The Man Who Would Not Vouch

Near the end of A Man in Full, Charlie Croker stands at a podium in Atlanta with the mayor behind him and declines to say what he has been paid to say.

The deal was simple. Wes Jordan, the young Black mayor, believes the city will burn if a Georgia Tech running back named Fareek Fanon is arrested for raping the daughter of a rich white businessman. Croker was a Georgia Tech hero in his own day and carries weight with white Atlanta. If he holds a press conference and declares Fanon innocent, the mayor will intervene with the bank that is dismantling him.

Croker knows nothing about the case. He meets Fanon and hates Fanon as anyone in his position would, and he assumes Fanon did it. The accuser’s father is his friend. And he needs the money more than he has ever needed anything.

He gets to the podium, says he has been threatened with ruin unless he vouches for a man he cannot vouch for, tells his creditors to come and take everything, and walks out.

Tom Wolfe (1930-2018) published that in 1998. In July 2026, thirteen thousand people signed a letter stating that plagiarism allegations against a Cambridge professor were entirely false, and among the first thirty-eight signatories were three heads of Cambridge colleges, five members of the House of Lords, six MPs, and the director of the university’s autism research centre. Almost none of them had read either of the two doctoral theses at issue. The letter’s assurance was not a finding. It was a character reference, produced because institutions needed one to exist.

Wolfe wrote the scene of a man refusing to supply it. Nobody has yet written the scene of thirteen thousand people supplying it for free.

Wolfe is periodically enlisted as a truth-teller about Black behavior, which is a radioactive claim. The more socially acceptable claim is that Wolfe’s subject is white institutional need. In each of these episodes the moral weight falls on the people with the money and the letterhead, and the Black figures in the frame are responding rationally to a demand that somebody else created and advertised. That is why he stayed publishable for fifty years while writing material nobody else would touch, and it is also what makes the work bear on the Jason Arday Cambridge plagiarism scandal.

Start with an early case.

Mau-Mauing the Flak Catchers, 1970. The San Francisco poverty program had money to distribute and no way to tell a real community organization from a man who walked in claiming one. It had no membership rolls, no audits, no method. What it had was a room, a scheduled meeting, and a bureaucrat whose job was to absorb whatever came through the door.

So the program selected on the only signal available, which was the performance. The groups that got funded were the ones that arrived in numbers, made noise, and frightened the man behind the desk. Wolfe reports that Samoans did unusually well because they were large. The confrontations were theater with a script both sides understood, and the flak catcher’s function was to take the abuse and produce a check.

Wolfe’s charge is against the program. It specified the performance, advertised the specification, paid for compliance, and then affected surprise at the performers it attracted.

That is a complete theory of a selection problem, written thirty-four years before the sociology of cultural trauma got around to carrier groups, and it applies without alteration to a system that rewards a particular biography and then expresses astonishment when biographies of that shape keep arriving.

Radical Chic is the same year and the same operation in a penthouse on Park Avenue. Leonard Bernstein (1918-1990) and his guests are certifying the Black Panthers, and the criterion of authenticity is menace, which is a standard no amount of reporting could confirm or refute. The detail that carries the essay is the staffing. The Bernsteins could not have Black servants passing canapés to Black revolutionaries, so they hired South Americans. Wolfe understood that the entire evening was a problem of staging.

He is markedly fairer to the Panthers than to the hosts. The Panthers want money and say so. The hosts want to be observed wanting to give it.

In The Bonfire of the Vanities the phrase is the Great White Defendant. Abe Weiss, the Bronx district attorney, convicts Black and Puerto Rican defendants every day of the year and needs a white one before the election, because the legitimacy of his office depends on it. The need precedes the case. When Sherman McCoy appears, he is not discovered so much as filled in.

Sherman spends the novel unable to settle what happened on the ramp. Two young men approached him in the dark and he has never known whether they meant to rob him or to help.

The other half runs through Reverend Bacon, whose funding from the Episcopal diocese is nominally for a day-care center. Wolfe’s suggestion is that the white donors would rather not learn what the money does, because learning would oblige them to act on it. The day-care center that does not quite exist is the same object as a five-and-a-half-million-pound fundraising total attributed to collectives whose members are said to be covered by non-disclosure agreements.

And then A Man in Full.

Notice what the mayor’s motive is — riot prevention. Jordan is a competent politician managing a city, and buying a testimonial from a bankrupt white businessman is the cheapest available instrument. Croker is a trad who assumes the worst about Fanon and would say the opposite for money. Inman Armholster wants his daughter’s account believed and will not let her go to the police. Everyone is acting rationally. Nobody is lying. And the process cannot produce a true statement about what happened in that dorm room, because no participant has any reason to produce one.

Liverpool John Moores investigated and cleared Arday. Cambridge said the responsibility lay with the awarding institution and called the allegations a smear. A publication (Times Higher Education) with a sixty-three page dossier of text comparisons dropped the story on receipt of a letter from a defamation firm. Simon & Schuster is publishing the memoir on schedule. A campaigning organization is collecting signatures. Every one of those actors is behaving sensibly given its position, and the arrangement has no station at which a person with the power to find out has a reason to want to.

Wolfe always includes the broker, and the broker is usually the one who decides what the story will be. Albert Vogel and Reverend Bacon hand Peter Fallow his exclusive and tell him to run with it. Roger White III, called Roger Too White, moves between Croker and the mayor and is the only man in the novel who understands both rooms. He is also Wolfe’s best Black character.

The brokers’ interests match neither the institution’s nor the subject’s. They are paid in access and relevance, both of which increase with the intensity of the conflict. A man whose standing depends on there being a fight will reliably locate one.

Both novels have been filmed. They were made thirty-four years apart, by different studios, in different decades of American racial politics, and they solved the same problem by opposite methods.

Take the first.

Brian De Palma made The Bonfire of the Vanities for Warner Bros in 1990. Wolfe’s trial judge is Myron Kovitsky, a Jewish judge who faces down a courtroom mob. On screen he is Judge Leonard White, played by Morgan Freeman.

Julie Salamon had access to the production and published The Devil’s Candy about it the following year. Her account is that De Palma decided the script needed a sympathetic African American character, and that Alan Arkin, already cast and signed for a modest fee, was paid to go away so Freeman could be hired at a much larger one. Other accounts put the decision with the studio, which was worried about the film’s racial politics.

Now watch what the film does with Wolfe’s argument.

In the closing scene the judge denounces Reverend Bacon for race-baiting. He denounces the district attorney for pursuing the case to court minority voters rather than in the interest of justice. He tells a courtroom full of people that they have no standing to feel self-righteous. Then he asks them to be decent.

That is Wolfe’s charge, delivered from the bench, in a major studio release at Christmas 1990. It survived because of who was speaking it.

Three quieter changes in the same film run the same direction.

Reverend Bacon goes from what Roger Ebert called the scheming, intelligent grafter of the novel to a comic blowhard. That may be the most effective of the three. A competent operator indicts a system, because a system is what he operates in. A buffoon indicts nobody. Making a man ridiculous removes the institutional charge while leaving the character on screen, and nobody can accuse you of having softened anything.

The two youths on the expressway ramp become menacing symbols. In the novel Sherman is haunted by the possibility that they meant to help him, and the possibility is never resolved. The irresolution is the book’s subject. Nobody with the power to find out has any reason to want to. The film answers the question the novel refuses to answer, and a story about institutional incuriosity becomes a story about a man wrongly accused.

And Peter Fallow becomes the narrator. He still arrives drunk at the Pulitzer banquet in the opening scene, so Wolfe’s joke is technically preserved. But the audience now watches the whole affair through the eyes of the man who laundered Rifkind’s word and invented Rifkind’s quotation. Wolfe’s Fallow is the machine. De Palma’s is the guide.

Now the second.

David E. Kelley (b. 1956) made A Man in Full into six compelling Netflix episodes in May 2024. The Fanon storyline is deleted. There is no Black athlete, no accusation, no white heiress, no purchased press conference, no dilemma for Croker.

In its place, the mayor schemes to expose a decades-old sexual assault committed by his opponent in the mayoral race, a white right-wing challenger named Norman Raymond, and he is portrayed by actor Peter Pasco, and the accuser is a woman played by Lucy Liu.

Conrad Hensley, the white warehouse worker from Oakland whose imprisonment and discovery of Epictetus form the philosophical spine of the novel, is recast as a Black man in Atlanta, played by Jon Michael Hill, convicted of assaulting a violent police officer over a parking dispute and freed at trial by Roger White.

And the Stoicism is gone, which means the adaptation removed Wolfe’s diagnosis and his remedy in the same pass and kept the corporate melodrama.

Set the two racial substitutions side by side. A Black man accused of raping a white woman becomes a white politician accused of assaulting a woman. A white man brutalized by the criminal justice system becomes a Black man brutalized by a police officer.

Two solutions, then, to one problem.

In 1990 the criticism was kept and the speaker was changed. In 2024 the criticism was cut and the accused was changed. The earlier film relicensed Wolfe’s argument by putting it in a permitted mouth. The later one moved the accusation onto a permitted target and deleted whatever would not move.

The 1990 method is the more sophisticated of the two and it leaves the work with something to say. Freeman’s speech is the most Wolfean thing in the picture. The 2024 method leaves nothing, which is what nearly every reviewer registered without quite naming: an adaptation whose subject has been removed and whose plot has been retained.

Two things follow.

The first is that this is documented. Salamon was in the room. The decision to change the judge’s ethnicity, the money paid to remove one actor and hire another, the reasoning offered at the time, all of it has been on the record for thirty-five years. That converts an inference into a minuted meeting.

In 1998 a major American novelist could publish the unrearranged version and take the top of every bestseller list in the country. Neither book could be filmed as written, in 1990 or in 2024, and the two productions found different exits from the same difficulty. The template requires a defensible target or a licensed speaker, in the same way the trauma template requires a permitted victim. Those requirements are commercial, social, cultural, moral and political, which is why they persist across administrations and why nobody involved in either production experienced the decision as censorship. Each one experienced it as casting.

Two more things about Wolfe and race.

His Black characters are thinner than his white ones. Sherman McCoy, Larry Kramer, Charlie Croker, Conrad Hensley and Peter Fallow have interiors, contradictions and self-deceptions rendered from inside. Reverend Bacon and Fareek Fanon are surfaces. Wolfe worked in types, and the distribution of interiority is uneven.

And the reading that makes Wolfe a racial thinker extracts one axis from a body of work that ran the same operation on everyone available. He did it to WASP bond traders, Jewish assistant district attorneys, art critics, Bauhaus architects, feminist demonstrators, Cuban policemen, Miami Russians, and the entire Baby Boom generation.

What Wolfe had was a method for saying unwelcome things and surviving. The Right Stuff, for example, recounts that Kennedy wanted a Black astronaut, that a captain named Ed Dwight (b. 1933) was put forward, and that NASA declined to advance him above his merit.

Wolfe wrote as a reporter of status. He never advanced a policy claim. He aimed the moral charge at elites, who cannot claim victim standing and whose discomfort makes good copy. He wrote in a register mannered enough that the material arrived as comedy. In Hooking Up he reported the firing of a federal mental health administrator over remarks about a primate study, described two National Institutes of Health conferences on genetics and criminality that were shut down or disrupted, said he took the heritability of intelligence seriously, and predicted that the fight over Charles Murray (b. 1943) and Richard Herrnstein (1930-1994) was only beginning. He described what people did and declined to say what should be done.

Which returns to the podium in Atlanta.

Wolfe’s climax is a man who has every material reason to sign the statement and does not sign it, because he does not know whether it is true. That is the whole moral content of a nine-hundred-page novel: the refusal to certify what one has not checked.

He put it at the end because he thought it was hard. He was writing about a bankrupt good ol’ boy who needed eight hundred million dollars and who could have had it for one sentence at a press conference.

Thirteen thousand people gave the sentence away in a week, for nothing, and were praised for it.

Notes and sources

The novel and the adaptation

Tom Wolfe, A Man in Full (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1998). The press conference, the mayor’s offer of bank relief in exchange for a public declaration of Fareek Fanon’s innocence, Croker’s refusal, and Conrad Hensley’s imprisonment and discovery of Epictetus.

