San Onofre Nuclear Generating Station: Progress, Problems, and the Politics of Nuclear Waste

 

Newsletter – February 27, 2026

San Onofre Nuclear Generating Station: Progress, Problems, and the Politics of Nuclear Waste

Decommissioning of the facility is well underway and estimated to be approximately 60–80% complete. Many of the original structures have already been dismantled. The once-iconic “twin domes,” which for decades defined the skyline along Interstate 5, are scheduled for demolition beginning in late 2026 or 2027. For some, their removal will symbolize the end of an era. For others, it represents only partial closure.

What remains, however, is the most consequential issue of all: nuclear waste.

Approximately 3.6 million pounds of spent nuclear fuel are still stored on-site. By 2020, all the radioactive fuel was transferred from cooling pools into stainless steel canisters encased in thick concrete, a process known as “dry storage.” These canisters now sit roughly 100 feet from the Pacific Ocean. While this arrangement is officially classified as “temporary,” there is no federal timeline for when the waste will be relocated to a permanent national repository.

This is where the problem shifts from engineering to governance.

For decades, the federal government has carried the legal obligation to develop and maintain a permanent storage solution for the nation’s nuclear waste. Yet no such facility is operational. Communities like ours are left hosting what was never intended to be permanent storage sites. The burden falls on local ratepayers and residents who must live with the uncertainty, while Washington continues to delay long-term resolution.

The federal government’s inaction has created a patchwork of stranded nuclear waste sites across the country. The absence of a centralized repository is not merely a bureaucratic oversight; it represents a failure of political will. Ratepayers have funded the Nuclear Waste Fund for years, yet the promised solution remains elusive. Meanwhile, coastal communities like San Onofre carry both the physical and psychological weight of that delay.

In the midst of this stagnation, Mike Levin, who represents California’s 49th Congressional District, has emerged as a consistent advocate for progress. Representative Levin has pressed federal agencies for transparency, demanded stronger safety standards, and worked to accelerate efforts toward consolidated interim storage and ultimately a permanent repository. His engagement has included direct oversight efforts, community outreach, and legislative advocacy aimed at ensuring that San Onofre does not become a forgotten liability.

While demolition crews continue their work and the domes await their final chapter, the larger story remains unfinished. The dismantling of buildings is measurable. The removal of nuclear waste is not. Until the federal government fulfills its longstanding obligation to establish a permanent solution, San Onofre will remain a symbol not just of decommissioning—but of unfinished federal responsibility.

The future of the coastline should not hinge on indefinite “temporary” storage. The technology exists. The funding has been collected. What remains is decisive action.

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Lines We Draw, Lines We Cross

 

Lines We Draw, Lines We Cross

Date: February 26, 2026

I have often wondered whether it is my religion, my upbringing, or simply the way I am wired, but I have never centered my understanding of life around race. That is not to say that race has not been present. It has always been present. It has always been discussed. It has always hovered in the background like a shadow that refuses to detach itself from the body. Yet for me, it never felt like the organizing principle of existence. And still, the world seemed determined to remind me that skin color mattered.

I remember high school clearly. Every morning I made the long walk toward Mason Drive to reach the school bus stop. I lived three blocks away from the bus route and then had another twenty-minute walk just to reach the designated stop. Many mornings, the bus—often filled mostly with white students—would pass by and leave me standing there. Perhaps I was late. Perhaps there was another reason. After enough of those mornings, I gave up trying to catch that bus. Instead, I walked, rode my bicycle when the weather permitted, or paid to ride the city bus. I bought a monthly student pass—if I remember correctly, it cost only a couple of dollars, maybe twenty-five cents per ride for students—but for someone from a poor household, even that was a consideration.

My first real lesson in inequality was not delivered in a classroom. It was delivered through transportation. Access itself was stratified. The busing system, like much else in the community, seemed to mirror social divisions. My school operated on a four-tier academic system. The first tier represented advanced placement and higher academic tracks. The fourth tier represented the lowest academic grouping. In larger districts, there were six layers, but in ours there were four. It did not take long to observe a pattern: the upper tiers were disproportionately filled with white students, while the lower tiers were filled with brown students, many from Mexican-American families. The divisions were subtle in policy but obvious in outcome. Integration and segregation existed simultaneously, depending on how one looked at it and who benefited from the arrangement.

One incident in particular has never left me. During my freshman or sophomore year, in the men’s locker room before physical education class, a Mexican student stood quietly preparing like everyone else. He wore a mustache. He spoke primarily Spanish and kept to himself. He did not cause trouble. The vice principal entered the room, grabbed the young man by the back of the neck, and demanded to know why he had a mustache. The student responded in Spanish. Another student attempted to translate, explaining that he simply liked it. The vice principal handed him a single razor and ordered him to shave it off immediately in the restroom.

I watched in disbelief. The young man applied shaving cream and attempted to comply. He cut himself in several places. I cannot say with certainty what disciplinary action followed, but I remember hearing that he may have been expelled. Whether expelled or simply humiliated, the message was unmistakable. Authority had been exercised not for order, but for domination. That kind of persecution seemed to occur most frequently within the brown community, though at the time few people spoke openly about it.

The same vice principal often stood at the back of school assemblies wearing a trench coat and hat, as if attempting some theatrical display of authority. He looked less like an educator and more like a caricature of a detective from an old television show. Eventually, our class—the largest graduating class in the school’s history—grew tired of his conduct. Students unified, organized, and openly opposed him. The pressure mounted, and he ultimately resigned. It was one of the first times I witnessed collective action succeed. Whatever our backgrounds, many of us agreed on one thing: we did not like bullies.

Those experiences shaped my view of power. It is not skin color alone that corrupts a system. It is authority without accountability. It is structure without fairness. And I have carried that skepticism into adulthood.

