A Pew Research survey released in October 2026 found that roughly 6 in 10 Americans – including 4 in 10 Republicans – believe there’s too much inequality in the U.S. And a growing share from both major political parties state that the economy needs to be fundamentally rebuilt to address this.
This sentiment has, however, been difficult to convert into political results. Public support for California’s proposed wealth tax on billionaires has been waning ahead of the midterms, for example, and in 2025, Republicans passed President Donald Trump’s sweeping legislation that included tax cuts for the wealthy while cutting safety net programs.
I’m an economist who has been studying inequality for about two decades. My research confirms the trend of rising inequality since 1980, driven by the wealthiest pulling away not just from the middle class, but also from the “merely wealthy.” Overall, recent research underscores how policy choices – including taxation and public spending – enabled this 40-year rise in inequality.
Some policies enacted more recently appear to be accelerating this trend. An analysis by the Institute on Taxation and Economic Policy, a nonpartisan research organization, concluded that policy changes since the start of 2025 have imposed higher costs on everyone except the top 1%.
Inequality by the numbers
Recent federal data shows that wealth inequality continues to grow. The top 1% saw their share of wealth increase from 31.7% to 32.5% just between the first and second quarters of 2026, a jump of over $8.5 trillion. That caps a steady climb from 30.9% in the last quarter of 2024 – and from 27.4% in 1999.
These recent gains come at the expense of the middle class – the 40% between the bottom half and the top 10% – who hold only 28.8% of all wealth despite being a group that’s 40 times larger than the top 1%. And the middle’s share is shrinking, down from 32.9% in 1999 and 30.2% at the end of 2024, according to the data.
But the ultra-wealthy, those in the top 0.1%, are pulling away even from the rest of the rich, the data shows. This tiny elite owns 15% of all wealth – almost half of all the wealth of the top 1%. Both the top 0.1% and the next 0.9% saw their share of wealth increase, but the top 0.1% captured two-thirds of the gains between the first and second quarters of 2026.
Even within the highest echelons of wealth concentration, these two groups are on different trajectories.
Crucially, the wealth of the top 0.1% is disproportionately boosted by corporate profits, which are up sharply overall. The top 0.1% reap the most from this growth because their portfolios’ value has soared on the promise of future increased profitability that’s driving up stock prices – especially thanks to the tech and artificial intelligence boom.
How taxes play a role
Since President Ronald Reagan’s tax cuts in the 1980s, the U.S. tax code has become less and less progressive, often through policy changes supported by both Republicans and Democrats.
The common argument for tax cuts is that they stimulate growth, but a growing body of research – including international studies – doesn’t back that up. A 2025 Brookings report notes that U.S. tax policy has gone through massive changes throughout history without any discernible effect on growth.
Nonetheless, congressional Republicans used their narrow majorities in 2025 to pass Trump’s sweeping policy and tax bill, which included provisions making most of his 2017 tax cuts permanent. Those included the historically low top-income tax rate and the lowest corporate tax rate since 1940.
It’s also important to understand that the top 0.1% have a different tax exposure from the rest of the top 1% because the composition of their wealth is different. They own as much in stocks and mutual funds as the next 0.9%, a group that is nine times larger, and those holdings are where most of their recent gains came from.
Furthermore, roughly three-quarters of the top 0.1%’s wealth portfolio consists of corporate and business ownership, allowing them to benefit from the Trump tax cuts in multiple ways – including lower tax rates and more opportunities to defer or avoid tax liability. Their massive holdings of stock mean that they can borrow against it for cash, usually tax-free, rather than having to sell shares.
By contrast, below that elite, real estate is a much more important component of wealth, while corporate equity is a smaller and smaller share. For the middle class, nearly two-thirds of wealth is held in their homes and retirement savings, while corporate and business ownership accounts for only 15%.
The new drivers of inequality
Much of the inequality debate focuses on the role that taxation has played. But other recent policy changes have shifted different kinds of costs on to low- and middle-income earners, while leaving the wealthy relatively unscathed.
One example is a provision in Trump’s 2025 legislation that allowed federal healthcare subsidies through the Affordable Car Act to lapse. Insurers and analysts expect the number of people signing up for coverage through ACA plans to drop by about 5 million due to higher premiums and face much higher out-of-pocket costs.
The spike in energy costs, including gasoline, diesel and heating oil, is another case in point. They disproportionately affect low- and middle-income consumers but barely dent the budgets of the wealthy – while boosting the profits of companies engaged to the extraction, processing and transportation of oil. This divergence has been especially pronounced since the start of the conflict with Iran in February 2026, which has pushed up the global price of oil.
Then there are tariffs, which are fundamentally a consumption tax on imports. Economists at the New York Federal Reserve have found that these levies have inflicted a heavy hit on many common consumer goods. They estimated that prices for these items, which make up a much larger share of household budgets among the nonwealthy, would have fallen on average by 1% over the year without the tariffs. Instead, they have risen by 2.9%.
This acceleration in the redistribution of wealth from the middle class to the very top, in short, has an array of drivers. But they’re not inexorable forces of history. As economist Thomas Piketty put it in “A Brief History of Equality,” published in 2022: “Inequality is first of all a social, historical, and political construction.”
In mid-September, Chinese scientists announced a breakthrough in extracting hydrogen and fresh water from the ocean with about 15% better energy efficiency than older techniques. Their research, published in Nature Energy on Sept. 15, underscores that China continues to dominate in the renewable energy race, generating so much that the country can’t even use it all. As Reuters reported in August, “China turned away enough clean energy to power Mexico for a year in the six months through June as its grids hit their limits.” At the Fortune Leaders Forum in Macau on Sept. 8, Youyuan Huang, executive vice chairman of BTR New Material Group, the world’s top maker of battery anode materials, said “China’s grid is a very strong and stable one . . . but we’ve installed too much green energy.”
Boy, the U.S. could sure use some of that excess juice. Currently, this country is embroiled in a self-inflicted energy crisis, largely a result of President Donald Trump’s war against Iran, that is sending deep ripple effects across the globe as oil prices spike. In the U.S. alone, diesel prices have risen around 70% since before the war began on Feb. 28, hitting a record $6.52 on Sept. 22, and in the last two months, at least 16 trucking companies, both large and small, have been bankrupted. The world’s richest nations are trying to staunch the bleeding, recently vowing to release up to 100 million barrels of diesel and crude oil within four months. But on Monday, Amin Nasser, CEO of Aramco, the world’s largest oil company, cautioned that this is little more than a Band-Aid and that long-term supply issues remain. Until the Strait of Hormuz “fully reopens and confidence returns, the crude reality is that pressure at both ends of the barrel will intensify,” Nasser said at the Energy Intelligence Forum in London.
Some “crude reality” would be another nice-to-have for those helming U.S. policy. The rising fury against the war and high energy prices threatens to clobber Republicans in the midterm elections. So the Trump administration is frantically trying to drive down diesel prices, first by floating the idea of banning exports. This tactic, criticized as “unwise” by some oil executives, has been abandoned for now, but at a Monday rally in Nebraska — where Trump also seemed to promote the idea of Iran attacking two California cities — he signed an executive order promoting the use of red-dyed diesel. Normally reserved for agriculture operations, red diesel is exempt from highway fuel taxes, but experts caution that expanding its use probably won’t help much because major fuel suppliers are unlikely to go along with it. For one, the taxes are only deferred, meaning companies could end up paying them later. But red dye, when used, can also gum up tanks and fuel systems. “We do not expect most reputable diesel retailers and fuel marketers to do this,” the Society of Independent Gasoline Marketers of America and the National Association of Truck Stop Owners said in a note to their members, citing “limited upside.”
