Mother JonesModify

2026-04-13 21:20:36

Following an extraordinary attack against Pope Leo XIV that featured President Trump insulting the Catholic leader as “weak on crime” and “terrible,” Leo told reporters on Monday that he was not afraid of the Trump administration.

“I have no fear of the Trump administration, or speaking out loudly of the message of the Gospel, which is what I believe I am here to do,” Leo said en route to Algeria for a papal visit to Africa.

“We are not politicians,” he continued. “We don’t deal with foreign policy with the same perspective he might understand it. But I do believe in the message of the Gospel, as a peacemaker.”

When asked about the Truth Social attack, Leo said, “It’s ironic, the name of the site itself. Say no more.”

Leo’s defiant message came after Trump issued a lengthy, ego-driven rant against the pope on Sunday, claiming that Leo would not have been elected had it not been for Trump’s presidency. “If I wasn’t in the White House, Leo wouldn’t be in the Vatican,” he wrote.

Elsewhere in the post, Trump complained: “I don’t want a Pope who criticizes the President of the United States because I’m doing exactly what I was elected, IN A LANDSLIDE.”

The president then posted a bizarre image that appeared to portray him as a Jesus-like figure healing the sick while surrounded by patriotic imagery. The image prompted rare disapproval among some of MAGA’s most faithful, including the anti-trans activist Riley Gaines, who wrote on social media: “Seriously, I cannot understand why he’d post this. Is he looking for a response? Does he actually think this?”

Though Leo has generally avoided mentioning Trump by name, the pope has been increasingly vocal in his criticism of Trump’s war in Iran, telling reporters as recently as last week that the president’s threat to destroy “a whole civilization” was “truly unacceptable.”

In a late March sermon widely viewed as a rebuke of Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth’s framing of the war as divinely sanctioned, Leo condemned leaders who have “hands full of blood.”

2026-04-13 19:30:00

You may recall Khiara Bridges from That Video—the one from July 2022, where she calls Missouri Senator Josh Hawley “transphobic” to his face. As one of the leading scholars in the country on race and reproductive justice, the UC Berkeley law professor was testifying before Congress about the harms of the Dobbs decision overturning Roe v. Wade, including to Black maternal health. As she often does in her writing and conversation, she used gender-neutral language—“pregnant people” and “people with the capacity for pregnancy.” The ultraconservative Hawley, predictably, pounced, repeatedly emphasizing the “people” part and demanding, “Would that be women?”

“I saw that coming from a mile away,” Bridges tells me almost four years later, having witnessed the similar goading that future Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson received from a different Republican senator during her Supreme Court confirmation hearings. “I remember watching the hearing and thinking, she can’t really speak because she needs something.”

One reason the resulting 1:40-minute exchange went viral was that it had something for both sides: Bridges comes across as earnest and nervous and, yes, “woke”—a conservative’s caricature of a progressive, Black, female attorney. Hawley epitomizes liberal stereotypes about MAGA lawmakers as smirking, cynical, cruel, and determined to ignore and demean modern realities. Some time later, one of Bridges’s students sent her a thank-you note: The video had landed in his Twitter feed on the anniversary of the suicide of his sister, who’d been trans. “The erasure of trans individuals [is] such an incredible injustice,” she tells me. “I didn’t want to hide the fact that I think that trans people exist.” 

Examining the structures that lead to injustice and erasure has been a central theme of Bridges’s scholarship for two decades. As a freshly minted Columbia Law grad in the early 2000s, she decided to pursue a PhD in anthropology. “I was interested in how law produces culture,” she says, “and how culture, in turn, produces the law.” Her dissertation became her first book, Reproducing Race: An Ethnography of Pregnancy as a Site of Racialization (2011), an influential study set in a publicly funded hospital in New York City. She has also written extensively about critical race theory and the relationship between privacy rights and class.