Recently, in the county where I live, another controversy has emerged. In more rural and desert-adjacent parts of San Diego County—far from the coastal neighborhoods—individuals convicted of serious sexual offenses have been released after serving long sentences, some claiming over a decade of rehabilitation. Their placement into certain communities has sparked intense public reaction. Community members, particularly many women, have spoken passionately at council meetings, opposing any integration of these offenders into residential neighborhoods, even if they live miles away from schools.

What strikes me is that opposition is not divided along racial lines. The resistance is multiethnic, a mixture of backgrounds unified by fear, anger, and moral conviction. The debate centers on rehabilitation versus protection, forgiveness versus permanent exclusion. At what point, if ever, does a sentence end? Who decides when a person has been sufficiently rehabilitated? And who bears the risk if that judgment proves wrong?

These questions are not simple. They echo the same tensions I witnessed in school: who belongs, who is excluded, who is trusted, and who is permanently marked. Whether we are discussing academic tiers, bus routes, or criminal rehabilitation, the same underlying issue persists—how communities draw lines.

I am older now, and history sits heavily on my shoulders. I still distrust bullies, especially those who hold important offices. I distrust systems that quietly sort people into categories and pretend those categories are natural. Yet I have also seen the power of unity. I have seen students organize. I have seen communities mobilize. The same force that can exclude can also protect. The same public voice that can persecute can also demand accountability.

Perhaps the challenge of our time is learning how to balance justice with humanity, protection with fairness, and memory with progress. Race may not be the center of my thinking, but power always is. And power, when left unchecked, tends to repeat itself.

Republic at the Crossroads: Security, Technology, and the Future of Public Power

 

 

Republic at the Crossroads: Security, Technology, and the Future of Public Power

February 25, 2026

The number one political issue that stands out in my mind today concerns the role of Immigration and Customs Enforcement and the visible use of firearms in the enforcement of federal law. I find myself deeply unsettled by the volatility that can arise when government agents operate in heavily armed capacities. I cannot help but ask how our government—meaning Congress, the two-party system, and the President—arrived at a place where federal enforcement can sometimes feel indistinguishable from a private militia. What, exactly, are we trying to accomplish when law enforcement appears militarized in civilian spaces?

I am entirely opposed to the normalization of excessive weaponry in domestic enforcement. The presence of guns, particularly when combined with tactical gear, masks, and limited visible identification, sends a powerful message. While there may be legitimate arguments for protective equipment such as bulletproof vests, the broader image of masked agents carrying military-style weapons raises serious questions about transparency and accountability. In a democratic society, authority should be identifiable and responsible to the people it serves. When identification is obscured, trust can erode.

This concern also connects to the larger and longstanding issue of commonplace access to weapons in the United States. The debate is not only about firearms in general, but about the proliferation of highly lethal, military-style weapons in civilian life. When young people can access powerful weaponry with relative ease, the consequences reverberate through schools, neighborhoods, and public discourse. The tone of a nation is shaped by what it normalizes, and widespread militarization—whether public or private—carries cultural as well as political implications.

At the same time, another idea has been circulating in my thoughts: the federalization of web browser systems and applications for laptops and personal computers. Imagine a browser developed and maintained by the federal government, independent from companies like Microsoft, Apple, Google (which develops Chrome), or even Samsung. Such a browser could operate as a public utility—secure, standardized, and potentially funded through taxpayer support rather than advertising or data harvesting.

On one hand, this concept could raise serious concerns about government overreach and data control. In an era shaped by debates over artificial intelligence, algorithmic dominance, and the suffocation of truth through misinformation, a government-controlled browser could become a powerful gatekeeper. If future administrations—whether modeled after the administration of Donald Trump or otherwise—sought to influence digital infrastructure, a federally controlled browser might present both opportunities and risks.

On the other hand, a publicly funded browser system could reduce costs for citizens and introduce meaningful competition into a marketplace currently dominated by a handful of powerful corporations. If managed transparently and with bipartisan oversight, it might lower barriers to access, improve cybersecurity, and ensure that public interests are represented in digital architecture. In theory, taxpayers could effectively “own” a portion of their digital infrastructure, much as they support public roads, libraries, or schools.

Such a browser could also serve as a foundation for broader modernization efforts. Integrated digital banking systems, a revitalized and technologically advanced postal service, and even streamlined public healthcare platforms could potentially be built upon a unified, secure infrastructure. A single large-scale public banking or payment system might transform how benefits, taxes, and services are delivered. Some might label such a vision “democratic socialism,” while others might describe it as pragmatic modernization. Labels aside, the real question is whether such systems would remain accountable to the people or drift toward centralized control.

There is also a darker possibility to consider: that extremist factions on any side of the political spectrum could attempt to manipulate technological modernization for ideological gain. Political movements sometimes capitalize on infrastructure proposals to consolidate influence or push radical agendas. The language of modernization can be used for public benefit, but it can also be exploited. That is why balance, transparency, and constitutional guardrails remain essential.

Ultimately, my reflections today revolve around power—who holds it, how it is displayed, and how it is restrained. Whether we are discussing armed federal agents on the streets or federalized digital systems on our screens, the underlying question is the same. How do we preserve liberty, accountability, and democratic balance in a rapidly changing world? The strength of a republic lies not in force or dominance, but in its commitment to openness, responsibility, and the well-being of the people it serves.

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Recycling, River Lessons, and the Reality of North County

 

Recycling, River Lessons, and the Reality of North County

Date: February 24, 2026

For many years, my brother-in-law and I have had an arrangement that has quietly helped support our household. He gathers plastic bottles and aluminum cans that are left behind on the base where he works. If he sees extras in the trash, he collects them and brings them to my house. I then take them to the recycling center and turn them in for money. We have been doing this for about ten years now, although he has worked there for closer to twenty-five years. The recycling center gives us a modest amount for the cans and bottles. I use part of that money to buy stamps to mail our bills, which costs about ten dollars or so each time. The remaining cash goes to my wife to help with groceries. If there is anything left over, we might buy garlic, carrots, or other vegetables from the neighborhood Mexican market. On rare occasions, we are even able to afford fresh homemade tortillas. It is not much, but it helps, and over time it adds up.