On Friday, Trump announced his latest bid to reduce prices: buying oil from Russia. Shortly afterward, the Treasury Department issued a temporary license allowing Russian diesel to be supplied to the global market. Though details were scarce, this undermines the president’s own sweeping Russia sanctions law he signed last month. Regardless, it doesn’t look like it will do much to lower prices. “It’s kind of shuffling deck chairs on the Titanic,” Michael Lynch of the Energy Policy Research Foundation, told the Associated Press. “If we get diesel from Russia, basically it means that their existing customers are not going to get it and they’ll have to go somewhere else, and that will keep the price basically where it is now.”
With diminishing options — besides the obvious one of ending the Iran war immediately, which Trump can do whenever he wishes — the administration’s primary strategy is to blame everyone else. On Monday, he repeated claims on social media that Ukraine is most at fault for high oil prices thanks to their continued attacks on Russian oil refineries, and that “What’s driving up gasoline is no longer the Strait of Hormuz.” The president also said the closure of oil refineries in “blue states” is part of the problem.
With diminishing options — besides the obvious one of ending the Iran war immediately, which Trump can do whenever he wishes — the administration’s primary strategy is to blame everyone else.
Energy Secretary Chris Wright has also spread these claims, appearing Oct. 4 on “Face the Nation” to blame Ukraine and California Gov. Gavin Newsom, the latter for closing two refineries. (In fact, Newsom had nothing to do with the refinery closures.) Wright insisted that fuel prices will drop soon, as Trump has been claiming for months now. He also said that Trump was warned before attacking Iran that it might create an energy crisis — “he was well aware of the risk to energy flows that were coming out of the Persian Gulf region” — but the president insisted it would all be worth it to stop Iran from getting a nuclear weapon.
Wright has been especially busy lately trying to instill a sense of optimism around the energy sector, dismissing climate change as a non-issue while laundering Trump’s vision of “energy dominance.” All of this is remarkably myopic. Half of it is an artificial war against renewable energy projects, including the cancellation of almost $8 billion in Biden-era clean energy grants, and using specious claims about “national security” to cancel offshore wind projects. The other half is accelerating oil, gas and coal extraction while slashing protections for endangered species threatened by drilling in the Gulf of Mexico. But here’s the rub: Neither approach has made fuel cheaper, and it doesn’t seem that will change any time soon.
There’s little wonder why: Wright founded Liberty Energy in 2011, one of the fossil fuel giants that led that decade’s fracking boom, and he has attacked renewable energy projects almost as enthusiastically as Trump, saying they can never fully meet increasing energy demands. China and other countries have conclusively proved that false, but it’s not an either-or situation. Despite being the world’s No. 1 renewable energy producer, China is also rapidly expanding its coal industry. “The growth of renewable electricity is not incompatible with maintaining, and sometimes developing, fossil-fuel capacity,” science and technology historian Jean-Baptiste Fressoz explains in his 2025 book “More and More and More: An All-Consuming History of Energy.”
In other words, human energy consumption is rising so fast that we’re continuing to grow all energy sectors rather than entirely replacing fossil fuels with renewables. (That’s not great news for the climate, of course.) But only the U.S. is leaning quite so hard into 19th-century fossil fuels instead of 21st-century solutions.
Why would the Trump administration push so hard for retrograde technology? Perhaps it’s time to admit that the president actually has no interest in driving down consumer prices or the cost of living, let alone ending the war, whether it hurts his party’s electoral chances or not. Trump is deeply invested in oil and gas companies, which have enjoyed obscene profits throughout the conflict. As Reuters reported in late September, “The five largest Western oil companies — BP, Chevron, ExxonMobil, Shell and TotalEnergies — are expected to report combined third-quarter profits of around $53 billion, according to RBC Capital Markets estimates, up from $48 billion in the second quarter and more than double year-earlier levels.”
Trump has caught plenty of these profits, with an August report from the Joint Economic Committee finding that the president “owned as much as $45.6 million in oil and gas company stocks in 2025, a portfolio that is now worth as much as $61.1 million given the surge in oil and gas stocks driven by Trump’s war in Iran.”
No wonder Trump continues to hint that the Iran war will heat up again after the midterms: He has a vested interest in keeping it going and inflating gas prices, so maybe it makes sense to call his bluff here. After all, truckers may be dropping more than $1,000 every time they fill up, or losing their jobs entirely, but the ultra-rich aren’t feeling much stress from all this. They are well positioned to buy up bankrupt trucking companies and jack up prices, further consolidating their monopolistic or oligarchic power. It’s the classic “shock doctrine,” in which corporations exploit disaster conditions, created intentionally or not.
It would be more sensible to follow China’s lead on renewable energy, just as it would probably be smart to retreat on Iran rather than get entrenched in another forever war. But that just wouldn’t generate such spectacular windfall profits for Trump or those in his orbit. The solution is to nail these people to the consequences of their decision. They don’t want to end this crisis, so we must make them.
The 2026 U.S. midterm campaigns are the first in which AI-generated political ads are regularly appearing on people’s televisions and social media feeds.
What we found has surprised us: AI use spans from hyperrealistic deepfakes to subtle enhancements; Republican sponsors – both candidates and interest groups – are much more likely to use AI than are Democratic sponsors; and, thanks to a patchwork of state legislation, many of these ads do not disclose the use of AI at all.
From deepfakes to subtle edits
An assortment of politicians and watchdog groups have expressed concern about campaigns using generative AI to produce deepfakes – synthetic videos showing people doing things they did not do – that might deceive voters.
We’ve noticed several ads containing hyperrealistic deepfakes of famous politicians, including Donald Trump, Nancy Pelosi, Barack Obama, Kamala Harris and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. Ocasio-Cortez, in particular, is a favorite among Republican advertisers, appearing in at least five ads.
We’ve seen deepfakes in which a Republican Senate candidate from Louisiana drives a school bus full of undocumented immigrants, a Republican candidate for governor from South Carolina walks arm in arm with drag queens, and an ad in which Liz Cheney, Mitt Romney and Mike Pence are seen carrying pitchforks on the White House lawn.
People who are not politicians made appearances, too, including a fake Dr. Anthony Fauci, seen running around a state fair with a huge syringe, presumably eager to vaccinate everyone. We’ve also noticed several ads in which AI was used to generate crowds or constituents.
In several cases, AI was used to enhance visuals rather than generate something new. One ad from Chip Keating, a Republican candidate for governor in Oklahoma, includes an AI disclaimer, but it doesn’t specify exactly how AI was used. Ads that use AI to enhance visuals don’t necessarily look different from ads that were created in the pre-AI era, which makes it difficult for viewers to discern whether they depict something false.
A partisan gap
Republicans – both candidates and groups such as super PACs and 501(c) organizations – are much more likely to use AI in their ads than are Democrats, according to our research.