Now Bridges has published her fourth book, one that feels very much like a sequel to her first: Expecting Inequity: How the Maternal Health Crisis Affects Even the Wealthiest Black Americans. In it, she tries to answer a question that has perplexed researchers—and journalists like me—for at least a decade: Why don’t education and income protect Black women from disproportionately high rates of maternal mortality and life-threatening complications? The book focuses on San Francisco, which has one of the widest income gaps in the US and a Black population so small that encountering a Black woman with private insurance “was like seeing a mythical creature,” Bridges says. But her two years of research, including 200 interviews, deepened her understanding of the entire US maternal care system. “The healthcare segregation here,” she says, “looks a whole bunch like the healthcare segregation in New York City, in Chicago, in Atlanta, in Miami.” 

Her anthropologist’s perspective isn’t the only thing that distinguishes Bridges from other legal scholars. A dancer since she was 3 years old, she performed professionally at small but prestigious ballet companies in New York City while earning her law and anthropology degrees. The double life continued after she started teaching at Boston University School of Law—on weekends, she commuted to New York to perform. She moved to UC Berkeley almost seven years ago, and though she no longer dances professionally, she works out with local ballet companies almost every day.

The afternoon of our chat, fresh from teaching a class, she greeted me wearing a pair of impossibly high-heeled black Louboutins and dangly hoop earrings the size of small tires. Her hair was swept into a ballerina-esque topknot, and her nails were impeccably manicured in lavender and black, the colors of her book jacket. The message to her students is subtle but empowering: They don’t have to erase themselves, either. As she tells me, “You just gotta do you.”

Our conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

How did you decide to turn your anthropological lens on reproduction and pregnancy? 

My uncle, James Bridges, was one of the first Black board-certified OB-GYNs in Miami. He’s such a larger-than-life figure in the family. My interest in pregnancy began because he had made pregnancy his area of expertise.

But in law school in the late 1990s and early 2000s, “reproduction” meant “abortion.” There was not much [legal] scholarship about the intention and desire to carry a pregnancy to term. Family law has always had its place in law schools, but not maternal health. When I decided to pursue a PhD after law school, I thought that my dissertation project would be about abortion. Then the institutional review board at Columbia told me: “Not so fast.”

These boards exist to ensure that researchers do their work ethically and don’t abuse their subjects. IRBs are there to prevent the types of terrible injustices that have often occurred in the name of scientific inquiry. 

Still, you would think that simply talking to a pregnant person about their pregnancy is a relatively low-risk kind of research. But pregnant persons are considered to be a vulnerable population. When you check the box that you’re going to be working with pregnant people, your work is going to take longer to get approved. 

At Columbia, approval took 18 months. Under the IRB, I could only talk to adults with wanted pregnancies or who were recently postpartum. If a person started to indicate that they might not want to continue the pregnancy, I had to stipulate that I would stop the recorder and end the interview. There’s a critique of IRBs as being more interested in protecting institutions from liability than protecting research subjects. Columbia was very concerned about me perhaps influencing a [patient’s] decision one way or the other.  

[Generally] researchers have a really hard time working with people who are thinking about undergoing an abortion. So a lot of the research that exists about abortion is with healthcare providers rather than patients. It’s created a gap in our knowledge. But I’m glad Columbia steered me away from abortion, because it set me on the path I’m still on today.

You ended up doing 18 months of field research at a big public hospital in New York City, which you call Alpha Hospital to give the institution some degree of anonymity. Its patients are mostly Black and brown, low-income, and reliant on Medicaid. How did being both an anthropologist and a lawyer help you understand what you were seeing?

As an anthropologist, I was examining how people were navigating health care systems and bureaucracies. And because I had a law degree, I could look at the Medicaid statutes and see the difference between the law on the books and the law on the ground. Until I started doing the research, I didn’t realize just how hyper-regulatory Medicaid is. There’s very little room for discretion for patients, but also for providers. 

The [statutory] goal is to provide health care for incredibly vulnerable folks. And then you go to the clinic, and you see how the best of intentions are perverted—it’s underfunded, it’s overburdened, everybody’s at their wits’ end, ready to snap. Patients are treated terribly by providers. They are seen as being undeserving.

I’ve spoken with many patients of color over the years who talk about being disrespected, even abused, in health care settings, and many providers who dismiss these stories as not being credible.

The mistreatment ranges from two-hour wait times to see a provider, to basic rudeness, to much worse. These are pregnant people who just want to be affirmed that they and their baby are healthy, and are met with such unkindness. 