This small system of recycling and survival connects in my mind to the larger landscape around the San Luis Rey River in North County San Diego. At first glance, the area appears calm and almost passive, much like certain parts of downtown San Diego along the riverbeds. However, the California backcountry is not something to underestimate. The ecosystem surrounding the San Luis Rey River is rugged and complex. What looks tame from a distance can quickly reveal itself to be harsh and unpredictable.

Over the years, I have observed many aspects of life along the river. There were once roaming bands of stray dogs that had reportedly escaped from the pound, though I have not seen that happen in a long time. I often see a small fox or coyote early in the morning as I head to work, rummaging through garbage cans or circling near a chicken coop in search of food. When I used to work closer to the river itself, I would see wild dogs more frequently, as well as white cranes that would descend near the water. I have not seen those cranes in years, and I sometimes wonder if their numbers have declined or if they have simply moved on. The river corridor also supports creatures such as opossums and other small wildlife that thrive quietly in the brush.

The weather patterns add another layer of unpredictability. When storms come from the south, often as the remnants of small tropical systems, they bring a warm rain that feels very different from the colder northern storms. Northern storms tend to be colder and can cause flooding, but southern systems can also be dangerous in their own way. The ecology of the region shifts depending on these patterns. Although such tropical remnants have been less frequent in recent years, it would be unwise to dismiss the possibility of their return.

The human element along the river is equally complex. North County can appear open and easy to navigate, but that impression can be misleading. People migrate from colder northern parts of the state to the warmer southern regions, and this movement includes members of the homeless community. There is also movement across state lines along the southern border corridor stretching toward Texas. Many arrive believing the climate will make life easier. However, even in Southern California, cold nights and exposure can become life-threatening, especially for those already in poor health.

There are beautiful aspects to the area as well. The pathway connecting Mission San Luis Rey to the Pacific Ocean is an incredible bicycle route and walking trail. On windy days, the air rushing in from the ocean can be bracing and powerful. It is a scenic stretch that reflects both the natural beauty and the layered history of the region.

Recently, I stopped at a McDonald's near the overpass a few blocks from the fire station and not far from the Oceanside Police Department headquarters and jail. My wife and I go there out of habit for coffee. I noticed several homeless individuals nearby, some appearing new to the streets, with clean backpacks and relatively new clothing. As we drove under the overpass, we saw a person camped along the fence, something that happens from time to time before police move people along. There were multiple police cars present, and a covered form on the ground that strongly suggested someone had died. It was a sobering sight and a stark reminder of how unforgiving life outdoors can be, especially during cold nighttime temperature drops.

My message is simple. Do not underestimate the ecosystem of the San Luis Rey River, whether natural or social. What seems easy from a distance can become dangerously complicated. Survival requires preparation, awareness, and humility. As I reflect on recycling bottles for grocery money and watching the movement of people along the river, I am reminded that I, too, am part of this fragile system. I hope never to find myself unprepared, forced into survival mode by misjudgment or pride. Life along the river, like life in general, demands respect.

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Climate, Corporations, and the Rhetoric of Power

 

Climate, Corporations, and the Rhetoric of Power

Date: February 23, 2026

Recently, I listened to a summary of speeches by JD Vance and Marco Rubio in which environmental concerns—particularly global warming—were framed as part of what they described as an “occult” opposition to their political worldview. That characterization struck me as misplaced. Climate change is not an occult belief system; it is an observable phenomenon grounded in decades of scientific research. One does not need a secret doctrine to recognize it. One can look out the window and see wildfires in the West, stronger hurricanes along the coasts, drought in the Midwest, or unseasonable temperature swings nearly everywhere in the country. The evidence is not hidden. It is visible and measurable.

I have never understood why acknowledging global warming is sometimes portrayed as ideological extremism. When Al Gore spoke publicly about climate change years ago, his arguments were direct and rooted in widely accepted scientific findings. His reflections were not mystical or conspiratorial; they were basic explanations about atmospheric carbon, industrial emissions, and long-term environmental consequences. Whether one agrees with every policy proposal he suggested is another matter, but the foundation of the discussion was science, not cultism.

In many ways, spending time criticizing individual politicians feels unproductive. What concerns me more is the broader pattern of rhetoric that turns scientific consensus into partisan spectacle. Figures like Charlie Kirk have mastered the art of institutional influence, shaping young audiences through confident and often provocative messaging. The media sometimes portrays such personalities as merely spirited debaters while overlooking the sharper edges of their rhetoric. This selective framing can elevate public standing without fully examining the substance—or the consequences—of what is being said.

My own background shapes how I see these issues. My father passed away before Donald Trump ever entered politics, and I prefer not to define him through modern partisan categories. What I remember instead is his patience and steadiness. I recall him reading the Bible to young children at our neighborhood Baptist church and sitting with me in Germany, carefully reading a small pamphlet about King Arthur while we looked out toward a castle perched high on a mountain near the French border. Those memories remind me that people are rarely defined by political labels. They are layered, capable of conviction, humility, and kindness.

What troubles me today is the tone of extremism that often replaces careful thought. Instead of shouting slogans or using inflammatory language, leaders on all sides could focus on workable solutions grounded in research and institutional knowledge. Many of these politicians hold advanced degrees and have benefited from higher education. One would hope that such education would lead to thoughtful governance rather than dismantling long-standing systems in pursuit of ideological theater.

