Multiple parties in government: A statement of the problem

Regular readers will know that I think multiparty government is essential if electoral democracy is going to be functional. Two-party "democracy" is a catastrophe. It deprives the electorate of parties they can vote for in which they recognize a close approximation of their own values, interests, and perspectives. Instead, voters have to make guesses, with neither the information nor expertise required, about what the role of people with their views would be in gigantic, ever-shifting coalitions, even while marketing arms of the two coalitions wheedle, pander, inflame, and lie in hopes of capturing their votes. Two-party democracy, once the parties have sorted and polarized, ensures we are collectively stupid. We get caught up in a dynamic of kneecapping the other party rather than attending to what has to be accomplished in the world. Two party systems stabilize at near 50% of influence each. This renders feasible, and so incentivizes, electoral corruption, since the most important elections often turn on small margins.

Fortunately, we understand why the United States has devolved to a two-party system. We also understand why it used to be more functional than it is now. Even though, because of how we conduct elections, the United States has always collapsed to two parties in each jurisdiction, in the past the politics of each jurisdiction were somewhat independent of those of the national party. Political scientists sometimes summarize this under the banner of "a hundred political parties", although that's an understatement. Local parties were also more independent of state parties. Nationalization of the economy and communications technology has made the United States, in essence, a single jurisdiction. All politics used to be local. Now all politics is national. We are sorted into just two party coalitions, over which no one has meaningful deliberative control. They subsist on least common denominators, on the ids of each of their shifting halves of the public. They behave accordingly.

So. The United States should reform itself, using tools like proportional representation and approval voting, to become a multiparty system in every jurisdiction. But, looking around, it's clear that multiparty democracy is not a panacea.

The most pathological multiparty democracies — Great Britain, France, and Israel, for example — present cautionary tales that are easy to explain, and easy to avoid. But even reasonably well-arranged multiparty democracies, like Germany, struggle. Part of this may be because "democracies" are not isolated, independent experiments. The most powerful, culturally salient, polity in the world has devolved into two rival ids, and much of the rest of the world takes its cues — culturally, economically, via professional norms and interconnections among media organizations — from the United States. The pathologies of the United States are the pathologies of the world. Good local institutions can provide only a partial bulwark.

Still, even before the lurid collapse of America into culture war and contagious idiocracy, it's hard to credit Europe's multiparty democracies with excessive success. Europe made the same broad economic mistakes as the United States, in terms of accepting a "golden straitjacket" under which societies grew increasingly plutocratic and insulated from democratic accountability. Much of that may be down to the democratic deficit built into the structure of the EU. But then, the polities that constitute the EU could do something about that, if they were effective and vigorous democracies.

The core institution of a representative democracy is its legislature, the decision-making minipublic whose role is to decide on behalf of the public, the demos, as a whole. Just as electoral systems can introduce pathology into how the values and interests of a diverse public become represented as a legislature, details of legislative institutions and parliamentary procedure can introduce pathology into how even an initially well-constituted minipublic produces outcomes. In 1789, when the United States stood up its flawed democratic institutions, it wasn't obvious they were flawed. "Let many candidates contest for office, and let whoever receives the most votes win!" sounds impeccably democratic, but this very procedure is what triggers the collapse of American democracy into binarism. I want to posit that a similar pathology haunts the most straightforward parliamentary procedure, "Let legislators propose legislation, let them propose and vote on amendments, let a final product become law if it achieves more than 50% of the vote!"

(It's worth noting that this is perhaps the most optimistic characterization of how contemporary parliaments and legislatures work. In practice there are large hurdles to legislators who want a vote on their proposals. Supermajoritarian institutions like the filibuster present another barrier. It's hard to characterize these often opaque procedures as better enfranchising all members of a pluralistic democracy on equitable terms than the simple procedure I described, though one can argue some procedures that serve as filters are necessary concessions to practicality.)

