Posts Tagged ‘news’

🤬 Manufactured Outrage: The Business of Keeping Us Divided ➗

Posted: June 29, 2026 in Anarchy Journal Constitutional, Excess and Algorithms
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“We figured out there’s something that sells better than sex, and that’s rage.” — Scott Galloway

Every week, there is another crisis.

  • Another viral outrage.
  • Another politician saying the unthinkable.
  • Another celebrity demanding your attention.
  • Another company apologizing.
  • Another boycott.
  • Another culture war.
  • Another reason to pick a side.

Within hours, millions of people are arguing with strangers they’ve never met about people they’ll never know over events they’ll barely remember a month later.

Meanwhile:

  • Rent is still due.
  • Healthcare is still expensive.
  • Groceries still cost more than they did a few years ago.
  • Corporate profits continue to climb.
  • Private equity keeps buying hospitals, nursing homes, and housing.
  • Lobbyists continue writing legislation.
  • The concentration of wealth continues.
  • The concentration of power continues.

And almost none of it trends. That contrast isn’t the article. It’s the question.

If our lives are increasingly shaped by economic forces, why does so much of our collective attention revolve around cultural conflict?

The answer is not that these cultural issues are fake. They’re not.

Questions surrounding race, religion, immigration, abortion, LGBTQ rights, policing, gun ownership, and free speech are real. They affect real people in meaningful ways. But there is another question that receives far less attention.

Why do these issues dominate our public imagination so completely while the economic structures shaping nearly everyone’s daily life rarely receive the same sustained focus?

The issue isn’t that people care about the wrong things. The issue is that we are rarely given enough uninterrupted attention to care deeply about the things that shape our lives the most. That distinction matters.

Because attention is no longer simply a feature of modern life. It has become one of its most valuable commodities.

The Product Is Our Attention

Industrial capitalism extracted physical labor. The digital economy extracts attention.
  • Every swipe.
  • Every click.
  • Every comment.
  • Every notification.
Every moment spent looking at a screen is measured, analyzed, monetized, and sold inside one of the most competitive markets ever created.
  • Technology companies compete for it.
  • Advertisers compete for it.
  • Political campaigns compete for it.
  • News organizations compete for it.
  • Influencers compete for it.

Your attention has become an economic resource. And like every valuable resource, institutions have become remarkably efficient at extracting it.

The question is no longer whether information reaches us. The question is which information survives long enough to command our attention.

Journalist Chris Hedges has spent years warning that much of modern journalism has been transformed into spectacle—where entertainment values increasingly eclipse civic ones. News still informs, but it must also compete for ratings, clicks, and engagement. In that environment, spectacle often wins.

The market rewards what captures attention. Not necessarily what deserves it. That incentive changes everything.
  • Stories become shorter.
  • Context becomes optional.
  • Conflict becomes continuous.

The goal is no longer simply to inform the public. The goal is to keep the public watching.

Scott Galloway argues that digital platforms discovered something profound about human behavior.

“We figured out there’s something that sells better than sex, and that’s rage.”

That observation explains more than social media.
  • It explains modern media.
  • It explains political fundraising.
  • It explains why cable news panels seem permanently angry.
  • It explains why every notification sounds urgent.
  • It explains why every disagreement becomes existential.

Because outrage performs. Not morally. Economically.

The system does not ask whether anger is healthy. Only whether it is effective. And by nearly every measurable engagement metric, it is. Which raises a deeper question.

If attention has become the world’s most valuable commodity…Who decides where it goes?

The Great Substitution

Noam Chomsky once observed:

“The smart way to keep people passive and obedient is to strictly limit the spectrum of acceptable opinion, but allow very lively debate within that spectrum.”

Whether one agrees with every aspect of Chomsky’s political analysis is almost beside the point. The observation points toward something larger than ideology. It points toward perception.

Every society contains more events than its citizens could ever possibly follow.
  • Thousands of policy decisions.
  • Corporate mergers.
  • Labor disputes.
  • Environmental rulings.
  • Court decisions.
  • Regulatory changes.
  • Scientific discoveries.
  • International conflicts.

No individual can meaningfully process all of them. Selection is inevitable. Somebody—or something—must decide what receives sustained attention. The question isn’t whether filtering exists. The question is how that filtering happens.

In previous generations, editors and producers performed much of that role. Today, editors still matter. But increasingly, algorithms perform it alongside them.

A handful of digital platforms now mediate an extraordinary share of the world’s information flow. Search engines decide what is discoverable. Social media platforms determine what becomes visible. Recommendation systems decide what spreads, what disappears, and what millions of people encounter before they’ve consciously chosen to look for it.

None of these systems asks a moral question. They ask an engineering question. What keeps people engaged?

And once that becomes the optimizing principle, another pattern quietly emerges. Attention becomes perception. Perception becomes priority. Priority becomes power.

Once you begin looking through that lens, the daily news starts to feel different. Not because the stories are false. But because you begin asking a different question.

What isn’t staying in view long enough for us to fully understand it?