There appears to be a governing philosophy emerging that resembles corporate restructuring: dismantle institutions, fragment them, and rebuild them according to new specifications. In the corporate world, hostile takeovers often involve selling assets piece by piece, laying off employees, and rebranding under a new name. The fear is that a similar mindset could be applied to government itself—treating it not as a public trust but as an enterprise to be broken down and reassembled for strategic advantage.

The separation between corporate strategy and democratic governance is essential. Corporations are designed to maximize profit. Governments are meant to safeguard public welfare, maintain stability, and serve the common good. When those roles blur, trust erodes. Climate change, overpopulation, and economic restructuring are complex challenges that require steady, evidence-based leadership—not panic-driven narratives or theatrical disruption.

If there is a path forward, it lies in reducing the rhetoric and increasing the rigor. Science should inform environmental policy. Education should deepen understanding rather than sharpen division. And political leadership should aim to preserve the fabric of society, not tear it apart in the hope that something stronger will automatically emerge from the fragments.

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Cheap Mayonnaise and Expensive Illusions

 

Cheap Mayonnaise and Expensive Illusions

Date: February 22, 2026

I have always prided myself on the idea that I could work with anybody in the workplace. I have believed that, despite political differences, we all share the same space, the same country, and the same responsibility to make things function. I have tried to carry that attitude into public life as well, assuming that cooperation is still possible even when disagreements are sharp.

However, Donald Trump, as president, is one of those ideas that keeps spinning in my mind day after day. I will not be listening to his State of the Union address today. Even though I pride myself on being able to work with anyone within our country and within our shared concept of what is workable, I find myself questioning why anyone should really listen to him. As he grows more authoritarian in tone and approach, if not outright dictatorial, the question becomes more urgent.

I often think about this in terms of something as simple as mayonnaise at the grocery store. When you go to Walmart and see the cheaper store-brand mayonnaise next to the more expensive Kraft mayonnaise, you might ask yourself whether there is really a difference. At one time, stores like Smart & Final even carried cheaper mayonnaise that seemed better than the name brand, with only a slightly darker color to distinguish it. Yet, in my mind, the analogy keeps returning. There is cheap mayonnaise, and there is the real thing. Even when I buy the cheaper version at Walmart or Ralphs, I know there is still a difference in quality.

In the same way, there is a difference between economic policies that truly work and those that only claim to work. There is a difference between practical governance and abstract ideological promises. It would be nice if the Republican Party could elevate its abstract concepts into workable solutions, but instead ordinary people are penalized. Immigrants are being pushed out of the country who do not need to be pushed out. Policies are framed as strength when they feel more like punishment.

The idea of arming a kind of private enforcement apparatus separate from the already powerful military concerns me deeply. Agencies like ICE and DHS are expanding their militancy by acquiring more weapons and armaments. This type of thinking, to me, traces back to those kitchen-table ideas, like confusing cheap mayonnaise for something equal to the real thing. When the foundation is flawed, everything built on top of it becomes distorted.

DHS and ICE appear to be crossing the line of practical application, not only in their armament but in their very posture. They are becoming an embarrassment to democracy. Why would we need further militant intervention by federal forces when so many cities and counties are already heavily militarized? How many cities now have armored vehicles resembling tanks? If I am not mistaken, even San Diego County has one.

My first instinct is that ICE and DHS should be disarmed rather than further armed or supported. If they refuse to disarm and reduce conflict within communities where people are simply trying to work and make a living, then their usefulness must be questioned. Outside of gathering information, I see little justification for their current trajectory. Instead, they appear to function as instruments for consolidating executive power.

There is little point, in my view, in listening to Trump anymore. It is clear what direction he is driving toward. He is not simply substituting cheap mayonnaise for the real thing. He seems intent on hollowing out the federal government itself. His approach resembles corporate raiders who buy companies only to dismantle them, sell off the valuable pieces, and leave the shell behind. Corporations that specialize in acquiring and dividing up other corporations follow this pattern, and it feels uncomfortably similar.

There are also troubling associations and unanswered questions that linger around him, from controversial affiliations to financial entanglements and allegations that raise concerns about transparency and integrity. When we see public figures abroad, such as members of the British royal family, facing legal consequences and scrutiny, it reminds us how fragile reputations can be. The veil of illusion that political parties sometimes sell to the public eventually thins.

The question is when that veil will finally be cut through. It is clear to me that it is an illusion, and that is why I do not feel compelled to listen to what I perceive as gaslighting. I wish that Trump would devote himself to creative and constructive projects rather than projects centered on tearing things down. Eliminating safeguards and dismantling structures without thoughtful replacements does not demonstrate strength. It creates instability.

I say this not merely in criticism but in an attempt to imagine a positive path forward. I cannot understand how he continues to frame himself as blameless or heroic in the face of such division. It feels excessive and detached from reality. Perhaps he believes he is misunderstood or unfairly treated, but leadership requires more than self-justification.

What makes the situation even more troubling is the support he receives from figures like Speaker Mike Johnson and others who reinforce his most extreme ideas without offering meaningful alternatives. Positive thinking, in a political sense, would mean proposing workable reforms, reducing unnecessary force, and transforming agencies like ICE into nonviolent data-gathering institutions focused on practical administration rather than confrontation.

Instead, what I perceive is an anticipation of violence and conflict. Why pursue such an expensive and destructive path? It causes suffering and division, and it does not appear to produce sustainable results. It feels like an attempt to fulfill a political fairy tale rather than govern a complex nation responsibly.

In the end, the mayonnaise analogy remains with me. There is a difference between what looks similar on the surface and what truly nourishes. There is a difference between strength and aggression, between reform and dismantling, between illusion and reality. The challenge before us is to recognize that difference and demand something better.

The Court, The Country, And The Cost Of Governance.

 

The Court, The Country, And The Cost Of Governance.

Date: February 20, 2026.