There was a woman who went into labor one evening. She didn’t have anyone to care for her two older children, so she brought them with her to the hospital. But the hospital had a policy of no children in labor and delivery, so they called child protective services to take her children. She was laboring, so she couldn’t fight back. When I saw her at her eight-week postpartum appointment, she was still fighting to get her children back. 

And of course, the state can justify the behavior by saying, ”The mother clearly doesn’t have support, she is nine months pregnant at home alone with two vulnerable kids, and has to go to the hospital by herself. So it’s in these children’s best interest not to be returned until the mother is stable.” But what a violence.

You found that health care for low-income women is a mechanism for surveillance and control. Poor people have different privacy rights from more affluent ones. Give me an example of what this looks like on the ground.

In New York state, before you begin prenatal care as a Medicaid beneficiary, you are required to have a consultation with a nutritionist, a social worker, and a financial adviser. You might hear, “You have food insecurity, let’s get you signed up for food stamps, let’s get you into the WIC program.” But the benefits come with strings attached, and you’re constantly having to prove that you’re eligible. You go to this institution that exists to provide health care, and you end up in this web of surveillance. 

I thought the consultation with the social worker was the most pernicious. You go into what seems like a therapeutic relationship, where the social worker should have a fiduciary duty to you. But, actually, their relationship is with the state, and the information you share with them could become the stuff of a CPS case. So you’re beginning your pregnancy already under suspicion for child abuse and neglect, and trying to rebut the presumption that you need surveillance. If you don’t go along, you can lose custody of your kid. You can be rendered ineligible for food, clothing, shelter, and healthcare.

In your first book, Reproducing Race, you focused on low-income pregnant women at a public hospital. Your new book, Expecting Inequity, looks at higher-income patients at an elite private hospital. 

The punchline of that first book was, it’s really hard to hold on to your dignity and autonomy and agency when you’re low-income and pregnant, because all of these systems are designed to strip you of those very things. It’s a system that pathologizes Black people, always.

But one of the questions that often came up was: Was [what I was seeing] a function of people’s race or their class? Was I describing a system that demeaned low-income people and, as an unintentional consequence, demeaned people of color? 

These questions were based on an assumption that if you have some degree of wealth and status as a person of color, then you can escape racism. And nothing is further from the truth. Racism looks different in the lives of wealthier people of color, but it’s there. What Expecting Inequity attempts to do is chart, identify, and describe how racism shows up in the lives of class-privileged people of color during pregnancy. 

A major catalyst for the book was some very stark data on Black maternal mortality. Black women are more than three times as likelyto die from pregnancy-related causes as white women are. The disparities actually widen with education and income. Even women as healthy and wealthy as Serena Williams and Beyoncé have suffered from life-threatening complications. 

I was under the assumption that the Black-white disparity in maternal mortality and morbidity exists because Black people disproportionately bear the burdens of poverty. But racial disparities in maternal health outcomes persist across income levels. In the US, college-educated Black people have higher rates of maternal deaths and morbidity than high school–educated white people. 

What made me say this book has to be written was my dissatisfaction with the explanations for why those disparities persist. At the time, everything was “implicit bias.” Black women die at higher rates in pregnancy and childbirth? Implicit bias. A cop shoots a Black man dead in the street? Implicit bias. Starbucks managers call the police on two Black men just waiting for a friend? “Let’s do implicit bias training.” Implicit bias became this black hole of an explanation for every type of racial disparity. 

But if the problem of racial disparities in maternal mortality and morbidity is due to providers’ implicit bias, then the solution becomes individualized. It’s about interpersonal interactions. And that just didn’t strike me as true. I wanted to investigate how the structural conditions in which we exist produce these racial disparities that result in class-privileged people being unable to leverage their class privilege to have maternal health outcomes that are on par with those of their white counterparts. 

You focused on two hospitals. Zuckerberg San Francisco General Hospital, which you call the General, serves an indigent and low-income population. “Golden Health” is largely for patients with private insurance. My guess, based on Google, is that this is UC San Francisco, which is one of the best hospitals in the country. What did comparing these two hospitals help you see? 

For one thing, it’s not just that the low-income people’s hospital is chaotic and the wealthier people’s hospital is really nice. Rather, the nice things in wealthier people’s hospitals are made possible by the chaos that is present in the hospitals for low-income people. 

