Josh Lewis was a longtime conservative who began to question the GOP after their embrace of Trump and his brand of populist nationalism. In an attempt to find a solution, Josh studied conservative thinkers going back decades and began Saving Elephants, a blog and podcast dedicated to defining the conservative movement for the next generation.
Josh talks about his journey and the difficulty of balancing restraint in government with the need for action.
Gen Z is quietly leaving social media as algorithmic feeds, infinite scroll, and addictive platform design fuel anxiety, isolation, and mental health struggles.
Lately, it seems like each time I reach out to an old acquaintance through social media, I’m met with a page that reads, “This account doesn’t exist anymore.”
Many Gen-Z’ers are quietly quitting the platforms we grew up on.
This is understandable. While designed to be a public space spurring connection, many of these platforms now do the opposite: They are driving young people apart and making us more isolated.
The solution, however, should not be quiet quitting: Instead, young people need our legislators to hold Big Tech accountable for making these platforms usable and sustainable, instead of yet another tool to exploit our vulnerabilities. We need legislation that makes social media social again.
Ironically, although up to 95% of teens use social media daily, young people feel more isolated than ever. Over 60% have reported feeling no real sense of identity. And those who reported higher use of these “social” platforms were substantially more likely to experience depression, anxiety, and other negative mental health impacts.
This is not a coincidence. It is by design. While many platforms originated out of a desire to connect people, their business models have largely shifted to prioritize profit over their consumers. Their product design reflects this.
For example, in 2016, Instagram, Meta, and Twitter removed chronological feeds, which listed posts from people you follow in the order they were posted. Instead, they introduced algorithmic feeds, collecting user data in order to push trending or “relevant” content. Research has found that these algorithmic feeds rely heavily on sensationalist content that garners intense emotion to keep users engaged for longer. This longer engagement prompts the algorithm to show similar types of content, starting a negative feedback loop. For example, a study from the Center for Countering Digital Hate found that YouTube users who express interest in fitness or dieting are often then pushed content that worsens body image.
Similarly, the introduction of short-form video platforms like TikTok and Instagram brought with it the infinite scroll. Long gone are the days when you could scroll to the bottom of the page and be told that “you’re all caught up.” Instead, these platforms offer a never-ending feed of content. When paired with predatory algorithmic feeds, this infinite feed creates an addictive dopamine loop, which can disrupt sleep patterns and trigger anxiousness around “missing out.” Research has found that infinite scrolls are particularly dangerous to young people, who have not yet fully developed impulse control.
Frustrated parents and teachers often argue that young people should just put down their phones or delete their social media. Some young people can do this. But for others, social media is the only landscape they know. It’s their primary means to connect with their friends and family.
Moreover, some young people literally cannot put down the phone: Internal documents from Meta and YouTube showed these platforms knew the features they implemented were addictive, yet still released them. In March, these companies lost a landmark social media case, finding them liable for creating addictive platforms.
As the name would imply, social media platforms were meant to be social–not money grabs. My generation, and those behind us, need that to be true again. As the recent Meta case showed, we cannot depend on tech companies to voluntarily change their predatory practices. Instead, we need regulations to call them to account.
We are starting to see efforts across the country to do so. On April 29th, Michigan’s state senate passed SB 757, as part of the “Kids Over Clicks” legislative package, which would prohibit minors from addictive, data-driven algorithms. Also in April, Massachusetts’ governor called for the disabling of infinite scroll and autoplay for users who are determined to be under 18. These policy efforts are a great first step, but they are not enough. We must continue this momentum across the state and federal levels.
Young people across the country have been calling for design-based regulation, like allowing the disabling of infinite scroll and algorithmic feeds, as well as better labeling of sensitive content. If legislators heed the call by making social media companies accountable, they can once again become a place where young people can talk, exchange ideas, and build a long-term culture that gives us a real sense of purpose. Putting the social back in social media is necessary to uphold the social fabric of my generation.
Sparkle Rainey is a youth activist and communications director at Young People’s Alliance. She is a Public Voices Fellow on Youth Well-Being and Power with The OpEd Project and Hopelab.
The Supreme Court, in holding that partisan gerrymandering is permissible—unless it "goes too far"—stated that the argument made against this practice based on the Court's "one person, one vote" doctrine didn't work because the cases that developed that doctrine were about ensuring that each vote had an equal weight. The Court reasoned that after redistricting, each vote still has equal weight.
I would respectfully disagree. After admittedly partisan redistricting, each vote does not have an equal weight. The purpose of partisan gerrymandering is typically to create a "safe" seat—to group citizens so that the dominant political party has a clear majority of the voters. It's the transformation of a contested seat or even a seat safe for the other party into a safe seat for the party doing the redistricting.
