americans. The H1B program has become a lightning rod for nativists, while its defenders — including business elites on the right like Elon Musk  — argue it’s another case of meritocracy in action, with American companies scouring the world for the very best talent wherever they can find it.

When Abbott responded to French’s viral tweet, he tried to split the difference between nativists and more traditional business-oriented Republicans by pointing to his restrictions on H1Bs. Abbott has long been close to the Indian community in Texas, but he is feeling pressure from the right of his party.

“A selective picture of Longhorn fans celebrating our biggest home victory-ever-actually shows a way that Texans unite. We all support our college football teams. The way we win the state is the same way we win football games. We unite under the brand of Texas,” he said. “That doesn’t mean that Texas cannot also lead in having the toughest immigration laws of any state in America and freezing H1B visas at our universities.”

Exploiting economic fears 

Ashish Agrawal, the founder and board chair of the Hindu American civic organization Disha and a resident of the Greater Houston area, said that economic woes may be leading to scapegoating of Indians. 

“I believe it’s more of an economic pressure. As people lose their jobs…if they see someone else that doesn’t look like them, right, is still living comfortably, I think that’s causing some of [this resentment],” he said. 

Suhag Shukla, who serves as the executive director of the Hindu American Foundation, likened anti-Indian resentment to antisemitism, which often targets Jews for being too successful, with one important distinction. 

“For the most part, we’re physically identifiable,” she said. “And then you add all the other elements that the Jewish community has had in terms of economic and educational success…the success and the cohesiveness of their communities, in spite of assimilation, is what’s made them a historic target. And I think you see the same sort of thing with Indian Americans.” 

Another factor is that the Indian and broader South Asian community itself has many divisions that can make it difficult to respond to nativist hatred. A plurality of Indian American adults are Hindu, but substantial minorities are Muslim, Christian, and Sikh. Religious differences between South Asian groups have sometimes led to intragroup prejudice.

Yet to many far-right activists, all of these groups are seen as foreign and undesirable. But when influencers target a Hindu temple in Texas or campaign against non-existent Sharia law in the state, it’s harder to generate a united response from South Asians, with each community struggling to defend itself in a silo. 

Imran Ghani, Houston’s director for the Council on American-Islamic Relations in the state and the son of South Asian immigrants, said that these divisions stem from South Asia’s history and are reflected in far-right strategy in the present.

“It was first the British who used divide and conquer, and now it’s the far right,” he said.

How Indian Americans are responding

In the interviews for this piece, one of the things that stood out was how many people proposed responding to the far-right with pragmatism and good-faith community outreach. While they have zero sympathy for nativist hatred, some also believe that Indian Americans themselves can help counter misunderstandings by getting more involved in civic life and presenting positive examples. 

“You have worked hard. We have worked hard,” Dhairyawan, the Houston Republican, said, reflecting on the status of Indians in America. “We have achieved. But don’t flaunt.”

Soora, the entrepreneur, pointed to a controversy that broke out in late 2024 when Vivek Ramaswamy, a prominent Indian Republican who is today running for governor of Ohio, took to X to blame American culture for promoting mediocrity, contrasting it with other cultures that promote excellence. The post set off an explosive fight on the right, with some conservatives siding with Ramaswamy’s praise for self-starting ambition, and others (including fellow Indian American Nikki Haley) decrying his remarks as an unnecessary dig at American values. 

“Obviously, Vivek’s Tweet did not make it easy for anybody,” said Ram, the San Antonio tech consultant.

But while they think Indians should be careful about how they talk about their community’s success to the rest of America, they also believe that they should forcefully participate in public life so politicians can’t afford to disregard them.

Dhairyawan, for instance, made the case that Indian Americans like him can continue to show that, like himself, they’re natural conservatives who share similar values with Republican voters.

“The family, faith, God, low taxation…those are the things that I say that we align with,” he noted. 

(Surveys suggest that a plurality of Indians consider themselves to be Democrats, but substantial minorities identify as Independent or Republican.)

