Crashers, some exciting news—I’m officially under contract for a new book about the truly shocking amount of overlooked consensus in American politics—and why Washington won’t deliver on it. It’s due to be released next fall.

And I need your help.

Here’s a little taste of the introduction:

As I have seen up close and personal for too long now, American politics has pulled off one of the great magic tricks of modern life. It has convinced a country full of people who agree on a surprising amount that they have almost nothing in common.

A recent Pew Research Center survey found that 83 percent of Republicans and GOP-leaning independents said their side was losing more often than winning on the issues that mattered to them. So did 62 percent of Democrats. Both teams thought they were losing the same game at the same time! The way our system works right now, everyone’s right. Which means everyone is rightfully pissed and exhausted.

I’m looking for a small group of alpha readers—pre-beta!—to read early drafts of chapters and sections and give me feedback as the book takes shape.

You do not need any special qualifications. You don’t need to be a political scientist, a policy expert, or even someone who follows politics especially closely. In fact, I want the opposite: a real cross-section of readers with different backgrounds, political views, professions, ages, and levels of political interest.

What I do need is a willingness to actually read and give thoughtful feedback on a few specific questions. Things like:

• Does the argument make sense?

• Where did you get bored or confused?

• What felt convincing—or not?

• Does the writing move?

• What am I missing?

The time commitment should be pretty low. I won’t be sending you a 300-page manuscript and asking for a book report. Think occasional chapters or sections, along with a short set of questions.

I am looking for people who want to engage with the material and help make the book better before anyone else gets to see it. Alpha readers will get a free copy of the published book when it hits the shelves next year.

If you are ready and willing to help me out, sign up here. I need you!

If you’re like most, $40 trillion is one of those numbers so large that it doesn’t really meaning anything. A million dollars? I can picture that. A billion? Getting tougher but still a real number. Forty trillion? Might as well tell me we owe 14 bajillion.

So let’s make this useful.

The national debt crossed $40 trillion for the first time in August, according to the Treasury Department. For context, it was about $20 trillion when Donald Trump first became president in 2017. In other words, the federal debt has roughly doubled in less than a decade.

But what does America owing $40 trillion actually mean? And who exactly are we paying?

First, how did we get $40 trillion in debt?

The math is pretty simple.

Every year, the federal government collects money, mostly through taxes—personal, corporate, etc. Then it spends money on Social Security, Medicare, the military, Medicaid, veterans, federal workers, roads, interest on old debt and roughly a billion other things.

When Washington spends more than it collects, that gap is the deficit.

To cover it, the Treasury borrows money by selling government bonds. And all of those accumulated deficits add up and become the national debt.

This year alone, the Congressional Budget Office expects the federal government to spend about $7.4 trillion while collecting only $5.6 trillion, leaving a deficit around $1.9 trillion for this single year. Over time, those annual deficits have accumulated to total the crazy $40 trillion.

Who do we owe all this money to?

No, mostly not China. I know you were thinking it. China holds about $633 billion in Treasuries—less than Japan and the United Kingdom, and only a small piece of the roughly $40 trillion total federal debt.

When the government needs money, Treasury sells securities—basically IOUs—to investors. You give the government money today. The government promises to pay you back later, with interest.

Those investors include foreign governments and investors, but also American pension and mutual funds, banks, insurance companies, the Federal Reserve, and individual investors like your grandparents who may have gifted you a government bond as symbols of patriotism and civic duty.

Of that $40 trillion, about $32.3 trillion is debt held by the public.

The other roughly $7.8 trillion is money the government technically owes to itself through federal accounts and trust funds. Think Social Security collecting more payroll taxes than it needs in a particular year and investing the surplus in Treasury securities. Treasury now owes that money back to Social Security. Yes, the government has IOUs from itself to itself.

So when someone says every American personally owes $100,000 or whatever number is making the rounds, don’t start looking for a Venmo request from Uncle Sam. Federal debt does not work like a household credit-card bill.

Then why should I care?

The main answer is interest rates.

For years, Washington could borrow huge sums relatively cheaply because interest rates were low. And if you’ve been awake for the last several years you know that has changed.

Now the government has a gigantic amount of debt and borrowing costs are higher. Treasury estimates interest costs are running around $1.1 trillion per year, and during the first 10 months of this fiscal year, interest payments actually exceeded Medicare spending. Only Social Security cost more.

That means an increasingly large chunk of the federal budget goes toward paying for things we already bought rather than anything voters are getting today.

And unlike a road, aircraft carrier or Social Security check, an interest payment doesn’t give Congress much to brag about back home.

There is another problem. As old government debt comes due, Treasury generally pays it off by issuing new debt. If the old loan carried a 2 percent interest rate and the replacement costs 4 or 5 percent, Uncle Sam’s monthly payment just got a lot more expensive.

Keep doing that across trillions of dollars and things get ugly pretty quickly.

Whose fault is it?

Take your pick. Trump didn’t create the problem. Biden didn’t either. Nor Obama, Bush, or Clinton.

The debt has grown under presidents and Congresses controlled by both parties. Republicans have passed large tax cuts without matching spending reductions. Democrats have supported major new spending and haven’t achieved the tax increases to pay for it. Both parties spent enormous sums responding to COVID. And neither party has shown much appetite for seriously confronting Social Security and Medicare, which consume huge and growing portions of the budget as the population ages.

About one-third of the debt increase over the past decade came during the enormous COVID borrowing under Trump and Biden. But even without a pandemic, Washington has been running large structural deficits for years.

Are we about to go bankrupt?

No.

The federal government is not a household, and the United States can borrow in its own currency. Investors around the world still buy U.S. Treasury securities because they remain among the safest assets available.

So hitting $40 trillion does not trigger some automatic economic explosion.

There is no magic number where $39.9 trillion is fine and $40 trillion causes the lights to shut off.

The problem is the direction. The debt is going up faster and faster.

CBO projects debt held by the public will rise from about 101 percent of the entire U.S. economy this year to 120 percent by 2036. Interest costs are projected to more than double to $2.1 trillion annually.

That leaves future Congresses with some spectacularly unpopular options: raise taxes, cut spending, slow the growth of programs like Social Security and Medicare, or keep borrowing and hope the economy grows fast enough to keep up.

For decades, Washington has mostly chosen that last one. Forty trillion dollars later, you can see how that’s going.

But the justices did not rule that Trump has the power to get rid of mail in voting or rewrite other aspects of how states conduct their elections when it comes to mail.

All SCOTUS really ruled is that the states suing Trump went to court too early. That’s basically it.

In a 6–3 decision Monday, the Court lifted a lower-court order that had blocked parts of Trump’s election executive order that put new federal rules on mail voting and voter eligibility checks. The majority (made up of all 6 conservative justices) concluded that the states challenging Trump had not shown the kind of concrete injury needed to bring the case yet.

So Trump won. But the much bigger question—whether what he is trying to do is actually legal—is still unanswered.

What is Trump trying to do?

Earlier this year, Trump signed an executive order directing several federal agencies to tighten oversight of elections, with a particular focus on mail voting.

The biggest piece involves the Postal Service.

USPS has now issued rules that would require states and local election officials to follow new federal requirements for mail-ballot envelopes and tracking, including individualized barcodes and providing information about voters receiving mail ballots. The administration says the changes will help with tracking, security and enforcement of federal election laws.

The states suing fear something much more nefarious is behind the EO: the president using the Postal Service to get into the business of deciding how states run elections.

Here comes your quick Constitution refresher.

States run elections. The Constitution specifically gives state legislatures the power to set the “Times, Places and Manner” of congressional elections, while giving Congress the authority to step in and change those rules.

Notice who is missing there. The president.

Trump’s argument, though, is not simply, “I control elections now.” His administration says the president can direct federal agencies like the Postal Service and Justice Department to use powers that Congress has already given them.

Whether he is pushing those powers too far is the legal fight everyone expected the Supreme Court to settle. It didn’t. Yet.

What did SCOTUS say?

The Court focused on a more technical issue: whether the states were even allowed to bring this lawsuit when they did.

When the states originally sued, much of Trump’s plan had not happened yet. The Postal Service had been told to write new rules, for example, but those rules were not yet final.

So the majority looked at the lawsuit and essentially said, “you are asking courts to block injuries that might happen in the future.”

Federal courts generally require someone suing to show an actual or imminent injury. That is the legal doctrine known as standing. Courts also generally do not jump into disputes before they are ready for a decision, an idea lawyers call “ripeness.”

