Break Now, Fix Later What a ballroom can tell us about the future Ed Elson Apr 7 Here’s a question for you: What was last week’s most important headline? Was it Trump’s address to the nation (where he told us nothing)? Was it the jobs report (which will likely be revised down)? Was it the firing of Pam Bondi (who’ll likely be replaced by someone worse)? No. Last week’s most important headline was something else. Per The Wall Street Journal: JUDGE HALTS CONSTRUCTION OF TRUMP’S WHITE HOUSE BALLROOM. We’ll get to why this matters in a moment. But first, a quick refresher on this ballroom. Last summer, President Trump announced plans to build a 90,000 square-foot ballroom for a proposed budget of $200 million. (That budget has since doubled.) In order to do this he needed to demolish the East Wing, a historic portion of the White House complex that was built more than a hundred years ago. This was a controversial decision that required permission from Congress, however Trump didn’t seek any permissions and tore down the East Wing anyway, giving rise to one of the most iconic and disturbing images in recent memory. That was the East Wing seven months ago. Fast-forward to today, the structure remains obliterated, a giant crater in the middle of our nation’s most historic site. It’s an unpleasant sight, but one we assumed was temporary … until last week. A federal judge ruled the ballroom project unconstitutional, which means the ballroom may never get built — but more importantly, the East Wing will remain in ruins for the foreseeable future. This matters for historic, ceremonial, and architectural reasons obviously, but also for a more profound reason. The ballroom has become a metaphor for the President’s entire approach to policymaking. It is the mirror image of every major executive decision that has reverberated across economies, markets, and borders. It’s U.S. policy, if U.S. policy were a building. I have a name for this strategy. I call it BNFL: “Break Now, Fix Later.” It describes the President’s tendency to break things (often old and historic), promise to build something “bigger” and “better” in their place, until he realizes he doesn’t actually have the wherewithal (or the constitutional authority) to get it done — at which point he becomes bored and moves onto the next shiny object. The end result is that “the builder” never actually builds anything, but mostly just destroys things. Break Now, Fix Later. As we shall see, BNFL describes almost every important decision the President has ever made — and it may help us predict those he’ll make in the future as well. Iran Let’s start with the crisis du jour: Iran. It’s still not entirely clear why we invaded Iran. Supposedly it’s because Iran’s nuclear capabilities had grown significantly, even though he literally told us last summer that they were obliterated. Either way, the general idea was that Iran posed an “imminent threat” due to its belligerent regime led by Supreme Leader Ayatollah Khamenei. The solution, then, was obvious: Install a new regime. Indeed, Trump said regime change would be the “best thing that could happen.” As with the ballroom, the regime change operation kicked off by tearing things down. The U.S. launched more than 12,000 airstrikes on Iran, hitting 11,000 targets and more than 150 vessels. It also (according to preliminary investigations) destroyed a girls’ elementary school, killing over a hundred children in the process. Trump quickly swept those details aside and hailed the successful assassination of Ayatollah Khamenei that brought the murderous dictator’s regime to an end. A few days later, we learned who’d be running the new regime: the dictator’s son. Yes, the Iranian succession plan went exactly according to script — only instead of the 86-year-old Ayatollah dying of natural causes (which was already imminent), he was assassinated by the nation’s sworn enemy. So not only did we not install a more friendly regime, we made the existing regime even angrier and more radical. Soon after Khamenei Jr. was installed into power, Trump arrived at the “fix later” part of the operation. The “goal has been attained” he said. “We’ll be leaving very soon … within two weeks.” Few believe his new timeline after he blew the first one. But what’s more important is the sentiment: The operation was more tiring and complex than he bargained for — he’s over the whole Iran thing. A trail of destruction is left in his wake. Not just in terms of lives (nearly 4,000 and counting) but the economy too. U.S. gas prices have risen more than 30%. In Europe, they’re up more than 50%. Fertilizer prices, an essential input cost for food, have risen nearly 50%. Construction material prices are ballooning, which will lead to even higher housing costs. Investors went from expecting multiple rate cuts this year to expecting a rate hike, and recession odds have risen almost 10%. As I wrote a couple weeks ago, this war is making all of us poorer. In sum: lots got broken and nothing got fixed. Tariffs The same pattern played out last year in what has become Trump’s most defining policy: tariffs. On Liberation Day, Trump invoked the International Emergency Economic Powers Act to authorize the largest tariff hike on foreign imports in nearly a century in an attempt to rein in the trade deficit. Many of our closest allies were blindsided with tariff rates as high as 50%. He even tariffed the Heard and McDonald Islands, a territory inhabited by only seals and penguins. Chaos immediately ensued. The S&P 500 sold off nearly 10% – its largest weekly drop since the pandemic. $5 trillion in market value was erased. As Trump started to ease and pause tariffs, markets recovered — but supply chains didn’t. Nearly a third of all sea shipments were cancelled immediately. As import costs rose, companies began to pass those costs onto their