In the 21st century, society is no longer defined by kings, inherited aristocracies, or rigid class systems where wealth stays permanently concentrated in a few hands. We do not live in a world where people are forced into fixed social positions based on birth. Instead, we live in a democratic, market-driven era where economic outcomes are fluid: the child of a billionaire can lose everything, while a child born in poverty can become a global success. This fluidity is one of the defining features of modern capitalism and it is what makes opportunity powerful. Against this backdrop, Zohran Mamdani’s economic approach—where he sharply increases taxes on the wealthy—raises a deeper question: does it strengthen opportunity, or does it risk weakening the very system that allows people to rise? Mamdani’s central argument is that taxing the rich more heavily will generate resources to support ordinary people and address inequality. On the surface, this message resonates in a city like New York where housing costs, income disparities, and living expenses remain high. However, the core issue is not whether the rich should contribute—most already do through taxes and economic activity—but whether higher and more targeted taxation of wealth creators can reliably improve long-term outcomes for everyone else. The danger, critics argue, is that redistribution alone does not generate new wealth; it only reallocates existing wealth. The deeper flaw in this approach is the assumption that wealth is static and simply concentrated in a fixed group. In reality, wealth in America is constantly being created, lost, rebuilt, and transferred across generations. The modern economy is not a closed system of permanent elites; it is a dynamic environment shaped by entrepreneurship, risk-taking, innovation, and failure. Policy, therefore, should focus not only on redistribution, but on preserving the conditions that allow upward mobility to continue. This is where the broader story of economic success becomes important. Many of the individuals often labeled as “wealthy elites” are not products of inherited privilege, but of dramatic upward mobility. For example, Oprah Winfrey rose from extreme poverty in rural Mississippi to build a global media empire. This is not an isolated case: Howard Schultz grew up in Brooklyn’s public housing before transforming Starbucks into an international brand; Ralph Lauren came from a modest immigrant family in the Bronx before creating a fashion empire; Larry Ellison was adopted into a working-class household and went on to found Oracle; Kenneth Langone, the son of a plumber and a cafeteria worker, helped build Home Depot into a retail giant; David Murdock struggled financially after military service before becoming a major business leader; Alan Gerry grew up during the Great Depression before building a telecommunications empire; John Paul DeJoria was once homeless before creating Paul Mitchell and Patrón; Harold Hamm rose from the son of Oklahoma sharecroppers to build an energy fortune; J.K. Rowling went from financial hardship as a single mother to global literary success; Guy Laliberté began as a street performer before founding Cirque du Soleil. There are even more to name: Kenny Troutt, Do Won Chang, Stephen Bisciotti, Shahid Khan, George Soros, Jan Koum, Roman Abramovich, Leonardo Del Vecchio, and François Pinault. They all reflect variations of the same theme which is that wealth in modern economies is often created, not inherited. The same pattern is visible within New York’s own economic story. Howard Schultz’s journey from Brooklyn public housing to global entrepreneurship and Jan Koum’s rise from immigrant hardship to building WhatsApp both demonstrate how the city and its broader ecosystem have historically enabled upward mobility. Kenneth Langone’s path from a blue-collar family to high finance reinforces the idea that opportunity—not origin—is the key driver of success. It is precisely this mobility that makes the debate over taxation so consequential. Critics of aggressive tax policies argue that while the intention may be to reduce inequality, the unintended consequence could be reduced investment and slower economic growth. Business leaders have voiced concern about rhetoric that frames wealth creation negatively. Citadel CEO Ken Griffin criticized Mamdani’s messaging as hostile toward successful entrepreneurs, warning that such attitudes can influence where firms choose to invest. Others, including major financial leaders like Jamie Dimon, have cautioned that policy discussions should prioritize long-term economic competitiveness and growth rather than focusing narrowly on redistributive measures. Supporters of higher taxation argue that the goal is fairness and social support, not punishment of success. And it is true that inequality is a real and persistent issue in modern cities. However, reducing inequality can happen in two fundamentally different ways: by lifting those at the bottom or by discouraging those at the top. History shows that cities and economies thrive most when they expand opportunity broadly rather than shrink success. The concern, therefore, is not whether the wealthy should contribute—they already do—but whether policy will maintain the conditions that allow future entrepreneurs to emerge. New York became a global financial and cultural center precisely because it attracted investment, ambition, and talent from around the world. If the city becomes perceived as a place where success is heavily penalized, capital and talent may increasingly flow elsewhere. Ultimately, the debate is not about protecting billionaires, but about protecting mobility. A healthy economy is not one where wealth is frozen and redistributed, but one where new wealth is constantly being created and more people have the chance to rise. Mamdani’s “tax the rich” agenda may generate political support in the short term, but the long-term challenge is ensuring that New York remains a place where the next generation of entrepreneurs, innovators, and workers can still build something from nothing. That is the foundation of the American Dream, and it is what determines whether prosperity expands—or simply gets reshuffled.