Or, without the law-school vocabulary “come back when Trump actually does the thing you’re worried about.”

The Court was pretty clear that its decision was not a ruling that Trump’s plan is legal. In fact, the majority specifically said states could challenge a final Postal Service rule if it injured them.

Well, guess what? There is now a final rule.

So what happens now?

We do it all over again.

On Wednesday, a federal judge lifted another block on the administration’s plan following the Supreme Court decision. At almost the exact same time, roughly two dozen Democratic-led states and Washington, D.C., filed a new lawsuit challenging the final and official Postal Service rule.

So the lawsuit has jumped from Trump might do this to Okay. He did it.

And this time the courts will have a much harder time avoiding the central question of exctl how much power can a president exercise over elections by directing federal agencies like the Postal Service?

There is also a clock ticking. Some states begin sending mail ballots in early September. Election offices are already printing envelopes, programming systems and preparing to process millions of votes.

So, yes, Trump won at the Supreme Court this week.

But he did not win a ruling saying presidents can control mail voting. He won a ruling saying his opponents sued before there was enough to sue over.

Now there is.

Round two starts immediately.

The former White House staffer and Trump impeachment witness raised more than $16 million for his Democratic Senate campaign. His primary opponent, state Rep. Angie Nixon, raised less than $1 million.

Then voters showed up Tuesday and Nixon crushed him 56% to 44%.

That is one expensive reminder of something we routinely get wrong about American elections: having more money gives you a distinct advantage but it does not guarantee you victory on Election Day.

Vindman isn’t alone this cycle, either. Look at some of the biggest Senate primaries of 2026:

• In Michigan, Haley Stevens and her allies spent $52 million on TV and radio. Abdul El-Sayed and his allies spent $5.2 million. El-Sayed won.

• In Minnesota, Angie Craig and her supporters spent $13.8 million, more than four times Peggy Flanagan’s $3.3 million. Flanagan won by 20 points.

• In Texas, John Cornyn and his allies spent $58.8 million on advertising, compared with $8.2 million behind Ken Paxton. Paxton dominated the incumbent Cornyn 64%-36%.

• In Georgia, Buddy Carter had $4.4 million in advertising behind him. Mike Collins had $925,000. Collins won.

Cornyn’s race is especially fun for campaign-finance nerds. His side spent about $45 for every vote he received in the runoff. Paxton’s side spent around $8 per vote. Cornyn still lost by 28 points.

To be fair, campaign funds matter a whole lot.

In the 2020 House elections, for example, the higher-spending candidate won about 88% of races. Money buys advertising, organizers, polling, mail, travel and, most importantly for unknown candidates, the chance to introduce yourself to voters.

But there is a giant causation problem hiding in that 88% statistic.

Strong candidates attract money. Incumbents raise money because donors expect them to win. Competitive challengers attract donors because people suddenly think they can win. My fellow nerd political science friends have been telling us for decades that sometimes money produces electoral strength, and sometimes electoral strength produces money.

But once voters know the candidates, the returns on another million dollars can get pretty lousy. At a certain point, the goal of raising money is to show that you can raise a lot of money. A big campaign war chest helps scare off would-be challengers, signals credibility, and forces the other side to raise even more to prove they are more viable. It’s a cold war mentality.

The better lesson is that campaign money is a megaphone. It can make sure voters hear your message. But, it can’t make them like it.

And lately, quite a few very rich campaigns have paid an awful lot of money to discover the difference.

But, Crashers, did you know that the Constitution says that a Congress-passed bill can become law even if POTUS keeps his pen in the drawer?

And in recent weeks, two laws have been put on the books without Trump putting his name on either one. In fact, two in two days.

How does that work?

According to the Constitution, the president has 10 days to decide what to do with a bill passed by Congress. Sundays don’t count as one of the 10 days because, you know, church.

During the 10 day window, POTUS has three options:

1. Put his John Hancock on it, making it a law immediately.

2. Veto the thing, which sends it back to Congress. (Congress can override the veto with a 2/3rds vote in each chamber).

3. Do notta.

If POTUS chooses option 3—neither signs or vetos—AND Congress remains in session, the bill will automatically become law after the 10 days run out. The ‘Congress remains in session’ part is important because being in session means they are still in the swamp ready to receive and act on a presidential veto).

But if Congress is NOT in session, they technically can’t receive the bill back from the White House. Which means, the president doing notta on the bill produces a pocket veto, which kills the legislation without requiring a traditional veto.

This means that presidential inaction can either automatically pass or automatically kill legislation. The result depends entirely on if Congress is in session or not when the 10 day clock expires.

What were the two bills?

The first bill that became law with no Trump signature was the 21st Century ROAD to Housing Act, a large bipartisan housing affordability package. And for all my friends who say the two parties agree on nothing, the Senate passed it 85—5 and the House passed it 358—32.

This bill shoulda, woulda, coulda been a major win for Trump and the GOP (and Americans, for that matter). Instead, he cancelled the signing ceremony because the Senate had not passed the SAVE America Act, his election proposal requiring proof of citizenship to register and identification to vote.

Trump allowed the ten-day deadline to expire and the housing bill became law without his signature on July 11.

The next day, he did it again with the Emergency Conservation Program Improvement Act changes how farmers, ranchers, and forest owners receive federal disaster aid. The Senate passed it unanimously and the House vote was 368–19.

Again, Trump did nothing, nor did he explain why he withheld his signature. He simply did not act, and the bill became law on July 12.

How rare is this?

Very rare in modern politics. Only ten bills have become law without a president’s signature since 1976. Trump’s two bills account for one-fifth of the entire fifty-year total.

Other recent examples include the Jerusalem Embassy Act, which became law without President Bill Clinton’s signature in 1995, and an Iran sanctions extension that became law without President Barack Obama’s signature in 2016.

Earlier presidents used the option much more often. A White House review prepared for President Gerald Ford found that 136 bills became law without Ulysses S. Grant’s signature. Grover Cleveland allowed 283.

Franklin Roosevelt once called it the Constitution’s “third course.” And FDR took the third course on a 1938 tax bill.

The more you know.

Meanwhile, Sen. Mitch McConnell remains a senator from neighboring Kentucky even though he has been away from the Capitol since mid-June recovering from a fall and pneumonia. He says he is not yet healthy enough to return.

Those two cases provide nearly the entire crash course. Death creates a vacancy. Illness does not.

When is a congressional seat actually vacant?

A seat generally becomes vacant when a member dies, resigns, is expelled, or otherwise leaves office.

A serious illness, hospitalization, or lengthy absence does not automatically remove a lawmaker. There is no congressional version of the 25th Amendment and no “acting senator” who can temporarily cast votes. Unless the member resigns or the seat otherwise becomes vacant, the member remains in office.

That means McConnell’s staff can continue working and he can remain involved from rehabilitation, but Kentucky cannot temporarily replace him simply because he is absent.

Once a seat truly becomes vacant, the House and Senate follow very different rules.

The House always requires an election

The Constitution requires vacant House seats to be filled through an election. A governor cannot appoint a temporary representative, even when the vacancy leaves a district without a voting member for months and months.

State law controls nearly everything else, including:

• When the governor must announce the election

• How quickly the election must occur

• Whether parties hold primaries, conventions, or committee votes

• Whether the election can be combined with an already scheduled primary or general election

• Whether a runoff is required

That creates significant variation. During the 118th Congress, House special elections occurred an average of 120 days after the vacancy, with individual waits ranging from 67 to 195 days.

The former member’s congressional office does not simply shut down. House staff continue handling constituent services under the supervision of the Clerk of the House until a successor is elected. The district simply has no one who can vote on legislation during that period.

The easy rule for the House is: no appointments to the House.

The Senate lets each state choose a system

The 17th Amendment requires Senate vacancies eventually to be filled by voters, but it allows each state legislature to decide whether the governor may appoint someone temporarily.

The 50 states fall into three broad categories.

In other words, 46 states allow a governor to make an interim appointment in at least some circumstances. Four states require the public to choose from the start.

35 states normally wait until the next general election

Even within this group, the fine print matters.

Ten require the appointee to belong to the same party as the senator who left office: Arizona, Hawaii, Kansas, Maryland, Montana, Nevada, North Carolina, Utah, West Virginia and Wyoming.

Kansas and Utah further limit the governor to a list of three prospective replacements. Twenty-one states have election-calendar deadlines that can push the public vote to the following year or even the second general election after the vacancy.