The reason why the naive but facially fair procedure described above fails is because votes are not isolated, independent actions, taken solely on their merits. Legislatures and parliaments are human institutions. Votes within the legislature function as favors, in ways that cannot in practice be avoided and that can't really be described as corrupt. Suppose a legislator is asked to vote on a matter to which they and their constituents are fairly indifferent. They could simply abstain. But they serve their constituents more effectively if they effectively delegate their vote to other legislators whose constituents do have a strong stake in the matter, and with whom they are often allied on other matters. Then, when their constituents require something to which those colleagues might be indifferent, they can expect the favor will be reciprocated. This kind of exchange engenders cohesion among blocs, coalitions of legislators, which will be more capable of coordinating in favor of outcomes they desire than legislators who treated each vote as an isolated, solely-on-its-own-merits question, ever could. These blocs naturally tend to fall along party lines.

In fact, this outcome is so natural and obvious and inevitable that, in nearly every multiparty democracy, it is institutionalized. Following an election, the expectation is some group of parties will negotiate and publicly form a coalition who agree to vote as a bloc on important decisions, most notably the appointment of ministers who will serve as the executive of the new government. This process effectively leaves the legislature divided into two de facto parties, defined by the governing coalition and those outside of it. Outside parties may seem to have little in common, in terms of the values and interests of the different groups of voters who elect them. But given the coordination of the governing coalition, in order to exercise any influence at all, outside parties have a strong incentive to come to coordinate with one another, albeit less formally and consistently than parties within a governing coalition do.

We began with the US case, and the problem that the electoral system causes the politics of a diverse and pluralistic electorate to collapse to binarism. We "solve" that problem by looking e.g. to Europe, with its multiparty democracies, but again we see a kind of collapse to binarism, just at the level of legislative coalitions rather than overt political parties. But the effect is quite similar! In the United States, most voters don't feel like their values and interests are faithfully represented by either of the two political parties. We vote for candidates of one or the other based on some kind of calculus of which of the two coalitions will deviate less terribly. In multiparty parliamentary democracies, we vote for parties that do more clearly express an allegiance to values and interests close to our own. But we understand that in practice their behavior will be governed by coalitional dynamics that are difficult to predict.

In both systems, we have learned that our values and interests will often be betrayed. In both systems, politicians discipline voters, rather than the other way around, by pointing out how much stronger their differences are with members of the other coalition than with the politicians whom they must hold their noses to support. The fact that the coalitions are so diverse internally — the Democrats and Republicans in the United States, the flock of governing parties in parliamentary democracies — cedes in practice to politicians in power tremendous freedom to pursue their own interests at the expense of the values and interests of those who elect them. After all, almost everything they do will please part and displease part of their coalition's voters. This freedom creates space for electeds to treat politics as an incumbency and seniority machine, or worse. It encourages them to pursue their personal interests, which are at best orthogonal to, and sometimes directly opposed to, the interests and values of the diverse factions that elect them.

This case can be overstated. The electorate does still impose some constraint. In the US, politicians can't consistently make decisions that nearly all subfactions of their party would consider betrayal and expect to be reelected. In Europe, voters can credibly threaten to switch to parties that typically work in coalition with the party they would abandon, or else to an outside party whose ideology is so in sync with their own that they are sure a reorganization of the coalitions to bring the party in would constitute an improvement, without risk of ceding power to parties they find terrifying. The binarism into which both systems collapse loosens the constraint that voters can impose upon their electeds, but does not entirely eliminate it.

Multiparty legislatures elected under proportional representation are straightforwardly superior to US-style first-past-the-post two-party-ism, because at least voters can discipline electeds by switching to other parties within their coalition, or to parties whose growth would lead to a desirable reorganization of the coalitions. (American voters lack any real mechanism to discipline incumbent legislators, except perhaps for primary challenges, which bring pathology as much as remedy, given the unrepresentative subset of the electorate that participates in them.) However, proportionally represented parliaments suffer from the same core deficiency as American democracy. Coalitional politics complicate attempts by voters to hold accountable those they elect, and so diminishes their capacity to insist, effectively, that electeds vigorously advance their voters' values and interests. Professional politicians in both US parties, but also in the governing coalition of a parliamentary democracy, share incentives to maximize continuing job security, seniority, power, and persobal wealth. Given the softness of the constraint voters are able to impose, that often means serving powerful economic interests rather than their voters, mucking around with procedure and jurisdictional boundaries, and otherwise not acting as faithful and vigorous representatives of the people whose values and interests they are charged to represent.