By Susmita Majumder
The recent incident on the White House grounds did more than record another security scare. It slipped almost immediately into a larger narrative that has been assembling for some time now. That system casts Donald Trump as the unflinching man’s man, the figure who does not blink when the shots come. While simultaneously selling fear to the public, every close call seems to feed the pattern. Danger becomes proof of strength, and the story finds an audience among many of the voters who helped return him to power. It began most clearly with the photograph from Butler, Pennsylvania. Trump raises his fist while Secret Service agents hustle him offstage urging his supporters to “fight”. The image moved everywhere at once. Supporters saw defiance. Critics saw political theater. Either way, the photograph became a defining image of the 2024 campaign. As Associated Press reporting observed, the raised fist came to symbolize resilience and defiance for many supporters. Since then, each new incident seems to replay the same rhythm. Threat appears. The response is steadiness. The message follows: keep fighting, keep moving forward. It’s visible in the way UFC president Dana White reacted to the recent disturbance at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner. While others dropped for cover amid confusion and reports of gunfire, White described remaining upright and taking in the scene. “It was fucking awesome,” he told The Guardian. “I literally took every minute of it in. It was a pretty crazy, unique experience.” Most people would not regard a security scare as an exhilarating experience. That is precisely why the remark resonated with White’s audience. In a culture built around combat sports, toughness is more than a personal quality. It is an ideal. The fighter absorbs pressure and keeps moving. The fighter does not flinch. That image carries political weight because combat sports culture became an increasingly important part of Trump’s coalition during the last election. The campaign leaned into appearances at UFC events, conversations on podcasts popular with young male audiences, and a language that emphasized resilience, directness, and strength. Dana White became one of the most visible bridges between those worlds. The planned UFC event on the White House grounds pushes that connection even further. Construction crews have already begun preparing the site for the June card. According to Reuters, a temporary octagonal arena is being assembled on the South Lawn as part of celebrations tied to both Trump’s 80th birthday and the nation’s 250th anniversary. The symbolism hardly requires explanation. An octagon erected on the grounds of executive power. A venue built for physical confrontation placed at the center of American political authority. Whether one views it as celebration or spectacle, it speaks directly to the same audience that responded to the Butler photograph and to White’s unapologetic reaction to danger. What makes these moments interesting is that they tend to operate on two levels at once. There is the human reality. Ivanka Trump recently reflected on watching coverage of the Butler assassination attempt unfold in real time, describing both fear and a belief that her father would survive. The comments underscored the personal dimension that often disappears once political narratives take over. Yet public narratives form almost immediately. The danger itself becomes secondary to what the moment is taken to mean. In Trump’s case, the interpretation often reinforces an image that supporters already recognize: a leader who absorbs the blow and keeps moving forward. To many Americans, particularly those immersed in combat sports culture, the archetype is familiar. It is the fighter who walks through damage rather than around it. That is why these incidents rarely remain isolated events. Before investigations conclude and before all the facts are known, they are swiftly folded into stories that were already waiting for them. One narrative warns of rising instability, extremism, and eroding trust in public institutions. Another celebrates resilience, toughness, and unshakeable leadership. Both circulate at once, each finding a receptive audience eager to have its worldview confirmed. What lingers is a deeper question: Does this rapid absorption into familiar narratives bring us any closer to understanding the events themselves, or does it simply keep our preferred stories spinning? In an era of relentless news cycles, we as consumers play a central role in this process. We are not passive observers but active participants who often seek out content that reinforces what we already believe. Until we become more conscious of our own media habits — our tendency to favor emotional resonance over complexity, speed over scrutiny, and affirmation over nuance — this cycle of orchestrated narratives will continue. The real power lies not just in the images or the events, but in how willingly we allow them to fit the stories we’re already invested in telling.