In fact, Republican candidates or pro-Republican groups were behind 80% of the ads we tracked and 83% of the spending.
We can only speculate as to why Republicans dominate the use of AI in political advertising in 2026. In general, Democrats tend to take on a regulatory mindset when it comes to political campaigns, favoring limits on campaign spending and required disclosures. In 2022, for instance, only Senate Democrats and two independents voted to advance the DISCLOSE Act that would have required additional campaign finance disclosures for super PACs, labor unions and corporations. Republicans, by contrast, tend to be more in favor of a free market approach.
These more general philosophies may be reflected in the parties’ use of generative AI for political advertising, something about which voters are worried. Polling shows broad support for more regulation, with 78% of registered voters favoring a ban on AI content that makes deceptive claims about candidates.
AI-modified videos of House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries posted by President Donald Trump were displayed at the White House in October 2025. Alex Wong/Getty Images News via Getty Images
Disclaimers all over the map
Because regulation of AI in advertising depends on a patchwork of state legislation, many of these ads are not required to disclose the use of AI. This lack of disclaimers makes tracking AI use in ads challenging. Our team has relied on media coverage and trained student coders to flag ads that are potentially AI-generated.
Across 35 states, only 31% of the ads we tracked – representing 22% of the spending – disclosed the use of AI tools. The wording of these disclaimers was all over the map. For example, one Georgia ad included the disclaimer, “This video has been manipulated or generated with artificial intelligence,” while an Oklahoma ad said, “Political satire. AI-generated images do not depict actual events.” A North Carolina state Senate ad said, “You guessed it! AI was definitely used to generate these silly video clips.”
Laws don’t drive disclosure
Some advertisers voluntarily disclose the use of AI even when they are not required to do so. Sometimes, the opposite occurs – advertisers don’t include disclaimers even when state law requires them to. In fact, we’ve found that a state law that requires disclaimers on ads that use AI has very little relationship with the actual use of disclaimers.
In states without laws governing the use of AI in political ads, 32% of ads contained a disclaimer; by contrast, in states with laws governing the use of AI, 29% contained a disclaimer. This comparison, however, is not perfect, as some of the ads in our database aren’t covered by their state’s law. Some states, such as Colorado, have laws that apply only to candidate deepfakes and thus exclude other uses of AI. In other instances, such as in Louisiana, an AI law was enacted after the ad aired.
Minnesota law generally bans deepfakes in political ads, but an ad featuring synthetic video of Democratic Senate candidate Peggy Flanagan aired in May 2026 anyway. Whether it violated state law is uncertain, as the law requires that the media be “so realistic that a reasonable person would believe it depicts speech or conduct of an individual who did not in fact engage in such speech or conduct.”
Moving forward, the real policy challenge will revolve around transparency, the enforceability of existing laws and simply figuring out what type of disclosure would be helpful to voters.
The biggest scandal in the modern history of professional sports broke wide open across the Atlantic this past week. How much that reflects larger social, cultural and economic pathologies and whether it affects regular people’s lives in any meaningful way is a complicated question. At the very least, I would suggest that the Manchester City scandal, which has driven the already-overheated British media to new heights of hysteria, isn’t really about soccer or sports.
Man City (often simply called “City”) is by far the most successful team in the English Premier League over the last 15 years and one of the four or five biggest soccer franchises in the world. Last week an independent legal panel delivered a long-anticipated verdict, finding the club guilty on 114 counts of systematic financial fraud, amounting to more than a billion dollars in fake revenues and sham commercial sponsorships. This scathing judgment only covers the years from 2009 to 2018, but no one thinks the actual or alleged fraud suddenly stopped after that.
Effectively, the verdict amounts to a finding that City cheated their way to the top of world football through a dizzying but blatant series of scams and shell games, allowing the team’s petro-state owners to illegally outspend competitors and pump hundreds of millions into inflated salaries for star players like Norwegian thirst-trap Erling Haaland (he of the formerly golden locks), Kevin De Bruyne and Sergio Agüero, and illustrious coaches, first and foremost among them the Catalan genius Pep Guardiola.
(Visionhaus/Getty Images) British newspaper headlines after Manchester City found guilty of breaches of Premier League financial rules, Sept. 26, 2026.
Along with winning numerous championships and tournaments, Man City changed the nature of the world’s favorite sport and transformed the EPL from a medium-size U.K.-based enterprise plagued by hooliganism, erratic attendance and crumbling stadiums into a global merchandising and marketing empire whose broadcasts, “kits” and online fan clubs extend from Indonesia to Arkansas.
If you belong to the large proportion of humanity inclined to a shrug-emoji reaction — billionaire oligarchs, overpaid athletes, incalculable sums of dirty money; who cares? — the first thing to say is that you’re absolutely right and that’s the only healthy response. But the salient fact that pushes the Man City narrative beyond a sports-business scandal and toward more cultural, political and even philosophical terrain is that virtually everyone who followed soccer and the EPL understood what was happening all along. That sort of willful blindness or collective cynicism is by no means limited to sports or celebrity culture — and it has become a widespread corrosive force in our society.
At any rate, everyone who was paying attention rapidly perceived the pattern after 2008, when Manchester City — a historically mediocre team with a modest fan base, sad-sack local rivals to Manchester United, who dominated the sport in the 1990s — was acquired by the Abu Dhabi United Group, a private equity firm closely aligned, shall we say, with the royal family of a Persian Gulf autocratic state. (Exactly how closely, and whether ADUG can be considered a separate entity from the Abu Dhabi government, is one of the issues at stake in the byzantine Man City case, now heading into an appeal process that could take years.)
It’s worth noting here that City Football Group, the ADUG subsidiary that has poured all that money into Man City, also owns or operates football/soccer clubs and related real estate projects around the world, including New York City FC in Major League Soccer, which at this moment is constructing an expensive new stadium in Queens, to be named — like everything else in the CFG universe — for Etihad Airways, Abu Dhabi’s state-owned carrier.
Here we find the central conundrum of the Man City scandal: Abu Dhabi’s petrodollars are deeply embedded in the economies of many Western nations, and any effort to punish or exile the emirate’s big sporting property could have far-reaching ripple effects.
Here lies the central conundrum of the Man City scandal, which is, like so much else about this story, a dirty secret that is no secret at all. Abu Dhabi’s petrodollars are deeply embedded in the economies of many Western nations, and any serious effort to punish or exile ADUG’s prize sporting property could have far-reaching ripple effects. That goes a long way toward explaining why U.K. Prime Minister Andy Burnham, who has struck such a forceful posture toward Donald Trump and Benjamin Netanyahu, has issued only vague blandishments about this explosive case on his own home turf, and clearly hopes the whole thing will simply go away.
In his excellent summary of the City scandal, Alex Shephard of the New Republic observes that the “massive accounting sham” behind the team’s spectacular rise under the Abu Dhabi ownership was concealed only in threadbare fashion, and was widely tolerated for a range of interlocking reasons:
Manchester City committed fraud on a massive scale primarily as a soft power project for an authoritarian nation because it was allowed to do so. The Premier League chose to look away. The team was good and the money was flowing. Questions about its finances — let alone about its ownership — were swept under the rug. As Manchester City became the best team in the Premier League, the Premier League became the most powerful league in Europe and, by extension, the world.