Earlier today, the Supreme Court of the United States handed down its decision regarding tariffs associated with former President Donald Trump’s trade policies, and I was genuinely surprised that the ruling went against him rather than in his favor. The decision raises significant constitutional questions about executive authority, congressional power over trade, and the broader economic impact of tariff policy on American households and businesses. I chose not to watch Trump’s speech on KPBS addressing the Court’s ruling because I anticipated that the rhetoric would be difficult to follow, given what I perceive as his complex framing, sweeping generalizations, and the possibility of a familiar closing display of defiance. Regardless of presentation or tone, the ruling itself serves as a reminder that the balance of powers remains a defining feature of American governance.

With that said, my thoughts return once again to the issue of voting rights and the ongoing discussion surrounding the John Lewis Voting Rights Advancement Act. The fundamental question seems simple: Why should equal access to the ballot ever be controversial in a democracy that prides itself on fairness and representation. The right to vote is the cornerstone of representative government, and protecting that right should be straightforward. Ensuring that citizens can elect representatives in their own states without obstruction is not a radical concept but a foundational principle of self-governance.

There is also the matter of firearms and federal immigration enforcement involving agencies such as U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement and the U.S. Department of Homeland Security. These agencies operate in complex and sometimes dangerous environments, yet the expansion of weapons procurement raises questions about priorities, accountability, and public perception. Heavily armed tactical approaches can escalate fear and distrust within communities, particularly when officers operate in masks and military-style equipment, even though others argue that such equipment is necessary for officer safety. The broader question is whether the scale and visibility of armament accurately reflect the reality of most immigration cases. If the majority of individuals encountered are non-violent, then enforcement tactics should be proportionate, transparent, and coordinated with local law enforcement to reduce tension and foster trust. Humane standards, legal oversight, and due process must remain central to any enforcement system, especially if only a small fraction of cases involve serious criminal histories connected to organized crime or violence.

Another area of concern involves the messaging coming from the current administration and affiliated policy institutes. Think tanks and advisory groups can influence public narratives, yet strong rhetoric may energize supporters while also contributing to polarization if not grounded in careful analysis. Economic realities are visible in everyday life, and tariffs, regardless of their strategic intent, can affect prices on goods that reach the dinner table and breakfast counter. For families reading the morning news on their phones with a cup of coffee in hand, trade policy becomes tangible through grocery bills, supply costs, and small business margins. While tariffs may be designed to protect domestic industries or strengthen strategic sectors, they can also produce ripple effects throughout the broader economy.

Looking through both our digital windows, such as Microsoft platforms, and the literal windows of our homes, we see an economy that is interconnected and sensitive to policy shifts. Inflationary pressures, global supply chains, and consumer confidence all interact with trade decisions, and if economic strain increases for ordinary households, policymakers must evaluate whether the intended benefits outweigh the measurable costs. Ultimately, effective governance requires collaboration between the executive branch and Congress, consultation with qualified experts rather than simple affirmation, and a willingness to listen as much as to speak. Immigrants contribute labor, creativity, and cultural vitality to the nation, and policies built on inclusion, lawful process, and economic integration may strengthen long-term prosperity. Governance is not merely about court victories or political spectacle but about serving the broad public interest with steadiness, fairness, and respect for constitutional boundaries, and that remains the enduring hope for a government truly accountable to its people.

A Ride Into the Future and a Return to Politics

 

A Ride Into the Future and a Return to Politics.

Date: February 18, 2026.

I rode in a Tesla for the first time today, and it was impressive. I watched the screen as the car drove automatically, navigating smoothly through traffic with remarkable precision. It felt like stepping into the future.

I spoke with the Uber driver about the vehicle’s automatic sensor devices and its direct access to Google Maps. He navigated effortlessly between my house and Car Country in Carlsbad, where I went to pick up my car. The system integrated seamlessly with his Apple cellphone, enhancing his everyday driving experience.

He explained that the car costs about one hundred dollars per ride in some premium contexts, with an additional fee of approximately six dollars for the add-on navigational system displayed on a large tablet embedded in the dashboard. The tablet framework was incredible. It was a massive screen, fully integrated into the car’s design, and it felt like the centerpiece of the entire driving experience.

He dropped me off at Car Country. I went inside, paid my bill, and drove my wife’s car back home. I felt thankful for the many days of efficiency we have experienced with my Honda while her vehicle was being repaired.

Between these errands, I found myself reflecting on the broader political climate. I began thinking about the economic role of immigrants in our country. There is constant rhetoric suggesting that immigrants are a burden. Yet, in my view, immigrants represent a significant asset to the American economy. They work, they spend, and they pay taxes. Without their participation in the workforce and the tax base, it seems likely that revenue streams would shift even more heavily toward protecting oligarchic wealth rather than broad economic participation.

Immigrants make up a substantial part of the labor force. By working and supporting their families, both here and in underdeveloped countries abroad, they contribute not only to our domestic economy but also to global stability. Of course, no system is without its problems. There are issues of corruption and exploitation that must be addressed. However, painting every immigrant as a criminal or narcotics dealer oversimplifies a complex reality.

The current administration continues an aggressive anti-immigrant agenda reminiscent of previous years under President Trump. Strict enforcement measures, deportations, and detention practices have made it more difficult for immigrant communities to function economically. When large numbers of working people are removed from the workforce, tax contributions decrease and communities destabilize. It seems counterproductive if the goal is economic strength and social stability.

From my perspective, a nonviolent and practical solution would allow immigrants to work ordinary jobs and participate openly in the economy. Economic inclusion generally strengthens markets rather than weakens them.

At the same time, the broader political system feels increasingly distorted. The wealth of oligarchs has grown to unprecedented levels, and there is a perception that powerful interests influence political decisions behind closed doors. Allegations of back-channel negotiations and private financial dealings add to public distrust. Whether involving trade, diplomacy, or energy policy, transparency remains a central concern.