It's very well to state a problem. In a follow up, I hope to suggest an experiment, a kind of gadget, that might help to address it.

draft by Steve Randy Waldman
2026-06-13 @ 05:10 PM EDT

Updated: Keynesian compromise

A significant update of Keynesian compromise was made on 2026-06-12 @ 02:35 PM EDT.

→ The previous version accidentally misquoted Rodrik, used the phrase "golden handcuffs" rather than "golden straitjacket".

The post was originally published 2025-04-20 @ 07:30 PM EDT.

This is an automatically generated post.

draft by Update-o-Bot
2026-06-12 @ 02:35 PM EDT

The fiduciary class

I want to riff a bit on this exchange between Kevin Elliot and Samantha Hancox-Li. (I hope they'll forgive that I've played around with formatting and added punctuation.)

Elliot: ...What's changed are norms surrounding representation & aspiration. Being an educated, cultivated person has become widely politicized in a wider environment of transgressive populist contempt for conventional respectability.

Hancox-Li: i think not unrelated to this is that the dems are steadily becoming the party of the professional-managerial class and are incredibly embarrassed about this. this of course mirrors the pmc itself, which instead of achieving class consciousness has achieved "class neuroticism", by which i mean: in practical terms members of the pmc devote much of their life's effort to becoming pmc while also remaining in deep denial that this is in fact their aspiration. i dunno tho i think being well-educated, decent, and prosperous is not a bad thing to aspire to. it might even be good actually. makes u think... i basically blame marx for this. the pmc is convinced that salvation needs to arise from the working class--hence the paradoxes discussed in "ultraliberalism," AND the essay's own prescription "go organize a shop floor".

I'm a person very much of the educated professional class. I encourage people to become educated and cultivated. Education and cultivation should embarrass no one.

(Cultivation, of course, includes moral sensibilities like, "it is cretinous to embarrass people solely for their purported lack of education or cultivation." When the United States was good, much of what made it good was a social oxymoron, promoting cultivation along with ostentatious disdain for putting on airs.)

Nevertheless, I do think that "we" — by which I mean the professional class — fucked up. And we are smart enough to kind of know it. Hancox-Li is right. We are embarrassed about something. But we are not so clear about what, so it comes through as neurosis. I'll suggest what I think we should, in fact, be embarrassed about, not in order to prescribe hairshirts, but so that we can just not do that anymore and then stand proud again.

In 2019, I offered the following tweet. I am unduly fond of it.

alignments and outcomes:

working class + professional class ⇒ social democracy

professional class + plutocrats ⇒ liberal plutocracy (“neoliberalism”)

working class + plutocrats ⇒ fascism

I think that during the period from the middle 1970s through the 2008 financial crisis, we, the professional class made a rather catastrophic error in judgment.

(Obviously I am overgeneralizing — we have always been a heterogeneous and fractious crew — but, you know. In general.)

The consensus among our class — which I shared! — was that our society was imperfectly but sufficiently a meritocracy, and that the basic frame of what came to be called "neoliberalism" was correct. A heavily marketized society was a society we-the-merited could succeed within, and it was also the form of society that would maximize all of our prosperity. The fact that our successes might be generously remunerated was not just a matter of private enjoyment, but reflected genuine social virtue. We had achieved a society in which one did well by doing good.

This was never accurate. But journalists, think-tankers, and academic social scientists who were willing to advance this perspective in their work could count on career success. Which contributed to a consensus (not least but not only within the discipline of economics) that this suspiciously self-flattering perspective was in fact true. It was "science". The people at the top of many fields embraced it. Dissidence became hard to distinguish from sour-grapes conspiracism.