It isn’t easy to translate this tangled affair into American terms, and in any case I’m here to argue that the real significance of the Man City story is not about big-money skulduggery in professional sports. But let’s imagine that the Los Angeles Dodgers or the New York Knicks were found to have broken the rules of their respective leagues to such an extraordinary degree that observers seriously suggested that their recent championships should be stricken from the record books and that the teams themselves should be banished from Major League Baseball and the NBA for years to come, if not forever. (Such outcomes are on the table in the City case; so is a slap on the wrist and a large payoff, or a negotiated compromise somewhere in between.)
Let’s further imagine that we had collectively decided that the Dodgers or Knicks were so entertaining to watch that we’d pretend not to notice that they were owned by Kim Jong-un’s first cousin or Vladimir Putin’s niece. (Which if anything is understating the case: ADUG’s proprietor, Sheikh Mansour bin Zayed, is the brother of Abu Dhabi’s absolute ruler and his regime’s vice president.) Then we’d pretend we were surprised to learn that their entire operation was shamelessly corrupt, when the only genuinely surprising part was that the leagues involved had decided to risk their own survival by exposing the financial misdeeds after all those years of looking the other way.
My point here is that while I’m surprised to find myself writing yetanotherarticle in 2026 about soccer — if you presume that betrays some personal interest, you would be correct — this one isn’t really about soccer at all. Whatever ultimate judgment befalls Manchester City after years of legal wrangling is beside the point, although there’s some grim amusement to be found in comments sections on The Athletic, as fans try to “well, actually” or DYOR a verdict that will certainly tarnish the team’s reputation in perpetuity.
This is partly a story, as Shephard says, about sportswashing and the immense soft-power reach of authoritarian regimes like the UAE, Qatar and Saudi Arabia, all of which are heavily invested in professional soccer and other global sporting ventures. (Paris Saint-Germain, the biggest team in France and current European champions, was once owned by its fans but is now a property of the Qatari state.) Beyond that, it’s a story about questions almost too large to describe clearly.
It’s a story about a world that pretends to value democracy but is increasingly defined by massive inequality, oligarchy and, for that matter, monarchy. It’s about a world where the billionaire ex-president of the United States had to run for re-election in order to stay out of prison — and it worked. A world where the two most respected organizations in American broadcast journalism, CNN and CBS News, could come under the control of one man, who transparently aims to turn them into propaganda outlets supporting one faction of one political party.
This is partly a story about sportswashing and the immense soft-power reach of authoritarian regimes like the UAE, Qatar and Saudi Arabia. And also a story about a world that pretends to value democracy but is increasingly defined by massive inequality, oligarchy and, for that matter, monarchy.
It’s a story, in other words, about how much we will put up with. Or rather about how much we have convinced ourselves we must accept, given the unimaginable imbalance between the tech billionaires and fossil-fuel despots on one side and the other 99.9% of us on the other, whose only feasible role is to be their servants, their worker drones or their captive audience, or else to be deemed expendable.
It would be ridiculous to cast the English Premier League as a hero in that larger narrative, as if its current stance had anything to do with standing up against autocratic sportswashing or defending democracy and the rule of law. Man City may even have a point, on the level of libertarian economic theory, that the EPL’s financial rules were unfairly structured to prevent upstart teams from competing with long-established franchises like Liverpool, Arsenal and Manchester United, and that owners should be allowed to spend as much as they want to put a competitive team on the field. (That is, in fact, exactly how Major League Baseball operates, although its moment of reckoning is right around the corner.)
But there may also be a crude lesson under this dunderheaded clash of the titans that pertains to democracy, and can be seen reflected in the verdict on the Trump regime that we all see coming in this year’s American midterm elections, or in the surge of popular opposition to data centers and to the unrestricted development of AI. To paraphrase the maxim falsely attributed to Lincoln, you can fool a whole bunch of the people for a hell of a long time, but you can’t fool all of them forever.
Ultimately, the Premier League must have concluded that the reputational and economic damage of prosecuting its most successful team for obvious financial crimes — which is likely to be considerable — was preferable to the damage of not doing so. EPL leadership stuck a finger in the wind of public opinion, so to speak, and decided their best chance of not killing the golden goose lay in manning up for the principles they had visibly abandoned, or at least pretending to.
You definitely shouldn’t care what becomes of the EPL or Manchester City; I’d be better off if I didn’t either. Erling Haaland and his teammates will be fine, as will the Abu Dhabi royals, although whatever remains of the club’s pre-2008 Mancunian fanbase is likely to suffer bitterly. But you might care about finding the outer limits of the corrosive social and cultural corruption and cynicism to which we have all been subjected — and in which we have all been complicit — and then finding the courage and resolution to resist.
Will I watch Manchester City’s first post-verdict match on Oct. 11, against their archrivals Liverpool? Um, yeah. It’s a news event! I’m doing my job, or that’s what I’ll tell myself. But I won’t pretend my hands are clean.
We’re reporters, not teachers. That doesn’t matter. Inexperience has hardly been a barrier for those who want to start their own schools, as we have reported this year. And it didn’t stop us, either.
Over the last few months, to test the process, reporters from ProPublica partnered with local journalists in three states to establish private schools. None required much effort.
In Arkansas, all it took was a few clicks on the Arkansas secretary of state website, $45 and an American flag to form a bona fide private school with the Arkansas Times.
We established a school with Mountain State Spotlight in West Virginia after filing our new school’s name and location with authorities on a piece of notebook paper, then exchanging a few emails.
And with The Assembly in North Carolina, we filed an online notice of intent to open a private school at Ponysaurus Brewing Co. in Durham, while perched on its metal bar stools, eyeing glasses of a crisp kolsch.
We used our names and news organization email addresses, following each state’s rules for starting private or microschools, a type of private school intended for just a few students. Experience running a school wasn’t needed. No one from any of the states asked us about our backgrounds or qualifications, though West Virginia did ask for proof of a high school diploma. No one questioned what we plan to teach or how we would measure whether students are learning.
And yet we could enroll students in two states right now, if we wanted to. Arkansas even suggested ways our school could accept public money through the state’s voucher-style program.
For the record, we are not enrolling students and have no intention of operating our new schools. We did, however, register a website for our new school ventures, ProPublicaAcademy.com, and even designed some fun pencils to show our school spirit.
This year, a team of ProPublica reporters has been documenting how the American education landscape is shifting dramatically as states use public money to help fund private schools. With few regulations, hundreds of new private and microschools have proliferated.
Our reporting has shown the relative ease with which people — some with questionable backgrounds — founded their own schools in unusual places. They’ve popped up in barns and on farms, in strip malls between an antique shop and an ax-throwing business and in churches, where lighting and sound for worship services is part of the curriculum.
All of this led to a clear reporting question: If the hurdles to open a private school are so low, could we do it? And what would we learn along the way?
Inside a flag shop in Little Rock, we surveyed our options. There were handheld American flags on skinny sticks, midsize ones to display on a wall and majestic formal flags adorned with silky gold fringe.