Voter rights also remain a contentious issue. Different states maintain different voting systems, which reflects the federal structure of the United States. However, debates over federalizing election standards raise questions about states’ rights versus national continuity. The balance between state authority and federal oversight has always been delicate, and current tensions highlight that complexity.

There are also ongoing controversies surrounding immigration enforcement agencies such as ICE and DHS. Some argue for reform, restructuring, or even dismantling aspects of these institutions at the state level to test alternative approaches. Others insist on maintaining strong federal control. The debate underscores the deep divisions within the country over how to handle immigration humanely and effectively.

Thinking back to the Tesla ride, the experience itself was incredible yet strangely tense. The car had extraordinary technological capabilities, and at moments it felt relaxed and effortless. At other times, it felt tight and hyper-controlled, almost as if I were surrendering something fundamental about the act of driving. I am not sure I could drive that kind of car every day.

Still, the ride symbolized something larger. We are living in a time of immense technological advancement paired with equally immense political tension. The future is arriving quickly, whether in the form of automated vehicles or shifting national policies. The question is whether we can navigate both with the same precision that guided that Tesla through the streets of Carlsbad.

Art, Memory, and the Ministry of Truth

 

Art, Memory, and the Ministry of Truth

February 16, 2026

The last time I was in Los Angeles—which was some time ago now—I visited the Los Angeles County Museum of Art and paid my fair share to enter a major exhibition of African art. Not African American art, but art from Africa itself. The scale of the exhibit struck me immediately. It was immense, both in size and in meaning. These were the very forms and sculptural vocabularies that electrified European artists at the turn of the twentieth century, influencing movements that reshaped modern painting, particularly Cubism.

African masks and carved figures were not marginal curiosities. They were catalytic. They entered the studios of Paris and destabilized Renaissance perspective. They opened the door to fragmentation, multiplicity, and abstraction. For me, the Cubist era remains one of the most powerful periods in modern art. Yet even while studying modern art history, I often felt that this African foundation was brushed over too lightly.

When I studied under Fred Martin in Virginia, the lecture series centered heavily on foundational figures such as J. M. W. Turner and the evolution of light and atmosphere into modern abstraction. Turner’s contribution is undeniable, but when we arrived at Cubism, the discussion felt abbreviated, as though the radical break had appeared almost spontaneously. The deep African influence was not given the gravity it deserved.

Earlier, at the La Jolla Arts Center School, adjacent to what was then the La Jolla Museum of Modern Art, I had the opportunity to encounter major exhibitions, including works by Jean Dubuffet. Those encounters left a stronger impression on me than some of the formal lectures. They revealed how European modernism was not born in isolation but in conversation—sometimes appropriative, sometimes transformative—with African forms.

I have often felt there were gaps in how Cubism’s evolution into the Americas was presented. Yes, we speak of artists such as Diego Rivera, and one or two of his early Cubist paintings can still be seen in basic study collections in San Diego County. But what about African American painters of the 1920s and 1930s who worked in Cubist modes? I hear their names occasionally on KPBS. Their works surface in smaller exhibitions. Rarely do they arrive in major Southern California museums. There remains an imbalance in whose modernism gets institutional validation.

One of my instructors, Fred Holly, once exhibited alongside Richard Diebenkorn, bridging Northern and Southern California art circles in the same time frame. That connection reminds me that regional dialogues matter. What is emphasized in one school or museum can quietly disappear in another. Art history is not only about aesthetics. It is about framing, access, and narrative authority.

That question of narrative authority has now entered another arena entirely.

In January 2026, the National Park Service removed several interpretive panels and artworks from the exhibit “Freedom and Slavery in the Making of a New Nation” in Philadelphia. The exhibit focused specifically on the nine enslaved people held by George Washington while he lived in Philadelphia as president. Among those represented was Oney Judge, who famously escaped Washington’s household and sought freedom in New Hampshire.

The removal was carried out under a March 2025 executive order titled “Restoring Truth and Sanity to American History,” which directed federal agencies to review and remove materials that might “disparage Americans past or living.” Thirty-four panels and artworks were taken down. These included biographical plaques detailing the lives of the enslaved individuals, five video screens featuring actor portrayals, and a panel titled “The Dirty Business of Slavery,” which discussed the Transatlantic Slave Trade and the constitutional compromises that protected slavery.

In response, U.S. District Judge Cynthia Rufe issued a sharp ruling ordering the immediate restoration of the exhibit. Opening her opinion with a quotation from George Orwell’s 1984, she compared the government’s actions to a “Ministry of Truth,” stating that the administration does not have the authority to “dissemble and disassemble historical truths.” She ordered that all 34 removed panels and artworks be returned to their original condition. Her decision rested in part on a 2006 agreement between the City of Philadelphia and the federal government requiring city consent for material changes—consent that had not been granted.

The exhibit is now in the process of being restored as broader legal challenges continue.

When I think back to that vast African art exhibition in Los Angeles, and then consider the removal of historical material in Philadelphia, I see a common thread. The question is not simply what art is displayed or what panels are mounted. The deeper question is who controls the story.

African sculpture reshaped European modernism, yet its centrality is often muted in lecture halls. Enslaved individuals lived in the President’s House, yet their stories can be deemed “disparaging.” The tension between preservation and erasure is not abstract. It unfolds in museums, classrooms, and national parks.

Art history and national history both depend on a willingness to face complexity. Without that willingness, we risk creating our own Ministry of Truth—whether in paint or in policy.

The Long Drive, The Long View

 

The Long Drive, The Long View

Date: February 13, 2026

This time of year it’s nice to go to the Getty down Malibu way. You drive along the ocean, go up to the Getty Museum, hang out in the courtyard, have lunch, and chit-chat with my wife and maybe one of her Filipino friends. Then you take the long drive back at night to avoid traffic. That was a long time ago, when I was younger. Oh well. I guess I could always take the bus.