So “the governor appoints someone” can mean anything from broad personal discretion to choosing one same-party candidate from a tightly controlled shortlist.

South Carolina and Kentucky show the difference

South Carolina gives its governor broad appointment power and does not require the temporary senator to belong to the departing senator’s party.

McMaster selected Graham’s sister, who will serve until Graham’s current term expires in January. Because Graham’s seat was already scheduled for election in November, South Carolina Republicans will hold a new primary on August 11 to select a nominee for the next full six-year term.

Kentucky follows the opposite model. Its legislature changed state law in 2024 to eliminate gubernatorial Senate appointments altogether. If McConnell were to resign or die before his term ends, Democratic Gov. Andy Beshear could not appoint a temporary replacement. The seat would remain vacant until a special election produced a winner.

McConnell’s illness therefore reduces Republicans’ available votes when he is absent, but it does not change the official number of senators or activate Kentucky’s vacancy law.

TLDR:

Remember three rules.

House vacancy: voters elect the replacement.

Senate vacancy: check the state law, but odds are Gov. has some appointment power.

Sick or absent lawmaker: the seat is still occupied unless the member actually leaves office.

In a closely divided Congress, the difference between an absent member, an empty seat, and an appointed replacement can determine what passes long before voters get their say.

Here are the 10 key rulings to catch you up quickly on the Supreme Court’s latest term.

1. Trump v. Barbara — The Court rejected Trump’s attempt to limit birthright citizenship, holding that children born in the United States to parents here unlawfully or temporarily are citizens at birth under the 14th Amendment.

2. Learning Resources, Inc. v. Trump — The Court said the president cannot use emergency powers to impose tariffs on his own because tariff power belongs to Congress unless Congress clearly says otherwise.

3. Trump v. Slaughter — The Court struck down the FTC’s “for cause” removal protection, making it easier for presidents to fire leaders of independent agencies.

4. Trump v. Cook — The Court refused to let Trump remove Federal Reserve Governor Lisa Cook while litigation continues, signaling that the Fed may remain a special case even as the Court expands presidential removal power elsewhere.

5. Louisiana v. Callais — The Court narrowed Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act in redistricting cases, holding that liability requires strong evidence of intentional racial discrimination, not disparate impact alone.

6. National Republican Senatorial Committee v. FEC — The Court struck down federal limits on party spending coordinated with candidates, giving political parties more freedom to spend directly with campaigns.

7. West Virginia v. B.P.J. — The Court upheld state rules separating girls’ and boys’ sports teams by biological sex, ruling that the policies did not violate Title IX or the Equal Protection Clause.

8. Chatrie v. United States — The Court ruled that police conduct a Fourth Amendment search when they obtain a person’s Google location data, recognizing a privacy interest in cell-phone location information.

9. Mullin v. Doe — The Court allowed the administration to move forward with ending Temporary Protected Status for Syrians and Haitians during litigation, while limiting judicial review of most TPS termination challenges.

10. Watson v. Republican National Committee — The Court upheld Mississippi’s rule counting absentee ballots postmarked by Election Day and received up to five days later, rejecting the argument that federal law requires ballots to arrive by Election Day.

The term in three sentences

The easiest way to read this term is that the Court was willing to stop Trump on some of his biggest unilateral moves, especially on birthright citizenship, tariffs, and the Federal Reserve.

But it also continued moving the law toward stronger presidential control over agencies, weaker voting-rights claims, looser campaign-money rules, and more deference to states in culture-war fights.

So the Court’s 2026 trajectory was not simply “pro-Trump” or “anti-Trump”—it was more power for conservative constitutional priorities, with a few sharp limits when the administration tried to skip Congress, rewrite the 14th Amendment, or politicize the Fed.

The 21st Century ROAD to Housing Act passed the Senate 85–5 and the House 358–32. The sprawling package combines more than 60 separate proposals aimed at increasing the housing supply, lowering construction barriers, expanding access to mortgages, and improving federal housing programs.

And then President Trump refused to sign it.

Trump canceled a planned signing ceremony and said the housing bill would remain unsigned until Congress passes the SAVE America Act, an unrelated election bill requiring documentary proof of citizenship to register for federal elections. House Speaker Mike Johnson says Trump still plans to sign the housing legislation, but for now, one of Congress’s rare bipartisan accomplishments is caught in a fight over voting rules.

So, what exactly is in the housing bill? Here’s your Crash Course.

1. Incentives for communities to build more housing

The bill creates grants for local governments that make measurable progress increasing their housing supply through faster permitting, greater density, zoning changes, and other reforms.

It also rewards some communities that accelerate home construction—and slightly reduces certain federal development funds for those that consistently fail to build.

Translation: Washington cannot rewrite your town’s zoning code, but it can use federal money to make saying “yes” to new housing more attractive.

2. Faster approvals for housing projects

The bill streamlines federal environmental reviews for many federally supported housing projects, including smaller developments on already developed land.

It also funds pre-approved designs for accessory dwelling units, duplexes, and townhouses, allowing builders to spend less time repeating the same design-and-permitting process in every community.

The goal: reduce the procedural time and expense required to turn an approved housing idea into an actual home.

3. Limits on large investors buying houses

Companies that already own at least 350 single-family homes would generally be prohibited from buying newly constructed houses intended for individual buyers.

There is an important exception: institutional investors could still build or purchase homes specifically created as rental communities. The bill also establishes a HUD resource to help tenants renting from large investors navigate landlord disputes.

So this is a restriction on corporations competing with families for homes—not a complete ban on corporate ownership of rental houses.

4. More support for manufactured and modular homes

The bill updates federal rules and loan limits for manufactured housing, makes financing accessory dwelling units easier, and directs HUD to reduce barriers facing modular-home builders.

It also extends grants used to repair and preserve existing manufactured homes and manufactured-home communities.

These homes can often be built faster and more cheaply than traditional houses, making them an important piece of the supply puzzle.

5. Help for smaller mortgages and home repairs

The bill allows HUD to test a program expanding FHA-backed mortgages below $100,000—loans that banks often have little financial incentive to offer.

It also creates a pilot program supporting state and local initiatives that provide grants or forgivable loans for major home repairs.

That could help buyers finance lower-priced homes and help existing owners repair properties before they become uninhabitable.

6. Changes to affordable, rural, veteran, and disaster housing

The package updates the federal HOME affordable-housing program, allows greater flexibility in how its money is used, and expands the use of federal community-development funding for new housing construction.

It also reforms rural housing programs, creates a three-year federal disaster-recovery program, makes it easier for some disabled veterans to qualify for supportive housing, and increases awareness of VA home loans.

Will it make housing affordable?

Eventually, it may help. Immediately, probably not much.

The bill attacks several genuine causes of high housing costs: too few homes, slow approvals, outdated regulations, limited financing options, and local resistance to construction. But it does not override local zoning nationwide, dramatically subsidize home purchases, or lower mortgage rates.

Its basic theory is that America needs to build more housing, in more forms, with fewer delays. That will take years to meaningfully affect prices.

Still, in today’s Congress, getting 443 House and Senate votes behind almost anything is impressive. Getting that many lawmakers to agree on housing policy is practically a zoning miracle.

Now they need the president to sign it.

There will be fireworks, flags, parades, historical reenactors sweating through wool coats, and many extremely confident declarations about what the Founders believed—often from people whose last serious encounter with the Founders involved a middle-school worksheet.

So, with impeccable timing, the paperback edition of We Hold These “Truths”: How to Spot the Myths That Are Holding America Back is currently 50% off on Amazon.

The normal price is $18. Right now, it is $9.

I do not control Amazon’s pricing, which is probably best for everyone involved, and I have no idea how long the discount will last. But nine bucks is less than most airport sandwiches, and the book should leave you feeling considerably less bloated.

This is a shameless book plug. It is also a pretty good deal.

A quick refresher

I wrote and edited We Hold These “Truths” because Americans spend an enormous amount of time fighting about politics without always understanding how our political system works.

That confusion has consequences.

Convenient myths shape what we expect from Congress, presidents, courts, journalists, lobbyists, campaigns, and even voters themselves. They convince us that complicated problems have obvious solutions, that every compromise is corruption, and that anyone who fails to deliver our preferred outcome must be stupid, dishonest, or both.

Those beliefs make us angrier. They rarely make us more accurate.