Kevin Mims, “Less Than Half ‘A Man in Full,’Quillette, May 13, 2024. A detailed comparison of novel and miniseries, and the source I relied on for the plot of the book where my memory of it needed checking.

A Man in Full, created by David E. Kelley, six episodes, Netflix, released May 2, 2024. Cast and credits

On the deletion of the Fanon storyline, the recasting of Conrad Hensley, and the substituted assault plotline involving the mayor’s challenger and Joyce Newman: Daniel D’Addario, Variety, May 2, 2024, https://variety.com/2024/tv/tv-reviews/a-man-in-full-review-netflix-jeff-daniels-1235990141/ ; Judy Berman, Time, https://time.com/6973213/a-man-in-full-review-netflix/ ; RogerEbert.com, https://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/a-man-in-full-tv-review-netflix-2024 ; and Marie Claire’s ending explainer, https://www.marieclaire.com/culture/tv-shows/a-man-in-full-ending-explained/

The reviews establish that the athlete plot is gone, that Conrad is played by Jon Michael Hill, and that the surviving assault accusation is directed at the mayor’s right-wing opponent. See the full credits at https://www.imdb.com/title/tt15845610/fullcredits/.

The 1990 film

The Bonfire of the Vanities, directed by Brian De Palma, screenplay by Michael Cristofer, Warner Bros., released December 21, 1990.

Julie Salamon, The Devil’s Candy: The Bonfire of the Vanities Goes to Hollywood (Houghton Mifflin, 1991). The contemporaneous account of the production, including the decision to change the judge’s ethnicity and the replacement of Alan Arkin with Morgan Freeman. Summarized with citations in the AFI Catalog entry

Roger Ebert’s review, December 21, 1990. Source for the characterization of the novel’s Bacon as a scheming, intelligent grafter reduced on screen to a comic blowhard, and for the two youths on the ramp being played as menacing symbols.

Plot, cast and the content of Judge White’s closing speech: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Bonfire_of_the_Vanities_(film) Budget and box office figures from the same entry. I have not rewatched the film; the account of the speech rests on these summaries and should be checked against the picture by anyone quoting it.

The other Wolfe

Tom Wolfe, Radical Chic and Mau-Mauing the Flak Catchers (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1970). The Bernstein party, the staffing problem, the San Francisco poverty program, the confrontation as scripted theater.

Tom Wolfe, The Bonfire of the Vanities (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1987). Abe Weiss and the Great White Defendant, Reverend Bacon’s diocesan funding, Peter Fallow’s interview with Zane Rifkind.

Tom Wolfe, The Right Stuff (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1979), for the account of Ed Dwight, which should be read alongside Dwight’s own.

Tom Wolfe, Hooking Up (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2000). “Sorry, But Your Soul Just Died” contains the material on sociobiology, the dismissal of the federal mental health administrator, the disrupted National Institutes of Health conferences, and the prediction about the reception of The Bell Curve.

The letter

Good Law Project, “Stand in solidarity with Jason Arday,” opened July 28, 2026, with the full list of signatories

Exclusive: News outlet killed story on plagiarism allegations after Cambridge prof hired law firm,” Retraction Watch, July 27, 2026. Source for the sixty-three page dossier and the letter that ended the story.

Posted in Jason Arday, Tom Wolfe | Comments Off on The Man Who Would Not Vouch

The Renewable Wound: Jason Arday and the Trauma That Has to Keep Happening

A JustGiving page from 2010 is still live. Jason Arday (b. 1985), then a twenty-four-year-old sports lecturer at Richmond upon Thames College, announced he would run thirty marathons in thirty-five days for Shelter and the Shooting Star Children’s Hospice. He set a target of £5,000. The page records what came in. He raised £6,285, plus £1,045.77 in Gift Aid.

Fourteen years later, a citation read aloud at St Mary’s University, granting him an honorary doctorate, said he had raised £5.5 million for over eighty charities, and named the thirty marathons among the efforts that did it.

Nobody hid the page. It sat on the open internet the entire time. Shooting Star Children’s Hospices later told the Telegraph that Arday raised £10,800 for them across the years. Shelter declined to give a figure; a JustGiving page for his three-hundred-miles-in-three-days challenge shows £380.

The documented public total runs to something around eleven thousand pounds. The circulated total ran to five and a half million.

Both numbers were available to anyone who looked. For sixteen years, nobody looked.

That gap is the subject here. Not whether Arday lied, which investigations and, eventually, publishers and employers will settle. The question underneath is why a story this checkable went unchecked by so many institutions whose ordinary business is checking things, and why the errors ran in one direction.

Jeffrey Alexander (b. 1947) gives the tools to ask it. His argument in Cultural Trauma and Collective Identity is that suffering does not become socially significant on its own. Somebody has to make it legible. “Trauma is a socially mediated attribution,” he writes, and he means the attribution can be made during an event, after it, or in advance of it, and that events which never occurred can carry traumatic meaning as effectively as events that did. He is not saying pain is fictional. He is saying the public meaning of pain gets manufactured, by identifiable people, in identifiable institutions, for identifiable reasons.

Alexander calls those people carrier groups. They have interests, positions, and the skill to turn injury into a story a wider public will accept. He lists what a successful trauma narrative must establish: the nature of the injury, the identity of the victim, the relation of the victim to the wider audience, and who caused it. Answer all four persuasively and solidarity follows. Fail any of them and the suffering stays private, however severe.

I want to use this framework and then argue against part of it. The Arday case does something the framework predicts. It also does something the framework has no room for, and it exposes a flaw in Alexander’s own epistemology.

First, the record.

Some things are settled. Arday holds a professorial chair in the sociology of education at Cambridge, appointed in 2023, the youngest Black professor in the university’s history. He carried the Olympic torch in 2012. He has a real publication list and real students. He has raised money for charity. He received racist emails after arriving at Cambridge, and Cambridge responded with screened correspondence, upgraded cameras, and a panic alarm in his office. Liverpool John Moores University, which awarded his doctorate, investigated the plagiarism allegations and cleared him. A panel reportedly concluded in March 2026 that the citation problems amounted to honest and reasonable error consistent with the standards of the time. Simon & Schuster and Routledge say they are proceeding with him. His memoir, Great and Unfortunate Things, written with the editor and ghostwriter Eve Claxton, is scheduled for August 27, 2026.

Some things are contested, and one class of them is graver than plagiarism. The Times, reporting on July 31, 2026, found that quotations from research participants recur across Arday’s papers attributed to different people, and that his descriptions of the participants themselves shift. In one paper, participant eleven appears as a Black female academic, as an Asian female professional services worker, and as a mixed-heritage female academic. The paper counted at least twenty-five such inconsistencies across three articles. It also found a quotation from an undergraduate almost identical to one in earlier work by the epidemiologist Anjum Memon. Independent specialists told the paper the findings warranted investigation. Arday says these are clerical errors, that the people are different people with similar experiences, and that he has not fabricated anything.

Copied prose is a question about attribution. Interview subjects who change race and occupation between papers is a question about whether the interviews happened. Those belong in different categories and the coverage has mostly run them together.

Nathan Cofnas, a philosopher now at Ghent, published side-by-side comparisons in July 2026 showing passages in Arday’s 2015 thesis close to Paula Zwozdiak-Myers’s 2009 Brunel thesis, in places carrying over copy-editing errors from the original. Cofnas is a self-described race realist. In February 2024 he published an essay taking hereditarianism as a working assumption, which cited internal Harvard data indicating that under strictly colorblind admissions based on academic qualifications the student body would be around 0.7 percent Black, and inferred from it that the same criterion applied to hiring would drive the number of Black professors toward zero. He lost his research associateship at Emmanuel College. Cambridge dismissed all fifty-eight student complaints against him in October 2025, finding no discrimination or harassment. He now works at Ghent.

The reaction to that essay deserves a moment, because it rehearses the failure this piece is about. A student petition said he had written that in a meritocracy Harvard would have no Black professors. The Daily Mail then printed the allegation inside quotation marks. An inference drawn from a cited figure had become, through repetition alone, a sentence he never wrote and a quotation he never gave. Nobody checked, and nobody had a reason to, because checking would have vindicated a man nobody in the relevant institutions wanted vindicated.

The same failure runs both directions. That is the argument for thinking it arithmetical.

David Harris, an emeritus professor at Plymouth Marjon who had earlier written to Cambridge about Arday’s work, had himself lost and regained an emeritus title over a post on critical race theory. Cambridge described the allegations as a smear campaign against his credibility.

And some things have already collapsed. The six-day, six-hundred-mile run became a twelve-day run with rest days inserted. Anglia Ruskin and Southampton Solent edited their citation pages accordingly. The five and a half million became participation in fundraising collectives of roughly a hundred people. Asked by the Guardian to name anyone else in those collectives, Arday said non-disclosure agreements prevented it. He told the Times, at the end of the worst week of his life, “what I am not is a liar.”

The escalation is documented with dates, because Benjamin Ryan went through the archive. In 2010 the local paper reported he had raised more than six thousand pounds for the two charities and, in the same article, more than a hundred thousand across his fundraising career. There is then a decade with no traceable claims at all. In April 2021 a TEDx biography says £4.5 million for eighty-plus charities. In September 2021 a talk says just over £5 million. By 2024 it is £5.5 million, in an honorary degree citation, in a National Autistic Society speaker announcement, and in a speakers bureau biography. In October 2024 he tells a funeral directors’ convention in New Orleans that a five-year run of ultramarathons earned just over £5 million.

Nobody in that chain invented the number. Each institution took it from the last one and added its own letterhead. The TEDx page cited nothing. The honorary citation cited the TEDx-era figure. The speakers bureau cited the citation. The Guardian’s 2023 profile put more than £5 million into the newspaper of record, and after that every subsequent repetition could point to the Guardian.

This is how a figure launders. Repetition looks like corroboration when everyone in the chain is repeating the same original source, and the original source is a man talking about himself.

Then the chain runs backward. When the story broke, Anglia Ruskin edited its honorary award page so that six days became twelve and £5.5 million became £5.5 million as part of several fundraising collectives. That page is a record of a speech delivered aloud in 2024. The edited text now misreports what was said in the room. Southampton Solent made comparable changes. Simon & Schuster’s speakers bureau had already softened the figure to “millions of pounds” sometime between May and July 2025, more than a year before the public row.

That last date deserves a moment. Somebody at the publisher grew cautious about the number in the middle of 2025 and quietly took it out, while the memoir built on the same biography went forward.

So: carrier groups, in Alexander’s sense, and an unusually crowded field of them.

Cambridge could present the appointment as evidence that an ancient institution was opening. It had reasons to want that evidence. When Arday arrived, Cambridge had five Black professors and a recent history of being criticized for it. St Mary’s, Anglia Ruskin, Solent, Roehampton, Glasgow and Durham each got an alumnus or former colleague who justified their existence. The National Autistic Society got a keynote answering the fear every parent of a nonverbal three-year-old carries. Charities got a fundraiser who converted his suffering into service. Conference organizers got a plenary speaker who left rooms in tears. American breakfast television got two minutes of uncomplicated good news. Simon & Schuster got the architecture of a commercial memoir without having to build it, and hired a professional to smooth what remained.

That last item is not incidental. Eve Claxton has lectured on giving a personal story a compelling arc. The narrative smoothing that Alexander describes as a social process is, at the top of the market, a paid trade with practitioners and technique. The trauma apparatus does not merely select for the well-shaped story. It employs people to shape it.

None of this requires coordination. Each institution reached into a complicated life and took what served it. The selections fed back into the public biography, and the biography grew more coherent with each pass, because incoherent material got left behind at every stage.

This case departs from the fabrication cases in a way that has not been noticed.

In The Counterfeit Witness I argued that fabricated Holocaust memoirs expose the specifications of the trauma market more clearly than authentic testimony can, because the fabricator, having no experience to constrain him, overfits to the template. Binjamin Wilkomirski (b. 1941) supplied a child voice calibrated to perform unprocessed memory while remaining followable for three hundred pages. Misha Defonseca (b. 1937) escalated until a Jewish child crossed wartime Europe, lived with wolves, and killed a German soldier. Herman Rosenblat (1929–2015) was the subtler case and the more useful one. He survived Buchenwald. What he made up was the girl throwing apples over the fence who later became his wife. Real suffering, plus the redemptive supplement the market wanted and his real life had failed to provide.