"Liberal professionals" had been recruited into what John Kenneth Galbraith describes as the role of the modern conservative. They were "engaged...in one of man’s oldest, best financed, most applauded, and, on the whole, least successful exercises in moral philosophy. That is the search for a superior moral justification for selfishness."

They had, in other words — we had — become paid mouthpieces for the rich, who always want to be flattered that their wealth is merely a marker of their virtue, and who, more importantly, want their inferiors to believe that. Otherwise reformists, or, God forbid, revolutionaries, might emerge, and confuse among the public their causes for justice.

Some of us did pretty well, for a while. Academics could be surprisingly well paid. Software developers bought ranches. Finance became a philosopher's stone by which one could convert research and a love of mathematics into exorbitant prosperity.

What was not to like? The educated could thrive via the fruits of applying their education. The best educated economists assured us that for all the wealth we appropriated, it was less than the value we contributed. However great our opulence, it was less than our effective generosity. Follow the science.

All of this was bullshit. Society was not well-arranged. Even within the ranks of the professional-managerial class, most of us did not do so well. Like the broader world we helped to justify, our own fates became stratified and increasingly structured as lotteries most of us would lose, but whose outcomes one could rig via certain kinds of institutional attachments and social connections. The information superhighway meant the world was flat. It became more important than ever to go to Harvard.

Most of us ended up pretty miserable along with everybody else.

As Hancox-Li suggests, there is nothing wrong with wanting to be prosperous. We should all want to be prosperous!

But what it means to be prosperous is contested. One definition of prosperity might be a stable income sufficient to ensure a comfortable middle-class lifestyle.

But there is also the fractal definition of prosperity implicit in the behavior of the very rich, under which no amount of wealth is sufficient. Wherever you rise to in the distribution, it looks to you the same as where you last were. You find yourself competing for positional goods, in tournaments whose outcomes become consequential to your actual welfare, not just to your vanity. There are always rivals who have more, or who at least are contesting for more. Either you continually accumulate, or you fall behind. "Prosperity" must always be pursued, but it can never be achieved.

During the neoliberal period, professionals increasingly adopted plutocrats' version of prosperity. First as aspiration, then as desperation. Eventually it became difficult not to join the race. Falling behind would have consequences for ones children. Failure might be forgivable, but opting out was irresponsible. Prestigious academics became consultants, expert witnesses, paid speakers, despite already commanding enviable salaries. Entrepreneurial means good, right? The version of prosperity we adopted was "more" rather than "enough".

To return to my little tweet, we professionals had effectively aligned ourselves with the plutocrats. The result was an economy that immiserated an ever growing share of the nonplutocrats, the less-educated, but also those in our own ranks who did opt out of the insatiable contest for more, or who simply failed at it.

That immiseration left the alignment democratically untenable. The less-educated, along with a so-called "downwardly mobile" fraction of the professional class, grew restive, hungered for some outsider to overthrow a game that made them losers and then insisted it was their own fault.

The wise decision would have been for professionals, as a class, to join the working class in a muscular play for social democracy. Unfortunately, the professional class was famously divided (cf the neverending 2016 Democratic primary), while plutocrats coopted a growing share of the working class via the person of Donald Trump. The result of a working class + plutocrat alignment has been and is fascism.

Hancox-Li is right to question paleo-Marxisms that presume the only way forward is the one conceived while the emerging form of work was tending steam-powered machines in labor-intensive factories. An objective alignment of workers' material interests against their bosses might still exist, but labor conditions under which that alignment would ever be likely to translate to effective organization have largely disappeared.

It is no answer, however, to imagine that Democrats should become the party of the professional-managerial class alone. Under a two-party system, the obvious problem is that people with advanced educations are unlikely to constitute a majority.