customers. Within a few months inflation was ripping upward again, as nearly 80% of the tariff burden was funneling down to the consumer. The financial loss for the average American household was estimated to be nearly $2,000. Things got even stupider when the Supreme Court determined in February that the tariffs were illegal. This wasn’t a difficult decision: Trump had falsely claimed emergency powers and levied a tax on Americans without congressional approval. As our founding father James Madison put it, “Congress alone has access to the pockets of the people.” The U.S. government must now return the $160 billion it had collected over the course of the tariff saga. (In other words, this was all for nothing.) Ironically, despite bearing the majority of the costs, consumers won’t see a penny back as they did not directly pay the tariffs themselves. So not only did we not get anything done, we also set back American households even further. #BNFL. DOGE A major component of the Trump 2.0 agenda was to reduce wasteful government spending. The goal was, in Trump’s words, “to do what has not been done in 24 years: balance the budget.” So he created the “Department of Government Efficiency” and employed Elon Musk to get it done. Within days it was clear how Elon and Trump had a shared passion for blowing things up. They immediately ripped up thousands of contracts, fired more than 200,000 government workers, and fed an entire agency known as USAID “into the wood chipper.” It’s estimated the elimination of USAID (which specialized in foreign assistance) will lead to nearly 10 million preventable deaths over the next four years. A high price, but a price they were willing to pay. That was until DOGE got shut down. After a highly predictable falling-out between the President and Mr. Musk, the agency was quietly dissolved and its employees let go. The department said it saved $215 billion. Independent analyses have concluded the real number was a fraction of that, but for simplicity’s sake we’ll go with it. On their own terms those results were underwhelming: Elon’s original projection was $2 trillion. It wouldn’t be a true BNFL, however, if Trump didn’t actively make matters worse — and in the case of government efficiency, that’s exactly what he did. Right as Elon was cancelling spending plans, Trump was building a new one: the One Big Beautiful Bill Act, which would prove to be one of the largest government expenditures in American history. The bill both reduced revenues and increased spending, loading up our government with an additional $850 billion in expected interest payments, and adding an estimated $4.2 trillion to our national debt over the next decade. There is literally no bill less efficient than this, which begs the obvious question: What was DOGE even for? Take Your Pick So far we’ve reviewed three major policy decisions, each of which were quintessentially BNFL, but let’s be clear, there have been plenty more. For example: Promising (threatening) to “take” Greenland, thus ruining our relationships with NATO allies, only to get distracted and ultimately reverse the decision on the global stage. Pressuring the Fed Chair to cut rates (and threatening to fire him), which eventually raised yields as investors priced in the danger of an un-independent Federal Reserve, only to walk back his comments and let Powell play out the rest of his term. Pursuing greater energy independence with “Drill, Baby, Drill” policies, which actually just meant gutting clean energy programs, which backfired when we spiked oil prices with yet another war in the Middle East making us even more in need of renewable energy than we already were. Like the ballroom, each policy starts with a grand vision that could feasibly be framed as a net positive for society but is soon followed by a cynical fit of destruction. Then, once it’s time to actually build the thing, the circumstances suddenly change and it’s no longer possible. The strategy amounts to annihilation. It’s “move fast and break things,” minus the innovation. Two Interpretations There are two ways to interpret the BNFL strategy. One reading is that he’s simply in over his head. After all, it’s easier to break things than to make things. To build anything worthwhile, you have to invest time and effort, you have to achieve a consensus, you have to pay attention to detail, and the President has no interest in any of these things. There’s also a darker interpretation, however, and although I don’t necessarily believe it, I think it would be unwise to rule it out. That reading is the following: Maybe he genuinely only wants to destroy things. Maybe this systematic pattern of destruction is actually by design, and his promises to build things anew are in fact lies designed to conceal his thirst for destruction. That would make him a psychopath, sure, and psychopaths are rare. At the same time, though, the probability that a series of policies would all lead to the same destructive end by accident is … equally rare. Again, I’m not saying I believe this interpretation. I’m just saying it’s possible. Artemis I’ve struggled to write this, as every time I try to type my mind returns to Artemis II. More specifically, it returns to the mission’s recent image of Earth, which will go down as one of the most iconic images ever. The image is a reminder that to build anything worthwhile takes time. It took nearly a decade of planning to send these astronauts into space. The astronauts themselves prepared for this specific mission for more than three years. The operation didn’t just involve them, but the coordinated efforts of tens of thousands of people. Nothing this hard could ever get done without collaboration and planning. In a way, it’s the opposite of BNFL. Build now, fix … forever. A stark contrast to the image with which this post began. See you next week,