The book brings together experts from across the political spectrum to examine some of the most persistent myths in American politics. We cover the Constitution and the Founders, presidential power, Congress, bipartisanship, campaign money, lobbyists, the media, the Supreme Court, elections, and several other subjects capable of destroying an otherwise pleasant family dinner.

The goal is to help readers understand how the system really operates, recognize the trade-offs hidden by political talking points, and focus their frustration on problems we might actually be able to solve.

When the book came out last year, I thought the subject was timely.

The intervening year has not exactly produced a nationwide outbreak of constitutional modesty.

Arguments about executive power, the courts, elections, the media, Congress, and the intentions of people who died two centuries ago remain central to American politics. Many of those arguments continue to rely on the same myths the book examines.

That makes the country’s 250th birthday a particularly good time to read it.

An anniversary this large should give us an excuse to celebrate the American experiment. It should also give us an opportunity to inspect it. The country has lasted this long because generations of Americans have argued, compromised, adapted, expanded rights, corrected mistakes, and occasionally admitted that their preferred solution had gone terribly sideways.

Honoring that history requires understanding it.

And right now, understanding it costs nine dollars.

Here is where you come in

My goal is simple: I want as many people as possible to read the book.

The price cut makes that easier. But books still spread primarily because one person tells another person, “You should read this.”

So, whether you are buying the book for the first time or already have a copy sitting handsomely on your shelf, here are a few ways you can help.

1. Tell one person about it

There is no substitute for word of mouth.

You do not need to launch a nationwide publicity campaign or become one of those people who turns every family group chat into a multilevel marketing operation. Think of one person who is curious about politics, frustrated with government, or constantly informing you what the Founders “definitely” intended.

Send that person the link.

You can copy and paste this:

Casey Burgat’s book about the myths surrounding American politics is half off right now. It’s only $9, and I think you’d like it: Amazon link.

One specific recommendation to one specific person is far more meaningful than tossing a link into the social-media void and hoping an algorithm develops an interest in representative government.

2. Leave an honest Amazon review

If you have read the book, please consider leaving an honest review on Amazon.

Reviews matter enormously. They help prospective readers decide whether a book is worth their money and, just as importantly, their time.

The review does not need to resemble a dissertation defense. One or two sentences about what you found useful, surprising, infuriating, or entertaining will do the job.

3. Add it to your Goodreads list

Goodreads users can add the book to their “Want to Read” shelf.

That small action helps other readers discover it and signals that people remain interested in the book beyond its original publication date.

You are also permitted to move it eventually from “Want to Read” to “Read.” Goodreads cannot legally force you, but I will be quietly rooting for progress.

4. Introduce someone to Crash Course

The same principle applies to this newsletter.

If you know someone who wants to understand politics without needing a law degree, a political-science doctorate, or six uninterrupted hours of cable news, forward them a Crash Course post and encourage them to subscribe.

Reader recommendations have built this newsletter. Every new subscriber makes it possible to reach more people with accessible, non-hysterical explanations of how American government works.

Those seem moderately useful as the country enters its 251st year.

One higher-leverage option

Teachers, professors, book-club organizers, office managers, civic-group leaders, and anyone else with authority over a captive audience can also read the book as a group.

A professor assigning it to a class, a book club choosing it for a month, or an organization buying copies for its staff can put the book in front of dozens of people at once. That is how books travel beyond an author’s immediate audience.

It also gives everyone a structured environment for arguing about lobbyists and presidential power, rather than forcing those subjects into Thanksgiving dinner without warning.

For bulk pricing and to explore events and speaking engagements, just reply to this email.

That’s the pitch

America will turn 250 on July 4.

We should celebrate. We should appreciate how improbable the whole experiment has been. We should also use the occasion to get more honest about how our government was designed, how it has changed, why it struggles, and what can realistically make it better.

That is the conversation We Hold These “Truths” was written to start.

Right now, the paperback is $9 on Amazon. Grab a copy before Amazon remembers what books cost.

And if you already own it, please help it find its next reader.

It ends the shooting now. It reopens one of the world’s most important oil routes. It gives Iran economic relief. It gives the U.S. and Iran 60 days to negotiate the much harder nuclear deal. And it leaves a lot of the most important questions for later.

So here’s the quick FAQ, starting with a comparison to the 2015 Iran nuclear agreement negotiated and signed during the Obama years. Use this so you can judge for yourself as to whether this is the tougher deal Trump promised after ripping up the 2015 JCPOA or a very expensive 60-day bet.

And now on to the FAQ:

1. Is this actually a peace deal?

Sort of.

The current agreement is best understood as an interim memorandum of understanding, or MOU. That is diplomatic language for “we have agreed to the framework, now everyone please stop firing missiles while we figure out the details.”

The immediate promise is that the war stops. The MOU says the United States, Iran, and their allies in the current conflict will end military operations on all fronts, including Lebanon. It also says the U.S. and Iran will respect each other’s sovereignty and stop threatening or using force against one another.

But this is still an opening agreement, not the final one. The current deal is designed to stop the fighting and create a 60-day window to negotiate the much harder questions about Iran’s nuclear program, sanctions, inspections, and enforcement.

2. What happens with the Strait of Hormuz?

This may be the most important practical (and political) part of the agreement.

The Strait of Hormuz is one of the world’s most important energy chokepoints. A huge share of global oil (about 20%) moves through it, which means trouble there does not stay there. It shows up in shipping costs, energy markets, gas prices, and the blood pressure of every economist who has ever said the word “volatility” on television.

Under the MOU, the U.S. agrees to begin lifting its naval blockade immediately and fully end it within 30 days. Iran agrees to restore safe commercial passage through the Strait within 30 days and allow ships to pass without charge for 60 days.

Translation: the deal is trying to reopen the oil spigot.

The “no charge” part matters too. Iran had pushed for some kind of toll or service-fee arrangement for vessels moving through the Strait. This agreement appears to freeze that fight for now while leaving future talks open with Oman and other Persian Gulf states.

3. What are the key deadlines?

There are three big ones.

1. The ceasefire and end of military operations are supposed to happen immediately.

2. The U.S. blockade and Iran’s restrictions on commercial passage through Hormuz are supposed to be fully resolved within 30 days. If the deal is treated as starting on June 15, that puts the major shipping deadline around July 15.

3. The U.S. and Iran have 60 days to negotiate a final agreement. Using the same June 15 starting point, that puts the final-deal deadline around August 15.

That 60-day clock is the whole ballgame. During that period, Iran is supposed to maintain the current status of its nuclear program. The U.S., meanwhile, agrees not to impose new sanctions or deploy additional forces in the region.

Easy. Except for the minor detail that the underlying dispute has been torturing diplomats, presidents, inspectors, generals, prime ministers, and cable-news guests for decades.

4. What does each side get?

Iran gets immediate economic breathing room.

The MOU says the U.S. Treasury will issue waivers allowing Iran to export crude oil, petroleum products, petrochemicals, and related services. That includes the boring-but-essential stuff that makes trade work: banking, insurance, and transportation.

The deal also says restricted Iranian funds will be made available under procedures still to be negotiated. And there is a much bigger promise: the U.S. agrees to work with regional partners on a reconstruction and economic development plan for Iran worth at least $300 billion.

That will be one of the political flashpoints. Supporters will call it the price of peace. Critics will call it a massive reward before Iran’s nuclear program is fully locked down. Both arguments will be available in convenient yelling size.

The U.S. gets an end to the war, the reopening of Hormuz, a promise from Iran not to develop or procure nuclear weapons, and a 60-day runway to negotiate a final nuclear deal.

The risk is sequencing. Iran gets real economic relief early while the U.S. gets promises and a negotiating window. Whether that was smart diplomacy or a dangerous concession depends almost entirely on what the final agreement says.

5. What does the plan say about Iran’s nuclear program and oversight?

This is where the agreement is both important and incomplete.

Iran reaffirms that it will not develop or procure nuclear weapons. The MOU also says Iran’s enriched uranium stockpile will be addressed through a mutually agreed mechanism, including at least some on-site downblending under International Atomic Energy Agency supervision.

But the biggest nuclear questions are left for the final agreement. How much enrichment, if any, will Iran be allowed to keep? What happens to its existing enriched uranium? How intrusive will inspections be? Who verifies compliance? What happens if Iran cheats?

Those are not side questions. Those are the deal.