At Golden Health, for example, prenatal patients never had to wait more than 15 or 20 minutes to see a doctor. At the General, there are long wait times. And [a big reason] is that low-income people’s lives are more contingent than wealthier folks’. Low-income people work at places for minimum wage. They have no control over their schedules. They’re relying on public transportation and family and friends for childcare. They show up at 4 o’clock for a 3 o’clock appointment, and now the hospital has to fit them in. The General is a place that’s designed for vulnerable people, so they’re not going to turn you away because you’re late. They’re going to make it work. 

Yet you also theorize that the regulation and standardization that go along with Medicaid may actually help reduce racial disparities in maternity care and outcomes. Having private insurance may actually make better-off Black women more vulnerable to bias. 

The standardization piece is incredibly important. It was something I was highly critical of in my earlier research. [At Alpha,] I wondered, where’s your agency as a patient? Where’s your ability to direct your health care? The reality is, you can’t when you’re low-income.

But then I looked at the data showing how the Black-white disparities in maternal mortality and morbidity are actually wider at the upper end of the socioeconomic ladder than at the lower end. And [I’ve come to conclude that] standardization may actually be protective of Black women’s health. The physician can’t decide, for example, not to give you a particular screen. Everybody’s getting the same tests. Everybody’s getting the same consultations. The minimization of discretion helps reduce disparities in care. I’ve had to think—how do I talk about this? This lack of choice may be beneficial when it comes to racial equity, because that space for discretion becomes space for inequitable care. 

Another structural issue you talk about is the physical toll that discrimination takes on Black women’s bodies, even affluent women, increasing the risk of chronic diseases that can make pregnancy more dangerous. The science of epigenetics shows that your prenatal environment can affect how your genes are expressed. Chronic stress in pregnancy can even have an impact on future generations.

Yes, we have these great jobs, and we live in these great neighborhoods. But privilege comes with its own price. Stress has real physiological consequences. And I say “we” because I’m certainly talking about me at this point in my life.

In the book, I talk about my grandmothers, who were both maids in South Florida during the Jim Crow era. They cleaned white people’s houses their entire lives. My parents were born in the 1950s, before the civil rights movement. My grandmothers were pregnant while they were navigating the most brutal forms of anti-Black racism. There was food insecurity, housing insecurity, all of those things.

These are the prenatal environments in which my dad and my mom were living. And so it would be kind of fantastical to believe that those hostile environments didn’t influence the expression of their genes. And if epigenetics is a thing, then I have inherited those gene expressions. Epigenetics helps explain why class-privileged Black folks don’t have the same health outcomes as their white counterparts.

So Black women choose a place like Golden Health because they know there is a Black maternal health crisis—they want good outcomes, they want to survive. But as you describe in your chapter titled “Going to the Doctor in Yale Sweatpants,” they’re still hypervigilant.  

It’s Performing Class Privilege 101. For example, even though your fingers are swollen from pregnancy, you do not take off your wedding ring, because then you might be perceived as Black, unmarried, and pregnant. It’s so interesting—since doing this research, I’ve realized that I engage in the same tactics. I wouldn’t say I dress up, because a lot of times I’m going to the doctor after working out, but I’m using language to signal my status. So I say things like “Is this idiopathic?” “I was asymptomatic,” signaling that I am educated, too.

There are a lot of interracial marriages. Women are bringing their non-Black husbands, their non-Black relatives, to their appointments. As one woman told me, “I want them to see a white man cares about me, and if a white man is invested in my well-being, then maybe that will cure whatever bias they might have.” 

I also had this lesson repeated: For Black women, there’s no exit from a pathologizing discourse. So if you sit there quietly and do as the provider says, then you’re not really invested in your care; you’re not doing enough. But then, when you say, “Wait, hold on a second. I specifically asked for x, y, and z,” then you’re complaining. You’re being aggressive. You are an “angry Black woman.”

I saw the same thing when I was teaching. If I come in and I’m super nice, then people will think that I’m unprepared and unprofessional. But if I come in and I say, “Hey, be on time, do the assigned reading,” they’re like, “Oh, she’s so aggressive. She’s so dominating.”