The Incentive Machine

Conflict Is More Profitable Than Cooperation

If attention becomes perception, the next question is obvious. What determines where attention goes?

Not ideology. Incentives.

The most important systems in modern public life are built around optimization.
  • Social media platforms optimize for engagement.
  • Television networks optimize for ratings.
  • Advertisers optimize for attention.
  • Political campaigns optimize for turnout and donations.
  • News organizations optimize for subscriptions, viewership, and clicks.

Each institution has different goals. Yet remarkably, they all arrive at the same conclusion. Conflict performs. Calm does not.

A nuanced discussion of healthcare financing may affect millions of people. A viral confrontation between political rivals can dominate headlines for days. One changes lives. The other captures attention.

The incentive structure doesn’t ask which story matters more. It asks which story keeps people from scrolling.

Journalist Glenn Greenwald has long argued that the greatest threat to journalism is not simply political bias, but institutional incentives that reward audience affirmation over adversarial reporting. As news increasingly competes in the same marketplace as entertainment, the pressure shifts from informing audiences to retaining them.

The result isn’t necessarily false information. It’s selective attention. Stories that provoke outrage survive. Stories that require patience struggle.

Complexity loses. Conflict wins. Again and again. Not because someone gives the order. Because every institution is responding to the same market signal. Attention.

Edward Snowden approached the same problem from a different direction. His warnings were never only about surveillance. They were about architecture.

The systems we build quietly shape the choices we make inside them.
  • Recommendation engines determine what appears before us.
  • Algorithms decide what is amplified.
  • Notifications compete for interruption.
  • Trending topics compete for urgency.

None of these systems are conscious. But all of them influence perception. They don’t tell us what to believe. They influence what we repeatedly encounter. And repetition has extraordinary power.

Not because repetition proves something is true. Because repetition teaches the brain that something is important.

Attention becomes perception. Perception becomes priority. Priority becomes power.

Robert Greene writes that whoever can provoke emotional reactions gains influence over others. Modern technology has industrialized that insight.

Every outrage cycle follows a familiar rhythm.
  • A statement.
  • A reaction.
  • A counter-reaction.
  • A viral clip.
  • A thousand comment threads.
  • A million people emotionally invested.

Then another controversy arrives. The previous outrage disappears. Nothing is resolved. Everything resets.

The cycle isn’t designed to produce understanding. It is designed to produce engagement. And engagement has become one of the most valuable commodities in the world.

This is why the question is not: Who is manipulating us? That question almost always leads to conspiracy thinking.

A better question is: What behaviors does the system reward?

Systems don’t require central planning to produce predictable outcomes.
  • Markets don’t.
  • Evolution doesn’t.
  • Traffic patterns don’t.
They emerge from incentives. The attention economy works the same way.
  • No single editor has to coordinate with every platform.
  • No executive has to orchestrate every controversy.
  • No politician has to manufacture every division.

When every institution benefits from attention…and outrage is the fastest path to attention……the outcome becomes remarkably predictable. Not because it was planned. Because it was rewarded.

When Reality Interrupts the Narrative

If the outrage economy has one weakness…it’s reality.

Reality has a habit of cutting across political identities.
  • A mortgage payment doesn’t ask whether you’re Republican or Democrat.
  • A medical bill doesn’t care who you voted for.
  • A factory closing doesn’t distinguish between progressive and conservative workers.

Economic reality has a way of collapsing cultural distance. And when that happens, something interesting occurs.

People who have spent years arguing with one another suddenly discover that they share the same employer.
  • The same landlord.
  • The same healthcare system.
  • The same paycheck anxiety.
  • The same shrinking leverage.
  • The same uncertainty about the future.

Shared conditions create shared interests. And shared interests create the possibility of something the outrage economy struggles to monetize. Solidarity.

When Workers Remember What They Have in Common

Shared Material Interests Build Stronger Coalitions Than Manufactured Division

If outrage fragments attention…shared experience restores it.

That is the quiet lesson running beneath nearly every successful labor movement in modern history. Not that people suddenly begin agreeing on everything. But that they begin remembering what they already share. Chris Smalls understood this.

When Amazon workers on Staten Island organized the company’s first successful independent union, they were not recruited because they shared the same political identity. They didn’t. Some were conservatives. Some were liberals. Some rarely thought about politics at all.

They came from different racial, religious, and cultural backgrounds. Yet every one of them walked through the same warehouse doors. Worked under the same productivity quotas. Faced the same scheduling pressures. Shared the same concerns about wages, safety, dignity, and respect.

For a brief moment, the culture war gave way to something more immediate. Reality. Material conditions became impossible to ignore because everyone experienced them together.

The organizing question was never: “Who did you vote for?”

It was: “What kind of workplace do we want?”

That distinction changes everything. Because shared material conditions often succeed where shared ideology fails. They create coalitions built not on identity…but on lived experience.

The same pattern has appeared elsewhere.

Starbucks workers organized stores across states with vastly different political cultures around scheduling, staffing, and wages.