The oversight language also needs more detail. The MOU creates an “executive mechanism” to monitor implementation and says the final agreement will be backed by a binding United Nations Security Council resolution. That sounds serious, but it is still far thinner than the 2015 JCPOA, which included a more developed structure for IAEA inspections, reporting, enforcement, and sanctions snapback.

That is also why Congress is already circling. If the final deal includes major nuclear commitments and sanctions relief, lawmakers will demand the text, the verification details, and a chance to review it.

So the simplest bottom line is this: the Trump Iran plan is a ceasefire, a Hormuz reopening agreement, an economic relief package, and a 60-day bet that a final agreement can be hammered out.

If the bet works, Trump will say he ended yet another war a war, reopened a critical global oil route, and forced a new nuclear agreement. (The other side will obviously respond with “you only needed to do those things after breaking them yourself.”)

If it fails, the U.S. may have given Iran early economic relief without locking down the nuclear program.

For now, the deal is less a final answer than a very expensive countdown clock. And the clock is already ticking.

But the headline beneath the headline is even stranger. As part of the settlement, the Justice Department issued an order that appears to block the IRS from auditing President Trump, his family, his trusts, and affiliated companies for any tax returns filed before the May 2026 settlement date.

That is the part worth understanding.

What happened?

Trump sued the IRS and Treasury Department for $10 billion (yes, billion with a B) after a former IRS contractor leaked private tax information to the press. That leak was illegal, and the leaker was sentenced to five years in prison. Tax records are supposed to be confidential, and the government has a real obligation to protect them.

So, at one level, the lawsuit had a legitimate starting point in that the IRS failed to protect private taxpayer information.

But the settlement went much further than an apology for the leak.

The agreement included no direct payment to Trump. Instead, the government apologized and agreed to dismiss the dispute. Then came the separate DOJ order, signed by Acting Attorney General Todd Blanche, that said the United States is “forever barred and precluded” from pursuing certain claims, reviews, or “examinations” involving Trump and related people or entities for tax returns filed before the settlement date.

In normal English: the deal blocks the IRS from auditing Trump-world tax filings from before May 18, 2026.

Why is that a big deal?

Because this is not how tax enforcement normally works.

The IRS can choose not to audit a return. It can finish an audit and find nothing. It can decide that the statute of limitations has expired. Those are all normal parts of tax administration.

But presidential audits are different.

Since the post-Watergate era, the IRS has had internal procedures saying that the individual income tax returns of the president and vice president are subject to mandatory examination. The point is simple—no IRS official should have to decide whether auditing the president is politically awkward. It should be automatic.

That system was supposed to protect everyone.

It protects the public by making sure the most powerful elected officials are following the same tax laws as everyone else. It protects the IRS by turning the audit into routine procedure instead of a political judgment call. And, in theory, it protects presidents by preventing accusations that the agency is targeting them for partisan reasons.

But the new order throws this long standing precedent out the window.

This is the Justice Department saying, in advance, that the IRS cannot audit a broad category of Trump-related past returns at all.

And it does not just cover Trump personally. The order extends to family members, trusts, companies, affiliates, subsidiaries, and related entities. In other words: a very large Trump-world umbrella.

That is why critics see this as more than a private legal settlement. They see it as political protection from future tax scrutiny.

Is this legal?

That is likely to be challenged.

The Justice Department can settle lawsuits, yes even with the sitting president of the United States. But whether it can use a settlement to bind the IRS this broadly is a serious question. Tax enforcement is supposed to follow ordinary legal procedures, not political bargaining.

There is also the obvious conflict concern. Trump leads the executive branch. The IRS, Treasury, and DOJ are all inside that branch. And Blanche, who signed the order, previously served as Trump’s personal attorney.

That does not automatically make the order invalid. But it makes the arrangement look exactly like the kind of thing independent tax enforcement is supposed to prevent.

The bottom line

The leak of Trump’s tax information was wrong.

But the remedy may be more troubling than the original violation.

The issue is not whether Trump deserved privacy. He did. The issue is whether a president’s own administration can shield him, his family, and his businesses from IRS scrutiny of past tax returns.

Because once tax enforcement can be turned off for the powerful, the problem is no longer just about taxes.

Louisiana Sen. Bill Cassidy: 90%.

Texas Rep. Dan Crenshaw: 89%.

Even Rep. Thomas Massie of Kentucky — the libertarian-ish, party-annoying, leadership-frustrating exception on this list — still voted with Republicans 73% of the time.

And yet all four lost their primaries.

Which tells us something important about modern Congress: party loyalty is no longer just about how you vote. It is about whether primary voters believe you are loyal enough.

That is a very different standard.

For most members of Congress, the scariest election is not the general election in November. It is the primary months earlier, when a much smaller, more ideological, more politically engaged slice of voters decides whether the incumbent gets to make it to November at all.

That fear shapes behavior.

It explains why members who privately want compromise often publicly perform purity. It explains why lawmakers who vote with their party 90% of the time can still be attacked as sellouts, squishes, RINOs, corporate Democrats, establishment hacks, or whatever the insult of the moment happens to be. And it explains why Congress can feel so much more partisan than the country as a whole.

Because the voters who reward bipartisanship are often not the voters who decide primaries.

Cornyn is the clearest example. He was no liberal Republican. He voted with his party more than nine out of ten times, according to Quorum. But that was not enough to protect him in a Republican primary where Ken Paxton, backed by Trump, framed him as insufficiently loyal to the movement and the moment. Cornyn lost despite years of conservative voting, institutional seniority, and a record that would have looked very Republican in almost any earlier era.

That is the incentive structure in one sentence: members can vote with the party almost all the time and still lose for the handful of times they did not.

The math is brutal. A member who votes with the party 90% of the time still casts hundreds of votes in a Congress. That leaves plenty of material for a challenger, outside group, or cable-news segment to build a case around the exceptions. One vote for a bipartisan gun bill. One comment criticizing the party leader. One procedural vote that can be described as betrayal. One moment of independence that becomes the whole campaign.

Primary challengers rarely run by saying, “The incumbent was with us 90% of the time.”

They run by saying, “Here are the times they weren’t.”

And once that becomes the standard, the safest political move is not merely to vote with the party. It is to avoid giving anyone evidence that you ever seriously considered doing otherwise.

That is why this dynamic matters beyond the defeated incumbents. Their successors arrive in Congress having learned the lesson that won them the job: never give the base a reason to doubt you. Do not just be conservative or liberal. Be visibly, constantly, confrontationally conservative or liberal. Do not just vote the right way. Talk the right way. Post the right way. Pick the right enemies. Show the tribe you are fighting.

Then we wonder why Congress does not suddenly become more bipartisan after Election Day.

But members are not confused. They are responding to incentives.

We often say we want bipartisanship. And in surveys, lots of Americans do. They say they want compromise, problem-solving, and less performative conflict. But primary electorates often reward something else: certainty, confrontation, ideological discipline, and proof that their representative will not drift toward the other side.

That does not mean every primary voter is extreme or irrational. It means they are voting in a system that gives them enormous power. In many districts and states, the dominant party’s primary is the real election. Win that, and the general election is a formality. Lose it, and your 90% party loyalty record goes into a very sad PowerPoint labeled “Lessons Learned.”

So the next time a member refuses a bipartisan deal that seems popular, or dodges a compromise that looks obvious, remember the audience they may be most worried about.

Not the average, everday voter.

Not the Sunday show panel.

Not the general election opponent.

The primary voter who thinks 90% loyalty still leaves 10% too much room for betrayal.

It sounds simple. Stop collecting the tax. Gas gets cheaper. Drivers feel relief. Politicians get to say they did something.

But the reality is less satisfying. The federal gas tax is small enough that suspending it would save most drivers only a few dollars per fill-up. It is also big enough that suspending it would drain billions from the main federal fund that pays for roads, bridges, highways, and transit.

Here’s the Crash Course.

What is the federal gas tax?

The federal gas tax is 18.4 cents per gallon on gasoline and 24.4 cents per gallon on diesel. The first federal gas tax was passed in 1932 (when it was 1 cent on every gallon of fuel) to help pay down the Depression era government deficit.

It has not been raised since 1993, which means inflation has steadily eaten away at its value.

In theory, it is a user fee: drivers help pay for the transportation system they use.

What does it pay for?

The money goes into the Highway Trust Fund, which helps pay for highways, bridges, roads, and public transit.

Gasoline and diesel taxes are the backbone of that fund. In fiscal year 2023, they made up 83 percent of Highway Trust Fund tax revenue.