NEW INC. MAGAZINE COLUMN FROM HOWARD TULLMAN

 

What No One Tells You About Life After Work (and Why Your Old Playbook Won’t Save You)

Your post-employment days are likely to be much longer than you might think.

EXPERT OPINION BY HOWARD TULLMAN, GENERAL MANAGING PARTNER, G2T3V AND CHICAGO HIGH TECH INVESTORS @HOWARDTULLMAN1

Apr 7, 2026

 

One of the great quotes from the writer and podcaster Gretchen Rubin is that “the days are long, but the years are short.” Every day may seem like a dreary Sisyphean struggle, but then one day you wake up and you’re carrying a cardboard box of your belongings out of the building and on your way to whatever’s next. Whether you want to admit it or not, for millions of us, retirement—whether voluntary or otherwise—is much closer than we imagine and now’s the time to start thinking about it.

I’m not talking about anything relating to financial matters, buying cheap life insurance, or whether it’s wise to have a will. You can see ads for those concerns everywhere you look. I’m talking about making some plans and decisions about how you’re going to spend your post-employment days which—in somewhat of a mixed blessing way—are likely to be much longer than you might think.

For better or worse, we’re living much longer these days, although the quality of life in those bonus “golden” years is an entirely different question. This longevity is largely because we’re paying much more attention to our diets, we’re exercising more regularly, the meds and medical treatments available to keep us alive are far more powerful and effective, and only the morons are still smoking and/or drinking too much.

Having lived through this transitional process several times and talked with dozens of others who are similarly situated, I have a few ideas and suggestions, warnings and words of encouragement, and other observations which I hope will be of value to you as you start to give some serious thought to an increasingly uncertain and challenging future.

First of all, try to avoid squandering your savings, severance and social security payments (such as they may soon be) on a startup or in buying a quaint neighborhood business that you’ve always liked and frequented. You may think you’re ready to roll up your sleeves, do whatever it takes, and jump back into the game, but the game has changed radically in many ways and you’re most likely not up to the task. And if my list of perils isn’t persuasive enough, try filling out a loan application or a new credit card app and putting the words “unemployed” or “retired” on the form. The word “retired” on a loan app is like a bright red stop sign for lenders—even at your own bank—and the pitiful excuses they give you are even more depressing.

Second, don’t try to teach anyone younger than 35 anything. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a bunch of high school kids who really don’t care, college students who simply can’t be bothered, or MBAs in grad school who think they already know everything. You probably don’t have the patience to deal with their lack of patience, the thick skin to deal with their arrogance, or the disposition to put up with their indifference and laziness. Worse yet, if you try to instill a little rigor or discipline, it’s like walking on eggshells among a bunch of snowflakes. It turns out too often that you’re the nasty ogre who just doesn’t get it. Teaching exec education courses is a slightly safer path, but even there no one is really interested in paying a ton of money to hear you rehash your old war stories.

Third, don’t expect or try to replace your prior earnings. That’s a pipe dream. It’s an employers’ market and there are dozens of over-qualified and out-of-work candidates chasing the same slots and opportunities. Sadly, it’s often a race to the bottom in terms of salary or other compensation and it rarely includes health insurance or other fringe benefits. It takes an especially strong stomach to settle for something which you regard as beneath your abilities and experience and it’s even more painful when you end up reporting to supervisors and managers who may be younger than your own grown kids.

Fourth, most of your technical skills are going to be regarded as anchors to the past rather than valuable tools. Look for jobs that take advantage of your negotiating experience, social skills, and storytelling ability. These may be the most satisfying positions anyway because you won’t be spending your days in a race trying to catch up with constant technological changes and dealing with patronizing nerds who are half your age.

Fifth, get comfortable with answering the omnipresent question: what are you doing now? Men and women who have worked hard and successfully for decades have a great deal of difficulty answering this inquiry without being embarrassed in one way or another. If you’ve retired after 40 or 50 years, be proud of that and understand that it’s perfectly fine to say either that you’re doing “nothing” or that you’re “looking” for what’s next. You’ve earned a break and some time off and there’s nothing to be ashamed of or any obligation on your part to be rushing around trying to get back in the saddle.

And finally, remember that it’s a great time to get back in touch with your kids, grandkids, and old friends you haven’t seen lately. You never know how much time you have left and no one’s kids ever said, “we wish he’d spent more time at the office.”  

 

Frank Bruni

 

We’re supposed to give students a map. I don’t even know the terrain.