The United Auto Workers brought together employees from communities that often vote very differently, yet negotiated around the same paychecks, pensions, and working conditions.

Hollywood writers and actors—hardly a monolithic political community—organized around compensation, creative ownership, and the emerging impact of artificial intelligence on their profession.

UPS Teamsters secured one of the most significant labor contracts in recent years by focusing on concrete workplace issues that affected every driver and warehouse employee regardless of party affiliation.

Different industries. Different cultures. Different politics.

The same underlying pattern. When reality becomes impossible to ignore…identity becomes less important than shared conditions.

This should not surprise us.
  • Economic pressure rarely asks ideological questions.
  • Inflation does not distinguish between red states and blue states.
  • Medical debt does not care who you follow on social media.
  • Unaffordable housing does not check voter registration.
  • A factory closure does not pause to ask your position on the latest cultural controversy.

Reality is stubbornly bipartisan. And reality has a remarkable ability to expose what outrage often conceals.

The people working beside you are rarely your greatest source of economic leverage—or your greatest obstacle.

More often than not, they’re living through many of the same structural pressures you are. That doesn’t erase genuine disagreements. Nor should it. Democracy depends on disagreement.

The question is not whether disagreements exist. The question is whether they consume so much of our collective attention that we lose sight of the conditions we experience together.

Attention becomes perception. Perception becomes priority. Priority becomes power.

If that sequence is true…then solidarity begins with attention. Not attention to the newest outrage. Attention to the realities that remain long after the outrage has disappeared.

Wisdom Is Resistance

There is an old saying that if you want to understand a society, don’t ask what it says it values. Watch what it rewards.

The modern attention economy rewards speed over depth.
  • Reaction over reflection.
  • Performance over participation.
  • Certainty over curiosity.
  • Outrage over understanding.
None of this requires a conspiracy. It requires incentives.
  • Markets respond to incentives.
  • Algorithms respond to incentives.
  • Political campaigns respond to incentives.
  • Media organizations respond to incentives.
  • Human beings respond to incentives.

Why would we expect the information ecosystem to behave differently?

Perhaps the most important question we can ask ourselves is no longer: “Is this story true?”

Truth matters. But another question comes first. “Why is this the story I am being invited to spend my attention on today?”

It reminds us that attention is never merely personal. It is political. It is economic. And increasingly…it is one of the primary ways power is exercised in the twenty-first century.

That question changes everything. Because it transforms us from consumers of information…into observers of the system that delivers it.

Manufactured outrage does not require us to hate one another. It only requires us to look away from one another long enough to forget what we have in common.

Workers do not share the same religion. They do not share the same political party. They do not share the same cultural identity. They do not share the same vision for every social issue. They never have.

Yet increasingly, workers share the same economic landscape.
  • The same housing market.
  • The same healthcare system.
  • The same concentration of corporate power.
  • The same shrinking leverage over the institutions that shape their daily lives.

Attention becomes perception. Perception becomes priority. Priority becomes power.

The struggle over public attention is not ultimately a struggle over opinion. It is a struggle over what society remembers. Because what a society remembers…is what it eventually decides to change.

The outrage economy wins when every day feels like an emergency. Democracy works only when citizens can distinguish between the urgent…and the important.

The next time another manufactured outrage demands your attention, don’t just ask which side is right. Ask a different question.

What disappeared from view while everyone was looking here?

The answer may tell you far more about power than the outrage itself ever could.

💸 The Trillion Dollar Test 💰

Posted: June 22, 2026 in Excess and Algorithms
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A Civilization Measured by What It Tolerates

“We can have democracy in this country, or we can have great wealth concentrated in the hands of a few, but we can’t have both.” — Louis Brandeis

  • Somewhere tonight, a child will go to bed hungry.
  • Somewhere tonight, a family will sleep in a car.
  • Somewhere tonight, someone will drink unsafe water because there is no alternative.
  • Somewhere tonight, a worker will delay medical care because the bill would be too high.

And somewhere in the same world, one man has accumulated a fortune measured in a trillion. That man is Elon Musk.

In the United States alone, nearly 750,000 people experienced homelessness during the most recent federal count. Across the globe, hundreds of millions of people continue to face chronic hunger. Yet at the same time, we have entered an era where an individual can possess wealth greater than the annual economic output of many nations.

I want to be clear from the beginning: I do not believe any human being should possess a trillion dollars. Not Elon Musk. Not the next visionary entrepreneur. Not the most brilliant innovator in history. Not anyone.

This is not because I oppose success. It is not because I oppose innovation. It is not because I believe wealth itself is immoral. It is because a trillion dollars is no longer a measure of success. It is a measure of concentration. A measure of ownership. A measure of power.

And when wealth reaches that scale, the question is no longer what one individual earned. The question becomes what kind of society allows so much wealth to accumulate in one place while so many basic human needs remain unmet.

When Numbers Stop Meaning Anything

Human beings are terrible at understanding very large numbers.