So suspending the gas tax is not just “cutting a tax.” It is cutting one of Washington’s main transportation funding streams.

Can Trump do this himself?

No.

Congress created the gas tax, and Congress would have to suspend it. Trump can pressure lawmakers, endorse a bill, and claim the issue politically. But he cannot turn off the tax by executive order.

That makes this a congressional fight, not a presidential switch-flip.

Would Congress pass it?

Doubtful.

Some Republicans and Democrats have supported gas tax holidays before because gas prices are visible and politically painful. But leaders in both parties know the tradeoff: cutting the gas tax blows a hole in the Highway Trust Fund.

That is the basic dilemma. Everyone likes cheaper gas. Fewer lawmakers want to explain how they plan to pay for the roads after cutting the road money.

How much would drivers save?

Not much.

The maximum savings would be 18.4 cents per gallon. For a 15-gallon tank, that is $2.76 if every penny reaches consumers.

But every penny probably would not. The tax is collected upstream, and some of the savings could be absorbed before they reach the pump. One estimate found consumers might see closer to 13 cents per gallon—about $2 on a 15-gallon fill-up.

That is not nothing. But it is a coupon, not a cure.

Why wouldn’t prices fall by the full amount?

Because Congress does not set gas prices.

Gas prices are driven mostly by crude oil prices, refining costs, supply, distribution, and demand. Taxes are only one piece of the price.

A gas tax holiday can trim the edge. It cannot control the market.

What would it cost?

Billions.

A four-month suspension could cost the federal government roughly $8 billion in lost revenue, or more than $11 billion if diesel is included. A full-year suspension would cost much more.

Supporters could replace the lost money with general taxpayer funds. But that does not make the policy free. It just moves the cost somewhere else.

Haven’t we tried this debate before?

Yes.

President Biden pushed a federal gas tax holiday in 2022 when prices spiked after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. It went nowhere in Congress.

Some states have tried their own versions, but states also face the same basic problem: less gas tax revenue means less transportation money, unless lawmakers replace it.

The Crash Course takeaway

A gas tax holiday is better politics than policy.

It would probably lower prices a little. Trump cannot do it alone. Congress would have to pass it. Drivers might save a couple bucks per fill-up. The Highway Trust Fund would lose billions.

So the real question is not whether a gas tax holiday would help at all.

It would.

The question is whether Congress wants to raid the road fund to buy a few months of pump-price relief.

In reality, the speech was about the present.

With Donald Trump continued tariff threats, questioning NATO obligations despite multiple wars, and even calling the UK Prime Minister a coward for not jumping into the US’s ‘excursion’ in Iran, the King’s speech was a reminder of what the relationship between the two countries has been, and what’s at risk if it doesn’t re-solidify.

If you missed the speech, here are the 10 lines to know, with the context you need.

1. “We meet in times of great uncertainty; in times of conflict from Europe to the Middle East which pose immense challenges for the international community and whose impact is felt in communities the length and breadth of our own countries.”

This opening grounds the speech in global instability rather than celebration. By immediately pointing to conflicts abroad with domestic consequences, he’s framing U.S. leadership as inseparable from international engagement.

2. “Whatever our differences, whatever disagreements we may have, we stand united in our commitment to uphold democracy, to protect all our people from harm…”

That repetition—whatever our differences—is doing quiet diplomatic work. It acknowledges real policy and political tensions between allies while insisting those disagreements should not override shared democratic commitments.

3. “With the spirit of 1776 in our minds, we can perhaps agree that we do not always agree… Ours is a partnership born out of dispute, but no less strong for it.”

He leans into disagreement as a defining feature of the U.S.-U.K. relationship, not a flaw. The message is that conflict—past or present—is not a justification for disengagement, but something historically managed within the alliance.

4. “The Founding Fathers were bold and imaginative rebels with a cause… they declared Independence… and united 13 disparate colonies to forge a nation…”

A British monarch praising the American Revolution is more than historical reflection—it’s strategic. By validating the founding moment, he reinforces democratic legitimacy while sidestepping any sense of hierarchy between the two nations.

5. “Not by the will of one, but by the deliberation of many, representing the living mosaic of the United States.”

This is a clear endorsement of pluralism and institutional decision-making. In a political moment defined by debates over executive power and polarization, it reads as a defense of representative governance over centralized authority.

6. “The challenges we face are too great for any one nation to bear alone… our alliance cannot rest on past achievements… we must build on it.”

This is a direct argument against isolationism. He’s not just celebrating the alliance—he’s warning that assuming it will endure without continued investment is a strategic mistake.

7. “Today, Mr. Speaker, that same, unyielding resolve is needed for the defense of Ukraine and her most courageous people. It is needed in order to secure a truly just and lasting peace.”

Placed immediately after a rundown of past joint military efforts, this line connects history to the present. The implication is clear: just as the U.S. and U.K. acted together in defining conflicts before, Ukraine is the current test of that same shared commitment.

8. “Magna Carta is cited in at least 160 Supreme Court cases since 1789, not least as the foundation of the principle that executive power is subject to checks and balances.”

This is one of the most pointed institutional reminders in the speech. Delivered directly to a Congress that is constitutionally responsible for checking the executive, it subtly reinforces their role at a moment when debates about presidential power and congressional oversight are front and center.

9. “Yet even as we celebrate the beauty that surrounds us, our generation must decide how to address the collapse of critical natural systems… We ignore at our peril the fact that these natural systems… provide the foundation for our prosperity and our national security.”

The added setup matters—it shifts the tone from admiration to urgency. He moves from praising natural beauty to warning about systemic collapse, framing environmental degradation not as abstract concern but as a direct threat to economic stability and national security.

10. “America’s words carry weight and meaning… The actions of this great nation matter even more.”

This is the closest the speech comes to a pointed reminder. By emphasizing action over rhetoric, he’s reinforcing a core expectation of global leadership: credibility is earned through follow-through, not statements.

The White House’s political logic is straightforward: retire now, while there’s a friendly president and Senate to confirm replacements. Wait, and you risk a Senate controlled by the other party that could stall—or outright block—the next nominee.

In other words, the question isn’t just who sits on the Supreme Court of the United States. It’s when the seat opens up.

And that’s where the real politics lives.

Crash Course: Why Timing Matters So Much

The Constitution gives Supreme Court justices lifetime tenure (“during good Behaviour”). The goal was insulation—keep judges above day-to-day politics.

But, in reality, it turned vacancies into political battlefields. And ones that can have huge effects on elections, especially for presidents who will be doing the nominating.

Because justices serve so long, openings are rare. And because they’re rare, each one is enormous. One seat can tilt the Court for decades.

So the system creates a quiet but powerful incentive for justices sitting on the bench: If you care about the political direction of the Court, you don’t just decide whether to retire. You decide when to retire.

The Data Behind the Strategy

This isn’t just vibes—it’s backed by a long-term shift in how long justices serve and how old they are when they do it.

According to data compiled by the Federal Judicial Center:

• Justices are being appointed younger than they used to be. Thomas was appointed to the Court back in 1991 at age 43.

• They are serving longer than at almost any point in U.S. history.

• The average tenure of SCOTUS justices used to hover around 16 years. Since 1970, it’s climbed past 23.

That combination matters.

You appoint someone in their late 40s or early 50s, and you’re not filling a seat—you’re locking in influence for a generation.

This Isn’t New—It’s Just More Obvious Now

Strategic retirements have been part of the Court for a while. But they’ve become more visible—and more expected.

• Anthony Kennedy stepped down during a Republican presidency, allowing a like-minded replacement. Kennedy was replaced by 53 year old Brett Kavanaugh.

• Stephen Breyer retired under Joe Biden after pressure from Democrats not to risk the seat. Breyer was replaced by 51 year old Ketanji Brown Jackson.

• And conversely, Ruth Bader Ginsburg chose not to retire when Barack Obama could have replaced her—a decision that reshaped the Court after her death after Senate Republicans blocked her successor from receiving a hearing, let alone a vote.

Why the Pressure Exists More Now

Which brings us back to the current speculation around Alito and Thomas.

The calculation is straightforward. A president can nominate a justice, but the Senate decides whether that nominee ever reaches the bench. When the same party controls both, vacancies tend to move. When control is split, the process can grind to a halt.

