The most visceral blow to the critical ecosystem underpinning American life is the continuing hollowing out of legacy media. The Washington Post has laid off its entire photography staff and Pulitzer Prize-winning art critic Sebastian Smee, a retreat from curated expertise that leaves the nation’s seat of power with fewer professional eyes. This media contraction is a national trend, as the Atlanta Journal-Constitution has simultaneously cut 15% of its staff, targeting nearly half of those cuts in the newsroom.
In Philadelphia, a legal battle has erupted over the removal of a memorial to the enslaved people of George Washington’s household, an act of erasure that many residents view as a direct attack on the city’s hard-won historical reckoning. This shift toward a more “palatable” national narrative is echoed on the National Mall, where the Smithsonian Folklife Festival is being replaced this summer by a “Great American State Fair”—a pivot from artisanal depth to populist spectacle.
The institutional survival strategy of the moment seems to be a curious mix of “Boosterism”—betting on optimism as a viable economic engine—and a retreat to the digital. This optimism has reached a literal, golden peak with crypto investors spending $300,000 to create a 15-foot gold-leaf statue of the President. The underlying numbers tell a different story: the Minnesota Orchestra reached record earned revenue in 2025, but still ended the season with a $4.2 million deficit, proving that even capacity crowds cannot outpace modern operating costs.
The mass-market paperback—the once-ubiquitous “pulp” that democratized reading in supermarkets and drugstores—is steadily disappearing, displaced by the screen and the more expensive trade edition. In Japan, even the physical experience of beauty is being withdrawn; a major cherry-blossom festival has been canceled because of the “belligerent” and destructive behavior of modern tourists.