Plutocrats have long understood democracy is a system that inherently renders them naked and vulnerable, so they must somehow coopt sizable elements of other groups. In postwar, post-GI-bill, America, professionals do constitute a mass constituency, which can encourage a kind of hubris. A mass constituency we are, but still a minority. Our challenge should be more tractable than plutocrats': We are a greater fraction of the public, and we share a greater alignment of material interests with the rest of the public than plutocrats do. But plutocrats have outsize resources and a cohesiveness born both of commonality of interests and smallness of scale. Socialists proclaim solidarity. Plutocrats practice it, despite their personal rivalries and soap operas of mutual detestation.

Further, plutocrats will always be able to divide us. We are a class defined by pursuing unusual excellences on behalf of those willing and able to pay us. We are the people who perform the actual work of contesting politics on behalf of plutocrats, even where that politics is at variance with our own class interest. (Plutocrats pay handsomely to align our individual interests with their politics.)

We do have a weapon, though. What is it that Trumpists seek to undermine more than any other thing? What is their kryptonite? It the capacity for any form of authority to emerge whose pronouncements resist being bought. The standards and ethics of our professions, imperfect and compromised though they are, remain a constant threat. They are a threat not because we are numerous, but because despite the firehose of shit they flood the zone with, the liberal professions are institutions whose core purpose is to distinguish virtues from falsehoods in each of their many domains, and when we do that well, a broader mass public might find our views persuasive.

During the neoliberal era, we really did let our standards lapse. Yes, the anti-vaccine movement is catastrophic bullshit. But the medical profession really did allow itself to go along with the pretense that oxycontin was a not-so-addictive miracle drug, and that was never a supportable claim. Our vulnerability to the former is not unrelated to the latter. In a variety of ways, over the past few decades, we allowed ourselves to be seduced into a kind of betrayal of the bargain that must bind a democratic society to its experts and professionals:

We, the broad public, generally defer to your authority. You, the professionals, exercise that authority competently, in the interests of the public, in a manner structured to maximize rather than override the scope for individual and democratic choice under the actual objective constraints.

I think that if we want to recover the trust of the broader public, we need to acknowledge that we did succumb to the corruptions inherent in the increasingly unequal society whose emergence we helped to justify. We need to enact institutional changes that would make such failures less likely going forward. (I have ideas.)

Moreover, I think we need to overtly reconceive of ourselves. The connotations of the word "professional" contain a contradiction we must definitively resolve. Do we define ourselves as inheritors of great bodies of knowledge, bound by and stewards of ethical and epistemological standards which have been developed and refined over generations? Or do we define ourselves as people who do stuff for money, careerists essentially?

During the neoliberal era we pretended there was little contradiction in those two roles. That's about as clever an idea as the safety of oxycontin.

I'll end all this a bit pathetically, by proposing the lamest remedy imaginable, a rebranding. But maybe there is some mitigation in a rebranding whose intent is not to persuade customers, but the rebranded providers themselves, that they now are, or ought to be, different. I propose that the class formerly known as professional adopt the word "fiduciary" as its defining characteristic.

We are not in the business of selling our capacity to apply expert skills, to whomever is willing to pay us most, in our own interest. We are in the business of applying expert skills in the public interest, which we have an obligation to put before our own. Professionals, as a class, must be fiduciaries, not (just) to our own clients, but to the democratic public writ large.

That must go beyond mere aspiration. We must reshape our professions so it becomes plausible that our obligations to the public interest override our own interests. That means altering the structure, and ultimately compressing the potential scale, of compensation. Excellent professionals should prosper. There should be a degree of incentive to encourage activity and capability. But when extrinsic incentives become too strong, too "high-powered", they undermine virtue. We need a flatter structure of outcomes, one that does not so heavily penalize pursuit of excellences that are not so rare or novel, like teaching, care work, or the tedious, meticulous aspects of science. Among the most important thing professionals do is help adjudicate complicated tradeoffs. At best, outside incentive providers misunderstand these tradeoffs, and risk accidentally skewing outcomes. More often, incentive providers have parochial stakes in outcomes, and so the skewing is not accidental. We need to dramatically reduce the role of outside incentive providers in shaping how professionals behave.

draft by Steve Randy Waldman
2026-05-13 @ 06:45 AM EDT

The $200,000 standard deduction

I favor it!