	By Frank Bruni

It’s sweetly customary for college students filing out of a seminar room or lecture hall to thank the professor who has just finished jabbering at them, as if all that verbiage were a favor rather than a job. I’m amused by it and grateful for it every time.

But my students this semester often murmur something else as well.

“That was depressing,” one student said — not rudely, not as a complaint, but as an accurate summary of a discussion we just had about all the falsehoods and fury that thrive in the digital age.

“Another uplifting class” was another student’s sarcastic review of a conversation about the volume and variety of President Trump’s litigation against news organizations, whose economic and reputational woes are exacerbated by his attacks.

Clearly, some adjustments are in order. But how do I describe this troubled world of ours — the grave crossroads we straddle, the mighty stakes of our decisions — in a manner both truthful and gentle? How do I gird my students for the uncertainties and obstacles ahead while equipping them with an ample store of hope?

I’ve been on the faculty at Duke University for five years now, and this past one has been the most challenging and the strangest by far.

That’s not about Duke. It’s about higher education. It’s about America. It’s about dynamics — chiefly, this country’s tilt toward authoritarianism and the rapidly accelerating advances of A.I. — that render our tomorrows even hazier than usual. None of us knows what we’re in for and up against, and that confusion crystallizes on college campuses, which are by definition gateways to the future. They’re supposed to leave students with maps, routes, a destination. Not with compasses whose needles gyrate this way and that.

For much of the past decade, college students flocked to computer science, wagering that few majors were surer on-ramps to employment. A.I. has exploded that roadway. I teach in Duke’s school of public policy, where many students point themselves toward jobs in government or nonprofit groups. The ax that fell in the first months of Trump’s present term deforested that landscape.

Those are just examples, and this is hardly the first generation of young people to face disruption and major economic shifts. I can’t say just how unusual, in a historic sense, the unease that I feel around me is.

But I can tell you that my previous nine semesters at Duke are no rival for this one when it comes to the number of students who initiate conversations about what they should do next, what they should expect after that, where the country is headed, whether they’ll have any real say in that. I can tell you that their miens are darker, their voices more tremulous. I’m like a Magic 8 Ball who won’t — who can’t — disgorge the desired answers no matter how tightly it’s clutched, how vigorously it’s shaken. One of my faculty colleagues said recently that he’d never felt so inadequate as a mentor. Same here.

And we are both dealing with an extraordinarily lucky group of young people talented, driven or connected enough to breach the sanctum of a highly selective university whose resources and range of course offerings rank it among the nation’s best schools. Still, their advantages can’t compete with their apprehensions.

They’re undoubtedly picking up on their elders’ anxiety. We’re trying to manage not only their fears and bafflement but also our own. News stories about universities since Trump returned to the White House focus on huge funding cuts for research, which have led to painful belt tightening at Duke and other schools; on investigations into admissions practices and incidents of antisemitism; and on fines, more or less, for institutions at odds with Trump’s agenda. But the Trump administration’s impact on campuses has been more sweeping than that.

There’s a nagging sense of being surveilled by invisible eyes. No one wants to draw the White House’s ire. So some of us deliberate how carefully we should watch our language, avoiding “diversity” and “equity” and the Trump administration’s other dirty words. Some of us go out of our way to make our receptiveness to a broad spectrum of ideologies clear and not to play into progressive caricatures. But which adjustments are reasonable corrections of past mistakes, which are defensible self-preservation and which are cop-outs?

And what’s my purpose? A.I. isn’t just upending the job market; it’s raising questions about the necessity and utility of an array of skills. I teach writing, which is increasingly being outsourced to bots. Some are scarily adept at it. So should I pivot to bot maximization? Should other professors in other disciplines?

But what puzzles me even more is how to respond to a concern wisely articulated by Robert Pondiscio, a former public school teacher who is now a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute, in several essays and in public remarks. He has been sounding an alarm about “the unbearable bleakness of American schooling,” a trend that predates Trump’s political ascent and that the president and his compatriots have used as populist fodder.

“If you simply listen to the stories we tell students,” Pondiscio wrote in a newsletter late last year, we promote “a view of the world in which everything is broken, corrupt, dangerous or doomed.” But optimism, he argued, is an essential civic virtue. “No society can expect its children to engage with a world they think has already given up on them.”

This world hasn’t. If I’ve given my students the opposite impression, I’ve screwed up. I need to communicate that for all this country’s current trials, it still brims with opportunities, its promise greater than its woes. And a blurry future isn’t the same as a bleak one. It just asks today’s college students to be especially nimble and patient. And it demands that those of us who stand before them work extra hard to find an honest balance between uncomfortable reckonings and reasons not to despair.