A million dollars sounds enormous. A billion dollars sounds unimaginable. A trillion dollars belongs to an entirely different category.

A million seconds is about eleven days. A billion seconds is about thirty-one years. A trillion seconds is nearly thirty-two thousand years. The scale becomes almost meaningless.

At that point, wealth stops resembling personal prosperity and starts resembling infrastructure. Many governments operate with fewer resources than the fortune now controlled by a single individual. That fact alone should give us pause.

There is a difference between being wealthy and possessing wealth on a civilizational scale.

I have no objection to people becoming rich. I have no objection to people building successful companies. But somewhere between prosperity and a trillion dollars, something changes.

The discussion is no longer about achievement. It becomes a discussion about power.

Every era has a number that reveals what it worships.

  • Ancient empires measured land.
  • Medieval kingdoms measured bloodlines.
  • Industrial societies measured production.
  • Ours measures valuation.

We are told that a trillion dollars is evidence of genius. Perhaps it is. But it is also evidence of something else: a civilization increasingly comfortable with concentrations of wealth and power that previous generations would have considered alarming.

The Lords Return

Defenders of extreme wealth often argue that today’s billionaires earned their fortunes while yesterday’s kings inherited theirs. Fair enough.

But if the outcome is one individual possessing more economic influence than entire nations, the distinction begins to matter less.

  • Medieval kings controlled land.
  • Modern billionaires control platforms.
  • Medieval lords controlled roads, trade routes, and resources.
  • Modern corporations increasingly control the digital roads through which communication, commerce, information, and culture flow.

History spent centuries dismantling hereditary aristocracies because concentrated power was considered dangerous.

Today we celebrate concentrations of power that medieval rulers could scarcely imagine. The lesson of history was never that wealth creation is evil. The lesson was that power concentrated beyond accountability eventually becomes dangerous.

That lesson has not become less relevant simply because the castles have been replaced with data centers.

We’ve Seen This Movie Before

America has already experienced a version of this story. The late nineteenth century produced industrial fortunes so vast that figures like Rockefeller and Carnegie seemed larger than life.

The era became known as the Gilded Age.

  • Economic growth exploded.
  • Innovation accelerated.
  • Industrial output soared.

Yet so did inequality, labor unrest, corruption, and the influence of private wealth over public institutions.

The problem was never that these men built successful enterprises. The problem was the concentration of power that followed. Eventually the public demanded antitrust laws, labor protections, and reforms designed to prevent private fortunes from eclipsing democratic institutions.

The lesson was not that markets are bad. The lesson was that markets left entirely unchecked tend to concentrate wealth and power into fewer and fewer hands.

Today we appear to be relearning that lesson.

The Machine That Makes Billionaires

Elon Musk did not personally build a trillion-dollars worth of products. No human being could.

A trillion-dollar fortune is not created through labor alone. It emerges from ownership.

  • From financial markets.
  • From automation.
  • From intellectual property.
  • From global supply chains.
  • From algorithms.
  • From systems that allow value to compound at extraordinary rates.

This is where economist Thomas Piketty becomes important. Piketty’s research argues that wealth naturally concentrates when returns on capital consistently outpace the growth of the broader economy.

In simple terms, wealth generates more wealth.

  • Ownership attracts more ownership.
  • Capital compounds.
  • The result is not necessarily a conspiracy.
  • It is a tendency.
  • A machine.
  • A system.

Modern capitalism has become remarkably effective at scaling value. What it has not solved is how to prevent that value from concentrating at levels that begin to rival democratic institutions themselves.

The question is not whether Elon Musk worked hard. The question is why modern economic systems repeatedly produce concentrations of wealth that would have been unimaginable to previous generations.

A Civilization’s Report Card

Imagine a society where every child has enough food.

  • Every family has safe housing.
  • Every community has clean drinking water.
  • Every citizen has access to healthcare.
  • Every worker can meet their basic needs.

Now imagine someone becomes a trillionaire.

We could still debate whether that concentration of wealth is healthy. But that is not the world we live in.

The world we live in still contains homelessness.

  • It still contains hunger.
  • It still contains medical debt.
  • It still contains preventable suffering.

These are not mysteries. They are not unsolvable. They are choices.

The scandal is not that poverty exists. Poverty has always existed.

The scandal is that poverty exists alongside unprecedented abundance.

We have solved the problems of production. We have not solved the problems of distribution.

The Question We Avoid

I believe a trillion dollars is a moral failure. Not merely the failure of one individual. The failure of a society. Because every trillion-dollar fortune exists alongside needs that remain unmet.

We are encouraged to marvel at the size of the fortune. Perhaps we should be asking what the existence of that fortune says about everyone who was left behind.

Economist Joseph Stiglitz has spent years warning that extreme inequality is not only unfair but economically inefficient and politically destabilizing. That should concern everyone regardless of ideology.

Extreme poverty creates instability. Extreme concentrations of wealth create instability.

History repeatedly shows that societies become fragile when ordinary people begin to believe the rules only work for the powerful.