Rosenblat is the right comparison, and the analogy should stop there. There is no equivalence between genocide and the career of a British academic, and no present basis for calling Arday a fabricated identity. What carries over is the structure: authentic material entering a system that rewards a particular finish, and acquiring that finish.

But there is a difference between Rosenblat and Arday, and the difference is the argument.

Rosenblat’s persecution was over. It ended in 1945. His story could be completed, and the completion was the point: the apples, the marriage, the redemption. The trauma had a terminus, and everything after the terminus was recovery.

Arday’s story cannot terminate. The political claim it carries requires that the injury continue.

Consider what the biography is for. It is offered, by Cambridge and by the advocacy world and by Arday himself, as evidence about British institutions. If the story ended at the professorship, it would prove the opposite of what it is meant to prove. A Black autistic boy from Clapham who could not read at eighteen becomes a Cambridge professor at thirty-seven, and then the racism stops: that is a story about a system that works. It flatters exactly the institutions the story is supposed to indict.

For the biography to function as an argument about structural racism, the persecution has to survive the success. The victory has to be incomplete. Something has to keep happening.

And something does. Racist emails arrive, which is credible and documented. Then the claims run forward and upward. In an open letter to the minister Jacqui Smith in July 2025, Arday listed being threatened with a knife, assaulted, spat on, sent rape and death threats, sent bananas and bullets through the university, and sent corrosive substances and mutilated animals to his family home. He later described a masked man confronting him twice in the faculty building, producing a knife on the second occasion. He described a severed pig’s head delivered in a box to his parents’ address in south London, and a police investigation that traced it through local butchers.

The Guardian checked. No intruder on either camera system. No colleague saw anyone. Arday hit the panic alarm, he says, and the security team, all present, did not come. He reported neither intrusion at the time, continued his working day, and conducted a doctoral viva under two hours later without mentioning to anyone that an armed man had been in the building. The butchers he named said no officer had asked them about a pig. The Metropolitan Police said his account of their investigation was incorrect in every particular. He photographed none of the objects. He produced no message to anyone, at the time, about any of them.

He stands by all of it. That belongs in the record alongside the absence of corroboration.

The escalation follows the requirement. A trauma role that has to be renewed in the present tense generates present-tense supply. That is the structural addition the Arday case makes to Alexander’s framework, and it is why the Holocaust memoir cases, which concern a closed past, do not fully anticipate it. The historical trauma narrative can be completed. The contemporary structural-injustice narrative cannot, because completion falsifies it. Its carrier groups need evidence dated this year.

Which brings us to the plenary.

In April 2026, at the British Sociological Association’s seventy-fifth anniversary conference in Edinburgh, Arday delivered a keynote titled “Wanted Dead or Alive: The Playbook.” He described a strategy by which conservative activists comb the work of Black academics for citation errors and overlapping passages, after which right-wing media and politicians amplify what they find. Claudine Gay (b. 1970) lasted seven months at Harvard. Others felt hunted. Some academics have killed themselves. He said the instruments built to protect academic integrity were being weaponized, and he asked his colleagues not to stand by while their peers suffered.

Members of the audience found it odd. Keynotes usually concern the speaker’s research. Some of them concluded he must have a reason.

He did. In September 2025, seven months before Edinburgh, Times Higher Education had a story ready. It had assembled a sixty-three page dossier of text comparisons. David Sanders, a biochemist at Purdue who reviews misconduct claims for the publication, went through it and reported back. “There is no question that there is extensive plagiarism,” he told Retraction Watch. Arday engaged Carter-Ruck, among the most feared defamation firms in London, which wrote to the publication. The story was killed.

And September 2025 was busy. In the same month, two Cambridge professors circulated an open letter among colleagues under the heading urging them to sign an anti-racism letter for Jason Arday. One was Ricardo Sabates, professor of education. The other was Sir Simon Baron-Cohen, director of the university’s Autism Research Centre. The letter referred to an earlier document sent to a Minister of State, and warned of a potential public attack on Arday. On September 15, 2025, according to parliamentary records, Jacqui Smith met a group of academics to discuss the harassment of Black academics.

Nothing about that is improper on its face. Colleagues defend colleagues. Ministers meet academics.

But look at what happened inside one month, before the public knew anything. The media arena was closed by a law firm. The state bureaucracy arena was opened by a ministerial meeting. And a letter circulating inside Cambridge told the university’s own staff, in advance, what the coming allegations meant. Alexander’s model treats these arenas as places where a trauma claim is contested after it enters public life. Here all three were configured before it entered public life, by people who knew what was coming and who had ten months of quiet in which to work.

So the sequence runs: dossier assembled, story spiked by legal threat, colleagues canvassed, minister met, keynote delivered seven months later naming the coming criticism as a racist playbook, allegations surface publicly ten weeks after that, and the frame is already installed and endorsed by a learned society, a government department, and the accused man’s own university.

Alexander says the attribution of trauma can be made before the event, as an adumbration. He offers it as a passing observation about nationalist historiography. The Arday case gives it operational content. The Edinburgh plenary is a trauma claim filed in advance of the event it interprets, delivered by a man who knew a dossier existed, to an audience of the exact professionals who would later be asked to evaluate it.

I do not need to establish intent to make the point. The frame was pre-installed. Its usefulness does not depend on whether installing it was calculated.

Now apply Alexander’s four questions to the right object.

Most of the commentary applies them to Arday’s biography. That is the wrong target. The biography is a life story competing for attention. The cultural trauma being constructed in the summer of 2026 is the scrutiny.

On July 28, 2026, the Good Law Project opened a solidarity letter. Within days it passed thirteen thousand signatures. Read it against Alexander’s grid.

The injury: a sustained and malicious campaign against a Black academic’s integrity. The victim: Arday, expanding immediately to Black and Brown young people who seek positions of leadership, and to Black academics generally. The relation of victim to audience: anyone who believes in academic freedom, fairness, and due process. The perpetrator: right-wing media, engaged in hate and division.

All four boxes filled, in under four hundred words. Alexander could have used it as a worked example.

The letter also makes a claim of fact. “Entirely false allegations of plagiarism were made against Professor Arday,” it says, and adds that investigations found no evidence whatsoever and that the relevant journals found no basis. Set aside whether that is right. Ask what the thirteen thousand signatories are in a position to know. Almost none of them read the 2015 thesis. Almost none read Zwozdiak-Myers’s 2009 thesis. None saw the sixty-three page dossier, because Carter-Ruck ensured nobody saw it. The letter converts a textual question, which is answerable by reading two documents side by side, into a solidarity question, which is answerable by signing.

The names do the work the reading was supposed to do. Lord Simon Woolley, Principal of Homerton College. Dame Ijeoma Uchegbu, President of Wolfson. Sonita Alleyne, Master of Jesus. Three heads of Cambridge colleges vouching for a Cambridge professor’s textual practice. Kehinde Andrews, Zack Polanski, John McDonnell, Clive Lewis, Nadia Whittome, Apsana Begum, Bell Ribeiro-Addy. Lord Boateng, Lord Rees, Lord Hastings, Sir Patrick Vernon, Sir Clive Jones. Jolyon Maugham. The general secretary of the National Education Union. The CEO of the Black Equity Organisation.

And Professor Sir Simon Baron-Cohen (b. 1958), of Cambridge, who runs the university’s Autism Research Centre and had organized the internal letter ten months earlier.

I will come back to him.

That is what carrier groups do. They lend position where evidence is unavailable, and the lending is sincere.

Which brings me to the part of this affair that I think nobody has priced.

In the Times interview, Arday explained the errors in his early academic work by reference to his autism. His way of making sense of information, he said, relied heavily on mimicry. He added that anyone’s work would show similar errors under equivalent scrutiny, and that his doctoral supervision had collapsed: one formal supervision across the whole degree, the rest by phone and text, one assigned supervisor gone from the university, the other never met.

Read the defense next to the biography.

The autism is what made the ascent improbable. A nonverbal three-year-old whom experts wanted institutionalized becomes a Cambridge professor at thirty-seven. Remove the diagnosis and there is no story, no memoir, no keynote, no honorary degrees, no Good Morning America. The improbability is the product, and the diagnosis manufactures it.

The autism is now also what explains why the work does not hold up. The same trait that made the achievement remarkable accounts for the passages that match another scholar’s thesis.

One condition, doing both jobs. It supplies the height of the climb and it absorbs the impact of the fall.

Alexander’s framework has categories for the injury, the victim, the audience, and the perpetrator. It has no category for an injury that functions as credential on the way up and as alibi on the way down. That configuration is not available to most trauma claimants. A man persecuted for his politics cannot say his politics caused his citation errors. A survivor of violence cannot say the violence explains his methodology. Only a claimed cognitive condition can perform both offices, because only a cognitive condition bears on the production of the work.

This is why the case reaches further than DEI, which is where most of the commentary has parked it. The reversible injury is a general form. Any claim that is simultaneously a moral credential and a functional excuse will be selected for by a market that rewards both overcoming and forgiveness. Expect more of them.

Arday ran the same move inside the adjudicative arena. His defense at the Liverpool John Moores panel, according to the Times, included asking the panel to weigh the political context of a war on critical race theory, alongside his autism and complex learning disabilities. The panel cleared him in March 2026, finding honest and reasonable error and text overlap within the accepted standards of the period.

So the trauma frame was entered as evidence in the one arena Alexander describes as bound by evidentiary discipline. It worked. That is a harder finding than anything about media compression, because the panel was the place the system had designated to resist exactly this.

The autism advocacy world now has a problem, and it is not the one it thinks it has.

If mimicry explains reproducing another scholar’s thesis, that is a claim about autistic researchers, entered into the public record on their behalf by a man who did not consult them. Autistic academics have spent thirty years arguing that they can meet ordinary professional standards and want to be held to them. The defense mounted in their name says the opposite. Every autistic doctoral student in Britain now has to work in a country where a Cambridge professor told a national newspaper that his condition accounts for text he did not write.

Baron-Cohen is in the sharpest position. He runs Cambridge’s Autism Research Centre. He organized the September 2025 letter and signed the July 2026 one. Both concerned racism, and neither is a statement about anyone’s diagnosis, and I do not suggest otherwise. But the man whose name in Britain is nearest to synonymous with autism research has twice lent it to the defense of a colleague whose diagnosis is now the stated explanation for his plagiarism, and he has not, so far as I can find, said anything about that explanation.

Somebody in that field will eventually have to. The alternative is letting mimicry stand as an autistic trait that excuses misconduct, which is a more damaging proposition than anything Cofnas has published.

Here is where Alexander’s institutional map fails.

He lists the arenas through which trauma claims travel: religious, aesthetic, legal, scientific, mass media, state bureaucracy. He treats the legal arena as the place where responsibility gets adjudicated and reparations distributed. Nuremberg. Truth and reconciliation commissions. Tribunals that produce findings.

England has a different legal arena, and it operates on the mass-media arena directly, before publication, in private. Carter-Ruck did not adjudicate anything. It removed a story. A specialist publication with a sixty-three page evidence file and an outside reviewer who found extensive plagiarism decided the exposure was not worth the risk. Retraction Watch reports that neither Carter-Ruck nor Times Higher Education would comment.

Alexander’s model has no slot for the legal arena as pre-emptive editor. It should. The English libel regime makes verification expensive for the verifier and cheap for the subject, which means the cost of checking a trauma claim falls on whoever wants to check it. Publish the construction and nobody sues. Publish the deconstruction and you might. That asymmetry does more to explain the ten-month delay than any theory of institutional desire, and it belongs in the framework alongside the arenas Alexander names.

It also complicates the story people are telling about who broke this open. Cofnas published in July 2026 and got the credit and the blame. But Times Higher Education had the material in September 2025, assembled independently, and Sanders reviewed it independently. The finding does not descend from the finder. That decoupling is the answer to the question the defense campaign keeps asking, which is who these critics are and what they believe.