State law in Arkansas doesn’t require much to open a private school, nothing about teacher skills or what kids learn. But it does require that all schools display an American flag, and we wanted to follow the rules. So, at the Arkansas Flag and Banner store, we decided on a smallish one that could fit in a circular base atop a newsroom cubicle. We also bought an Arkansas flag — even though only public schools are required to have those. Total cost: $49.45.
Picking the flags for our new school was the hardest part of an astoundingly easy process.
Early in our reporting in Arkansas, we tried to figure out what steps we’d need to take to make a private school. We couldn’t find all the answers online, so we called the state.
“We don’t have rules for opening a private school,” Kaelin Clay, an Arkansas Department of Education spokesperson, told us earlier this year.
In fact, we didn’t even have to file anything with the Education Department. All it took was a few clicks on the Arkansas secretary of state’s website, where we registered the ProPublica-Arkansas Times Curiosity Academy LLC as a business, listed ourselves as agents and officers, and paid a fee.
“We picked a name. We paid 45 bucks,” a ProPublica reporter noted after we submitted the application. With that, we had created a private school.
The secretary of state’s office approved our new business the same day. We even got a certificate.
The Arkansas Department of Education does not regulate private schools once they’re open, and no one from the state inspected the Arkansas Times newsroom, the location we chose for our school. As far as we know, nobody checked our backgrounds, either.
Arkansas adopted a private school funding plan in 2023, and back then there were fewer than 100 private schools on record. With the state in the fourth year of its Education Freedom Accounts program, which provides vouchers that can be spent on private schools, there are now more than 220.
In addition, 143 microschools, which are a different category in Arkansas, were approved this year to accept tax dollars. That’s up from about 100 last school year.
Establishing the Curiosity Academy was so simple — and, frankly, a bit anticlimactic — that reporters then applied to become eligible to receive public funds. (Again, we applied with our names, work email addresses and a note that this was a journalistic exercise. We had no intention of actually ever taking any public money.)
We wanted to see how far our curiosity could take us.
Accessing public funds as a microschool in Arkansas is easier than it is for other types of private schools, even though there is no limit to the number of students one can enroll. Unlike private schools, we didn’t need to seek accreditation or show proof of financial solvency to accept state funding.
It took about 10 minutes to fill out the required information in early September. Other than our contact information, we had to upload just two documents — one detailing our proposed tuition and fees, and the other with our refund policy.
We said that — “should we open a school” — our tuition and fees per student would not exceed $7,208 per school year, the exact amount of Education Freedom Account money that each student in Arkansas is eligible for this year. We said tuition “would be collected only if education is delivered, and it would be the policy of the school to refund all tuition payments for educational services that are not provided.”
When more than two weeks passed and we hadn’t heard back, we reached out to the state Education Department. An employee called back that afternoon and explained that the department had decided not to accept any more because the school year was underway.
But he didn’t reject us outright. He looked up our application and invited us to keep pursuing the public money. He said we still could apply to receive public money this school year, but as a vendor providing educational services such as tutoring. He also said we could apply as a microschool next year and even suggested a tweak to the language in our tuition policy should we decide to do that.
After we hung up, he emailed us the vendor application (which we will not pursue) and let us know the microschool application for next school year will open in the spring.
We asked the state Education Department whether it would be OK with us operating a publicly funded microschool. Clay, the spokesperson, said the agency’s role is to decide if schools meet state requirements. Microschool families, she said, “have the freedom to choose the educators and learning environments that best meet their children’s needs.”
Hunched over a desk in the Mountain State Spotlight newsroom in Charleston, West Virginia, pen in hand, we scrawled out official notice of our new school in a spiral-bound notebook. We wrote that we would serve middle school students and listed our first day as TBD.
Leaving the crunchy, ragged edges on the paper, we stuffed our notice of intent into an envelope. We’d seen other new operators file similarly casual ones as they sought to register private schools in West Virginia.
Then we drove over to the state Education Department to deliver the request. Our group — two reporters, a photographer and a video journalist — went through security and, camera rolling, wound our way through the maze of the midcentury building. We got lost once, and our entourage received several perplexed glances from workers, but otherwise it was smooth sailing. The person we needed to deliver the letter to was out, but a friendly employee agreed to place it on his desk.
Dozens of new private and microschools have set up shop in the state in recent years, fueled by the roughly $5,400 the Hope Scholarship offers each student to pay tuition. New private schools all go through Dustin Lambert, a manager in the Office of Student Enrichment and Support at the West Virginia Department of Education.
We heard back from Lambert the next day. Our notice was received. (Hooray!) He said now we needed a letter from the fire marshal that our school building was safe for children. (Oh no.)
This was a problem. Our school would be housed in the Mountain State Spotlight newsroom, which had not been inspected as a school site. We didn’t want to usurp public resources to undergo a new inspection. It felt like the end of our Mountain State school experiment.
But it wasn’t.
After we followed up to ask whether all schools, including virtual schools, need safety clearance to register with the state, Lambert told us that though all brick-and-mortar private schools do, we “may want to consider the microschool route.”
In that case, we later learned, the department wouldn’t be involved because state law doesn’t include any mechanism for oversight.
West Virginia defines microschools as schools that charge tuition and are started by one or more teachers. In practice, there’s no real difference between a microschool and private school — neither has a limit on enrollment. (Yes, a micro can be macro.) He forwarded us the rules for starting a microschool, which involve providing proof of a high school diploma, at least. We notified the local school district of our new microschool venture and sent a college transcript.
The Kanawha County school district, in turn, notified the state of the existence of a new microschool.
And with that — bypassing the building health and safety requirements — we established the ProPublica-Mountain State Spotlight Curiosity Academy. Officials at the Department of Education said they were aware that journalists were establishing a school. But they had to just watch us do so — they have no authority over the state’s microschools.
In an official statement, the department’s spokesperson said it “does not approve or deny the operation of microschools for any reason, including the qualifications of the owner/operator.”
By law, should we open our microschool — and we won’t — we could enroll an unlimited number of students.
On Friday evenings, hundreds of people gather at Ponysaurus Brewing Co., a trendy spot in Durham, North Carolina, to savor its craft beers and cocktails, hardly the place you’d expect a school to open. But why not?
On a recent Tuesday morning, the brewery was quiet and closed to customers. Behind the bar, yeast busily converted sugars into alcohol inside giant stainless steel fermentation tanks. Two journalists settled onto barstools beneath signs for pilsners and cherry sours. Icy cold glasses of Tell the Truth, a light and lemony ale, sat before them on a high-top table beside a stenographer’s notebook and a laptop.
The brewery created the craft ale in partnership with The Assembly, which also is ProPublica’s journalistic partner in this private school endeavor, so it all felt very symbiotic. Ponysaurus’s owners had agreed to let us use their building and its fire and sanitation inspections, which are required to open a private school in the Tar Heel State.
Reporters from The Assembly and ProPublica scanned a state of North Carolina website that details how to file a notice of intent to open a private school.
First, it explained the state’s statutory requirements for opening a private school, things like reporting the school’s name and address. We also would have to administer a standardized test in certain grades, if we were going to open an actual school, and maintain annual records about student attendance and immunizations.
Then, we watched a four-minute, 39-second video explaining how to file the required notice of intent.