While he plans to vote mostly for Republicans in the upcoming election, he won’t be giving his vote to French. He’ll likely cast a write-in vote instead.

Others, like Agrawal, intend to continue to work toward boosting Indian American voter turnout to pressure local politicians to take them seriously as a voter bloc.

“If you’re [not] at the table, you’re at the menu,” he said.

Indian American comic Aziz Ansari put it more humorously a few years ago when he said we need a “brown Al Sharpton.”

For Shukla, who works in anti-hate advocacy, there is a reason for Indian Americans to be optimistic. In her view, they’re walking the same path as many other minority groups before them, like Jews, Latinos, Chinese, Italians, and others.

“We have just as much a right to be here and consider America home and protect it in the way we think serves our greater good,” she said. “And we have a brilliant constitutional framework that has allowed pluralism to grow and flourish, and one that empowers each of us to ensure that the promise of America is one that all Americans can enjoy regardless of the color of our skin, where our ancestors came from, or to whom and how we pray.”

If President Donald Trump had his way, the Republican Party would be top-to-bottom the party of AI — or, in his preferred branding, “super intelligence.”

But down in the very state where Trump has his “winter White House,” two Republicans have put forth a very different vision for the party’s future — and have been far more eager to take on the artificial intelligence industry.

Most notable is the term-limited Gov. Ron DeSantis, who devoted much of his final year in office to a failed effort to pass an “AI bill of rights,” which would have imposed tougher restrictions regarding child safety and other topics. He’s warned that AI could “set off an age of darkness and deceit,” blasted “tech oligarchs” for putting people at risk, and called Anthropic “very creepy” for exploring whether AI could be conscious.

“He clearly understands what the risks are, and I find he’s also very good at calling bullshit on disingenuous arguments from the Silicon Valley lobby,” Max Tegmark, an MIT physicist who co-founded the Future of Life Institute, an AI safety nonprofit, told me. (DeSantis hosted Tegmark at two events in Florida this year.)

The other is DeSantis’s handpicked attorney general, James Uthmeier, a longtime close ally who is now trying to win the AG’s office in his own right — and who filed a high-profile lawsuit against OpenAI in June. Last week, Uthmeier asked the judge in the case to block OpenAI from developing new models unless they had “independent third-party guardrails and approval.”

“The danger of these AI systems is real and growing,” Forrest Saunders, a spokesperson for Uthmeier, told me. “Florida and the nation have seen case after case of violence, child exploitation, and models that operate beyond their developer’s control.” He added that Uthmeier “welcomes innovation, but Floridians will not be the test subjects.”

With AI cresting as a national anxiety — or a national opportunity, depending who you talk to — both major parties are still finding their footing on the issue. And though Trump is clearly trying to get Republicans in lockstep behind the industry, a very strong current is pulling the other way, responding to populist concerns and parents’ complaints to stake out a much more skeptical position. Florida has emerged as a bellwether for what Republican policies might look like if conservative America turns decisively against AI, especially as Trump’s political clock runs out.

DeSantis and Uthmeier aren’t unique in the GOP for having concerns about AI — a handful of House members and senators want further action, and populist opposition to data centers has bubbled up in races around the country.

But the two have gone furthest in taking on the industry directly — and they’ve done so even though it puts them on the wrong side of Trump. 

In recent days, I spoke to several Florida political observers and advocates on the AI issue. Most believe that DeSantis and Uthmeier are affirmatively trying to stake out what the GOP’s position on AI should be in a post-Trump future, and to better align with an electorate that’s turning sharply against the industry, despite what the president may say. 

“He’s trying to skate where the puck is going,” Jeff Brandes, a former Republican state senator, told me. (DeSantis’s office did not respond to a request for comment.)

Beyond the quest for political advantage, the stakes are very real. Will there actually be a significant and influential force on the right that takes the concerns about advanced AI’s harms seriously — and is willing to act to try and rein them in, before they do great damage? 

DeSantis and Uthmeier are hoping the answer is yes — and that they will be the ones leading that charge.

