This is the second entry in a two-part op-ed series on institutional racism in American medicine.
A little over a year before the coronavirus pandemic reached our shores, the racism problem in U.S. health care was making big headlines.
But it wasn't doctors or nurses being accused of bias. Rather, a study published in Science concluded that a predictive health care algorithm had, itself, discriminated against Black patients.
The story originated with Optum, a subsidiary of insurance giant UnitedHealth Group, which had designed an application to identify high-risk patients with untreated chronic diseases. The company's ultimate goal was to help re-distribute medical resources to those who'd benefit most from added care. And to figure out who was most in need, Optum's algorithm assessed the cost of each patient's past treatments.
Unaccounted for in the algorithm's design was this essential fact: The average Black patient receives $1,800 less per year in total medical care than a white person with the same set of health problems. And, sure enough, when the researchers went back and re-ranked patients by their illnesses (rather than the cost of their care), the percentage of Black patients who should have been enrolled in specialized care programs jumped from 18 percent to 47 percent.
Journalists and commentators pinned the blame for racial bias on Optum's algorithm. In reality, technology wasn't the problem. At issue were the doctors who failed to provide sufficient medical care to the Black patients in the first place. Meaning, the data was faulty because humans failed to provide equitable care.
Artificial intelligence and algorithmic approaches can only be as accurate, reliable and helpful as the data they're given. If the human inputs are unreliable, the data will be, as well.
Let's use the identification of breast cancer as an example. As much as one-third of the time, two radiologists looking at the same mammogram will disagree on the diagnosis. Therefore, if AI software were programmed to act like humans, the technology would be wrong one-third of the time.
Instead, AI can store and compare tens of thousands of mammogram images — comparing examples of women with cancer and without — to detect hundreds of subtle differences that humans often overlook. It can remember all those tiny differences when reviewing new mammograms, which is why AI is already estimated to be 10 percent more accurate than the average radiologist.
What AI can't recognize is whether it's being fed biased or incorrect information. Adjusting for bias in research and data aggregation requires that humans acknowledge their faulty assumptions and decisions, and then modify the inputs accordingly.
Correcting these types of errors should be standard practice by now. After all, any research project that seeks funding and publication is required to include an analysis of potential bias, based on the study's participants. As an example, investigators who want to compare people's health in two cities would be required to modify the study's design if they failed to account for major differences in age, education or other factors that might inappropriately tilt the results.
Given how often data is flawed, the possibility of racial bias should be explicitly factored into every AI project. With universities and funding agencies increasingly focused on racial issues in medicine, this expectation has the potential to become routine in the future. Once it is, AI will force researchers to confront bias in health care. As a result, the conclusions and recommendations they provide will be more accurate and equitable.
Thirteen months into the pandemic, Covid-19 continues to kill Black individuals at a rate three times higher than white people. For years, health plans and hospital leaders have talked about the need to address health disparities like these. And yet, despite good intentions, the solutions they put forth always look a lot like the failed efforts of the past.
Addressing systemic racism in medicine requires that we analyze far more data (all at once) than we do today. AI is the perfect application for this task. What we need is a national commitment to use these types of technologies to answer medicine's most urgent questions.
There is no antidote to the problem of racism in medicine. But combining AI with a national commitment to root out bias in health care would be a good start, putting our medical system on a path toward antiracism.
A golden tray sits on the Resolute Desk as President Donald Trump speaks during an announcement on American nuclear innovation in the Oval Office at the White House on July 24, 2026, in Washington, D.C. Trump is signing multiple executive orders targeting the nuclear energy sector and easing rules for new reactors and nuclear fuel supply chains.
Trump’s hubris rivals the fallen heroes of ancient Greek mythology
In January, the New York Times asked President Donald Trump if there were any limits on his global powers.
“Yeah,” the president responded, “there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.”
That was eight months ago, but fortunately Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster adaptation of “The Odyssey” has made ancient Greek literature newly relevant. Before that window closes, I’d like to talk about hubris.
Today, the term mostly means excessive pride or arrogance. That’s part of what the Greeks meant by it too, but the meaning was a bit richer and more specific. Hubris was an insolent or outrageous act that offended the gods, often because the transgressor was claiming abilities or authorities that solely belonged to supreme beings.
Nolan renamed and slightly modified the concept of xenia for the film, calling it “Zeus’ law.” In the director’s telling, mortals should follow the rules laid out by the gods, specifically the requirement to treat strangers with respect lest they be gods in disguise.
In a sense, hubris is the opposite, or at least the rejection, of xenia. The hubris of the suitors, and at times Odysseus himself, invites punishment by the gods and their mortal instruments.
Which brings me back to Donald Trump. His claim that there are no constraints on his personal power to dictate events on the global stage was one of the greatest expressions of hubris ever uttered by a political leader.
Trump’s claim was obviously false when he made it.
He vowed that he could end the Russia-Ukraine war in 24 hours. He’s proved powerless to make that happen. If he had divine powers to work his will, why would he have balked at implementing his tariffs so often that Wall Street adopted the “TACO trade” term for his deals? “TACO” stands for “Trump always chickens out.”
And why would Trump have made so many embarrassing concessions to China — from rescinding tariffs on Chinese goods to allowing them to buy crucial and incredibly valuable computer chips?
But Trump saw his success at capturing Venezuelan strongman Nicolas Maduro as proof of his ability to launch missiles to the same effect as Zeus’ lightning bolts. Trump believed he was the most powerful man who ever lived.
This is no exaggeration. In March, when the Iran invasion seemed successful, Trump gave a document penned by“Presidential Historian David King” to New York Times reporters Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan purporting to prove that Trump was “the most powerful person to have EVER walked this planet.” King was, in fact, a businessman and occasional caddy for legendary golfer Gary Player.
King compared Trump favorably to many of history’s most powerful, and often heinous, figures: Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, William the Conqueror, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin, Genghis Khan, Mao Tse Tung, Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Lenin. Many of these men thought they were the most powerful person in the world, too. And many were defeated precisely because they believed it.
At least Napoleon and Hitler had a string of truly impressive victories before they learned the folly of hubris. The limits on Trump’s power have been exposed by far less august forces than the combined might of the allies in World War II or the fearsome Russian winter.
Iran is a comparatively middling power. But the regime’s ability to absorb punishment while imposing its will on the Strait of Hormuz has proved to be a greater constraint on Trump’s power than his morality or mind. We should note that, at least rhetorically, his morality has not proved much of a constraint. He has repeatedly promised to destroy Iranian “civilization” if the regime refuses to capitulate.
But they haven’t — and won’t anytime soon — because the regime’s tolerance for pain far outstrips Trump’s. The combined fear of skyrocketing oil prices, outrage of Gulf state potentates, diminishing weapon supplies and domestic unpopularity is doing the work that international law, congressional oversight and the collective opinion of foreign policy experts can’t or won’t do.
If I considered Trump more heroic than reason and facts could allow, I would say his Sisyphean predicament has the whiff of Greek tragedy to it. Trump is vexed by the fact that the Iranians won’t honor deals or ratify his countless premature claims of victory — giving new meaning to his vow that his presidency would make people tired of winning. It’s almost like they’re out-Trumping Trump.
Things might have gone better if he’d heeded that great Greek tragedian Sophocles: “For Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue.”
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Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.