The danger is not that one man becomes rich. The danger is that millions conclude the game itself is rigged.

Journalist Glenn Greenwald has often argued that the central political issue of our time is not left versus right but the concentration of power in institutions that become increasingly insulated from public accountability.

The same concern applies here. The question is not whether Elon Musk is a good person. The question is whether any individual should wield economic power on a scale once reserved for states.

What Happens Next?

Many people will celebrate the arrival of the world’s first trillionaire as proof that the system works.

I see something else. I see a warning light.

Not because success should be punished. Not because innovation should be discouraged.

But because no human being should possess that much wealth while so many struggle to obtain necessities.

A trillion dollars is not merely a fortune. It is a concentration of power unprecedented in modern history.

The real story is not Elon Musk. The real story is the world that made a trillionaire possible. A world capable of producing unimaginable abundance while leaving millions behind.

The question is no longer whether we can create trillionaires. The question is why we keep accepting them.

📰 The News Is Still Here. Journalism Isn’t. 🔇

Posted: June 16, 2026 in Anarchy Journal Constitutional
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Corporate Consolidation, Media Mergers, and the Remaking of the American Press

Back in January, comedian Nikki Glaser made a joke about CBS News during her Golden Globes monologue.

The audience laughed. At the time, it felt like satire. Six months later, it reads more like documentation.

Because what has unfolded since then is no longer just commentary about journalism’s decline, it is structural change happening in real time.

Journalism didn’t die because people stopped caring about the truth. It didn’t collapse under a single failure or scandal.

It was gradually absorbed through acquisition, restructuring, and financial logic that treated public information as a cost center rather than a civic function.

The watchdog wasn’t killed. It was acquired.

Journalism’s Long Decline

The crisis didn’t begin in 2026.

It began decades earlier, as advertising revenue migrated to digital platforms and subscription models failed to fully replace it.

Newsrooms contracted. Local papers disappeared. Investigative desks were reduced or eliminated entirely. Veteran reporters were replaced by smaller teams expected to produce more content in less time.

The result wasn’t an immediate collapse. It was degradation through efficiency.

Journalism became faster, cheaper, and thinner; optimized for output, not scrutiny.

The Age of Consolidation

As revenue collapsed, ownership consolidated.

Each merger promised efficiency. Each acquisition promised stability. Each restructuring promised survival. What they rarely promised was more journalism.

And each wave of consolidation reduced the number of independent decision-makers shaping what millions of people would see as “news.”

The public still sees different logos. Different anchors. Different branding.

But behind those surfaces, fewer institutions now determine what qualifies as newsworthy.

And fewer still are structurally insulated from corporate pressure.

The Battle for CBS News

Recent turmoil at CBS News illustrates the new reality.

Leadership changes, editorial disputes, and internal restructuring have raised a question that once would have been unthinkable at legacy institutions:

Who actually controls editorial judgment: journalists, or ownership?

Regardless of where one stands on Bari Weiss or the direction of reform, the structural issue remains unchanged.

Once ownership begins reshaping newsroom priorities directly, editorial independence becomes conditional rather than assumed.

And once that happens, credibility stops being inherited. It has to be defended story by story.

When Journalism Becomes Brand Management

As Noam Chomsky observed:

“The smart way to keep people passive and obedient is to strictly limit the spectrum of acceptable opinion, but allow very lively debate within that spectrum.”

Modern media rarely looks like censorship. It looks like constraint. Stories are not always blocked. They are deprioritized. Investigations are not always stopped. They are rendered expensive.

The old concern was advertiser pressure. The new concern is executive intervention. And as consolidation increases, those pressures begin to merge into a single structural force: risk management.

Once ownership starts editing the newsroom, every story becomes a conflict-of-interest disclosure waiting to happen.

The PR Replacement

Public relations was once journalism’s subject. Now it increasingly functions as journalism’s substitute.

Across corporate and political institutions, communications teams have expanded while investigative newsrooms have contracted. Entire infrastructures now exist to generate narratives faster than they can be scrutinized.

The imbalance is not subtle. A single institution may employ dozens of people shaping messaging, and only a handful of journalists attempting to interrogate it. Guess which side tends to be better resourced.

This produces a media environment saturated with professionally engineered statements, narratives, and “official explanations” that arrive prepackaged for publication.

Increasingly, journalism is not competing with PR. PR has already won.

The modern information economy has produced a quiet inversion: those most capable of shaping public narratives are least accountable to the public, while those tasked with challenging them operate with diminishing capacity.

The appearance of scrutiny without scrutiny. The appearance of accountability without accountability.

What replaces journalism isn’t ignorance. It’s simulation.

What Journalism is Supposed to Do

Journalism was never supposed to make powerful institutions comfortable. It was supposed to make them uncomfortable.

As Glenn Greenwald has argued:

“Journalism’s ultimate purpose is to hold those in power accountable.”

That is the job. Not access. Not brand protection. Not institutional stability. Accountability.