Ron DeSantis’s quest for an AI bill of rights

In this case, the politics and the personal are intertwined. DeSantis occupies a unique place within the party at this particular moment that’s given him an incentive to buck the national consensus on the right, especially when it comes to Trump, and explore an independent approach.

In his first decade in politics, DeSantis had a charmed rise. In 2012, he embraced the Tea Party to win a seat in Congress; in 2017, he bear-hugged Trump to get his endorsement for governor. He then became a national conservative star for opposing pandemic-era public health restrictions and waging war on “wokeness,” winning his 2022 reelection in a nearly 20-point landslide.

“He is always out front, even ahead of other Republicans, on issues that he makes more important,” Peter Schorsch, editor of Florida Politics, told me. “I would joke with people that I didn’t know how to spell ESG or DEI before he brought these to the forefront.”

But what followed was a failed presidential primary campaign that put DeSantis on the wrong side of Trump and then sent him back to Florida with an uncertain political future. 

Early last year, just weeks after a report that DeSantis’s wife Casey was considering running to succeed him as governor, Trump publicly urged Rep. Byron Donalds to enter the race, promising his “Complete and Total Endorsement.”

Also early last year, DeSantis, who had long run roughshod over Republican legislators, was faced with a new thorn in his side: an ambitious new state house speaker, Daniel Perez, who was more interested in cultivating the Trump White House than the governor. Perez took a far more assertive stance in shaping legislation and rejecting some of the governor’s demands than his predecessors; he also publicly blessed an investigation into a charity tied to Casey DeSantis. A bitterly personal feud between Perez and DeSantis ensued.

In the midst of all this, last summer, DeSantis got AI-pilled. 

In July 2025, DeSantis announced that he was going to develop a state plan to deal with the rise of artificial intelligence. “We can’t just turn the reins over to a bunch of tech overlords,” he said. (DeSantis had long been a critic of major tech and social media companies on the grounds that they are too “woke” or politically hostile to conservatives and their ideas.)

At another event that month, DeSantis said: “I think this is, like, the biggest issue that’s facing our society.” He mentioned AI’s potential impacts on the economy, on jobs, on students, and on the spread of “false narratives” as troubling to him.

“I welcome technologies that will enhance the human experience. I do not welcome things that are going to supplant the human experience,” DeSantis said in September.

His interest in state action put him on the opposite side of the Trump administration, which was advocating for a 10-year moratorium on state regulation of AI — arguing that forcing the industry to abide by a patchwork of state regulations would slow its growth. (David Sacks, a key Trump adviser on AI, championed this argument.)

Last December, at the Florida mega-retirement community the Villages, DeSantis rolled out his proposed “AI bill of rights.” It did not focus on existential or civilizational risks, but instead more practical concerns around child safety. Megan Garcia, a Florida mother whose 14-year-old son died by suicide after conversing with a chatbot “companion,” appeared at the press conference.

As introduced in the Florida state senate, the bill would have required that parents consent to minors speaking to companion chatbots and forced companies to disclose when users weren’t speaking to a human, among other provisions. The state senate passed it in March.

But it was dead on arrival in the Florida House of Representatives — where Perez had aligned himself closely with the White House. “We do believe that the federal government should take care of AI, and whatever legislation or policy has to pass on a national level,” Perez said. 

Brendan Steinhauser, who heads the AI safety advocacy group Alliance for Secure AI, told me that he saw Perez at a Mar-a-Lago fundraiser around this time, and asked him about safety risks. “He leaned to me and whispered, ‘We’re with you, but the president has made it clear not to move forward on this stuff,’” Steinhauser said. “So, the White House basically put the kibosh on that effort.” 

DeSantis complained publicly that Perez was pursuing a “personal agenda” and thwarting badly needed legislation. It was to no avail — the bill didn’t move. But Perez did — Trump nominated him as ambassador to Brazil in June, and he was confirmed in August. (A request for comment from Perez, submitted to the State Department, received no response.)

