Anna Holmes defines 'hype aversion' as a reflex against being told what to like, suggesting that popularity can create pressure rather than signal quality. This feeling can lead to a deliberate choice to resist mainstream culture.
Most Americans are patriotic, hardworking, neighbor-helping, America-loving, money-giving people who don't pop off on social media or plot for power. The hidden truth: Most people agree on most things, most of the time. And the data validates this, time and time again.
A record high of adults—80 percent—believes that Americans are divided on the most important values. National pride, trust in government, and confidence in institutions are near record lows. The Princeton University historian Sean Wilentz says the United States hasn't been this divided since the Civil War. Nearly half of Americans think another civil war is likely in their lifetime.
The conservative commentariat now spends most of its time talking to itself about itself. It is increasingly divorced from the issues that impact actual Americans. It can't even pretend to care anymore. I'm disgusted by the whole thing at this point.
Like us, you may feel paralyzed in the face of the relentless images of violence we see every day. Suffering children, military occupations, the devastated neighborhoods, the cries of parents mourning their dead-these scenes haunt us. Whether it is happening in Palestine or Minneapolis, we are witnesses to suffering, and that witnessing takes a heavy toll. Clearly, the devastating situations in the West Bank and Gaza and in Minneapolis differ
Populism may well have been the defining word of the previous decade: a shorthand for the insurgent parties that came to prominence in the 2010s, challenging the dominance of the liberal centre. But no sooner had it become the main rubric for discussing both the far left and far right than commentators began to question its validity: worrying that it was too vague, or too pejorative, or fuelling the forces to which it referred.
Collating data from the World Bank and other sources in innovative ways, he argues that globalization in the late twentieth and early twenty-first century was accompanied by then-unprecedented growth of income in both previously poor populations (notably in China) and people at the top of the world's income distribution (especially those in the West). By contrast, relative shares of world income stagnated or were thought to have declined for wealthy nations' middle and working classes, including in the United States.
Dare, or the Drug Abuse Resistance Education program, was created in 1983 by the Los Angeles Police Department and the Los Angeles County school district. From the start, the program was a success. Its stated goal was "to equip elementary-school children with skills for resisting peer pressure to experiment with tobacco, drugs and alcohol." The initiative was embraced by police departments and politicians, and within just a few years the Dare curriculum had spread to more than three-quarters of the country's school districts.
In this issue of the HBR Executive Agenda, editor at large Adi Ignatius talks to Harvard Business School professor Ranjay Gulati about how leaders can act with clarity amid rising social tension and rapid technological change.
The air feels heavier. And the struggles are changing shape. Beyond my office walls, the world is shifting, and my clients sense the tremors. The things they once trusted, global order, democratic norms, and even their own personal safety, no longer feel solid. They feel brittle, as if one strong wind could bring it all down. And what they're sensing isn't imagined.
The principle of intellectual charity is fundamental to constructive political conversations. This principle states that, in any discussion, we should accept the best version of an opponent's ideas, not a distorted version or a "straw man." Exaggeration and distortion of opposing opinions (always present, to some degree, in political debates) have become the standard form of political argument in contemporary America.
The most notable, and perhaps most effective, ad of the 2024 presidential campaign featured footage of the Democratic nominee, Kamala Harris, voicing her support for gender-affirming treatment for inmates in federal prisons. "Kamala is for they/ them. President Trump is for you," the narrator concluded. The spot was a crisp, 30-second encapsulation of one of the key Republican talking points of the cycle: that "wokeness" was sweeping the nation and upending established ways of life, and that Donald Trump would fight against it.
the rotting carcass of the MAGA era, its shrieking insecurities, its pathetic resentments, its festering hatreds, and that distinct, metallic tang of panic rising in the back of its throat behind the soft wattle.
Last year, I found myself at a milk-themed basement dance party. At the time, perhaps, I should have turned around on the dance floor: I could have found an AI-generated Robert F. Kennedy Jr. behind me, swaying while sipping a glass of the white stuff. The exclusive invite for the party featured a black-and-white portrait of a gaunt child in wartime hugging bottles of milk.
For one thing, there were too many elements of classical fascism that didn't seem to fit. For another, the term has been overused to the point of meaninglessness, especially by left-leaning types who call you a fascist if you oppose abortion or affirmative action. For yet another, the term is hazily defined, even by its adherents. From the beginning, fascism has been an incoherent doctrine, and even today scholars can't agree on its definition. Italy's original version differed from Germany's, which differed from Spain's.
Recent exercises in taking stock after one year of Trump 2.0 for many an eternity of terrifying news and political traumas tended to leave something out: the fact that, a mere 12 months ago, plenty of pundits (and politicians, for that matter) were instructing us to accept that a global vibe shift in favor of the right had taken place. And that, in the face of what supposedly felt like a landslide, resistance was pointless and cringe.
"It is not the critic who counts," President Theodore Roosevelt once said. "The credit belongs to the man who is in the arena." The Heritage Foundation has been in the arena for many years, fighting many battles, so it's no surprise that it has attracted many critics as well. And while Heritage cannot claim perfection, this much is certain: We have stayed true to our mission despite the critics;
Sparklers sizzled, boom-badoom-boom bass thumped, and Nicki Minaj emerged onstage at Turning Point USA's AmericaFest last month to deliver the latest plot twist in an exhausting year for politics and pop culture. The rapper-whose straight black hair reached the hem of her sleek minidress-sat down with Charlie Kirk's widow, Erika Kirk, who sported medieval-princess blond braids and waves. Then Minaj tore into previous presidential administrations for being un-Christian and uncool.
We in the rest of the world have had to hear a lot such a lot about what this US government and its hardcore fanbase thinks about us. So you know they'll be super-relaxed and free-speechy about hearing some thoughts about how they look from the outside. Let's use last Saturday as a single snapshot. In Minneapolis, they had the shooting by ICE agents of a protesting nurse who posed no threat an event promptly, provably and blatantly lied about at the highest level.
When we talk about our inability to pay attention, to concentrate, we often mean and blame our phones. It's easy, it's meant to be easy. One flick of our index finger transports us from disaster to disaster, from crisis to crisis, from maddening lie to maddening lie. Each new unauthorized attack and threatened invasion grabs the headlines, until something else takes its place, and meanwhile the government's attempts to terrorize and silence the people of our country continue.