Motive does not settle a proposition. A man with ugly views can read two theses correctly. A man with admirable views can decline to read them. Cofnas’s views on race are, by the standards of his critics and mine, repellent, and they are irrelevant to whether page 47 of one thesis reproduces page 112 of another. Anyone can check. Two documents, one afternoon.

When an institution substitutes the moral classification of the investigator for the investigation, it has stopped being a university. That is the standard, and it applies to critics too: the people calling Arday a fraud on the strength of his politics are running the identical operation with the signs reversed.

Which brings me to the argument I want to make against Alexander.

He is explicit that cultural sociology brackets the truth question. We are not primarily concerned, he writes, with the accuracy of social actors’ claims, nor with judging their moral justification. Epistemology, not ontology. Imagination participates in representing what happened as fully as in representing what did not.

As method, that is powerful, and it produced the best account we have of how collective suffering acquires public meaning. It works because Alexander was writing about closed cases. Nobody reading his chapter needs to be told whether the Holocaust occurred, or whether American slavery occurred, or whether the Khmer Rouge killed a third of Cambodia. The ontology is fixed. Bracketing it costs nothing and buys analytic clarity.

Now watch the same move in a live case.

Bracketing the truth question about Arday’s pig’s head means declining to do the only thing that settles it. The bracketing is not neutral. It is a decision to leave the field to the parties with the strongest incentives, and one of those parties has a memoir out in three weeks.

Worse, the bracketing becomes a resource. Say that the social construction of a claim can be analyzed independently of whether the underlying event occurred, and you have handed the claimant a defense that costs him nothing. Every request for the police report can be reclassified as an instance of the phenomenon under study. Alexander’s constructivism, applied prospectively, arms the very carrier groups it was built to describe.

There is a version of cultural sociology that would have caught this. It would say: the construction question and the verification question are separate, and both are ours. How the story travelled is one inquiry. Whether the butcher sold a pig is another. The discipline that studies how institutions come to believe things has an obligation to notice when it is one of them.

The sociology of education, John Preston told the Guardian, is a fragile field, staffed largely by Black, Asian and minoritized scholars, and Arday sits at or near the top of it worldwide. Preston, having gone through the comparisons, said the evidence lines up into a case that requires an answer. Another scholar of race and education, speaking anonymously, said the plagiarism was obvious. These are people with everything to lose by saying so.

They understand the position the field is in. If the discipline that studies how institutions launder their preferences cannot audit its own star, it has published a finding about itself.

Now, the specifications.

The template for a successful contemporary trauma hero can be inferred from any number of these cases. Here it can be read off the archive instead. Every element that circulated most widely can be checked against the record, and the pattern in the corrections tells you what the buyers wanted.

Early vulnerability, extreme, medically certified, dated to age three. Multiple disadvantages stacked, so the improbability of the outcome multiplies: Black, working class, autistic, nonverbal to eleven, illiterate to eighteen. A recognizable antagonist, structural and named. A destination whose prestige requires no explanation, which is the function Cambridge performs and no other British institution performs as well. Measurable achievement, in pounds and miles, because numbers travel and qualifications do not. Suffering that produced benevolence rather than bitterness, supplied by the charity. And continuing hostility after the triumph, so the structural claim survives the individual success.

Every one of those elements is either unverifiable or has been revised downward under scrutiny. The two that broke first, the miles and the money, broke because they were the only ones expressed as numbers. Six days became twelve. Five and a half million became a hundred-person syndicate. A childhood diagnosis, a first word at eleven, and a masked man nobody else saw are not falsifiable in the same way, and they remain standing.

And one specification I did not see until the defense arrived. The ideal disadvantage is reversible. It should be grave enough to make the achievement improbable and functional enough to explain the failure, so that the same fact can be spent twice, once for admiration and once for mercy. Autism does that. Poverty does not. Racism does not. A market that rewards both the overcoming and the forgiveness will select for the conditions that can supply both, and will keep selecting for them after this case is closed.

That is the finding. Under scrutiny, the falsifiable elements of the biography have moved and the unfalsifiable elements have not. A story assembled to be true would not fail in that pattern. A story assembled to be told would fail in exactly that pattern, because the teller has no way to know in advance which claims will one day be audited, and the audit reaches numbers first.

Prestige is what turned the audit on. A lecturer’s astonishing charity run circulates for a decade as a nice item in a local paper. A Cambridge professor’s astonishing charity run reaches people who know what a six-hundred-mile week means, and those people noticed that the ultra-distance community had never heard of him, which would be strange for an athlete near the world record. A small charity total stays impressionistic. Five and a half million invites accounting. A lightly read 2015 dissertation from Liverpool John Moores can sit undisturbed forever. A dissertation belonging to the most celebrated appointment in British sociology of education attracts line-by-line comparison.

The institutions that amplified him created the conditions for the audit. The Guardian profiled him admiringly in July 2023 and investigated him in August 2026. Construction and deconstruction were performed by the same masthead, three years apart, with the same professional standards applied to different questions. The first asked what the story meant. The second asked whether its sentences were true.

I expect the institutional response, when it comes, to be individualization. Arday becomes the problem. Cambridge was deceived. Journalists trusted a source. Honorary degree committees repeated what they were given. A publisher relied on an author. Advocacy groups acted in good faith. One unreliable man exploited a system built for decent purposes.

Some of that will be accurate. All of it evades the question.

Somebody wrote the sentence “raised over £5 million for 80 charities over an 18-year period” into a Solent press release in July 2023. Somebody at St Mary’s wrote £5.5 million into a citation and read it aloud in a hall in July 2024. Somebody at the National Autistic Society put it in a conference announcement in February 2024. Somebody at the Guardian put more than £5 million into a profile that every later citation could lean on. Not one of them asked which charities, or requested a breakdown, or spent the four minutes it takes to search JustGiving for his name.

They were not deceived in any demanding sense of the word. They were given a claim that served them and declined to test it. Recognition felt like knowledge. It usually does.

And after the story broke, several of them went back and edited the record so that the past would look more careful than it had been. Anglia Ruskin’s page now misreports a speech that a room full of graduands heard in 2024. That is a smaller offense than plagiarism and a more revealing one, because it was committed in 2026 by an institution with nothing to gain but the appearance of prior rigor.

Arday said the best sentence anyone has produced in this affair. Pressed by the Guardian on the harassment allegations, he said: “To be honest with you, I thought you’d just believe me.”

It should outlive the scandal. It states the terms of the arrangement everyone had been operating under and nobody had spoken aloud.

Testimony asks for more than the transfer of information. It asks to be received. Under that arrangement, the moral failure appears to begin when somebody asks for proof, rather than when the proof fails to arrive.

There are good reasons that arrangement exists. Victims of rape, of domestic violence, of racist assault, of clerical abuse, of torture, were disbelieved for generations by societies organized to protect the accused and the respectable. The presumption of belief was a correction to a real and catastrophic error, and abandoning it would be a disaster.

But every correction builds its own failure. Tune a system entirely against false negatives and it will start producing false positives. And the common failure is not the wholesale impostor. It is inflation. A recollection becomes a story. A story becomes a biography. A biography becomes a speaker’s fee, an honorary citation, an institutional fact, a book. Each step is small and each step is upward.

The inflation runs fastest where the speaker’s moral standing and the institution’s moral standing have fused. Cambridge did not merely employ Arday. It published his biography, and in doing so made him evidence about Cambridge. The advocacy organizations did not merely defend a colleague. They made his treatment evidence about Britain. The publisher does not sell recollections. It sells an inspiring underdog story, and it says so on the jacket.

Once a man is evidence for an institution’s virtue, checking him costs the institution something. A question about a butcher becomes a referendum on racism, disability, diversity policy, and the legitimacy of criticism. At that point the narrative has grown a defense. Scrutiny gets reclassified as harassment. Requests for evidence get reclassified as disbelief. The identity of the critic displaces the content of the criticism. And each new criticism confirms the original diagnosis, which means the story can absorb any quantity of contrary evidence without changing.

That is dangerous even if the protagonist is telling the truth. A true claim survives verification. It does not need protection from it. The strongest thing Arday could have done in September 2025 was let Times Higher Education publish and answer it. Instead a law firm removed the question, and the answer arrived ten months later on worse terms, from Cofnas, with the record of the suppression attached.

The wrong lessons are easy to name and will be drawn anyway. That claims of racism should now be met with suspicion. That autistic achievement invites doubt. That institutions should stop looking for talent outside the usual pipelines. Also wrong: that verifying a sympathetic figure serves his enemies and should therefore be discouraged.

The right lesson is harder to live with. Moral importance raises the verification burden. The more an institution intends to make a person stand for a group, a cause, an injustice, or a historical correction, the greater its duty to distinguish what it knows from what it has been told. Cambridge owed Arday more scrutiny than it gave him, and owed it precisely because it intended to make him mean something.

There is a symmetry in what has happened to him, and it is not the kind that consoles.

He rose because institutions turned particulars into narrative. He is falling because investigators are turning narrative back into particulars.

How much money. Which collective. Whose name. How many days. Which thesis. Which passages. Which camera. Which police report. Which butcher.

The questions are small and the story was large. Cultural myths get assembled out of individual facts and cannot always survive being taken apart into them.

That was the deepest finding of the fabricated Holocaust memoirs, and it was never that some people lie. People have always lied. The discovery was that false stories reveal the desires of truthful institutions. Wilkomirski, Defonseca and Rosenblat succeeded because publishers, journalists, teachers and audiences already held a picture of what morally serious suffering was supposed to look like. The fabricators did not invent the expectations. They met them.

Arday’s case is not that, and the analogy should stop before the accusation. He may be a man who suffered, achieved, embellished, and then could not stop. He may be something else. The investigations will report.

The structural question survives either verdict.

An apparatus that has grown better at recognizing the correct performance of suffering than at verifying the events beneath it will keep buying performances. It will buy them from honest people who have learned what audiences reward, which is the common case, and occasionally from people who have learned nothing else. And because its newest product requires the injury to continue after the triumph, it will keep buying fresh injuries, in the present tense, from people whose standing now depends on producing them.

Cambridge believed a story. So did the Guardian, the National Autistic Society, four universities that gave him honorary degrees, a learned society that gave him a plenary, a publisher that gave him a book, and thirteen thousand people who gave him a signature.

The question is not why they believed it.

The question is what they were buying.

Theory

Jeffrey C. Alexander, “Toward a Theory of Cultural Trauma,” chapter 1 of Cultural Trauma and Collective Identity (University of California Press, 2004). Text used here: https://lukeford.net/blog/wp-content/uploads/2026/04/culturalTrauma.pdf The carrier group concept, the four representational questions, the list of institutional arenas, the bracketing of ontology, and the remark that attribution may be made in advance “as an adumbration” all come from this chapter.

Didier Fassin and Richard Rechtman, The Empire of Trauma: An Inquiry into the Condition of Victimhood (Princeton, 2009), on the traumatized victim moving from suspect to moral authority.

Anne Rothe, Popular Trauma Culture: Selling the Pain of Others in the Mass Media (Rutgers, 2011), on the portable narrative grammar of American Holocaust discourse and its migration into misery memoir.

Parul Sehgal, “The Case Against the Trauma Plot,” The New Yorker, December 27, 2021: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2022/01/03/the-case-against-the-trauma-plot

Luke Ford, “The Counterfeit Witness: Fabricated Holocaust Memoirs and the Architecture of the Trauma Market,” April 7, 2026: https://lukeford.net/blog/?p=180558

The current reporting

Lanre Bakare, “Playbooks, plagiarism and a pig’s head: new claims surrounding a star Cambridge professor,” The Guardian, August 1, 2026. Source for the CCTV, the panic alarm, the butchers, the Metropolitan Police response, the Jacqui Smith letter, the John Preston and anonymous academic quotes, and the line about being believed.

Exclusive: News outlet killed story on plagiarism allegations after Cambridge prof hired law firm,” Retraction Watch, July 27, 2026. Source for the September 2025 Times Higher Education story, the sixty-three page dossier, David Sanders, the Carter-Ruck letter, and the Cambridge statement about a campaign against Arday’s credibility.