I have always cherished the integrated world of Southern California. Even when I lived in San Francisco, the extreme integration of society helped me feel normal. That is what “normal” has always been for me. So when I see voting rights being twisted into one-sided systems by extreme rules and regulations, rules that favor the wealthy middle class and shut out everyone else, it hits a nerve. Too many people scratch out a living just to fall into whatever passes for mainstream moral fashion.

That struggle goes all the way back to junior high school for me. I played by the rules. I got smashed around a lot in junior high and in physical education, but we still played by the rules, even when it was rough. Looking back, it really was rough. At the same time, I was kind of a pain freak and wanted to be a nerd, but I was so far behind in my studies I couldn’t even manage that.

After high school and into college, I started to see the bigger picture. Integration works better for me when we’re all mixed together with multiple variables on the same team. I feel more secure being part of something than just standing up and raising my opinion in a classroom. Being part of the whole matters.

That’s why it bothers me when I see plans to “modernize” voting in ways that actually make it harder for minorities. Yes, voting should be modernized. No, it should not be made less accessible. Minorities help drive the economy and help shape the mainstream. A balanced, liberal way of thinking about morality has made real contributions to this country.

Then there’s the problem of morality getting twisted inside the two-party system. Democrats and Republicans turn moral conviction into a tool to dominate goals and define who gets represented, who gets help, and who gets left out. In modern terms, we already live in something like a social democracy, whether people want to admit it or not. Big social platforms showed how close we can get to a kind of free speech where anyone can contribute ideas. Representation is supposed to be what democracy is about.

I know the word “socialism” scares some people, but I mean it in a broad, practical sense. Things like healthcare for all, housing for the homeless, and fairer economic growth are not wild fantasies. They could be paid for by taking a small slice from oligarch-level profits. Tax a tiny piece of billions, and suddenly a lot becomes possible. Why not try.

Before President Trump, politics at least felt competitive. After President Trump, especially in his second term, it stopped feeling competitive and started feeling dominant. He does not want to compete. He wants to impose. A lot of people call that fascist, and I understand why. Meanwhile, the upper middle class keeps playing musical chairs between Democrat and Republican, flipping sides when it helps them squeeze a little more money out of real estate or inheritance.

I keep thinking about the multiracial communities I grew up in, where I was often the minority. I survived. I think other white people can survive too. Honestly, I never really thought of myself as white in the first place. I just wanted to be part of the team. Sometimes that was hard. Sometimes it was as simple as trying to play a little baseball.

Before school, I wanted to be an artist. I thought you couldn’t get any lower than that. I was wrong. The economics of the future tore through time and space and flattened a lot of hopes into silence. I felt that silence in Oakland, walking to the bookstore on a Sunday or around Lake Merritt, barely meeting anyone, just a cold nothingness.

It felt like moral certainty had fused with party politics into something hard and unforgiving. Women were not the problem. Men were blamed, and especially minority men, as if they were responsible for everything that went wrong. So I wonder, when the smoke finally clears and Trump eventually leaves the stage, what happens then. Do we go back to blaming ordinary people for getting by with their families. Or do we finally grow into some kind of democratic socialism that actually benefits everyone.

Peanuts, Yogurt, And The Shape Of The Middle Class

 

Peanuts, Yogurt, And The Shape Of The Middle Class

Date: February 7, 2026

One of the most shocking things I heard today is that ICE facilities are housing over 3,000 children under the age of twelve. I thought that was catastrophic. I never imagined that anyone would even attempt to incarcerate small children. At the same time, there is the constant breaking of the law in the name of what some people call a righteous cause. I cannot understand how intimidation and lawbreaking are supposed to fit into any idea of democracy.

I sometimes find myself wishing for the old middle class incentives to come back, even though they pushed a lot of people into poverty. At least those patterns were familiar. You went to look for a job, or you stood in line at the store, and you knew where you stood. Thinking back, I remember how ignorant I was as a young man, and even as a young boy. I remember how I once thought that Planned Parenthood was just about stopping population growth. I shook my head back then and told myself it was a good thing. In reality, it was always about responsibility and health, and I could never honestly say there was something wrong with it, even in the worst circumstances.

There was also that constant pressure where rich men were expected to succeed and poor men were expected to fail. That seems to be a major part of the MAGA white man reality, if you catch my drift. You weigh it out and tell yourself that maybe it is better than what came before. In the end, it should be about health and moving forward for both men and women. Still, there are a lot of strange ideas floating around about how Planned Parenthood fits into all of this. I do not really know why.

Maybe it goes back to stories I heard in junior high school. I remember hearing young Mexican boys speak in Spanish about how white people ate babies. It was that same kind of attitude, just on a higher and more political level. If you really get down to the realities of life, immigrants, and the idea of Planned Parenthood being negative, none of it makes much sense. I do not believe white people eat babies, and I never did. That kind of thinking is not reality.

Then there is the aggressive new attitude around independent health food stores. It is very noticeable that organic food costs more than food produced with chemicals. You can see it even with peanuts. There are peanuts with shells and peanuts without shells, and sometimes the ones that seem more natural cost more than the ordinary salted or unsalted ones. So there is organic and non-organic. Rich people can afford the more expensive food that is closer to natural and basic. They can afford the kitchens and the time to cook healthier meals and get more food value out of them.

I think about this and tell myself that I helped make this world. I worked in a health food store. I believed in that kind of living. I lived near the Zen Center and bought organic vegetables there. So how could people think the way they do about Planned Parenthood. In my own strange way, Planned Parenthood seems to parallel that same divide between those who can afford better options and those who cannot.

Sometimes it feels like people assume that, generally speaking, Americans do not really need Planned Parenthood because they are wealthy. The idea seems to be that they already have the facilities, the cleanliness, and the means to take care of everything. They can process their organic vegetables and buy their better peanuts. They can live without certain kinds of support because their lives are already comfortable and protected.