The Court has said that the question is, how much partisan dominance is too much. The answer should be: if the new district is a "safe" district for the dominant party rather than a contested one, it is too much because it intentionally undermines the equal value of everyone's votes.
The whole purpose of gerrymandered redistricting is usually to create districts where the dominant party cannot lose because of its voting advantage, making it impossible for those of the other party and independents to band together to elect the representatives they want. The purpose is to create a "safe" district, not a contested one. The argument against this practice is not that the not-dominant party has a right to elect representatives of its choice—the Court having said there is no such guarantee—but that their vote is no longer of equal weight.
The suggested standard is: When the dominant party redistricts to create safe districts for itself rather than contested ones, it has gone too far. When a party has a clear majority in a district by the luck of the draw, the natural cluster of voters, that's random and not justiciable. But when the party intentionally creates such a district, it violates the 14th Amendment's one-person, one-vote rule: the voters of the dominant party who are in the clear majority in the new district have greater value than those of the other party. That is partisan dominance going too far.
And where the district that is being broken up is a Black-majority district, then you have the added fact that Blacks—after redistricting—have "less opportunity than other members of the electorate" to elect representatives of their choice. Whereas before the redistricting, as in Memphis, they resided in an area where they were "sufficiently numerous and compact to constitute a majority in a reasonably configured district" (this is a very different set of facts than the ones in Callais), after redistricting, that was no longer the case. Blacks then had less opportunity than their White peers of the dominant party to constitute a majority and elect representatives of their choice—that's the purpose of breaking up the Black-majority district—and that is a racial gerrymander in violation of the Voting Rights Act.
Nor can it be said, as the Court has said in the past, that this dilution of the Black vote is no different from partisan gerrymandering, which they have ruled is not justiciable. The Court has also said that when both purposes are present, the one less problematic [as to its constitutionality] is deemed the operating force.
The court has assumed, barring specific data-driven proof otherwise, that the Black vote is the same as the Democratic vote because Blacks as a bloc consistently vote Democratic. Thus, the Court has stated that diluting the Black vote and diluting the Democratic vote is one and the same thing.
While that voting fact is true, it is not true that Blacks vote as Democrats. They vote Democratic primarily because it is the only party that has consistently supported Black interests. If Republicans took up the Black cause, they would vote Republican. Thus, they are voting specifically as Blacks, not as Democrats. And so when their vote is diluted, it is their vote as Blacks, not as Democrats, that is being diluted.
Finally, even assuming that diluting the Black vote was the same as diluting the Democratic vote, where both purposes—partisan and racial—are present, to deem the less problematic purpose the operating force is an affront to the Constitution. If both an unconstitutional and a constitutional purpose are present, the unconstitutional purpose should always take precedence for the Court because it is the Court's mandate to see that the Constitution is not violated, to secure the benefits of the Constitution's protections for those who fall under it.
In the hypothetical cases described, whether viewed as a partisan or racial gerrymander, they are both violations of the law. In the first instance, it violates the 14th Amendment because it violates the one-person, one-vote rule. In the second instance, it violates the Voting Rights Act because the redistricting offers Blacks less opportunity than other members of the electorate to elect representatives of their choosing; should the Court continue to find that Black votes and Democratic votes are indistinguishable, then it would be a partisan gerrymander that would be in violation of the 14th Amendment because it violates the one person, one vote rule.
Ronald L. Hirsch is a teacher, legal aid lawyer, survey researcher, nonprofit executive, consultant, composer, author, and volunteer. He is a graduate of Brown University and the University of Chicago Law School and the author of We Still Hold These Truths. Read more of his writing at www.PreservingAmericanValues.com
WASHINGTON –More than 2,000 law enforcement officers from across the country rode into the nation’s capital last Tuesday for the annual Police Unity Tour, marking one of many events taking place during National Police Week.
The event, held at the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial, honors officers who lost their lives in the line of duty and brings together law enforcement officers and surviving families for a multi-day bicycle ride into the memorial.
According to the FBI, 107 officers died in the line of duty, including 43 felonious killings and 43 accidental deaths. More than 24,000 officers have died in the line of duty throughout U.S. history. The National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial honors the names of all of them.
The Police Unity Tour’s origins date back to 1997, when New Jersey police officer Patrick Montoure organized a four-day fundraising bike ride to raise awareness and support for fallen officers. What began with just 18 riders has since grown into a nationwide movement.