From there it seemed simple. We created a login, then filled in the address of our school (Ponysaurus’s building), noted its owner and chief administrator (our reporters), and named it the ProPublica-Assembly Academy. We’d hoped to include the word Curiosity in the name, but the field in the form didn’t allow enough characters. In North Carolina, our curiosity would have to be implied.
We filled in a few more fields, including the grades we would serve (high schoolers), whether we would open a religious school (no) and the dates of our academic year.
Then we needed to upload fire and sanitation inspection reports. This step is what brought us here, to Ponysaurus, filling out the online notice to the tune of a hissing compressor that kept clean air moving through the brewing system.
“You will need to secure inspections for the building where the school will be housed. You will need a fire inspection from the local fire marshal and a health and sanitation inspection from the local health department,” the video said.
Just that morning, a City of Durham Fire Department inspector had visited the brewery and provided Ponysaurus with a fresh business occupancy inspection. We uploaded the new report, along with the brewery’s current food establishment inspection (on which it received a 99, an excellent score, we felt, for a school).
The screen flashed a confirmation. “Thank you. We have received your request to open a private school.” If approved, the page said, we should receive a school identification number in three to five business days.
We hoped to join the at least 169 other new private schools that have opened in North Carolina since the 2021-22 school year, which marked the start of a series of expansions to the state’s publicly funded vouchers for private school tuition.
If we wanted our school to tap the voucher money, we’d have to go through some additional steps such as getting criminal background checks. We weren’t doing that.
The following day, we hit a snag. It came in a brief and garbled email. It said only: “Good morning and thank you for submitting a Notice of Intent to operate a private school. To complete the process we need to fire and sanitation inspections to” and then ended abruptly like that, no explanation or period. We emailed back, asking for clarity and noting we had already uploaded the inspection reports.
An official from the state Division of Non-Public Education then called. The school’s name needs to be on the inspection reports, she said, something we had not seen in any of our research. We also had not found any state statutes or rules that would preclude us — or anyone else — from opening a private school wherever we saw fit, be that a church or a brewery, as long as it passed “reasonable fire, health and safety inspections.”
In a follow-up call, she clarified that her division checks only to be sure the building has passed inspections specifically for a school. A spokesperson for the agency later added that state statute does not allow them to deny a private school application, but they won’t process an incomplete application — notably one without the proper inspections.
We hadn’t expected we would need a school-specific inspection at this point. The video explainer referred to inspections only generally, and the state’s written guidance indicated only that this would need to happen before occupancy.
Given we had no intention of actually opening a school, we had decided ahead of time that we wouldn’t consume any additional public resources — such as fire or health inspectors’ time — in our journalistic pursuit.
Perhaps Ponysaurus could pass the school-specific inspections. But the ethical red line would be our stop sign. Our curiosity would have to end in North Carolina.
Laredo, cut off from state funding for its Flock cameras, will ask voters for advice on whether to devote $1 million a year to keep 165 of the surveillance devices operating in city limits.
The Laredo City Council voted 7-2 Monday night to set a nonbinding referendum for May — delaying a decision that is coming due for cities, counties and law enforcement agencies that face a financial reckoning after Gov. Greg Abbottblocked state money from being spent on the roadside cameras.
“In my opinion as the head of this local government, with state funding paused, the circumstances have changed,” Laredo Mayor Victor Treviño said before the vote. “If continuing these Flock systems will require the local taxpayer to fund their entire system, I believe that 272,000 residents should have an opportunity to express their opinion.”
At least 14 cities and counties have shut off more than 900 Flock cameras since state funding was rescinded in late August, and more are scheduled to decide their next steps in the coming weeks. Larger cities like Houston and Dallas shuttered grant-funded cameras while leaving much of their networks in operation, while Plano, Robinson and Kendall County were among those that ended their Flock contracts entirely.
Complicating those decisions is a lack of information from the governor’s office about the duration of the funding pause and a desire from local law enforcement to keep the cameras they attribute to reductions in crime. In addition to the funding block, Abbott recently directed the Texas Department of Transportation to pause installation of license plate readers along state roads.
Flock cameras and other AI-enhanced automated license plate readers have come under fire from privacy advocates over their ability to scan all passing vehicles to build a database that can be accessed by law enforcement agencies from across the country. The cameras compile license plate numbers and other identifying information, including make, model, paint color, dents and bumper stickers.
Police say the information provides unprecedented ability to identify suspects, pinpoint stolen vehicles and locate missing persons. Critics fear the creation of a surveillance state and say the databases have been repeatedly abused by police conducting improper searches.
“You can’t afford the number of cops it would take to do what this system is doing,” said Billy Couch, the City of College Station’s police chief, during a tense Thursday night City Council meeting about its two Flock contracts totaling almost $300,000.
As of late August, there were an estimated 13,000 Flock cameras across Texas, according to DeFlock, an anti-surveillance watchdog that uses verified crowdsourcing to map the locations of Flock cameras.
Abbott’s office did not respond to a request for comment about guidance provided to local governments about how to proceed without state funding.
Schertz Assistant Police Chief Phillip Waller said the lack of information about the freeze is causing “major havoc” in smaller departments as local elected officials mull the long-term implications.
“I mean, depending on how big or how small the government entity is, having tens of thousands or hundreds of thousands of dollars of [automated license plate readers] not being reimbursed like we thought they were is a major hit to the budget,” Waller said.
Without information about when or if Abbott’s funding freeze will end, some local leaders have been hesitant to make decisions regarding the cameras while their current contract terms are still active.
In Addison, City Council members on Tuesday debated whether Abbott’s funding freeze was temporary or indefinite as they began weighing the loss of state support on the city’s $260,000 Flock contract. In Laredo, City Council member Tyler King cast doubt on the permanence of the funding block in Monday’s meeting.
“I personally believe it’s political, and I think on Nov. 4, if [Abbott is] reelected, that’ll come back, and the money will start flowing in again,” King said. “So if we make a decision based on that, then we’re going to be back in the same situation come Nov. 4 — the money’s back, what do we do now?”
Abbott withdrew state funds for the cameras in August as The Texas Tribune prepared to publish an investigation exploring how a small state agency had directed at least $30 million to help cities, counties and law enforcement agencies pay for more than 3,200 Flock cameras across Texas.
That support from the Motor Vehicle Crime Prevention Authority had been set to continue into 2027, with $10.9 million earmarked to help local agencies afford subscriptions for more than 2,600 Flock cameras, a Tribune review of approved grants found.
The vehicle authority, overseen by a governor-appointed board that includes Laredo’s police chief, Miguel Rodriguez, had completely covered Laredo’s installation costs for its 165 cameras, according to a police department spokesperson. Rodriguez has been a vocal advocate for placing the cameras across Texas and has commended their use in Laredo and elsewhere for allowing a new approach to detecting crime.
Like Laredo, League City southeast of Houston also will hold a nonbinding referendum on Flock cameras — a decision made mid-August, prior to Abbott’s funding freeze.
In addition to grappling with the loss of state money for Flock cameras, some local officials face a financial hit because vehicle authority grants are given as reimbursements.
Kyle, a small city south of Austin, has not received its 2026 grant for $205,000, $80,000 of which would help pay for 32 Flock cameras. Even so, the City Council voted 6-1 at a Sept. 5 meeting to continue Kyle’s Flock contract.