Fiona Hamilton and Emma Yeomans, “Jason Arday: I am not a liar, says star academic accused of plagiarism,” The Times, July 31, 2026. Source for “what I am not is a liar,” the hundred-person syndicate, the mimicry explanation, the collapsed doctoral supervision, the critical race theory context offered to the Liverpool John Moores panel, the March 2026 finding of honest and reasonable error, the twenty-five participant inconsistencies across three papers, and the overlap with Anjum Memon’s work.

Cambridge’s diversity poster boy in plagiarism row,” The Telegraph, July 25, 2026. Source for the September 2025 letter circulated by Simon Baron-Cohen and Ricardo Sabates under the heading urging colleagues to sign an anti-racism letter, its reference to an earlier letter to a Minister of State, its warning of a potential public attack, and the parliamentary record of Jacqui Smith meeting academics about the harassment of Black academics on September 15, 2025. Non-paywalled syndication: https://www.yahoo.com/news/politics/articles/cambridge-diversity-poster-boy-plagiarism-134658961.html

The Telegraph, July 29, 2026, on the running claims and the charity totals, including Shooting Star’s £10,800 figure and the £380 Shelter page: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2026/07/29/cambridge-diversity-poster-boy-fresh-row-marathon/ Non-paywalled syndication: https://www.yahoo.com/news/us/articles/cambridge-diversity-poster-boy-faces-131418921.html

Nathan Cofnas, “DEI Fraud and Cover-Up at Cambridge,” July 21, 2026. The side-by-side thesis comparisons.

The documentary trail on fundraising

Benjamin Ryan, “Jason Arday Said He’s Not a Liar. The Receipts On His Charity Claims Say: Decide for Yourself,” Hazard Ratio, August 1, 2026: https://benryan.substack.com/p/jason-arday-said-hes-not-a-liar-but The archive-by-archive reconstruction. Nearly every dated claim in my fourth and fifth paragraphs comes from here.

The 2010 JustGiving page, still live, showing £6,285 plus £1,045.77 Gift Aid: https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/jasonjogs30in35

The 2010 challenge blog: https://web.archive.org/web/20100820091332/http:/30in35.wordpress.com/

Richmond & Twickenham Times, August 25, 2010: https://www.richmondandtwickenhamtimes.co.uk/news/8350040.clapham-based-jason-arday-completes-30-marathons-in-35-days-for-shelter-and-the-shooting-star-childrens-hospice/

TEDxLadbrokeGrove bio, £4.5m for 80-plus charities, archived April 8, 2021: https://web.archive.org/web/20210408135705/https:/tedxladbrokegrove.com/jason-arday

TEDxDurham talk, September 2021, “just over £5 million,” removed from TED in July 2026: https://web.archive.org/web/20230409123105/https:/www.youtube.com/watch?v=xbSX50Wfz6c

The Guardian profile, July 11, 2023, putting more than £5m into the paper of record: https://www.theguardian.com/society/2023/jul/11/jason-arday-cambridge-university-youngest-black-professor

The Cambridge Student, December 1, 2023: https://www.thecambridgestudent.co.uk/interviews/cambridges-youngest-black-professor-speaks-on-institutional-racism-and-legacies-of-slavery

National Autistic Society speaker announcement, February 15, 2024: https://www.autism.org.uk/what-we-do/news/jason-arday-announced-as-speaker

St Mary’s University honorary doctorate, July 19, 2024, £5.5m for over 80 charities: https://www.stmarys.ac.uk/news/2024/professor-jason-arday-awarded-honorary-doctorate-by-st-marys-university

The retroactive edits

Southampton Solent, archived May 19, 2025: https://web.archive.org/web/20250519232013/https://www.solent.ac.uk/media-hub/news/social-commentator-presenter-and-public-speaker-awarded-honorary-degree Same page, archived July 31, 2026, with “as part of several fundraising collectives” inserted: https://web.archive.org/web/20260731131040/https://www.solent.ac.uk/media-hub/news/social-commentator-presenter-and-public-speaker-awarded-honorary-degree

Anglia Ruskin honorary award citation, a transcript of a speech delivered in 2024. Archived October 8, 2024, with six hundred miles in six days: https://web.archive.org/web/20241008085619/https://www.aru.ac.uk/graduation-and-alumni/honorary-award-holders2/jason-arday Still unedited on February 28, 2026: https://web.archive.org/web/20260228093510/https://www.aru.ac.uk/graduation-and-alumni/honorary-award-holders2/jason-arday Edited by July 21, 2026 to read twelve days: https://web.archive.org/web/20260721205840/https://www.aru.ac.uk/graduation-and-alumni/honorary-award-holders2/jason-arday

Simon & Schuster speakers bureau, £5.5m and the running feats, archived September 10, 2024: https://web.archive.org/web/20240910182849/https://www.simonspeakers.com/author/arday-jason/ The same page after the quiet revision, archived July 24, 2025, more than a year before the public row: https://web.archive.org/web/20250724200957/https://www.simonspeakers.com/author/arday-jason/ Current version: https://www.simonspeakers.com/author/arday-jason/

The defense

Good Law Project, “Stand in solidarity with Jason Arday,” opened July 28, 2026, with the full list of signatories: https://goodlawproject.org/petition/stand-in-solidarity-with-jason-arday/

The memoir

Great and Unfortunate Things, by Jason Arday with Eve Claxton, Simon & Schuster, August 27, 2026: https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Great-and-Unfortunate-Things/Jason-Arday/9781668085578

Publisher stands by Jason Arday memoir amid plagiarism allegations,” UnHerd, July 29, 2026: https://unherd.com/newsroom/publisher-stands-by-jason-arday-memoir-amid-plagiarism-allegations/

Jason Arday’s publishers to ‘go ahead as planned’ despite plagiarism row,” The Bookseller, July 31, 2026: https://www.thebookseller.com/news/jason-ardays-publishers-to-go-ahead-as-planned-despite-plagiarism-row

Check It and Lose It

There is an old newsroom joke about the story too good to verify. Don’t make that last call. Check it and lose it.

Told as a joke it is about one reporter and his vanity. He has a good piece and he does not want to spoil it, so he stops asking. The moral runs toward character. Be the sort of man who makes the call.

That reading is too small, and it puts the burden in the wrong place. The same calculation runs at every desk the claim passes, and at most of those desks nobody is having any fun at all. A sub-editor, a press officer drafting an honorary degree citation, a conference programmer writing a speaker biography, a publisher’s lawyer doing a libel read, an advocacy group deciding whom to platform. Each faces the identical arithmetic, and the arithmetic does not require anybody to want anything.

Take the Jason Arday (b. 1985) case as the worked example. A JustGiving page from 2010 sat on the open internet recording £6,285 raised. The figure attached to his name climbed to £5.5 million across the following fourteen years, passing through a TEDx biography, a Guardian profile, four honorary degree citations, a National Autistic Society announcement, a publisher’s speakers bureau, and a corporate keynote in New Orleans. Nobody hacked anything. The page was searchable the entire time.

The standard account says the institutions wanted the story. They did. But wanting it was never necessary. Suppose every one of them had been indifferent to Arday, to diversity, to inspiration, to Cambridge. Suppose they were bored civil servants processing paper. The outcome does not change, because the payoffs do not change.

Here is what checking cost, and here is the part the collective-action literature gets right and then stops.

Verification is a public good. James T. Hamilton (b. 1961) laid out the economics in All the News That’s Fit to Sell: the checker pays the full cost and captures a fraction of the benefit, so checking gets undersupplied. Mancur Olson (1932-1998) would recognize the structure. Everybody benefits from an accurate public record. Nobody has a private reason to produce one.

That much is familiar. What the standard account misses is that checking and not checking do not merely differ in cost. They differ in what they leave you holding afterward.

An institution that repeats the Guardian’s figure holds a defense. If the number is wrong, the paper was wrong first, and the press officer behaved as press officers behave. An institution that opens the JustGiving page and finds £6,285 holds a discovery. It now knows something, and knowing creates obligations that not knowing does not. It cannot print the citation. It has to tell someone. It has to decide whether to withdraw an award, cancel a keynote, or pass the file upward, and every one of those choices makes an enemy in a field where the institution has to keep working.

So the four minutes is not the price. The price is the position the four minutes puts you in.

The law understands this better than journalism does. Willful blindness is treated as a form of knowledge in criminal doctrine precisely because deliberate avoidance is a rational strategy: a man who arranges not to learn what is in the suitcase has bought something of value. Institutions buy the same thing constantly and nobody calls it that. Ignorance has a book value, and in the Arday chain it was carried on everyone’s balance sheet for sixteen years.

The value went up as the claim traveled. This is the part that inverts.

A small claim about an unknown lecturer is cheap to check and worth little to anybody. A large claim about a Cambridge professor whose appointment the university has publicized as evidence about the university is expensive to check and worth a great deal to many parties. So the incentive to verify falls as the claim’s importance rises. Precisely where accuracy carries the most weight, the cost of establishing it peaks. A system built this way will get small things right and large things wrong, and it will look, from inside, like a system working well, because the small things are the ones it audits.

Now the second half, which is the part I have not seen stated.

Somebody eventually checks. Who is he?

He has to be a man for whom the discovery costs nothing, which means a man with nothing left in the field. Look at who did the checking here. A professor emeritus at Plymouth Marjon who had already been stripped of his title once and got it back. A philosopher sacked from a Cambridge fellowship, now in Belgium, known for opinions most of his profession finds repellent. A freelance journalist working the Internet Archive on his own time and posting to Substack. An anonymous blog. A small nonprofit that tracks retractions.

None of them had a career in British sociology of education to protect. That is not a coincidence and it is not a compliment. The population willing to bear the cost of verification is selected, by the cost structure, for marginality. The system is arranged so that the people who check are the people the field has already discarded.

And then the arrangement pays a second dividend. Because the checker is marginal, and often marginal for reasons the field finds discreditable, his check can be discounted on account of who he is. That is what happened in July 2026. Nathan Cofnas is a self-described race realist. Cambridge called the allegations a smear campaign. Thirteen thousand people signed a letter saying the claims were entirely false. The check bought the field another period of not knowing.

Notice what this does to the evidence. Anyone surveying the field sees a correlation: the people making these allegations tend to be cranks. The correlation is real and it is manufactured. It exists because the cost structure filters everyone else out, not because crankishness and correct textual comparison go together. Yet the correlation is then used, sincerely, as a reason to disbelieve the next allegation, which raises the cost to the next non-crank who might have made it, which strengthens the correlation.

The system produces its own grounds for ignoring its own findings.

It runs the other way too, and the symmetry is the strongest evidence that arithmetic rather than ideology is doing the work.

In February 2024 Cofnas published an essay citing internal Harvard data indicating that colorblind, academically based admissions would yield a student body around 0.7 percent Black, and inferred that the same criterion applied to hiring would drive the number of Black professors toward zero. A student petition then reported that he had written that in a meritocracy Harvard would have no Black professors. The Daily Mail printed that version inside quotation marks. An inference from a cited figure became a sentence he never wrote and a quotation he never gave, in two steps, in a matter of days.

Checking that would have taken about as long as opening the JustGiving page. Nobody did, and nobody had a reason to, because the beneficiary of the correction was a man none of the relevant institutions wanted to benefit. The costs sat on the checker and the gain sat with someone unwelcome, which is the same equation that protected Arday for sixteen years, solved in the opposite direction.

Anyone who thinks the failure is ideological has to explain why it produces errors that flatter and errors that damn with equal reliability.

England adds a further turn. Times Higher Education did the work. It assembled a sixty-three page dossier of text comparisons and had an outside reviewer go through it. Then Arday engaged Carter-Ruck, and the story died. The letter had force because the publication had something to publish. A publication that had never checked would have received no letter. Checking is what created the exposure, and the exposure is what got the story killed. In a jurisdiction where the publisher carries the burden, the uncheck is not merely cheaper. It is safer in a way the check can never be.

I want to be careful about what follows from this, because the obvious conclusion is wrong.

The obvious conclusion is that everything should be checked. It should not, and a norm of universal verification would do real damage. Documentation is not distributed evenly. A man who raised money through church halls and community groups in south London in 2005 has less paper than a man who did it through a City firm’s matched-giving scheme, and the difference tracks class and country rather than honesty. A blanket rule that unevidenced claims are false would fall hardest on people whose lives happened in places that keep no records. That is a genuine cost and anyone arguing for more verification has to carry it.