The Senate’s rules matter here. For most of modern history, confirming a Supreme Court justice effectively required 60 votes to overcome a filibuster. That changed in 2017, when Republicans extended the so-called “nuclear option” to Supreme Court nominations, lowering the threshold to a simple majority. Since then, confirmations have depended far more on which party holds the chamber than on building bipartisan coalitions.

You can see the difference in recent history:

• The Senate declined to take up Merrick Garland’s nomination in March 2016, leaving the seat open for months until after the 2016 election (which Trump won)

• Four years later, Trump nominee Amy Coney Barrett was confirmed by Senate Republicans only 35 days before the 2020 election

Same institution, same constitutional roles, but very different political conditions, and very different results.

That’s the backdrop for any talk of retirement. A justice stepping down at the right moment all but ensures a successor. Waiting introduces uncertainty, especially with the Senate’s balance always one election away from changing.

The Bigger Question

Retirement isn’t the end of a justice’s influence. It’s the moment that determines who carries it forward.

Once you see it, it’s hard to unsee.

If Supreme Court power hinges on timing—on aligning retirements with favorable political conditions—then the system isn’t just about law.

It’s about political strategy.

Which raises a simple question: Should something this important depend on who retires at the right moment?

That’s why ideas like term limits or mandatory retirement ages keep coming up. Not because the Court is “too political,” but because the politics we have now is concentrated into a few, high-stakes decisions about when to leave.

The Bottom Line

The headlines will always focus on the next nominee.

But the real action often happens before that—quietly, behind the scenes, in conversations about timing, risk, and control.

Because on today’s Supreme Court, the most important decision a justice makes might not be how they rule.

It’s when they retire.

If you read my earlier piece on why expulsion was unlikely, this shouldn’t come as a surprise. Expulsion is rare. Pressure works faster. And resignation is how these stories usually end.

But their exits point to a deeper question that sits beneath every congressional scandal:

If Congress almost never expels its members, who (or what) has the power to hold them accountable between elections?

The Ethics System: Congress Polices Itself

At the center of the answer is the House and Senate Ethics Committees—bodies made up entirely of sitting lawmakers, evenly split between Democrats and Republicans. That structure is intentional. It’s meant to prevent one party from weaponizing ethics enforcement against the other.

But it also means that every investigation is shaped by the same political incentives that govern everything else in Congress.

The result is a system that exists, functions, and produces outcomes—but rarely in the way the public expects and almost never on the public’s timeline.

How an Ethics Investigation Starts

Most people assume Congress launches investigations the way prosecutors do: quickly, decisively, and in response to clear allegations.

In reality, the process is slower and more layered.

There are two main ways a case gets started.

The first runs through the Office of Congressional Conduct (OCC), an independent, nonpartisan body created to give the public a way in. Anyone—not just lawmakers—can submit a complaint. The OCC reviews those submissions, conducts a preliminary inquiry, and, if it finds reason to proceed, refers the matter to the Ethics Committee with a report of its findings.

The second path is internal. Members of Congress can file complaints directly, or the Ethics Committee can initiate an investigation on its own, often in response to media reports or emerging scandals.

What Happens Once a Case Is Opened

Once the Ethics Committee takes up a case, the process unfolds in stages, most of which happen out of public view.

It typically begins with a preliminary review—quiet fact-finding meant to determine whether a full investigation is warranted. If the committee votes to move forward, it can open an investigative subcommittee, issue subpoenas, conduct interviews, and gather documents.

From there, the committee can:

• Dismiss the case

• Issue a report with findings

• Recommend punishment to the full House

In theory, that recommended punishment could include reprimand, censure, or even expulsion.

In practice, most cases never get that far.

Why the Process Takes So Long

Ethics investigations in Congress are not built for speed.

They often take months, and in some cases, years to resolve. Part of that is by design—members are cautious about due process, reputational harm, and setting precedents that could later be used against them.

But part of it is structural.

The committee is evenly divided between parties, which means disagreement can slow or stall progress. Investigations also operate alongside, not above, politics. Members are weighing not just the facts, but the political implications of acting on them.

There’s another constraint most people don’t realize: Ethics investigations don’t carry over indefinitely.

At the end of each Congress (every two years), unfinished investigations expire or must be reauthorized. That creates a natural clock—one that doesn’t always align with the pace of an investigation.

And then there’s the most common disruptor of all: Resignation.

When a member leaves office, the Ethics Committee loses jurisdiction. The investigation effectively stops—not because the questions are resolved, but because the committee no longer has jurisdiction.

Which is exactly what just happened with Swalwell and Gonzales.

Why Enforcement Feels So Weak

Put all of this together, and the pattern becomes clear.

The Ethics Committee is not absent. It’s active. It investigates, deliberates, and issues findings.

But it operates in a system where:

• Members investigate their own colleagues

• Bipartisan agreement is required to move forward

• The process is slow by design

• And resignation often ends the case before it concludes

That’s why formal punishment—especially something as severe as expulsion—is so rare.

Accountability, when it comes, usually arrives through other channels first: media scrutiny, party pressure, donor reaction, and voter backlash.

The Crash Course

Congress has rules. It has investigators. It has Ethics Committees. It has the constitutional authority to punish and even remove its own members.

But the system is built to move deliberately, not quickly—and to protect the institution as much as police it.

So when scandals break, the question isn’t just whether Congress can act.

It’s whether the system is built to act fast enough to matter.

And more often than not, it isn’t.

The allegations have sparked a wave of calls for accountability—and in some corners, demands that both members be removed from office.

Which raises an important question: Can Congress remove one of its own?

The answer is yes.

But, historically at least, it almost never happens.

The Congressional Menu of Punishment

Congress has a range of tools to discipline its own members. Think of it as a sliding scale:

1. Internal political pressure

• Party leaders push a member to resign

• Loss of committee assignments

• Political isolation

2. Reprimand

• Formal statement of disapproval

• No lasting penalties

3. Censure

• Public condemnation on the House or Senate floor

• Member must stand and hear the resolution read

• More serious—but still largely symbolic beyond the public rebuke

4. Expulsion

• The nuclear option

• Removes the member from office entirely

• Requires a two-thirds vote in the chamber of the offending party.

• That means 67 senators or 290 House members

• Senators can’t expel a House member, and Reps. can’t expel a Senator

The Short List of Expulsions

The House has expelled just 6 Representatives in U.S. history. The most recent expelled member was Rep. George Santos in 2023 for fraud and misuse of campaign funds (in addition to his infinity lies).

The Senate has expelled 15 Senators in its history. The last one was in 1862.

And 17 of those 21 total expulsions happened during the Civil War, when members were removed for supporting the Confederacy.

Outside of the Civil War, expulsion is almost unheard of, and let’s just say there has been plenty of congressional wrongdoing since.

What Usually Happens When a Member Is Accused

This is where expectations and reality diverge.

Calls for expulsion often follow allegations. But Congress almost never acts on allegations alone.

Instead, the typical path looks like this:

• Allegations are made

• Ethics Committee investigations—where members investigate their own colleague

• Political pressure to resign comes from leaders, fellow members, the media, and voters

• Recognizing their circumstances and lack of support, the lawmaker resigns before any formal punishment OR

• The lawmaker stays until the next election, letting voters have the final say on if they return at or not

Only in the rarest of cases is there a vote for expulsion.

Could These Cases Be Different?

This is where things get less theoretical.

For expulsion to even be on the table, two things typically have to happen:

1. Sustained political pressure — not just a news cycle, but ongoing attention from leadership, media, and voters

2. Credible, substantiated findings — typically from the Ethics Committee or outside investigations

But here’s the key wrinkle: An investigation isn’t required.

Any member can introduce a resolution to expel a colleague, and the chamber can vote on it at any time.

The Ethics Committee process is the norm—not the rule.

And in a hyper-polarized Congress, that distinction matters.

If political pressure builds quickly enough, members could force a vote before an investigation is complete—or even begins.

Right now, the cases involving Eric Swalwell and Tony Gonzales are still in the early stages.

There’s clearly momentum—calls for accountability are growing, and the allegations are serious enough to keep this in the headlines.

But momentum alone doesn’t translate into expulsion.

To actually succeed, you would still need:

• Enough members willing to go on record without a fully developed investigative record (which would create a new precedent for future congresses)

• And most importantly, bipartisan support reaching a two-thirds vote

That last part may be the barrier.

Even in the most recent case—George Santos—it took months of investigation, detailed ethics findings, and criminal charges to build enough support.

So yes, today’s political environment makes it easier to call for a vote.

But history suggests it’s still extremely hard to win one.