Mayor Yvonne Flores-Cale said they’ve had no issues with the devices.
“When we’re asked to remove something like Flock, it’s difficult, because what do we use instead of it?” Flores-Cale said. “It can’t just be like, ‘take it away and then we’re going to be a safer city,’ because we’ve never had a problem or a complaint or a misuse in our city.”
Like Kyle, College Station,Conroe and Carrollton have rejected calls to end their partnerships with Flock.
College Station’s City Council voted 4-2 to continue their two Flock contracts for another year after hours of emotional public testimony from supporters and critics. The city was awarded a $300,000 grant from the vehicle authority to cover most of the cost of its cameras in fiscal year 2026, none of which has been reimbursed, according to the agency’s records.
Even in cities and counties that are not immediately shifting their approach to Flock, the governor’s actions and widespread scrutiny have prompted police to provide presentations and explanations for how they use their cameras.
During the Schertz City Council meeting on Sept. 15, council members accepted the city’s latest $309,000 vehicle authority grant, with roughly $100,000 intended to be used for 41 Flock cameras before the funding freeze. Waller, the assistant police chief, also detailed how police were — and weren’t — using their cameras, including clarifying that vehicles, not people, are tracked.
Waller said in an interview after the presentation that misinformation about the cameras is rampant online, and he called automated license plate readers a helpful and natural improvement in policing.
“Technology advances and so does police work, and LPRs are just the next step in that advancement,” he said.
Some conversations prompted by the funding pause are the first time local elected officials have publicly discussed whether the cameras should be used. In 2024, when the Laredo City Council approved its first million-dollar installment for Flock cameras, it did so without public discussion — and did the same in January when it approved a $5 million, five-year contract.
Other cities that canceled their contracts, such as Leander and El Paso, had their police enter Flock agreements without city council involvement. The El Paso City Council responded with an ordinance requiring future contracts for license plate readers to be approved by the council.
Not all of the recent cancellations stemmed from funding concerns.
In Pflugerville and Hutto, political leaders ended Flock agreements after learning the extent to which other agencies could access their camera data. A records request from a Pflugerville resident found that hundreds of agencies across the United States had been using the city’s Flock data.
Several law enforcement agencies have begun cracking down on who can access vehicle data collected by their cameras after audits found that unauthorized departments — sometimes hundreds or thousands of them — had used their data. The Texas Department of Public Safety reined in its access significantly after a Tribune analysis found more than 2,800 agencies had repeatedly tapped into their network of more than 900 cameras without signing agreements the department said were mandatory.
When Tim Tebow announced Friday that he was pausing his relationship with Christian wealth-building company Life Surge, the former football star said he had been caught off guard by allegations that the organization used predatory sales tactics to push Christians into expensive financial education programs.
But for some Life Surge customers, Tebow’s relationship with the company was part of the reason they trusted it in the first place.
“I am so devastated that Christians like Tim Tebow made me trust in something that has taken so much money from me,” one customer wrote in a complaint to the Federal Trade Commission obtained by Mother Jones and journalist Pablo Torre.
That trust is at the center of a controversy that has quickly spread beyond allegations about Life Surge’s business practices to questions about what happens when a celebrity known as much for his faith as his fame lends his name to a company.
Tebow, a Heisman Trophy winner and former NFL quarterback, has spent nearly two decades as one of America’s most recognizable Christian athletes. His public persona has remained closely intertwined with his evangelical faith, from the Bible verses he famously wore beneath his eyes at the University of Florida to the Christian ministry and humanitarian work of the Tim Tebow Foundation.
Tebow was hardly the only famous face lending his name and credibility to Life Surge.
The organization’s sprawling roster of speakers and performers has included prominent Christian leaders and musicians such as Priscilla Shirer and Chris Tomlin, Hollywood actors including Kelsey Grammer and Dennis Quaid, athletes including David Ortiz and Russell Wilson, business personalities and political figures including former White House press secretary Kayleigh McEnany and former Housing Secretary Dr. Ben Carson. Life Surge currently promotes its roster as “influential voices in faith & finance alongside leading worship artists.”
“I am so devastated that Christians like Tim Tebow made me trust in something that has taken so much money from me.”
Investigators have also looked beyond Tebow. Journalist Pablo Torre said his team sought comment from 14 sports figures who had been paid to speak at or promote Life Surge.
But Tebow’s relationship was unusually extensive. He was reportedly scheduled to appear at more than 20 Life Surge events this year, earning between $50,000 and $100,000 for each appearance. Life Surge’s own website shows him appearing at an event in Portland as recently as Sept. 19, less than a week before the investigation was published.
There is no evidence that Tebow knew about the sales practices alleged by former customers, and the presence of other celebrities at Life Surge events does not establish that they knew about or endorsed the company’s financial programs.
But the sheer breadth of Life Surge’s celebrity roster raises a larger question than whether one famous Christian athlete adequately vetted a speaking engagement: What happens when an organization can borrow credibility from dozens of people its audience already trusts?
The company holds Christian events combining worship, motivational speakers and financial education under a mission it calls “Kingdom Impact.” Attendees can pay relatively little to see celebrity speakers before being offered a $97 three-day financial course. From there, according to the Mother Jones investigation, customers can be offered programs costing tens of thousands of dollars.
Former customers told the outlet they were encouraged to take on significant debt to participate in the programs, including through credit cards and home equity. Mother Jones and Torre also obtained 49 complaints filed with the FTC about Life Surge.
Those complaints are allegations, not findings of wrongdoing by the agency.
Life Surge has strongly disputed the characterization of its business as predatory. The company says it does not encourage customers to assume debt they cannot afford, provides disclosures explaining the risks of investing and has spent millions of dollars on compliance efforts.
It has also rejected comparisons to the prosperity gospel, the Christian theological movement that connects faith with material or financial rewards. Life Surge says its teachings instead focus on biblical stewardship and using financial success to make a greater impact through Christian ministry.
Life Surge says headline speakers such as Tebow are not hired to sell its financial programs. Tebow said Friday that his purpose at the events was to share his faith and encourage attendees.
But the Mother Jones investigation found that Tebow’s role wasn’t entirely disconnected from Life Surge’s programs. In audio from a 2023 event, Tebow encouraged people who had signed up for additional classes to follow through with the commitment.
The Securities and Exchange Commission has long warned about “affinity fraud,” in which scammers exploit trust within religious, ethnic or other close-knit communities. Regulators warn that respected community or religious figures can sometimes lend legitimacy to financial opportunities without realizing they are doing so.
There is no finding that Life Surge is operating an affinity fraud, and the company denies wrongdoing. But the SEC’s warnings illustrate why the identity of the person standing onstage can matter so much.
“I’m not here to judge or condemn. I want to seek the truth.”
Tebow’s decision to pause his relationship with Life Surge therefore does more than remove another celebrity from the company’s roster of speakers. It removes one of the most recognizable symbols of Christian credibility from its stage.
Tebow said his representatives are now investigating the allegations before he reaches his own conclusions about Life Surge.
“I’m not here to judge or condemn,” Tebow said Friday. “I want to seek the truth.”