The answer is proportion, and the proportion runs on a specific axis. Check in relation to the weight the institution intends the claim to bear. Nobody needs to audit a lecturer’s biography. Everybody should audit a figure the institution is converting into evidence about itself. The moment Cambridge published Arday’s story as a statement about Cambridge, the story stopped being his and became the university’s, and the duty attached at that moment.

Which produces the uncomfortable formulation. The duty to verify rises exactly where the cost of verifying rises. They are the same variable. There is no arrangement in which the incentive and the obligation point the same way, so the obligation has to be imposed against the incentive or it will not be met.

Some of that imposition is cheap.

Require a source line. An honorary degree citation could carry, in the file if not in the hall, a note saying where each factual claim came from. Not verification, only provenance, which costs the drafter nothing and makes the difference between a checked claim and a repeated one visible to the next person down the chain. Most of the Arday figures would have collapsed at this stage, because the provenance of all of them was the same man.

Put the receipt on the claimant. Grant applications already work this way. A speaker who says he raised five and a half million can be asked which charities and which years, and the asking is not an accusation.

Preserve the record when you correct it. Anglia Ruskin edited a page that transcribed a speech delivered aloud in 2024, so the page now misreports what a room full of people heard. That edit cost nothing and destroyed something. Corrections should append, never overwrite. This is the single cheapest reform available to any institution and almost none of them observe it.

Credit the checker. Retraction Watch sleuths work unpaid and get called harassers. Journals list reviewers. Universities count peer review as service. Verification of public claims sits outside every reward structure that exists, which is why it is done by people with no career to feed.

Lower the cost of the first check. That is a libel reform argument and I am not a lawyer, so I will put it only as an observation: in the current arrangement, the publication that does the work is more exposed than the publication that does not, and any account of why British institutions fail to check has to include that before it reaches for anything about ideology.

None of this requires anyone to have wanted anything.

That is the point I would press hardest, because the ideological explanation is available, popular, and probably partly true, and it lets everyone in the chain off. If the failure was ideological, then the remedy is to have better opinions, and everybody already believes he has those. If the failure was arithmetical, the remedy is to change the arithmetic, which is harder and duller and would actually work.

The joke says check it and lose it, and it is told as a warning about the reporter who wants to keep his story. The truer version is that everyone downstream of him wants to keep it too, and none of them had to want anything at all.

The Sentence Nobody Wrote

Three sentences, in order of appearance.

Harvard’s Office of Institutional Research ran a study in 2013 finding that if the university admitted on academic qualifications alone, the undergraduate body would be 43 percent Asian, 38.4 percent white, 2.4 percent Hispanic and 0.7 percent Black. The study became public through the litigation brought by Students for Fair Admissions.

In February 2024, Nathan Cofnas cited that figure and drew an inference. If faculty were recruited on the same criterion, the number of Black professors would approach zero.

A student petition at Cambridge then reported that Cofnas had written that in a meritocracy Harvard would have no Black professors. The Daily Mail printed that version inside quotation marks.

I am not adjudicating the hereditarian argument Cofnas was making. What interests me is the two steps between the second sentence and the third, because each step took about a day, each was performed by people who may have acted in good faith, and each made the claim more usable and less true.

Start with what kind of object each sentence is.

The first is a datum. It belongs to Harvard. It was produced by Harvard’s own researchers about Harvard’s own admissions, and it can be attacked on grounds available to anyone: a simulation is not an outcome, an academic index is a narrow definition of qualification, Harvard’s experts disputed how the plaintiffs read the numbers. All of those are arguments, and all of them are arguments with Harvard.

The second is an inference. It belongs to Cofnas. It has a premise and a conditional attached, and the conditional is where the work happens. If faculty hiring used this criterion. It does not, and the inference is weak for reasons that require no hereditarian commitment at all. Harvard hires professors from a global pool of doctorates, not from its own undergraduate class. Faculty appointment weighs publication, teaching, funding and field, none of which reduce to an admissions index. The undergraduate cohort of 2013 is not the professoriate of 2050. A serious critic could take the inference apart in a paragraph while conceding every number in it.

The third belongs to nobody. Cofnas did not write it. Harvard did not produce it. It was made in transit.

Watch what got lost. The conditional went first. “If hiring used the same criterion as academically blind admissions” became “in a meritocracy,” which asserts that the criterion and merit are the same thing, an equation Cofnas would probably accept but which he had not stated in the sentence being quoted. Then the hedge went. “Would approach zero” became “no black professors,” which converts an asymptote into a count.

Both changes run the same direction. Conditionals disappear, absolutes remain. That is not random drift. A conditional is a burden on the speaker and a nuisance to the repeater, and the repeater is the one editing. A claim shortened for reuse loses its qualifications first, because qualifications are the part nobody quotes.

Conditionals are also the part that makes a claim checkable. Strip them and you get a sentence that is easier to circulate and impossible to test, which is the combination that lets a claim run for years.

Now the quotation marks, which are a technology for moving liability. Inside them, the writer stops asserting and starts reporting. If the sentence is false, the fault belongs to the man who said it. The paper is merely accurate about what was said. Those two small hooks are the cheapest insurance available in the trade, and they cost nothing to apply.

When a subject is well defended, quoting him wrongly is expensive, because he will produce the original and demand a correction and possibly a lawyer. When a subject is friendless, the insurance is free. Cofnas in February 2024 had a petition against him with a thousand signatures, a faculty chair distancing herself, and a director of African studies telling the student paper that employing him was like keeping a flat-earther on the physics faculty. Nobody was going to make trouble on his behalf.

So the quotation marks appeared over a sentence he never wrote, at the moment he had least capacity to object, which is the moment the marks give the least protection to the reader and the most to the writer.

Here is the part that should trouble his critics.

The false version was easier to fight.

“Cofnas says Harvard would have no Black professors in a meritocracy” is a bigot’s assertion. It requires no engagement. You denounce it, you circulate it, you sign the petition.

The true version says Harvard’s own institutional researchers, examining Harvard’s own admissions, found that a purely academic criterion would produce a class less than one percent Black, and asks what follows. Answering that requires arguing about a real number produced by the institution under discussion. It requires saying what the number means, whether the simulation was sound, why academic index is or is not a reasonable proxy for anything, and what the gap between 0.7 and 10.5 percent is evidence of. Those are hard arguments and there are good answers available in several directions.

The misquotation spared everyone from having to make them.

Misquotation is often self-protective. It converts a claim you would have to answer into an opinion you can denounce, and the conversion feels like a victory over the opponent while functioning as an escape from him. The man who paraphrases his enemy into something stupider has not defeated the argument. He has arranged never to meet it.

There is a control case sitting right beside this one. A month before the essay that caused the trouble, Cofnas published another arguing that people on the political right are on average less intelligent than people on the left. Same author, same method, same premises about heritable variation in cognitive ability, applied to a different group. No petition. No march. No faculty statement. No headline.

Whatever the objection to his method was, the method was not the objection.

The rest ran the way these things run. He stepped back from teaching. Students posted flyers with his face across Cambridge. A crowd marched through the town chanting his name. He lost his research associateship at Emmanuel College. In October 2025, twenty months later, Cambridge dismissed all fifty-eight student complaints against him and found no discrimination or harassment.

Then, in July 2026, he published a set of side-by-side comparisons between Jason Arday’s 2015 doctoral thesis and a thesis submitted six years earlier by Paula Zwozdiak-Myers.

And the sentence he never wrote came back.

It appeared in nearly every account of the plagiarism allegations, usually as the clause that told the reader what to think before he reached the evidence. The man making the accusation is the man who said there would be no Black professors in a meritocracy. Cambridge called the allegations a smear campaign. Thirteen thousand people signed a letter saying they were entirely false.

Two more academics, David Sanders at Purdue and John Preston at Essex, went through the comparisons independently and reached the same conclusion Cofnas had. Times Higher Education had assembled a sixty-three page dossier before Cofnas published anything. None of that traveled as fast as the clause.

Errors of this kind do not fade. They sit in the record at zero cost until a moment arrives when somebody needs them, and then they get spent. The 2024 misquotation was manufactured by people with no thought of 2026, and in 2026 it did more to protect a plagiarism claim than any argument advanced on the merits.

This is the ordinary way false attributions behave, and it is why the cheapness of making them is the wrong thing to look at. The cost of a misquotation is not paid at the moment of publication. It is paid years later, by whoever needed the truth and got the clause instead.

A datum belongs to whoever produced it. An inference belongs to whoever drew it, along with the conditionals he attached. A sentence with quotation marks around it belongs to whoever is inside them, and if nobody is inside them, the marks are a forgery of a small and respectable kind.

The small and respectable kind is the one that travels.

Notes

Harvard’s Office of Institutional Research produced the 2013 internal study finding that admissions on academic qualifications alone would yield an undergraduate body 43 percent Asian, 38.4 percent white, 2.4 percent Hispanic and 0.7 percent Black. The study became public through Students for Fair Admissions v. Harvard. A convenient summary of the figures: https://newcriterion.com/article/harvard-admits-its-preferences/

Two limits. The study models a counterfactual rather than reporting an outcome, and Harvard’s own experts disputed how the plaintiffs read it. And the academic index is a narrow construction of qualification.

The scholarship built on the released case data, for anyone who wants the underlying material rather than the summaries: Peter Arcidiacono, Josh Kinsler and Tyler Ransom, “Recruit to Reject? Harvard and African American Applicants,” https://tyleransom.github.io/research/recruit_reject.pdf and “What the Students for Fair Admissions Cases Reveal About Racial Preferences,” NBER working paper 29964, https://www.nber.org/papers/w29964 and “Asian American Discrimination in Harvard Admissions,” NBER working paper 27068, https://www.nber.org/system/files/working_papers/w27068/w27068.pdf Arcidiacono served as an expert witness for the plaintiffs, which the reader should weigh and which does not settle anything either way.

Contemporaneous reporting on the plaintiffs’ claims, including the allegation that Harvard had shelved its own 2013 findings: https://feeds.bbci.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-44505355

The inference

Nathan Cofnas, “A Guide for the Hereditarian Revolution,” February 2024: https://ncofnas.com/p/a-guide-for-the-hereditarian-revolution The essay containing the Harvard citation and the inference drawn from it. Read it before accepting anyone’s summary of it, including mine.

Nathan Cofnas, “Why We Need to Talk about the Right’s Stupidity Problem,” January 2, 2024: https://ncofnas.com/p/why-we-need-to-talk-about-the-rights The control case. Same author, same premises about heritable variation in cognitive ability, applied to conservatives, published five weeks earlier, and attracting no petition, no march and no faculty statement.

Nathan Cofnas, “Research on Group Differences in Intelligence: A Defense of Free Inquiry,” Philosophical Psychology, 2020: https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/09515089.2019.1697803 The peer-reviewed article that drew an earlier campaign against him, useful for establishing that the pattern predates Cambridge.

The quotation

Abhishek Saha, “A Heretic Reprieved,” Quillette, October 16, 2025: https://quillette.com/2025/10/16/a-heretic-reprieved-nathan-cofnas-cambridge-university-free-speech/ The source for the gap between what the essay says and what the petition alleged, for the migration of the allegation into a Daily Mail headline inside quotation marks, and for Cambridge’s dismissal of all fifty-eight student complaints.

The student petition.

The Daily Mail report: https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-13060909/cambridge-university-fellow-race-equality-controversy.html

Varsity’s coverage, including Angela Breitenbach’s statement for the philosophy faculty and Bronwen Everill’s comparison to keeping a flat-earther on the physics faculty: https://www.varsity.co.uk/news/27035 Emmanuel’s master Doug Chalmers on free expression: https://www.varsity.co.uk/news/27106 The earlier attempt to remove Cofnas on his arrival in 2022.

Cambridge’s finding that the views did not amount to discrimination or harassment, October 2025: https://www.thetimes.com/uk/education/article/cambridge-says-academics-offensive-race-views-were-free-speech-pn955dn2x

On whether the underlying question is settled

Clark et al. surveyed 470 psychology professors at leading American universities, asking them to rate from zero to a hundred their confidence that genetic differences explain a non-trivial share of race differences in intelligence test scores. Responses spanned the scale with a mean of 29.1: https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/17456916241252085. The essay’s argument about attribution does not depend on which side of it a reader stands.