Without it, journalism becomes something else entirely.

Edward Snowden captured the consequence of failing institutions more broadly:

“When exposing a crime is treated as committing a crime, you are being ruled by criminals.”

While originally referring to state secrecy, the principle extends further. Institutions that fear scrutiny tend not to be strengthened by it. They tend to suppress it, avoid it, or neutralize it.

Healthy systems absorb criticism. Failing systems resist it. Declining systems begin to treat criticism itself as the problem.

The News is Still Here

The news industry spent years warning the public about misinformation. Fair enough. But misinformation was never the only structural threat.

Concentrated ownership is a threat. Executive intervention is a threat. The conversion of newsrooms into corporate subsidiaries is a threat.

For decades, concern focused on whether governments would control the press. Far less attention was paid to how thoroughly the press was becoming embedded within the same consolidation logic that reshaped nearly every major American industry.

The danger is not that information disappears. The danger is that it remains everywhere while journalism becomes increasingly rare.

Headlines will continue. Alerts will continue. Breaking news banners will continue. The machinery will keep running.

But a society can drown in information while starving for truth.

The watchdog wasn’t killed. It was acquired.

The news is still here. Journalism isn’t.

♻ Climate Change’s Untouchable Institution🎖

Posted: June 12, 2026 in Frackishima
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The Straw and the Fighter Jet

Americans have spent years being told that climate change is the defining challenge of our time.

We’ve been encouraged to recycle.

  • To use reusable bags.
  • To swap plastic straws for paper ones.
  • To buy electric vehicles.
  • To shrink our carbon footprints wherever possible.

Some of those changes may help. Some may not. But they all point toward the same idea:

Environmental responsibility starts with you. The message is everywhere.

The question isn’t whether individuals should be mindful of their consumption.

The question is why the conversation so often stops there.

Because while ordinary people are being asked to make small adjustments to their daily lives, one of the world’s largest institutional emitters operates largely outside the public climate debate.

The United States military.

The Carbon Cost of Global Power

The United States maintains a military presence unlike anything in modern history.

  • Hundreds of installations.
  • Dozens of countries.
  • Aircraft carriers crossing oceans.
  • Fighter jets are conducting training exercises.
  • Massive supply chains are moving personnel, equipment, and resources around the globe.

None of that runs on good intentions. It runs on fuel. Lots of it.

Researchers with Brown University’s Costs of War Project estimate Pentagon operations generate roughly 56 million metric tons of greenhouse gases annually.

Maintaining that footprint requires an estimated 4.6 billion gallons of fuel every year.

The scale becomes easier to understand when considering the military’s global reach. The United States operates approximately 750 military installations across more than 80 countries and territories.

If the U.S. military were a country, its emissions would rank ahead of many sovereign nations.

Yet most Americans rarely hear military emissions discussed in climate conversations.

An Emissions Source Hiding in Plain Sight

This isn’t because the information is secret.

It’s because the topic rarely receives the same attention as other sources of emissions.

Climate coverage often focuses on

  • Cars
  • Air travel.
  • Homes
  • Consumer products.
  • Individual lifestyle choices.

All legitimate subjects. But military emissions exist on a completely different scale.

A single fighter aircraft can burn hundreds or even thousands of gallons of fuel during operations.

Carrier strike groups require fleets of ships, aircraft, and support vessels. Overseas bases consume enormous amounts of energy simply to remain operational. None of this is incidental.

These emissions are not an unfortunate side effect. They are part of the cost of maintaining global military reach.

Whether that cost is justified is a separate debate. Ignoring its existence shouldn’t be.

An American can spend an entire year carrying reusable grocery bags, rinsing out recycling bins, avoiding plastic straws, and feeling a small pang of guilt every time they forget one at the store. Those choices may matter.

But they do not change the reality that a single military aircraft can consume more fuel in a few hours than many households use in months.

For years, the public has been encouraged to view climate responsibility through the lens of personal consumption.

  • Bring the right bag.
  • Buy the right car.
  • Throw the right item into the right bin.

Meanwhile, institutions operating on a vastly different scale often remain in the background of the conversation.

The issue is not whether individual responsibility matters. The issue is whether responsibility is being discussed in proportion to power.

The Blind Spot

This creates an uncomfortable contradiction.

  • Political leaders regularly describe climate change as an urgent threat.
  • Corporations release sustainability reports.
  • Media outlets produce endless stories about individual carbon footprints.
  • Citizens are encouraged to change their behavior.

Yet one of the largest institutional sources of emissions remains largely absent from public discussion.

Why? Part of the answer may be political.

Questioning consumer habits is relatively easy. Questioning powerful institutions is not. A reusable grocery bag requires no confrontation with power.

A conversation about military emissions inevitably raises larger questions.

  • Questions about priorities.
  • Questions about spending.
  • Questions about the relationship between environmental goals and geopolitical ambitions.
  • Questions many people would rather avoid.

More than sixty years ago, President Dwight D. Eisenhower offered a warning that still resonates today:

“In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military-industrial complex.”