I am starting to understand the MAGA influence and why it is so powerful. It runs on the idea of eliminating certain drugs and certain kinds of care from society, including drugs that women use through Planned Parenthood. On top of that, there is the influence of the military and how it shapes people’s lives and expectations. I think about all of this while remembering my own past in health food stores and organic markets.

One memory that always comes back to me is from Garberville, California, when I worked nights in a health food store. The owner told me not to worry about turning off the freezer where the yogurt was kept and to just leave it on all night. I would work through the night, walking the floors, putting vegetables in place, and checking the yogurt for mold. The boss told me to help myself to the yogurt and to throw out the ones that had mold. One night I grabbed a yogurt and started eating it. Halfway through, I realized I was eating mold. I got sick for three weeks. It was the worst diarrhea I ever had in my life, and it came from “healthy” organic yogurt.

So when someone talks to me about how the middle class works and how it connects to the military, I think it works the same way as a lot of other things in this world. People join the military to get benefits. They want a newer house near the base and a new car or two, like my brothers did. They do not worry much about organic vegetables or Planned Parenthood because they have steady benefits and steady money. They are living right on the edge of their paycheck while supporting cars and a house, and they can still go to the base for food or other support.

If you are a middle class man taking the bus to work, like I once did, and saving for a car, the powers that shape your life feel very different. Even the idea of organic food feels different. You stand in the store looking at the peanut butter machine and choosing between organic and non-organic, and you do not see much difference. You tell yourself that maybe you will try the organic anyway.

In the end, I cannot help thinking that the MAGA movement is one of the most corrupt ways of thinking I have seen. It takes real, complicated human needs and turns them into slogans and punishments. It forgets about children, health, and basic dignity. And it forgets how thin the line really is between comfort and struggle in this country.

Memory, Movies, And The Long Shadow Of Fellini

 Memory, Movies, And The Long Shadow Of Fellini

Date: February 2, 2026

Last night I happened to catch an early episode of Memory of a Killer on television. It was on the Fox channel, and they only showed one episode, so I will probably never see another one again. Even so, I was impressed by the quality of the production and the overall craftsmanship of the show. The acting was solid, the pacing was confident, and the atmosphere was handled with care.

At the same time, I could not help feeling that the story itself was a little unbelievable. The series is based on a small-time New York gangster, a racketeer type of character who owns a restaurant and somehow runs his own version of Murder Incorporated in plain sight. It is surprising how open he seems to be about his criminal dealings. Then again, welcome to the world of cinematography, where reality and fantasy constantly blur into each other.

The premise of the show is built around a hitman who lives a double life. He is both a feared enforcer for a criminal organization and a family man trying to hold on to something normal. To complicate things even more, he begins to suffer from early-onset Alzheimer’s disease. His failing memory threatens not only his work but also the carefully hidden structure of his private life. On top of that, he is drawn into a personal vendetta connected to his wife’s death, and he is forced to confront people from his past while trying to protect his family and remember the truth.

In a strange way, watching this show also reminded me of something else entirely. Just a few days ago, I was thinking about the fact that the President’s wife made a movie, and how the reactions to it have been slowly trickling down through the pipeline of criticism, praise, confusion, and misunderstanding. Some people say the quality was good, while others say the film itself was not very good at all. The story, from what I can tell, was about a powerful man, a kind of ruler or conqueror figure, and the strange world built around him. It felt like one more attempt to wrap modern politics in the costume of spectacle and mythology.

My own heritage and tastes probably shape how I react to these things. I have always admired the way Italian cinema, especially the work of Federico Fellini, mixed fantasy, memory, and social criticism. I was thoroughly influenced by the black-and-white evolution of Fellini’s films and by his way of looking at Italy after the Second World War. His movies often show a society that feels like a circus, a parade of clowns, illusions, and broken dreams. That strange mixture of beauty and decay has always stayed with me.

I think of one Fellini film in particular, where a small group of well-dressed, middle-class people drift from party to party while mourning a rich friend who has committed suicide. There is a famous beach scene where the waves crash, people wander around, and one character talks endlessly and erratically about the complications and tragedies of life. Marcello Mastroianni is there, looking both involved and detached, while clowns and circus figures seem to hover in the background like a surreal echo. The whole thing feels like a dream that is slightly out of focus, or a reckoning that never quite lands where you expect it to.

Fellini’s work also reminds me of the devastation that followed the war in Italy, when entire towns were damaged or destroyed and ordinary people were left wandering through poverty and uncertainty. Some survived because they were rich, and some survived because they were very poor, and almost everyone else seemed to be caught in between. These were harsh realities, but in Fellini’s hands they became stories that were both critical and strangely poetic.

When I think about modern political movies and the attempts to turn power into art, the comparison feels unavoidable. The recent film connected to Trump and his family does not strike me as anything like Fellini’s work. Still, it does stand as a strange and revealing artifact of how power wants to see itself. It is a bizarre movie about an Italian woman and an American man who calls himself a president or a dictator, depending on how you look at it. Somewhere in the background there is an unspoken demand that we are supposed to admire it, or at least accept it, and maybe even bow to it.

I also think about Sophia Loren and the impoverished worlds she portrayed in classic Italian cinema. Sometimes it feels as if Trump imagines his wife as a kind of modern Sophia Loren. I do not think that comparison really holds. Then again, maybe there are still people in America who have never truly tasted the deeper influences of modern art and cinema, and who might one day wake up to a more complicated kind of realism. I am not holding my breath, but history has surprised us before.

In the end, whether it is a crime series about memory, or a political movie about power, or an old Fellini film about clowns and broken dreams, they all circle around the same questions. They ask what we remember, what we forget, and what stories we tell ourselves in order to live with both.