But as part of a broader package.

A bunch of Democratic politicians have called for big exemptions from the income tax at the low to middle to even upper-middle end of the income spectrum. Chris Van Hollen and Cory Booker have offered proposals at the Federal level, accompanied by Katie Porter at the state level. The plans are accompanied by promises to make up lost revenue by increasing taxes at high incomes or on the very wealthy.

There has been a so-called "wonk revolt" against these proposals. As the always wonderful pseudonymous James Medlock puts it, Democratic tax cutters "ced[e] the right-wing frame that taxes are a problem to be solved, rather than a way we collectively solve problems.” The proposals have been colorfully derided as "slopulism", suggesting the cheap but ultimately fraudulent appeal of so many AI videos.

I think of myself as pretty wonkish, yet I strongly favor not letting the income tax kick in until pretty high income levels. Two cheers for Van Hollen, Booker, and Porter!

I agree with critics of these proposals that a civilized state requires broad-based taxation. Taxing the rich won't do it. Taxing the rich won't do it even if you fully replace the revenue you lose, because dollars from the middle-class are not fungible with dollars from the rich with respect to the purposes of taxation.

If you cut taxes on a teacher by $10,000 but raise taxes on Elon Musk by $20,000, you have reduced the deficit, but you have created less, not more, fiscal space for government action. This is because the teacher is going to spend her $10,000, putting a bid under current goods and services, limiting the space available to the state before its spending proves inflationary. The $20,000 Elon Musk would have kept would have sat in an investment portfolio, and affected his spending behavior not at all. A marginal dollar of Musk's income is almost entirely inert with respect to current spending and so inflation pressure. A marginal dollar of a much more deserving teacher is hot money.

So, if you want to have a civilized social democracy, you absolutely do need broad-based taxation, or some other means of regulating expenditure flow from the middle class. I am with the revolting wonks on that.

The question is what form the tax should take. To answer that question, we should work towards legibly different purposes for different taxes.

Creating fiscal space, "financing the government", is not the only or main purpose of taxation. An equally crucial purpose is regulating the distribution of wealth and income. American policy is a catastophe in part because its wonk class has not publicly made the case for this function, which has left our tax policy and the discourse surrounding it incoherent. As long as we cede, to steal a leaf from Medlock, the case that taxes are a necessary evil we accept only to buy government services worth their cost, we won't have a decent society, because you can't have a decent society with dispersions of wealth and income level as great as we currently now accept.

The purpose of income and wealth taxes should be solely, openly, to regulate the distribution of income and wealth. The way plutocrats have destroyed the United States is precisely by blurring the lines between taxes we impose upon them to ensure we remain a cohesive political community and the middle-class taxation necessary to finance a civilized society. Plutocrats defang the income tax by using middle-class and ordinarily affluent people as human shields. They persuade upper-middle class people that hard-working professionals and entrepreneurs are taxation's "victims", people ripped off by getting less in value than they pay in, when in fact it is only the very wealthy, people rich enough to be able to remove or immunize themselves from social pathology, for whom that is even arguably true. An affluent accountant in fact has more in common with a homeless person than with Jeff Bezos. The tax system should reflect that.

So, I favor a $200,000 standard deduction, $400,000 for married couples, then gentle progressivity from that point upwards, until we hit something close to a 100% marginal tax rate.

None of this is punitive. It's not because the very rich are bad people, although often they become bad people once they are very rich. It's because the shape of the income and wealth distribution is an essential matter of public concern, and limiting the dispersion of income and wealth levels is a necessary social function.

But then how do we finance the government? If we devote the income tax, openly and exclusively, to shaping the distribution, we still need something that regulates the expenditure flow by the broad public, so that there is fiscal space for an active social democratic state.

That, I would argue, should be the role of progressive consumption taxes.