Eisenhower wasn’t warning against national defense. He was warning about what happens when powerful institutions become insulated from public scrutiny.

The Climate Exception

The silence becomes even more interesting when viewed historically.

Military emissions have often occupied a unique position within international climate discussions.

Researchers have documented instances in which military emissions were exempt from, given special treatment, or subject to reduced reporting requirements compared with civilian sectors.

Again, this is not evidence of a conspiracy. It’s evidence of a hierarchy.

When environmental policies collide with powerful institutions, exceptions tend to emerge.

The rules may apply broadly. Just not always equally.

Climate researcher Neta Crawford, whose work has extensively documented Pentagon emissions, has noted that the U.S. military is “one of the largest institutional emitters of greenhouse gases in the world.”

Yet despite that reality, military emissions remain far less visible in public debate than emissions generated by individual consumers. That disconnect deserves more attention than it receives.

If It’s an Emergency, Treat It Like One

This article is not an argument against national defense. It is not an argument against military service. And it is not an attempt to reduce a complex geopolitical world into a simple environmental talking point.

It is a question. If climate change is truly the existential threat we are told it is, why does one of the world’s largest institutional emitters receive so little public scrutiny?

Why are citizens routinely reminded of their individual responsibility while some of the largest institutional sources of emissions are treated as an afterthought?

Why do some emissions dominate headlines while others remain largely invisible?

  • Perhaps there are good answers.
  • Perhaps there are strategic necessities.
  • Perhaps some tradeoffs cannot be avoided.

But a society serious about reducing emissions should be willing to examine every major source of them. Especially the ones it is least comfortable discussing.

Because if climate change is an emergency, then every major emitter deserves scrutiny. And if some institutions remain exempt from that scrutiny, then perhaps what we’re witnessing isn’t just environmental policy.

It’s political prioritization.

📲 Influence Machines: How Digital Platforms Learned to Shape Human Behavior 🤳🏻

Posted: June 9, 2026 in Anarchy Journal Constitutional, Excess and Algorithms
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What happens when the most powerful institutions in society become experts at shaping attention itself?

For most of human history, power was relatively easy to recognize.

Kings controlled armies. Governments controlled laws. Corporations controlled resources. Media organizations controlled information. The centers of influence were visible.

Today, influence is becoming harder to see.

It arrives through recommendation engines, notifications, search results, personalized feeds, and algorithms that quietly decide what appears in front of us each day.

Glenn Greenwald famously argues that the greatest power of the state is not controlling what people think, but controlling the actual information they are allowed to see.

That distinction matters.

Most people imagine propaganda as something obvious—a government ministry, a state broadcaster, or a censor with a red pen. But modern influence rarely works that way. Instead, it emerges through systems designed to maximize engagement, collect behavioral data, and compete relentlessly for human attention.

The result is something new in human history: a world where billions of people interact daily with platforms that continuously study, predict, and increasingly shape human behavior.

Not necessarily because anyone designed a grand conspiracy. But because influence itself has become profitable. And profitable systems tend to expand.

The Most Valuable Commodity on Earth

Oil powered the industrial age. Data powers the digital age.

Every click, scroll, pause, search, purchase, and interaction leaves a trail behind. Individually, these actions seem insignificant. Collectively, they create a remarkably detailed portrait of who we are, what captures our attention, what triggers our emotions, and what keeps us engaged.

Consider what happens during a typical day. A smartphone records location data. A search engine records questions. An online retailer records purchases and browsing habits. Social media platforms record likes, shares, comments, watch time, and scrolling behavior.

Individually, these data points appear trivial. Together, they form a behavioral profile of extraordinary depth.

For the largest technology companies, this information has become one of the most valuable resources on Earth. The longer we stay engaged, the more advertisements can be shown. The more advertisements that can be shown, the more revenue can be generated.

At first glance, this appears to be a simple business model. But once engagement becomes the primary objective, the incentives begin to change. The goal is no longer merely to understand behavior. The goal becomes predicting it and eventually shaping it.

When the Experiment Was Real

For years, critics warned that social media platforms possessed extraordinary power to influence human behavior.

Then, in 2014, Facebook demonstrated it.

Researchers working with the company altered the news feeds of hundreds of thousands of users without their knowledge. Some users were shown slightly more positive content. Others were shown slightly more negative content. The objective was to determine whether changes in information exposure would influence emotional expression.

The results suggested they would.

Users exposed to more negative content tended to post more negatively themselves. Users exposed to more positive content tended to post more positively.

The study became controversial after it became public, largely because participants had not given informed consent. But the larger implication received less attention.

The significance was not that Facebook conducted the experiment. The significance was that Facebook possessed the capability to conduct it.

A platform used by hundreds of millions of people had demonstrated that adjusting information flows could produce measurable changes in behavior.

The experiment was small. The implications were enormous.

Behavioral Futures

In her work on surveillance capitalism, Shoshana Zuboff details how tech monopolies no longer merely predict human behavior but actively seek to modify it for corporate profit.