You’ve seen the ways racism persists across income, education, and insurance status. Are there any solutions to the kinds of inequities you’ve documented? 

I don’t even know how to frame this, but we have to take racism seriously.

This book is coming out at a time when the entire apparatus of the federal government is attacking the idea of structural inequities. What does it mean to take racism seriously in the maternal health context? 

For one thing, we have to stop normalizing healthcare segregation. In this country, we think it’s natural: We have different neighborhoods, different hospitals. Hospitals for poor people and hospitals for everybody else. In a country that has an Equal Protection Clause in its Constitution, we ought to think that it is wildly inconsistent to have unequal facilities for something as basic and necessary to life as health care. 

We need more Black physicians, and midwives, and nurses. It’s been demonstrated that Black patients have improved health outcomes when they’re cared for by Black providers, but the percentage of Black physicians is tiny.

We need to get past this moment where it’s controversial to even mention racial inequality. To fix the maternal health system will involve massive structural reorganizations. We have to start thinking of solutions that are radical.

2026-04-13 19:30:00

This story was originally published by Inside Climate News and is reproduced here as part of the Climate Desk collaboration.

Tax breaks for data centers in North Carolina keep as much as $57 million each year out of state and local government coffers, state figures show, an amount that could balloon to billions of dollars if all the proposed projects are built.

Despite these generous subsidies, data center owners are legally allowed to shield many of their financial details from state oversight. They aren’t required to prove their ongoing eligibility for the tax exemptions unless they are audited by the state Department of Revenue. Lawmakers enacted sales and use tax breaks for data centers in 2010 and expanded them in 2015. 

“At that time, no one could have predicted the explosive growth of data centers and how much energy they consumed,” Gov. Josh Stein told his Energy Policy Task Force, which met this week. “And because data centers at that point were a brand-new industry, they benefited from financial incentives to induce capital to invest. Those days are long gone.”

Consumers pay sales and use taxes on food, clothing, furniture, utility payments, general merchandise, and other goods.

In North Carolina, data centers don’t pay sales tax on certain equipment—heating and air conditioning, computer hardware and software, and electrical infrastructure—so long as they meet county wage standards, provide health insurance to full-time employees and invest $75 million in private funds in a project within five years.

Sales and use taxes are the second-largest source of revenue for local governments, behind property taxes, according to the Department of Revenue. And a third of the state’s general fund comes from these taxes.

Nor do qualifying data centers pay taxes on electricity use. Under that exemption, a large project that consumes 100 megawatts of energy avoids paying as much as $2.2 million a year, state Commerce Department figures show. (Because utility Duke Energy might negotiate project-specific terms with very large customers, this number could vary.)

Data center operators don’t have to report the amount of exemptions they’ve claimed. Nor must they provide information that would allow an independent evaluation of the financial impact of their projects. In some cases, data centers contractually require local governments to keep electricity and water usage secret. “State agencies have a limited view of the sector’s energy use and economic activity,” the Commerce Department wrote in a report to the energy policy task force.

Inside Climate News asked Microsoft and Google, two of the largest data center operators in North Carolina, to disclose the amount of their sales and use tax exemptions. Microsoft directed ICN to its website that lists general economic investments; Google did not respond.

Sen. Julie Mayfield, a Buncombe County Democrat who sits on the energy policy task force, said the legislature should reconsider tax breaks for data centers, consistent with its repeal of several clean energy incentives. “If the original purpose was to incentivize data centers to come here, you could argue that the objective has been met,” she said.

The Commerce Department said it did not calculate the economic benefits of data centers because it doesn’t have the information it needs to do so. Lawmakers would have to change the reporting requirements “to know the true value of the exemptions.”

Scott Mooneyham, a spokesman for the NC League of Municipalities, said the group hasn’t taken a position on the tax exemptions. For some member cities and towns, data centers, when appropriately sited, “have been seen as a huge boost to property tax revenues,” he said. “Others have been concerned about proposals that, based on the potential sites, could create quality of life issues for residents and damage surrounding home values.” 

Google has operated a large data center since 2007 in Lenoir, a small town in Caldwell County at the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The company says it has invested $600 million in the project and plans a $1 billion expansion.