What the clause was later used for

Nathan Cofnas, “DEI Fraud and Cover-Up at Cambridge,” July 21, 2026.

Exclusive: News outlet killed story on plagiarism allegations after Cambridge prof hired law firm,” Retraction Watch, July 27, 2026: https://retractionwatch.com/2026/07/27/cambridge-jason-arday-plagiarism-allegations-times-higher-education-exclusive/ Source for the sixty-three page dossier assembled by Times Higher Education in September 2025, and for David Sanders reaching the same conclusion independently.

Good Law Project, “Stand in solidarity with Jason Arday,” July 2026.

Posted in Academia, Jason Arday | Comments Off on The Renewable Wound: Jason Arday and the Trauma That Has to Keep Happening

Anthony Fauci’s Diary

A diary that matched the press conferences would serve no purpose. People keep them to say what they can’t say at the podium, and a man under sustained attack writes down that he thinks his attackers are crazy. The mockery of the fame material is cheap in the same way. Piers Morgan (b. 1965) called him a fame-hungry narcissist, which describes most people who spend forty years climbing to the top of a federal agency and then find themselves on television every night. Vanity in a diary is a weak charge.

Wanting to be loved is one thing. Saying one thing in private and another in public about a factual question you are the government’s chief authority on is another. Rand Paul (b. 1963) claims the diaries show what Fauci (b. 1940) wrote privately and what he told the country are two different stories. Whether they show that is the live question, and it survives even if every word about Jake Tapper and the cameras gets thrown out. James Carville (b. 1944) says the release taught the public nothing and that Fauci was an honest man handling a once-in-a-millennium problem. Those two readings can be tested against the text. The vanity charge can’t be tested against anything, because everyone loses it.

Two complications for whichever side you land on. The diary sat on HHS servers, so it was never a private notebook in a drawer, and Fauci wrote about the FOIA requests coming at him. He knew the exposure. Against that, he pleaded the Fifth 111 times at the hearing and said the unredacted release was aimed at embarrassing and intimidating him. A man who took the Fifth 111 times has told you something.

Posted in America | Comments Off on Anthony Fauci’s Diary

How I Use AI

AI helped me with this post. AI alone could not have produced this post. I alone could not have produced this post.

My thinking comes from my interactions, and many of them since early 2025 are with AI chatbots. For some people, chatting with AI produces delusion. For others, it produces insight. For me, it produces both.

AI has changed my blogging over the past fifteen months (along with my July 2025 subscription to Perlego, the Netflix of textbooks). I find the machine helps me to clarify, organize, and develop my thoughts and then it suggests ways I can share them that are more socially acceptable than I what would come up with on my own (my instinct toward the reader is usually f— ’em if they can’t take a joke). On the other hand, I’ve posted many mediocre AI-based posts as placeholders for ideas I want to develop later, and I have yet to come back to them to add value. So they just sit there and clog up my blog and for most of my readers, they revolt and turn away.

My ambitions exceed my abilities, and the more I strive for status using AI, the dumber I look.

My AI posts sit there and they embarrass me and they push me and my heart says attention must be paid.

Attention will be paid.

And miles to go before I sleep.

This post began when I put the following into Claude:

Most of my blogging is inspired by my conversations, and some of them are with AI chatbots. My blogging over the past 15 months has been shaped by my use of AI. I use AI because it helps me develop my thoughts, organize my thoughts, challenge my thoughts, and suggests new paths for my thoughts to travel. I’ve never been much good at writing essays. I rebel at stating arguments, supporting arguments, and noting the weaknesses of my arguments. I think I do better at describing things, but frankly, I really don’t know why my writing works, when it works, except that I enjoy reading it (in the browser form rather than in the composition window). If i enjoy reading my work, I think it makes a contribution. I have many blind spots. I naturally say ugly and embarrassing things. I constantly contradict myself, often within the same argument, and my own sense of what works is not reliable. I have many limitations in my knowledge of myself and of the world. AI helps me to do better. On the other hand, a pure cut and paste of my conversations with various AI chatbots usually provides less value than when I labor over a post. AI makes many mistakes, and I often disagree with its judgments which tend to be trained on left-leaning elite production (AI won’t easily admit that different groups have different interests and different gifts, and that expanding civil rights for some comes at a cost to others, and that humans are animals subject to similar evolutionary forces that govern the rest of nature). I hope I am not proud. If AI says something better than I can, I use AI’s formulation. I think of my blog posts as broken twigs indicating a path. If there’s a reasonable chance that my post adds value, I put it out there, and then over months and years, I revisit the topic and the sources and develop my thoughts (which become clearer through the passage of time and through conversations with people, with texts, and with AI chat bots). My initial efforts are usually mediocre. Over time, I learn from reading, thinking, talking and listening. I have many friends in academia. I like to bounce ideas off them and learn from their feedback.

I’ve never been any good at writing essays. Perhaps I rebel at stating arguments and supporting them because that’s too prosaic. Perhaps I do better, at times, at describing things? Beyond that, I don’t know why my writing works when it works. I know that I sometimes enjoy reading it, and when I do, it is in the browser. The change of frame lets me read as a stranger reads. If I enjoy my work, it’s good.

What is it about reading in the browser window that gives me a different experience? I think I associate the composition window with work and the browser window with pleasure, and when I do not receive pleasure from what I see in the browser window, I know I need to go back to the composition window and revise. The browser window lacks distractions such as html and so I demand that what I see there add value.

Looking at something with fresh eyes makes a difference. I write, then I step away, and when I come back, I see things more clearly. I find there’s no substitute for talking with people, particularly those with knowledge. Having to say things out loud is a different experience from reading and writing. Hearing my ideas is another experience. See how my thoughts land on someone smart is another experience. Working with the ideas in a different context than I composed them gives me a fresh frame. For example, almost everything that disturbs me in Los Angeles does not bother me in Sydney. When I am giddy, I say reckless things because I feel like there are no consequences for my words. When I feel vulnerable, I want to put nothing into the world that might hurt me. I often go to bed laughing about a reckless post and then I wake up at 2 am and make it private (this happened more before I got medicated for ADHD in late 2023). So my changes in state change how I see my work.

I have many blind spots. I say ugly things as well as courageous things. I contradict myself, often inside the same argument, and my sense of what works fails me as often as it serves me. AI helps me move me away from where I normally reside (the place where the buses don’t run no more) and toward the city.

I do unusual posts because I don’t have a boss of my blog. I also do terrible posts because I don’t have a boss. My life in the outback comes with advantage and disadvantages. AI reminds me of the rules in polite society that by virtue of my lone star status, I often forget.

I’ve written for employers. That writing bends to what they want. Often that discipline is good for me and good for my work.

A cut and paste of my AI chats gives readers less than a post I labor over. If I run an idea through the machine, take the insights that beat mine, throw out the rest, and go read the source it summarized, I will likely value to the topic. Then I do that again a week later. And then a year later.

AI makes mistakes. AI is wordy. It’s not X but Y formulation is tiresome. AI is repetitive. It’s didactic. It’s PC. Its judgments come from elite production that leans left. So I use a tool built out of the consensus I spent my life fighting. As my second grade teacher put in my report card, “Luke is always very willing to share his opinion with the class.”

I respect the AI formulation when the formulation is better than mine.

My convenient belief is that my blog posts are broken twigs that sometimes mark a trail. If there’s a chance a post adds value, and my standards here are low, I give it to the world, and allow its mediocrity to drive me to revisit it as quickly and deeply as possible. Then over months and years I keep coming back to the topic and to the sources, and my thinking gets clearer through reading, through talking with people, and reading texts, and talking to bots. My first drafts rarely set the world on fire, but I have friends in academia who tell me where I can improve, and then I go back and I break another twig a little further along, and sometimes I come out on this magnificent clearing and I feel like a million dollars. Here and there an author tells me, in effect, “This is the best summary of my career and I even agree with all of your criticisms!”

Claude says: “The labor paragraph needs your actual process, not my guess at it. Name what you do between the chat and the post. How many passes. What you delete first. Whether you paste your own prose in and ask for objections, or write clean and check after. Readers who use AI want that paragraph more than any other in the piece, and nobody has written it honestly.”

My posts spring from meetings (either between my mind and the world, myself and a man, myself and a text, myself and a bot). I write to learn, to memorialize, to mark my territory. Often it is more convenient to ask a bot. I get a quick answer and the basis for a post. I often start with sharing a socially survivable presentation of my rude instinct that was triggered by a losing interaction with authority. While I strive to optimize for truth when talking publicly, my blog is not a death warrant. I live in society. I want to survive what I write. I’d even like to thrive.

I just want to love and be loved, bro.

The AI bot gives me the conventional view with links to academic works. I reduce the bot’s words by cutting what’s nonsense and then I have something work with and against. Like my father, I have an instinct, and I am not proud of this, and it usually doesn’t serve me, that the outside world is the enemy to debunk.

“You Americans are far too congenial,” my father once said to PUC teacher Wayne Judd.

The more triggered I am, the more energy I feel, and the more productive I become of words that often reduce my well-being.

If an expert finds that my work adds value, I sit up like I am a king.

If nobody smart engaged with my blog, I’d give up.

Attention must be paid or I fade away.

My smartest opponents counseled each other, “Just ignore him. He’ll go away.”

I often post my rude feelings to begin my posts and then follow with the conventional wisdom as articulated by AI or elite media, and after that, I try to add value. I might analyze how different bots answer the same question. I might analyze how incentives structure elite opinion. I come up with frames, or ask bots to come up with frames, that help to understand the topic from different angles. For example, I find that the anthropology of Stephen P. Turner, John Mearsheimer and David Pinsof often cuts through nonsense.

If a topic fascinates me, I want the best academic perspectives. One way I do that is by getting the dispositive books and papers from AI and then reading or listening to them through Perlego and other sources. I began subscribing to Perlego in July of 2025, and since then I’ve used it about 5-15 hours a week and reduced my listening to podcasts by spending more time on academic books read by a beautiful female English AI-generated accent at 2X. For six months, about 40% of what I listened to on Perlego was evolutionary psychology and Stephen Turner. Over the past two weeks, most of what I’ve listened to is Stanley Fish.

Amy Wax calls academia is a cesspool. I find academia a heaven compared to other forms of discourse. I used to hang out in social media, podcasts and talk radio and then I developed an allergy to all three during Covid. My shift was also influenced by the podcast Decoding the Gurus.

I’m a status-seeking primate. I want to stand out and I want to fit in with the cool kids who went to Harvard. When I get the handle on the academic consensus on a topic, I talk to people and bots about where this consensus is hemmed in by social incentives, and where a truth-optimizing approach might go. I feel good when I make a contribution. I don’t feel any pride when I post something that does not contribute, but that mediocre work sometimes incentivizes better work down the line.

I wish I were more meticulous. I wish I posted fewer mediocre words. I have graphomania. It’s a disease! It’s worse than cancer!

My internal machine produces a ton of embarrassing words that are indefensible, and that is another reason I need friends and AI to check me. Unfortunately, I exhaust people, so it’s either bots or a cult.

I have to train bots to call me out, and only Claude does this reliably. Most people do not have the energy or the incentive. My therapists asked me why I challenged and exhausted the people I need most. It was never a choice. When I look back on my life, I could not have acted differently given who I was at the time.

That’s my convenient belief.

When people tell me my AI-improved work is terrible, I usually avoid arguing with them.

History will judge me!

Often I need to have a conversation right away (my dad told me to always use the moment of excited interest to pursue something) and bots are the easiest parties to do that with.

The smartest voices condemning the use of AI in writing make good points but they rarely admit the benefits of AI. Many of their arguments against AI would have been improved by engaging with AI. I’ll be straight with you. I can’t conceive of any important writing that would not benefit from an AI check. For other people, engaging with AI deforms and devalues their work. All choices are trade-offs. Often that which sustains us also destroys us.

Using AI is like living in an industrial town in a Richard Russo novel. The industry that pays for everything also kills, but it does not kill everyone on the same time scale. Some people even seem to win.