Today, the organization has eight chapters across New Jersey, Virginia, California, Florida, and Delaware. While each chapter begins at a different starting point, they all come together in Washington, D.C., for one final ride into the memorial.
For many riders, the journey was deeply personal. New Jersey State Trooper Oluteju Ishola said this was his first time participating in the event and that he rode in honor of his partner, who passed away on January 7.
“It was challenges, some days were challenges. Some days, you know, you had to push through it, you know, early mornings…late nights,” said Ishola.
But he said the support from communities along the route is what kept him going.
Other riders said the event also highlights the realities and dangers of law enforcement work, but reminds surviving families that their loved ones’ sacrifices will never be forgotten.
Kaitlin Bender-Thomas is a graduate journalism student at Northwestern University and a reporter for the Medill News Service.
A reflection on parenting, empathy, and communication in a divided world.
During a recent conversation, my 16-year-old son told me I did not understand him.
Parents know these moments well. What begins as a disagreement about something practical can quickly become something larger. A conversation about rules, expectations, timing, priorities, or responsibility suddenly transforms into a referendum on whether your child feels seen, heard, and respected.
At first, I responded the way many parents do: by focusing on the issue at hand. But as we continued talking, I realized something more important was happening beneath the surface.
When my son said I did not understand him, what he often meant was that I did not agree with him.
That distinction matters more than we may realize.
To his credit, he was articulating something many adults struggle to name. We often confuse understanding with endorsement. If someone does not validate our conclusion, mirror our emotions, or support our position, we assume they have failed to hear us. We interpret disagreement as dismissal.
But understanding and agreement are not the same thing.
Understanding asks whether I can grasp how you arrived at your perspective. Agreement asks whether I share it. One is rooted in empathy and curiosity. The other is rooted in alignment.
A person can fully understand your frustration and still think you are wrong. A spouse can understand your feelings and still see the situation differently. A colleague can understand your concerns and still choose another path. A parent can understand why a teenager wants more freedom and still say no.
Somewhere along the way, many of us learned to collapse these differences into one demand: If you love me, respect me, or care about me, you will agree with me.
I know this because I once believed it too.
As I reflected on that conversation with my son, I realized I grew up carrying a similar assumption. Agreement felt like validation. Disagreement felt like rejection. If someone challenged my view, it could feel as though they were challenging my worth.
Many people never outgrow that framework. They simply carry it into adulthood and apply it to marriages, friendships, workplaces, and civic life.
You can see it everywhere.
National data suggests many Americans feel the same strain. Eight in ten U.S. adults say Republican and Democratic voters cannot agree on basic facts about important issues. A record 45 percent of Americans now identify as political independents, and 85 percent say politically motivated violence is increasing. These numbers point to more than policy disagreement. They reflect a country struggling to stay in a relationship across differences.
When agreement becomes the price of being understood, curiosity disappears. Conversations become negotiations for emotional validation rather than opportunities for learning. Listening becomes performative. People stop asking questions and start defending positions. Every difference feels personal.
And perhaps most damaging of all, we become fragile in the face of ordinary disagreement.
That fragility shows up in homes as much as it does in headlines.
As a parent, I could have ended the conversation the old-fashioned way. I could have pulled rank, asserted authority, or dismissed his frustration with some version of “because I said so.”
But I wanted something different for my son.
I wanted him to understand that someone can hear you deeply and still not side with you. That love does not require surrendering judgment. That being challenged is not the same as being devalued. That emotional maturity includes tolerating the discomfort of not getting consensus.
Most of all, I wanted to model that difficult conversations can still be kind.
This is not just a parenting lesson. It is a civic one.
A pluralistic society depends on people who can remain in relationships despite disagreement. Families need it. Friendships need it. Workplaces need it. Communities need it. Democracies certainly need it.
If every disagreement is interpreted as disrespect, then only echo chambers feel safe.
We do not need less conviction. We need stronger relational skills. We need the capacity to hold our values without requiring universal affirmation. We need to listen for meaning instead of only listening for compliance.
My son may not have realized it, but he gave me a useful reminder.
Being understood feels good. Being agreed with feels good too. But they are different experiences, and confusing them can damage relationships we care about most.
One of the most important lessons we can teach our children—and ourselves—is that disagreement is not abandonment.
Someone can love you, hear you, respect you, and still see things differently.
In an age where so many conversations collapse under the weight of that confusion, learning the difference may be one of the most necessary skills we have left.
Randi McCray is the associate director of school community and culture at the Yale School of Public Health, where she works to build inclusive dialogue across differences, and a Public Voices fellow of The OpEd Project in partnership with Yale University.
Some MAGA loyalists have turned on Trump. Why the rest haven’t