For the people who trusted Life Surge in part because they trusted him, what Tebow discovers may matter nearly as much as what regulators do.
A new political ad airing this week features clips of President Donald Trump pledging to defeat “communism, socialism and Marxism in America,” and promising “America will never be a communist country.” It cuts to flashing text reading the “largest tax cuts in history” and “reigniting American manufacturing” while a choir repeatedly sings “love me” in the background. The sample is from JMSN’s song “Love Me,” who said on X that he did not authorize license of the song. The UFC’s Dana White chimes in, saying Trump “is the toughest, most resilient person that I’ve ever met, and nothing was going to stop him from fighting so hard for the country he loves.”
The 30-second spot seems like any other campaign ad, designed to use emotion to sway voters, but it turns out that taxpayers actually paid for the whole thing, which may not be legal. That’s sparked considerable controversy on Capitol Hill, with both Republicans and Democrats criticizing the ads. The cost of the ad is $430,000 and is running across multiple network TV channels across the country, though the Associated Press reports “The actual amount spent could be significantly more, depending on whether networks classified the ad as a political ad.”
Sen. Thom Tillis, R-N.C., who is not running for reelection, called the ad “inappropriate” and compared it to messaging from former right-wing Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orban.
“This may be felony criminal theft and conversion of government property for political campaign purposes,” Rep. Jamie Raskin, D-Md., said on X. “It is a Hatch Act violation for any government employees who worked on it or used government resources to make it. It is blatantly unethical under numerous federal ethics provisions proscribing the use of government resources for political campaigns.”
As a result, Public Citizen, a consumer rights advocacy group, filed a complaint with the Government Accountability Office and Office of Special Counsel, alleging “The TV ad boosting the image and character of Donald Trump as well as reiterating Trump’s campaign rhetoric, paid for by taxpayer dollars, and produced and distributed by Trump’s White House staff, appears to be a clear violation of the laws prohibiting the use of taxpayer dollars for propaganda purpose as well as a violation of the Hatch Act.” Public Citizen also noted that they have filed a dozen Hatch Act complaints with OSC over the past year, all of which have been ignored by the agency.
The White House defended the ad and said it is “educational and unapologetically patriotic,” according to AP.
The White House is currently airing this video as an ad during commercial breaks on Fox News.
It looks and sounds like a political spot and includes a disclaimer stating that it is paid for by the U.S. government.
The Democratic senator from Massachusetts is leading a cadre of largely left-of-center lawmakers in reviving the Stop Wall Street Looting Act, legislation that would curtail the worst tendencies of private equity firms. These investment firms frequently buy struggling companies in leveraged buyouts, foisting the debt of the purchase back onto the business being bought. The firms downsize staff and sell off parts of the purchased company to create dividends, all while charging the purchased corporation management fees for their trouble. When the companies frequently fail to service all this new debt, they are forced into bankruptcies that allow the private equity ownership group to walk away.
Warren has been fighting for a while to hold private equity firms responsible for the well-being of the companies they own. In fact, this is her third attempt at pushing the legislation, which she first introduced in 2019. The act would close loopholes that shield these investment companies from the debts of the newspapers, hospitals and department stores they purchase, and would also limit the amount that could be extracted from a private equity-owned company.
“Private equity takeovers are legal looting that make a handful of Wall Street executives very rich while costing thousands of people their jobs, putting valuable companies out of business, and in the case of health care, is literally a matter of life and death,” Warren said in a statement of an earlier version of the bill.
Facing one of the most money-friendly presidencies in history and Republican control of the White House and Congress, the bill starts to look like a hard sell. Add in the public’s aversion to barring businesses from doing anything, along with the fond feelings many Americans have for the words “private” and “equity,” and it’s easy to feel hopeless.
But there is a way to shape public opinion on this issue: Warren and her allies in Congress could simply point Americans toward an iconic redhead with pigtails. In recent years, Wendy’s has taken heat for an alleged decline in food quality. The flood of negative reviews of the fast-food chain, coupled with widespread closures of its restaurants, led Slate to ask in April “What the Hell Happened to Wendy’s?”
Citizens who aren’t likely to notice when their local newspaper becomes a bit more bare-bones, or that the already byzantine healthcare system becomes slightly harder to navigate, will definitely notice when their lunch gets worse.
The logic behind connecting fast food to private equity takeovers is straightforward. Citizens who aren’t likely to notice when their local newspaper becomes a bit more bare-bones, or that the already byzantine healthcare system becomes slightly harder to navigate, will definitely notice when their lunch gets worse — and could well inspire widespread pushback against murky financial operators.
At least that’s what Stavros Halkias believes. The comedian and actor who made his name on an unprintable dirtbag-left-adjacent podcast made the case for tying private equity to bad sandwiches during a recent interview with sports journalist Pablo Torre.
“I think it’s clear that what’s f**king us up is private equity . . . taking over products that are awesome,” he said. “The one that I’ve actually latched onto recently . . . is fast food.”
Halkias pointed to the fast food chain’s recent adoption of shredded lettuce on its chicken sandwiches as a cost-slashing maneuver typical of private equity-owned restaurants.
“Everybody understands that Wendy’s has gotten s**ttier,” he said. “The spicy chicken sandwich now uses shredded lettuce. Right there, that is private equity. That is someone saying ‘We don’t want a fresh head of lettuce that costs more money. So, we’re going to give you bagged sh**ty lettuce. I know in the grand scheme of things it’s not a big deal, but people will notice.”
Wendy’s is not fully owned by a private equity fund, but Trian Fund Management and its CEO, Nelson Peltz, own nearly a quarter of the chain restaurant’s stock. Peltz has launched multiple bids to take over the chain, most recently in February and August, before deciding he would wait to see if Wendy’s newest CEO, Bob Wright, could turn the flagging operation around. Still, with a buyout looming over the company’s head and its largest investor grumbling, it’s hard to see cost-cutting measures as entirely free from the influence of private equity firms.
Another fast-food chain, Jersey Mike’s, offers a more straightforward example. After the sandwich company was purchased by Blackstone in January 2025, customer complaints about declining quality and rising prices have dogged it ever since.
“Some f**khead who’s never spread mayo in his life decided instead of a sandwich this is now a commodity,” Halkias said. “By turning the consumer experience shittier, some d**khead who’s never made a sandwich gets a billion extra dollars.”
Halkias sees fast food and professional sports as the two arenas most likely to turn opinion against private equity and investment firms more generally. “I do think if one of these billionaires ruins a franchise, you might have goombah football fans reading Karl Marx,” he said. “If they destroy the Lakers, guys with Kobe back tattoos are going to start the proletariat revolution. I think that the closest we’re getting to class consciousness is fast food and sports teams.”
Halkias gets paid to be funny, and his stand-up career was boosted by a YouTube algorithm that appreciated his talent for crowd work. While Warren and the bill’s co-sponsors shouldn’t lean too hard on an extemporaneous riff from a podcaster, the germ of a promising strategy is there.
Private equity is abstract by design; the role of these firms is hard to figure for anyone outside of the C-suite. To draw the line between funds with boring names and the everyday services that have been eviscerated by bean-counters, Warren and the supporters of the Stop Wall Street Looting Act will first have to first meet people where they are. And where they are is eating lunch in their cars.
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