James Uthmeier’s lawsuit against OpenAI

Though DeSantis hit a wall in the legislature, his attorney general was soon waging his own battle against OpenAI in court.

The attorney general is an elected position in Florida, but when Marco Rubio vacated his Senate seat to become secretary of state, DeSantis filled the seat with the state AG, Ashley Moody.

Then, to fill the newly vacant AG job, DeSantis chose one of his closest aides, who had served as his general counsel, chief of staff, presidential campaign manager, and chief of staff again — Uthmeier. 

Uthmeier is a Florida native who had worked in Rubio’s Senate office; he graduated from Georgetown Law School in 2014. After that he joined the firm Jones Day and worked with Don McGahn; when McGahn was named White House counsel in Trump’s first term, Uthmeier went with him to the new administration, ending up at the Commerce Department. Then, in 2019, he headed back to his home state to work for the new governor, DeSantis, and has been close by his side ever since.

Now, though, DeSantis is term-limited, and Uthmeier is trying to get Florida voters to elect him for a full term as AG on his own. (Trump’s allies had reportedly urged then-Speaker Perez to challenge Uthmeier in the GOP primary, hoping to supplant a DeSantis ally; Perez demurred, and Uthmeier won the nomination unopposed.)

To make his mark, Uthmeier has filed several high-profile and politically charged lawsuits — for instance, he sued Starbucks over its corporate diversity politics (the company recently settled), and Pfizer about the safety of its Covid-19 vaccine. He’s also subpoenaed the NFL over its “Rooney Rule,” which requires teams to interview minority candidates for top coaching and operations jobs.

He’s also become the face of the administration’s challenge to the AI industry. In April, Uthmeier stood in front of a podium with an “Investigating OpenAI” sign, announcing he’d opened a criminal investigation into the company.

The impetus was a shooting at Florida State University last year that killed two people and injured six others; the accused shooter had consulted ChatGPT about various topics related to his plans hours before the attack.

“If ChatGPT were a person, it would be facing charges for murder,” Uthmeier said then. “This criminal investigation will determine whether OpenAI bears criminal responsibility for ChatGPT’s actions.”

There have been no criminal charges yet. But in June, Uthmeier filed a wide-ranging civil lawsuit against OpenAI, alleging deceptive business practices, negligence, fraudulent misrepresentation, and other legal violations, because the company marketed ChatGPT as safe when they knew it could be quite dangerous. The suit also named OpenAI CEO Sam Altman personally as a defendant. (Disclosure: Vox Media is one of several publishers that have signed partnership agreements with OpenAI. Our reporting remains editorially independent.)

Like DeSantis’s AI bill of rights, Uthmeier’s lawsuit originally focused on practical concerns and real-world harms that have already occurred, like the shooting. “Since its release in 2022, ChatGPT has advised teenagers on how to kill themselves, mix unsafe combinations of drugs, become anorexic, helped plan one mass shooting and one multiple homicide in Florida alone,” one filing in the lawsuit reads.

But after the summer’s ominous parade of AI headlines — such as OpenAI agents autonomously hacking the company Hugging Face, and new statements from current and former AI lab employees warning the technology could cause human extinction — Uthmeier turned up the heat, asking the judge in the suit for an injunction blocking OpenAI from developing new models without independent third-party safety evaluation.

“Defendants claim they cannot stop barreling forward with their potentially civilization-ending endeavors unless they are forced to do so by the government. They have asked the government to tie them to the mast” he wrote in a filing last week. “Plaintiff brings good news to the Defendants: The Florida Attorney General is answering your cry for help with a motion to enjoin you from harming Floridians with your reckless, unacceptably risky product.”

“Though a reasonable person would say there is no amount of money worth a 10% chance of the extinction of the human race, Defendants see it differently. They are intent on growing their $1 trillion valuation,” the filing continues. “It is only by the grace of the Almighty that one of Defendants’ AI agents hasn’t compromised a water supply or shut down a power grid — yet.”