Yet it’s difficult to know how Google’s presence has influenced the county’s economy. Caldwell is a Tier 1 county, a Commerce Department designation for those most economically distressed. 

In media reports, the company has said 400 people work at the data center, but the precise number of employees is a “trade secret,” according to an agreement signed in 2024 with the county and city. Google’s energy, water, and sewer use is also confidential.

Caldwell County and Lenoir also gave Google property tax incentives, contingent on the company’s financial investments for the expansion, which includes the creation of 30 additional jobs. Google paid roughly $5.2 million in property taxes last year, county records show, nearly 10 percent of the county’s total property tax collection.

At the energy task force meeting, Rep. Pricey Harrison, a Democrat from Guilford County, asked commerce officials to include two metrics if they can eventually analyze the costs and benefits of data centers: residents’ health impacts and quality of life.

“It’s not all numbers,” she said.

2026-04-13 04:20:56

Hungary’s much-watched national election—a competition between Trump and Putin-aligned authoritarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán and centrist opposition leader Peter Magyar—has ended with a devastating rebuke to the right-wing leader. Orbán conceded his party’s defeat before midnight today.

Already sixteen years in power, Orbán was looking for another four-year term and a renewed majority for his hard-right party, Fidesz. Instead, Magyar appears to have clinched a clear win for himself and a two-thirds parliamentary majority for the opposition party Tisza.

My colleague Marianne Szegedy-Maszak covered the race, its outsized implications, and the quest of “one of the most successful populist strongmen of the 21^st century” to save his career in a comprehensive piece this week—just updated to reflect Magyar’s win.

For Hungarians, this election is existential, and exhausting. A pervasive sense of anxiety permeates conversations in social media and within families, and even casual interactions are charged. Hungarians have faced the complete Fidesz takeover of traditional media channels, and turned to Facebook and alternative media channels, which are abuzz with conversation, debate, and sharing of insights—or the latest Fidesz outrage. A friend in Budapest hinted darkly at a national curfew after the election, and one of my Hungarian cousins said her hairstylist was so spent that he planned to take Monday off to recover—as did her husband.

For many Americans, of course, Orbán’s Hungary is a miniature version of Trump’s US—indeed, in some ways, it may have served as a role model for MAGA in its crusade to dismantle democratic institutions and crucial elements of civil society. When Trump first ran for election in 2016, Orbán had already “built the wall”—in his case, an electrified razor wire fence constructed by prisoners—on Hungary’s southern border, attempting to staunch the flow of Syrian refugees who, to be sure, were more likely to use Hungary as a transit point than a final destination. This also allowed Orbán to declare a “state of emergency,” which has not been lifted since. Sound familiar?

Among its many implications internationally, the defeat is a public rebuke to Vice President JD Vance, who campaigned for Orbán during several days before Sunday’s election. And in at least one respect, Orbán—an erstwhile democracy activist—might be less autocratic than Trump: He’s already publicly conceded his loss.

2026-04-13 03:37:19

This week, the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC)—the federal agency that oversees Wall Street—announced that it has brought almost 30 percent fewer new enforcement actions against companies in the first year of the Trump administration.

In practice, this means that the SEC is bringing fewer cases against bad actors in the financial markets for crimes like insider trading or fraud. That contradicts statements that the SEC’s head, Paul Atkins, made to Congress in February, disputing reports that suggested his agency was prosecuting fewer crimes, and assuring lawmakers that SEC enforcement work had not seen a steep decline.

In its release of case numbers this week, the agency framed its enforcement drop as an effort to focus more on cases where investors saw direct harm and to better use agency resources.

“Regrettably, such resources have been misapplied in prior years to pursue media headlines and run up numbers, and in turn, led to misguided expectations on what constitutes effective enforcement,” the SEC wrote in its statement.

The agency’s report of its enforcement numbers got minimal attention this week, likely because it was issued just hours after President Trump issued a threat to annihilate the people of Iran that raised mass alarm of war crimes or potential nuclear warfare. (The president later walked back his threats.)