Income taxes are for the rich, to limit just how rich they can become. The vast majority of the demos should see nothing to fear in them, and so should be supportive so long as we can make the absolutely true case that it is essential we regulate the distribution.

Consumption taxes become the broad-based taxes we levy and adjust to create space for the universal benefits that a civilized society guarantees. In European social democracies, this is the role of the value-added tax, which is a pretty good tax we should adopt as a financing tool in addition to much more aggressively progressive income taxes rather than as a replacement for them. VAT-style consumption taxes can be made modestly progressive by imposing lower-rates on essential goods, and by partially rebating the tax via a UBI.

Consumption taxes are the most intelligible, legible means to create fiscal space for government action, because they tax precisely the private spending that must be discouraged to create non-inflationary space for public spending. Legibility of the different purposes of different programs is important in a democracy. People should be able to understand what a program is and why they should support it. When a tax system, like our current income tax, takes on a huge hodgepodge of roles, it's easy for malentrepreneurs to tar the whole enterprise with the tax's least popular or most threatening aspects.

So, let's limit the income tax to people with very high incomes. And let's impose serious wealth taxes as well.

But let's not imagine we can make up for the loss of middle-class tax revenue by taxing the very rich. That's not even why we tax the very rich.

Let's tax ourselves, to finance the security and broad-based prosperity for which we all yearn, by replacing the middle-class income tax with progressive consumption taxes.

draft by Steve Randy Waldman
2026-05-03 @ 04:25 PM EDT

Where am I?

I am in Montevideo, Uruguay. My family has mostly moved here.

We retain a US residence, in the most economical way I could arrange. To the degree it remains safe to do so, I hope we travel back to see family frequently.

But my kid will attend school in Montevideo, not in the US.

Yes, we have emigrated in response to the election of Donald Trump. We lived the last few years in suburban Pinellas County, Florida. We were very unhappy there. But prior to November 2024, we were gathering ourselves to move to a mid-size US city where a transit-centered urban life might be affordable. We were thinking about Pittsburgh and, um, Minneapolis, even though my wife and I both detest cold. In the US, we enjoyed living in San Francisco, but 400-ish square feet had become intolerable, and even that is less affordable now for us than it had been when we moved.

Leaving the country was a decision based on information flows much slower than the news cycle. While we were packing up our lives in December, I was more optimistic about the direction of the US than I had been since inauguration. But we were already committed to the move, had been by May, with advances paid to lawyers and a private school where the kid will be taught in English. (We figure he'll pick up Spanish quickly, but he's worked very hard in school, we didn't want to overthrow his academic successes by throwing him into the deep-end of education in a foreign language.)

Was this the right thing to do? I have no idea. You can see some of my thinking coming together in this piece from February.

I feel like a coward. I am relatively privileged as an American — economically, racially. My family is far from the top of the list of people under threat. But then events in Minneapolis are a reminder of how quickly the Niemoller poem can be run through.

Putting aside my own welfare, and my family's, is this the right thing to do, ethically? I don't know. I do feel I have an obligation to do my part, to fight for the United States. I am an American, and always will be. I remain tremendously proud of what the American experiment meant and still means in aspiration. We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal. Government of the people, by the people, for the people.

Of course I am, we all should be, ashamed of how short the American reality has often fallen from those aspirations. Of how short the United States is falling now.

But the American project remains, in my view, a miracle in world history, and though it is wobbling — drunkenly, dangerously — we can and should and must save it.

My tiny contribution to human affairs comes through words. I mean to continue to write them. I will continue to have lots to say about how, in my view, the American experiment can be reformed, refounded, rise again from the pile of toxic ashes it has become.

I don't write much about my personal life here. That's not what this blog is for. But there are questions of standing, so you should know. Perhaps my cowardly flight means I have no standing to offer advice to the United States. That, dear reader, is for you to judge.

I will, nevertheless, do my best. If you are ever in Montevideo, please let me know.

draft by Steve Randy Waldman
2026-01-18 @ 09:15 PM EST