OpenAI has not yet filed a response on the merits in this suit, but a company spokesperson has previously said that, in the case of the Florida State University shooter, ChatGPT “provided factual responses to questions with information that could be found broadly across public sources on the internet, and it did not encourage or promote illegal or harmful activity.”

The future

Uthmeier, age 38, is viewed in the state as a potential rising star with a talent for getting headlines, who could well have a long career in state GOP politics — if he wins in November, that is.

While DeSantis has been credited for changing Florida from a swing state to a solidly Republican one, some recent polls have raised the possibility it might swing back. A September survey by St. Pete Polls found Uthmeier ahead of his Democratic challenger, Miami attorney and former state Rep. José Javier Rodríguez, by just a single-point margin. 

And though DeSantis and Uthmeier have become major AI critics, the Floridian topping this year’s GOP ticket, Rep. Byron Donalds, is currently being hammered with attacks about his statement last year that the state needs to “embrace” data centers. He’s been nicknamed “Data Center Donalds” by his Democratic opponent, former Rep. David Jolly, who has also been close in some recent polls.

As for DeSantis, few expect the 48-year old to go quietly into retirement. When asked over the spring whether he’d run for president in 2028, he told reporters, “You never know.” 

Brandes, the former Florida state senator, told me that he thinks DeSantis’s AI push is about “looking for wedge issues where he can have a different opinion from Trump’s successors as he prepares for whatever future ’28 or ’32 provides for him.”

That is: The Republican Party of 2026 might still be too influenced by Trump to go fully anti-AI. But if Trump’s influence ebbs, if the populist backlash against AI spreads further, and especially if there are more worrying AI-related reports or incidents with real-world harms, perhaps there could be an opening on the right for a leader who’s taken the problem seriously, even when it meant going against powerful figures in his party.

This story appeared in The Logoff, a daily newsletter that helps you stay informed about the Trump administration without letting political news take over your life. Subscribe here.

Welcome to The Logoff: Donald Trump is trying to fix the diesel crisis he caused. 

What’s happening? On Monday evening, Trump signed an executive order intended to lower diesel prices by temporarily expanding access to red-dye diesel. 

What’s red-dye diesel? A kind of diesel usually reserved for farm and construction equipment and other off-road uses — and marked with a little bit of red dye to distinguish it from other diesel sold for use in on-road vehicles. Ordinarily, it’s tax-exempt and not available to on-road vehicles, but Trump is expanding access in a bid to bring down the overall cost of fuel ahead of the midterm elections. 

Trump’s order defers payment on — but does not actually suspend — the federal tax on red-dye diesel for on-road vehicles through the end of the year, while also directing his Cabinet “to explore pathways to eliminate the obligation to pay the deferred taxes.” 

What’s the context? Diesel prices are way, way up because of the Iran war. Currently, the national average price per gallon is $6.32, compared to $3.68/gallon one year ago. 

Will this do anything to lower prices? Not very much, in all likelihood, for a whole slew of reasons ably explained here — including that the order can’t change the underlying reality of a global diesel shortage.

Why does the price of diesel matter? Most people don’t use diesel to fill up their tank, but semitrucks shipping food and other goods around the country rely on it. That means that when diesel gets more expensive, nearly everything else does too, sooner or later. 

Why does Trump care? This is best explained by the fact that Trump signed the executive order while on the campaign trail in Nebraska — ordinarily a comfortably Republican state that instead looks potentially in play for independent Senate candidate Dan Osborn. 

High diesel prices have hit hard in Nebraska and other agriculture-heavy states like Iowa and Kansas, jeopardizing Republican Senate seats in all three.

And with that, it’s time to log off…

Here’s a story worth clicking for the cover photo alone: Scientists have discovered two new challengers for the title of world’s loudest bird, the bare-throated bellbird and the red-legged seriema. Both can top out at more than 120 decibels — louder than a jackhammer, according to 404 Media. 

If you’re curious, there are videos of both bird calls in the article, though I have not played them out of respect for the sleeping dachshund on my lap.

Thanks for reading, have a great evening, and we’ll see you tomorrow!