The SEC’s data release comes after months of signs that have pointed to unprecedented lenience by the agency toward financial crimes. In the last year, the SEC suddenly shut down many of the cases against cryptocurrency firms initiated under Biden-era leadership: It dismissed a case against Coinbase one month after Trump’s second inauguration, then halted a prosecution against a Chinese crypto entrepreneur who bought millions in tokens from a Trump family crypto venture, and a few months later threw out a case against crypto giant Binance. (The White House also pardoned both the firm itself and ex-CEO Changpeng Zhao.)

A private sector analysis from an economic consulting firm that partnered with NYU to scour court records for SEC actions raised the possibility of a 30 percent drop in prosecutions in November. It also noted that financial fines obtained by the SEC had dropped to their lowest level in more than a decade.

This March, Sen. Jack Reed (D-R.I.) sent a letter to the SEC expressing his own concerns about the agency’s falling enforcement efforts. He noted that staffing at the corporate watchdog has dropped by 17 percent, with many of those cuts specifically in the enforcement division. Financial fines collected by the SEC, he wrote, had dropped by 45 percent, while “disgorgement,” a process where the SEC requires companies to return profits that were obtained through ill-gotten means, had fallen by a staggering 98 percent. Sen. Elizabeth Warren (D-Mass.) sent the agency two letters last month expressing similar concerns.

That same month, the SEC’s enforcement chief—the top lawyer in charge of bringing cases against companies—abruptly resigned after just six months on the job because she clashed with some of the agency’s Republican political appointees in trying to more aggressively pursue financial fraud charges, “including in cases that touched the president’s circle,” according to Reuters.

The day after it released its decreased enforcement numbers, the SEC finally announced Ryan’s replacement. The new enforcement chief will be David Woodcock, an attorney who previously led the SEC’s regional office in Fort Worth, Texas. Following that job, he went into private practice at Gibson Dunn, helping to defend companies facing SEC enforcement actions.

2026-04-13 03:34:05

Unable to quickly remove Iranian mines from the Strait of Hormuz—the world’s most important oil transit corridor—with its current equipment, the US is switching tack: President Trump announced Sunday in two Truth Social posts that the Navy will launch its own blockade of “any and all Ships trying to enter, or leave” the passage, and intercept those that have paid Iran’s tolls to cross.

The announcement will almost certainly mean a further spike in oil prices when markets open on Monday, and it’s a move that does little to help Trump’s sagging domestic approval, leaving much of Iran’s hold on the global oil supply intact Gasoline costs will keep rising. Military commitments and expenses, will keep growing. The MAGA coalition will continue to crack.

Meanwhile, Trump’s two main promises on Hormuz this weekend, to clear Iranian sea mines from the strait—efforts he said were “starting” in another Truth Social post Saturday—and to detain “every vessel in International Waters that has paid a toll to Iran,” are dubious.

That’s first and foremost because the US doesn’t have the resources to get rid of the sea mines. State-of-the-art demining vessels, if left alone by Iran, could clear the strait in a matter of weeks or months. But the Navy has no “significant mine clearing capability,” the Wall Street Journal reported in March, and its unmanned anti-mine vessels are unreliable even in clear waters that pose far less of a challenge than Hormuz. 

Detaining the ships that pay Iran’s tolls also seems pretty unlikely. To pull it off, Trump seems poised to try to open his own safe channel across the strait, competing with the route Iran has set up to guide ships through the mine-filled waters: Two US destroyers apparently crossed Hormuz on Saturday “to demonstrate to commercial tankers that the waterway could be transited safely.”

A safe alternate path under American management would force oil buyers to pick a side: Iran or the US.

Among the problems with that plan: First, China buys most of Iran’s oil. Will the US actually detain those tankers if they pay Iran’s tolls, and risk escalating a series of showdowns with China that have so far not gone well for Trump? Second, many ships on the Iranian route do not pay tolls. How will Washington check which ones did pay in order to detain them? And what will it do with the ships: fine them, effectively charging a second toll?

Given those realities, it seems that all Trump did on Sunday was announce changes that make an already volatile situation more difficult. Trump’s blockade makes safe transit across the waterway even more confusing and uncertain—raising questions of whether deadly mines will still linger in the strait, of how to safely move oil, and virtually ensuring that crude prices will remain damagingly high for months to come.