The Facebook experiment offered a glimpse into a much larger economic model.

For decades, businesses have studied consumer behavior to predict purchasing decisions. Digital platforms expanded that process dramatically. Every interaction became measurable. Every preference became data. Every behavior became another signal that could be collected, analyzed, and monetized.

Prediction gradually evolved into optimization. Optimization gradually evolved into influence.

Not because engineers necessarily wished to manipulate people, but because engagement was rewarded. The system followed the incentives placed before it. And over time, optimization itself became a form of behavioral engineering.

The Day the Curtain Moved

If Facebook’s emotional contagion experiment revealed the capability, Cambridge Analytica revealed the potential.

The scandal exploded into public view in 2018 after reports revealed that data from millions of Facebook users had been harvested and used to build psychological profiles. The controversy centered on elections. But elections were only part of the story.

The larger revelation was that modern digital platforms had created the infrastructure for highly personalized persuasion.

Different people could receive different messages. Different fears could be activated. Different motivations could be targeted.

Not at the level of demographics. At the level of individuals.

Cambridge Analytica did not invent these capabilities. It exposed them.

For many people, it was the first glimpse into a world where persuasion itself had become increasingly automated, data-driven, and personalized. The curtain moved just enough for the public to see the machinery behind it.

Manufacturing Reality

Tech ethicist Tristan Harris frequently warns that modern technology is no longer just competing for our attention; it is competing for absolute control over it.

That competition for attention shapes nearly every aspect of the modern digital experience.

Consider TikTok’s recommendation engine. The platform became famous not because users carefully selected what they wanted to watch, but because the algorithm became exceptionally good at predicting what would hold attention. A few seconds of watch time, a pause, a replay, or a swipe can rapidly reshape the content that follows.

Within minutes, two people opening the same app for the first time may find themselves in entirely different information environments.

A similar dynamic has fueled years of debate around YouTube’s recommendation system. Researchers and former employees have questioned whether engagement-driven recommendations can gradually push users toward increasingly sensational content. The platform’s goal is straightforward: keep people watching.

Yet emotionally charged content often performs exceptionally well.

Conflict performs well. Outrage performs well.

The recommendation system may not intend to create polarization, but it can amplify polarization when polarization proves engaging. The result is not a single shared reality. It is millions of individualized realities.

Two people can open the same app at the same moment and encounter different headlines, different narratives, different fears, and different priorities. Both may believe they are seeing an accurate reflection of reality.

In truth, they are seeing a filtered version of reality assembled through algorithms designed to maximize engagement.

The Invisible Architecture

The Twitter Files reignited debates about censorship, content moderation, and government influence. Reasonable people continue to disagree about many of the conclusions.

But one observation emerged clearly: the modern information ecosystem is far more interconnected than most people realize.

Government agencies communicate with platforms. Researchers communicate with platforms. Journalists communicate with platforms. NGOs communicate with platforms. Political actors communicate with platforms.

Influence no longer flows through simple hierarchies. It flows through networks.

The public often imagines information control as a top-down process directed by a single institution. The reality appears considerably more complex.

Multiple actors, pursuing different objectives, interact within a sprawling ecosystem that helps determine which information gains visibility and which disappears from view.

No single organization controls the entire system. Yet the system itself remains extraordinarily powerful.

Because influence does not require centralized control. It only requires aligned incentives.

The Influence Ecosystem

Viewed individually, Facebook’s emotional contagion experiment, Cambridge Analytica, and the Twitter Files appear to be separate stories. Together, they reveal a broader pattern.

Facebook demonstrated that exposure to information can influence behavior.

Cambridge Analytica demonstrated that behavioral data can be used for highly personalized persuasion.

The Twitter Files demonstrated how networks of institutions increasingly shape information environments.

Consider how most people now experience major events. Elections, wars, public health emergencies, and social movements increasingly arrive through algorithmically ranked feeds rather than direct observation. Most people encounter reality through recommendations, trending topics, suggested videos, and curated posts.

The information may be accurate, inaccurate, or somewhere in between. But the experience is increasingly mediated. Three separate stories. One emerging reality.

Attention has become a strategic resource. And the institutions that understand it best possess extraordinary influence over public perception.

The New Architecture of Power

“The smart way to keep people passive and obedient is to strictly limit the spectrum of acceptable opinion, but allow very lively debate within that spectrum…” – Noam Chomsky

For much of history, accomplishing that required editors, gatekeepers, and institutions.

Today, portions of the process can be automated. Not through conspiracy. Not through ideology. But through optimization.

Algorithms shape visibility. Visibility shapes attention. Attention shapes belief. Belief shapes behavior. Behavior shapes history.

Previous generations worried about who owned the factories. Today, we may need to ask who owns the systems that shape perception itself. Because power no longer depends solely on controlling land, resources, or industry. Increasingly, power belongs to those who can guide attention.

And in an age of influence machines, attention may be the most valuable form of power ever created.

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