By Erol Yilmaz
As we get further in time from the domestic terror attack of January 6th, 2021, Mike Pence’s criticisms of his former boss become more harsh. In his new book, “What Conservatives Believe”, he refutes the new American right, calling Trump’s populism “progressivism in disguise.” This conclusion is correct. A former Democrat, Trump is still the same man he was when he was putting thousands of dollars into the pockets of Chuck Schumer. He has always been more akin to William Jennings Bryan than Ronald Reagan — the latter of which was an enthusiast of amnesty and international free trade whose hawkish foreign policy was famously targeted at Russia’s norm violations. As Pence points out in his “Wall Street Journal” article promoting and summarizing his book, Trump rather explicitly disavowed the roots of the Republican Party when he said, “I’m not conservative. You know what I am? I’m a man of common sense.” In Trump’s mind, conservatism and common sense do not go hand in hand. But Pence runs into a glaring issue in his criticisms of President Trump: he elevated and worked with Donald Trump for four years. He has two options to explain those four years: Pence has chosen the second option. In the aforementioned WSJ article, he writes of the President, “In his first term as president, he acted as a conservative who sought to minimize the power of centralized government, unleash the economy and restore judicial restraint to the courts.” Portraying the Trump administration Pence worked for as intellectually honest is good PR for the former Vice President. This approach imagines Pence as someone who has reliably and consistently made the best decisions to advance the conservative cause. But it is a fantasy. Trump’s first term was a disaster for conservatism. Donald Trump did not “unleash the economy” in his first term. He only weakened it with his economic progressivism. The protectionist tariffs that have defined his second term were present, albeit to a lesser degree, in his first. The reckless spending Republicans have been railing against for decades was a defining feature of Trump’s first term, which saw over 8 trillion added to our national debt, almost reaching Obama’s historic spending in half the time. Blaming this solely on the COVID-19 pandemic is folly; Trump still added 4 trillion to the debt before the WHO declared the pandemic. Further, Pence conveniently does not invoke the foreign policy of Trump’s first term, which is indefensible from a conservative point of view. Starting with Teddy Roosevelt, Republican Presidents hawkishly punished nations that violated international rules and norms. Though this started to change with Nixon’s embrace of the PRC over Taiwan, hawkishness was reinvigorated under Reagan and reinforced with both George Bushes. Trump ran away from that. He abandoned our Kurdish allies in Syria and set into motion the disastrous withdrawal from Afghanistan. Trump failed to conserve our status as an international mediator, and now we do not even have the international credibility to exert negotiating power over Iran. Pence is a respectable man who I have had the pleasure of seeing speak. I admire him greatly, and his defiance of Trump on January 6th was nothing short of heroic. I do not refute his portrayal of Trump’s first term to encourage resentment. Rather, I want to remind other anti-Trump Republicans that, in the future, when the party is restored to its former integrity, it would be foolish to look at Trump’s first term as a valuable model of conservative policy. Rather, both his first term and his second term so far are lessons learned on the errors of “progressivism in disguise.”
By Jack Jurjans
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