Bottom Line

The power exists. The precedent does too.

But the threshold is high, the process is slow, and the votes are hard to get (usually).

So when the next scandal hits and calls for removal start flying, remember:

In Congress, the default isn’t “kick them out.”

It’s “prove it—or let voters decide.”

And history shows, that bar is almost never cleared.

The immediate crisis may be paused. Now, the real work begins.

Over the next two weeks, both sides will try to turn that pause into a long term peace agreement. But, the two sides are working from two very different blueprints. Iran has issued a 10-point proposal. The U.S. has its own 15-point plan.

The core divide in two sentences: Iran wants sovereignty. The U.S. wants control through verification.

Where the Plans Clash

If you want to understand why this is hard to resolve, don’t read the headlines—look at the terms and where the two countries differ.

The Biggest Flashpoints:

The Strait of Hormuz

This is the one to watch. Roughly a fifth of the world’s oil passes through it. Iran wants control and leverage; The U.S. wants guaranteed open access.

The Nuclear Gap

Iran possesses roughly 440–460 kilograms of uranium enriched to 60%. Weapons-grade uranium is about 90% enrichment. That stockpile alone could be enough for roughly 9–10 nuclear weapons if further enriched.

Now layer in the proposals.

Iran’s position: Keep enrichment rights and retain its existing stockpile

U.S. position: Eliminate or drastically limit enrichment and remove that stockpile out of Iran’s control.

This isn’t only about whether Iran can build a nuclear weapon (which 99% of the world agrees is a non-starter). It’s about what to do with one that’s already most of the way there.

Bottom Line

What you’re watching over the next 14 days isn’t just diplomacy—it’s a test of whether two fundamentally different visions of security can be reconciled.

• Iran wants relief, recognition, and control

• The U.S. wants limits, inspections, and guarantees

If the gaps between these two different visions of peace don’t close—and close quickly—this ceasefire isn’t a solution.

It’s a countdown.

It’s not. It’s better thought of (including by members of Congress) as a presidential wish list.

Still, the proposal tells you something important: what this White House values, what it wants cut, and where the political fights are headed.

Here’s what to know from President Trump’s recent $7 trillion budget proposal.

1. Where the Money Actually Goes

The federal budget is enormous—about $6.9 trillion in the most recent fiscal year—and most of it is already spoken for.

Three big buckets dominate:

Mandatory Spending (the big one)

• Social Security

• Medicare

• Medicaid

About $4.2–$4.5 trillion, or roughly 60–65% of all spending.

These are autopilot entitlement programs. Congress already set the rules, and the money flows automatically. For these funding levels to change, new laws would need to be passed.

Which means: most of what the government spends each year isn’t actually up for debate.

Discretionary Spending (this is what Congress (and POTUS) fights over)

• Defense

• Education

• Transportation

• Scientific research

• Foreign aid

About $1.7–$1.9 trillion, or roughly 25–30% of spending.

This is the part Congress actually debates each year.

This category has two major buckets:

• Defense: roughly $850–$900 billion

• Non-defense: roughly $800–$900 billion

Interest on the Debt

About $900 billion to $1 trillion, or roughly 10–15% of spending.

This is the fastest-growing, least flexible part of the budget.

2. Winners and Losers in Trump’s Budget Proposal

Presidential budgets aren’t just spreadsheets—they’re priorities in dollar form.

Who gets more funding tells you what the administration values.
Who gets cut tells you what it doesn’t.

Here’s how that breaks down in this proposal:

Winners (Big Increases)

Defense

• Trump’s budget asks for $1.5 trillion (with a T) for defense spending in FY 2027.

• This is a 44% increase in defense spending over FY 2026 levels.

This continues a long-standing trend: when budgets tighten elsewhere, defense is usually protected—or expanded.

Immigration Enforcement

• Builds on already massive funding increases in recent years:

  • ICE currently operates with roughly $18–$28 billion annually when including recent multi-year funding boosts

• Budget continues or expands funding for:

  • Detention capacity: backed by $45 billion over multiple years to scale toward 100,000 detention beds

  • Enforcement operations and personnel: roughly $30 billion over several years for hiring, training, and deportation operations

  • State and local enforcement partnerships: about $13–14 billion for cooperation programs and reimbursements

What’s notable is not just the annual increase—it’s the sustained, multi-year buildout. Compared to a roughly $9–10 billion ICE budget just a few years ago, this represents a near tripling of enforcement capacity.

Homeland Security / Border Operations

• The broader Department of Homeland Security (DHS) has already received $170–190+ billion in recent funding packages to expand enforcement infrastructure

• Key areas of continued or expanded investment:

  • Border infrastructure (walls, barriers, facilities)

  • Customs and Border Protection (CBP): tens of billions (about $60+ billion over multiple years) for hiring, vehicles, and surveillance

  • Technology and surveillance systems (drones, sensors, AI monitoring)

  • Personnel expansion across DHS components

Taken together, this reflects one of the largest peacetime expansions of federal enforcement infrastructure in modern history.

Losers (Proposed Cuts)

Non-Defense Domestic Agencies (Broad Category)

• Proposed reduction of roughly 10% to non-defense discretionary spending overall

• Equivalent to about $70–$75 billion in cuts in a single year

This is where the tradeoffs happen—cuts here help offset major increases in defense and enforcement.

Department of Education

• Significant reductions across federal education programs, including:

  • Cuts to K–12 funding streams and federal grants

  • Pressure on Title I and federal support programs

• Part of a broader effort to shift authority and funding responsibility to states

Environmental Protection Agency (EPA)

• The budget requests $4.6 billion cut, or 52% below the 2026 enacted level.

• Targeted areas:

  • Climate programs

  • Environmental enforcement

  • Research and regulatory oversight

This reflects a continued push to scale back federal environmental regulation.

Housing and Urban Development (HUD)

• A 13% cut to housing assistance and development programs, including:

  • Rental assistance programs

  • Community Development Block Grants (CDBG)

• These reductions typically fall in the tens of billions over time, depending on final appropriations

These are programs that disproportionately affect low-income renters and local development projects.

Foreign Aid / International Programs

• The budget requests $35.6 billion for the Department of State and other international programs, a $15.5 billion cut, or 30% below the 2026 enacted level.

• Cuts typically target:

  • Economic development aid

  • Humanitarian assistance

  • International institutions

3. The Civics Reality: This Isn’t the Budget

Here’s the part most people miss: The president does not write the federal budget. Congress does.

The Constitution is clear—Congress has the power of the purse.

So what is this document?

Think of it as:

• A wish list

• A messaging document

• A negotiating starting point

And Congress treats it that way.

Even when the president’s party controls Congress, lawmakers:

• Ignore large portions of it

• Rewrite priorities

• Fund programs the president wants cut

• Cut programs the president wants expanded

Why?

Because members answer to their districts and states—not the White House.

The Bottom Line

The president’s budget matters—but not in the way most people think.

It won’t become law. Not even close.

What it does do is reveal priorities:

• What this administration values

• What it’s willing to fight for

• And where the next spending battles are coming

If you want to understand where Washington is headed, don’t treat the budget as a plan.

Treat it as a signal.

Want to Go One Step Further?

If this clarified something for you, send it to one person who thinks the president controls federal spending.

Because in American government, the loudest proposal isn’t always the one that matters.

Then they get there… and realize the system has other plans.

In this week’s Crash Discourse, I’m joined by Dr. Maya Kornberg—author of the new book Stuck: How Money, Media, and Violence Prevent Change in Congress.

Among the book’s many important points, Maya makes a simple but uncomfortable observation: Congress doesn’t just resist change—it absorbs it. Reformers arrive with energy and ideas, but the institution is very good at turning disruption into business as usual.

Still, history shows change does happen—just not the way we expect.

Main takeaways from the conversation:

• Big change comes in waves
  1974, 1994, 2018—large freshman classes can shake the system, especially when they act together.

• You have to play the game to change the game
  The most effective reformers build coalitions, work with leadership, and wait for the right moment—not viral moments.

• The incentives are the real problem
  Money, media, and even threats of violence push members toward attention—not institution-building.

• Change isn’t instant—it’s opportunistic
  It takes years of groundwork before a window opens.

The hopeful part? Congress isn’t permanently broken. It’s shaped by the people inside it—and it has been changed before.

The hard part? The people best positioned to fix it are the ones most constrained by it.

That’s the paradox.

And maybe the assignment.