Pearl is a clinical professor of plastic surgery at the Stanford University School of Medicine and is on the faculty of the Stanford Graduate School of Business. He is a former CEO of The Permanente Medical Group.
Most leading immunologists predict Covid-19 will someday become an endemic, a persistent but manageable threat on par with seasonal flu, conceivably by the end of 2022.
That would constitute quite the turnaround from today. The coronavirus remains a leading cause of death in the United States with reported cases and fatalities nearly the same this holiday season as last. All things considered, the possibility of Covid-19 becoming endemic (just another American annoyance) should be cause for great celebration.
So, why doesn’t the pending transition from pandemic to endemic feel like great news?
When wins feel like losses
Part of the answer involves the news media, itself: “That SARS-CoV-2 could be with us forever is a dark thought,” read The New York Times on the same day that Health magazine asked, “When will it be over?” and answered, “Unfortunately ... never.”
Why so glum? You see, early in the pandemic, headlines mirrored what experts thought to be true: that the pandemic would end soon through herd immunity. All we needed was 70 percent of the U.S. population to become vaccinated or recover from Covid-19. And as recently as summer 2021, that destination seemed reachable. We thought we had Covid-19 on the ropes, ready to deal a clean knockout blow. Thus, our nation’s collective hope, glimmering one moment and gone the next, helps explain why the news of endemicity now feels so somber.
A healthy dose of perspective
Humans have a natural tendency to experience losses, even perceived ones, with far more intensity than they experience gains. In that context, it’s understandable that the “endemic” label smacks of failure rather than victory.
After all, Americans aren’t comparing their feelings about a future of endemic Covid-19 to their wildest fears back in March 2020. Instead, the reference point — that thing which lent hope before it was snatched away — is more recent. For some, it might have been a Wall Street Journal headline from February 2021: “ We’ll Have Herd Immunity by April.” Or the joys of May when even the most prudent among us were going maskless and gearing up for “ Hot Vax Summer.” Or perhaps some believed President Biden in June when he said, “We’re closer than ever to declaring our independence from a deadly virus.”
As the saying goes, unrealistic expectations are premeditated resentments. Now here we are, eyeing the possibility of endemic Covid with dismay and disappointment rather than with unbridled optimism that, someday, we’ll have wrestled this fearsome foe to a draw.
What our nation’s collective mental state needs now is a healthy dose of perspective. For that, here is a trio of useful reminders:
1. We’d never reach endemicity without an effective vaccine. It’s difficult now to appreciate how ominous the Covid-19 forecast looked for most of 2020. In June that year, the U.S. government placed an $18 billion bet on a public health moonshot called Operation Warp Speed with hopes that scientists would develop and deliver 300 million safe and effective vaccine doses by the new year.
Success was far from a foregone conclusion. Prior to the Covid-19 vaccines, the fastest one had ever been developed was four years (mumps). Nearly all took five years or much longer. Without incredible luck and even more incredible science, we would still be years away from a safe and effective vaccine.
2. Regardless of the variant, the death count will drop with endemicity. In our present reality, the Delta variant is causing more than 1,000 daily Covid-19 deaths (based on a seven-day moving average). That will not be so when our nation reaches endemicity. According to the White House chief medical adviser, Dr. Anthony Fauci, Americans living in an endemic world “will still get infected” and “might still get hospitalized,” but the rates of new cases and hospitalizations will be so low that Covid-19 will not negatively impact our society, economy or daily life.
3. Endemic Covid-19 will be no worse than seasonal flu. Through a combination of increased vaccinations, booster shots and new antiviral treatments, the likelihood of dying from endemic Covid-19 will be 90 percent to 95 percent lower than in early 2020. That reflects a mortality rate somewhere between 0.05 percent and 0.1 percent, similar to what Americans experience with the flu.
Ask yourself: If we hoped that Covid-19 would be no more dangerous than the flu at the start of the pandemic, shouldn’t we celebrate that outcome when it actually happens?
Of course, Covid-19 won’t be exactly like the flu when endemic. For instance, Covid-19 cases won’t completely disappear each summer and return the following winter like the flu. Instead, the variation will be more geographic and locally manageable. But, relative to risk, the two diseases will be equivalent, which is cause for celebration.
It is easy to understand the difficulty Americans have embracing endemic Covid-19. Regardless of the opponent, we find it hard to accept a draw when victory once seemed imminent. But make no mistake, endemicity will be a triumph for our nation. Whether it takes a year or more, don’t mourn the occasion when it comes. Celebrate the accomplishment.




















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.