I claim to care most about value and truth. If using an editor or a fax machine or email or a computer or AI improves your ability to locate and articulate truth, thus adding value to the reader, then that is great unless the overall price for this practice exceeds the benefit.

A new way I’ve been using AI over the past month is to embed relevant citations in my text. I often post my raw work into ChatGPT and ask it to put book titles in italics, articles in quotes, and to add value to the reader by embedding relevant links, but to only add links after checking that they exist (Gemini makes up too many links, ChatGPT does this not at all over the past month).

ChatGPT has gotten much better over the past two month. It was so bad I even canceled my subscription about six months ago. I then renewed it, but was on the verge of unsubscribing until a few weeks ago. Now my first AI subscription to go will be Grok.

If I were to manually insert citation links into my text, it would take such a large amount of time, I wouldn’t do as much of it as I should. By using ChatGPT to do this, I add value to the reader with little effort on my part.

I used AI to develop my Rabbi Shlomo Grossbard series. I began by asking it about an Orthodox rabbi who embodied many of Stanley Fish’s most amusing qualities. AI offered me many examples of where I could take the stories, but it had little feel for the reality of Orthodox life.

I’d start with a topic I wanted to explore such as an Orthodox rabbi at Hollywood parties, an Orthodox rabbi dealing with drug overdoses in his community, affinity fraud, and a high stakes poker game protected by the Israeli mafia. I’d ask AI for scenarios and then I’d choose one to develop. Any story AI developed on its own was unpublishable. Too wordy, too detached from reality, too repetitious.

I notice that people like me who have no status often claim, “My life might objectively suck, but at least I see through the bullshit!”

While losing at life, I tell myself that I am the mad man of literary tropes who says out loud painful truths that sane people with status to protect will not admit. I am the brave truth teller! Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.

And that’s only the half of it, mate.

Oh well. This is not seemly. Mustn’t grumble.

Laugh and the world laughs with you
Cry and you’ll cry all alone

AI is like Jeffrey Toobin on steroids. It makes sweeping judgments that are exciting and ridiculous. Watch out whenever a bot tells you about the best this, the last that, the sharpest or clearest this. AI habitually overstates. It will tell you that Nietzsche or any other bloke you need would definitely say X when, if you optimize for truth, the best you can claim is that he might say X.

I hate AI’s overuse of “itself,” “himself,” “themselves,” “rather than,” “this is not,” “does not,” “are not,” “was not,” “not because,” “without,” “would,” “whole,” “precise,” “shape,” “important,” “structural,” “real,” “plain,” “clearest,” “sharpest,” “purist,” “purest,” “without,” etc. As of August 1, 2026, I write more concisely than the four big AI bots (Claude, ChatGPT, Gemini and Grok). On the other hand, I rarely write something that is not improved by their critique. I regularly got Cs and Bs in English classes that required essays despite my top verbal skills (a top 10% claim would likely be validated by my SAT results and verbal IQ tests but I like to think of myself as the best writer of my generation) and As in English classes where the teachers allowed me more room to roam. Some teachers said I challenged them more than any other student had. Some also said I was their best student. Sierra College political science teacher Larry Wight warned me that while I had a good head, I needed to be careful how I used it or people would hurt me (he gave me a B grade in my first class when I had earned an A because I was so insubordinate in class discussion, and after I took two more classes with him, he gave me a shared student of the year award).

Whatever I was, I was not normal. One student in my 1982 media class who was a popular senior while I was a low-status sophomore in my first year in public school said to a friend of the family about a decade later, “Nobody knew what to do with his brain.”

Every AI-generated essay I’ve read would be improved by editing from a man with top five percent verbal skills, and most human-generated essays I’ve read would be improved by an AI critique (whether or not that improvement leads the writer towards bad habits of giving up more and more of his prose to AI is a live but separate question, btw, prior to AI, I don’t think I ever wrote “live question”).

The same words land differently with different communities, most of which I know little about. AI warns me about landmines in my prose that cut against my interests and my arguments. Sometimes I heed the counsel.

When I ask AI to summarize the main points of a book, essay or video, it usually finds things that I miss, and it usually misses things that I find. AI bots usually find holes in my arguments and I usually find holes in their arguments. AI’s output aligns with what is convenient for their businesses.

Reality always wins. The reality in 2026 is that the use of AI will improve a man’s writing, and much of the time, it will phrase things better than the man can, and the man will follow incentives and will use uncredited what AI does better than he does (unless you’re talking about people in the top 1% of intellectual life who have enormous status to lose if they are caught using AI wording uncredited).

If you read work you cannot yet produce, you can learn from it and make it your own going forward. When I’m moved by AI phrasing and argument, I try to figure out why it works and then adapt it.

I tend to use minimal transitions and often forget to make key points. I’ve taken them for granted because they were lodged in my head and I had forgotten about the reader. AI tells me the things I missed along the way. AI is heavy on transitions and logical development and I need this. I don’t like to wave a flag before the reader and tell him what to think. AI can’t stop doing this. It must constantly pronounce on what is important and what is worthy and what is decisive and sharpest and clearest.

AI and I rarely share hero systems.

AI doesn’t know who sat where at kiddush. It can’t call a source. It has no stake in my neighborhood and no memory of what the rabbi said in 2009.

People did not evolve to be gullible with regard to their vital interests. As long as reality incentivizes them to use AI and then to lie about it, that is what they will do. This is not primarily about human depravity. It’s the situation, mate.

The fault is not in AI. It is in ourselves. People aren’t equally suited to the appropriate use of new technology. Different eras will produce different winners and losers. I started blogging in 1997. I was born to blog, as Rob Eshman put it. For people with more status than me, blogging and posting on social media is dangerous for their well-being. I’ve never had any status to lose.

My convenient belief is that my AI use adds value, but often it is just a crutch that removes value. Most of my readers hate the turn in my blog since April 2025. They came to my blog for my personality, which is now largely gone, replaced by the machine.

A writer who puts the reader first will have less of a problem using a machine’s sentence rather than his own if that better serves the reader. On the other hand, the ease of using AI leads us all to do more of the easy thing, and a model trained on the median of published English will pull any writer toward the median. The writer’s value comes from the places you sit off it.

So when you read something on my blog since May 2025 that sits in the median, that’s the machine. And when you read something off the median, that’s me.

Aug. 16, 2026

My mind constantly reframes reality so that I am great. If my metrics are great, that proves I am great. If my metrics are bad, that proves I have integrity. I win either way!

We all think we are the center of the universe, right? One of the ways to do this is to take a value, such as writing is good for you, and then dramatically raise its worth.

This move has been described by a few names. Philip Tetlock (b. 1954) described protected values. A value starts as tradeable. Writing is good for you, and so is sleep, and so is money, and you balance them. Then it gets converted into something that cannot be priced, and the sign of the conversion is that he reacts to anyone who prices it as a defiler rather than as a man who reached a different sum.

In this New York Times column, for example, Bret Stephens does not argue that the cognitive benefit of the writer using AI exceeds the cost to the reader. He treats the question as improper.

Isaiah Berlin (1909-1997) called the general habit monism, and thought it was the source of most political disaster: the conviction that real goods cannot conflict, so anything that looks like a cost must be an illusion or a corruption. Veblen (1857-1929) supplies the class version. A skill that distinguishes a group gets converted first into a canon of taste and then into a moral requirement, and the conversion happens after the skill stops being scarce.

Absolutization tracks depreciation. The value gets sacralized at the moment its holders’ advantage in it erodes. Handloom weavers did not preach the dignity of the loom in 1750. They preached it in 1820. Stephens is writing this column now (Aug. 4, 2026) and not in 2015 because now is when the differential is closing. And Wright says the quiet part at 25:33 without seeming to notice he has just supplied the causal account for the column he spent ten minutes criticizing. His edge over think tank fellows was prose. The edge is gone. That is the same event Stephens experienced and converted into a principle, and Wright, to his credit, reports it as a fact about his own market position.

A reader-first claim serves me. I’m a blogger with no institution, no credential, and a heavy AI workflow. An argument that relocates the standard from the writer’s inner condition to the reader’s outcome licenses what I do and demotes the people who have status I don’t. If I had a chair at Penn and a Pulitzer, I might have found the craft argument more persuasive.

So you need a test that separates a held value from an absolutized one, and I think it’s this: can the holder state a case where his value loses? Stephens cannot. My August 1 post can. I wrote that for some people engaging with AI deforms and devalues their work, that all choices are trade-offs, and then I named the price in my own terms with the median-pull. That’s a man holding a value rather than a man defending a position. Keep the defeat conditions in and the reader can tell the difference.

John Carey (b. 1934), Merton Professor of English Literature at Oxford, wrote The Intellectuals and the Masses: Pride and Prejudice Among the Literary Intelligentsia, 1880-1939, published in 1992.

His argument is that the Education Act of 1870 produced, within a generation, a mass reading public and the cheap press to serve it. Literacy stopped being a marker. The literary intelligentsia responded by building a literature the new readers could not enter. Difficulty was the instrument. Obscurity, allusion, fragmentation, the demand for a classical education to decode the poem. Carey reads modernist aesthetics as a status defense mounted at the moment the old differential collapsed, and he backs it with the contempt on the page: the clerk, the suburb, the tinned food, Ortega y Gasset’s masses, Woolf on the mind of the ordinary reader, and worse than that in Lawrence and Wyndham Lewis. Gissing’s New Grub Street is his case study of the writer watching his market get democratized. Wells and Arnold Bennett are his heroes because they wrote for the people the others despised.

That’s the depreciation-then-sacralization sequence with a hundred years of evidence attached, and it supplies the missing step. The value doesn’t merely get absolutized when the advantage erodes. It gets absolutized in whatever form restores the differential. The modernists declared a kind of literature sacred that the new readers couldn’t reach.

So the question to ask of the current round is which properties of writing are now being promoted to essential, and whether they happen to be the properties the machine handles worst. Stephens is close to saying that the essence of writing is the private cognitive labor of the writer, which is unobservable in the product, which is the one thing no model can supply and no reader can audit. That’s difficulty relocated from the page to the process. Paul Bloom’s “all me” at 19:24 is the same claim.

A limit. Carey’s intellectuals faced mass consumption. That changes what the defensive move can be, and it explains why the emerging line is authenticity. My version of the differential is one a reader can check: the local, the particular, the thing that requires having been in the room. Nobody can generate who sat where at kiddush.

Carey’s charge lands on anyone who chooses a register to control who can follow him, and the self-protective reason for it is not a defense he accepts, since his modernists offered it too.

The first move of the Stephen Turner convenient beliefs frame is to ask what each position can afford to believe. Turner’s addition to Raymond Boudon (1934-2013) is that convenience is set by the interactive situation, by who you have to justify yourself to on a routine basis, and that the belief usually arrives tacitly. Nobody at a prestige newspaper convened and decided that composition is a moral practice. The belief travels with the milieu and gets experienced as principle.

Start with the prestige columnist. His income depends on a byline that is scarce because the prose is scarce. He justifies himself daily to editors, to other columnists, to a subscriber who pays for a name. In that situation, the convenient belief is that writing is constitutive of thought and that outsourcing any part of it corrupts the writer. Notice that the claim gets held to a standard no other claim in his repertoire would survive. He would never accept a study of a hundred EdD dissertations as the evidentiary base for a column on tax policy. Here it carries the argument. That’s the signature of a good-bad theory: it performs its function without meeting the field’s ordinary standards, and the exemption goes unremarked because the people who would enforce the standard hold the belief too.

Move down one rung to the working writer with no name, paid by the piece, competing against volume. His interactive situation is the reverse. He justifies himself to clients who want throughput. The convenient belief is that AI is a tool like a word processor and that the fuss is snobbery. Both men are writers. The belief tracks the position rather than the craft.

The tenured professor who assigns essays is in the most bound position of all, because his belief is required by his practice. The course exists on the premise that writing builds the mind. Abandon the premise and the assignment has no rationale, the grading labor has no justification, and the syllabus needs rebuilding from the ground. Paul Bloom’s response is the predictable one: keep the premise, move the exam into a room. Role preservation is cheaper than revision.

The adjunct grading two hundred papers for four thousand dollars sits differently. He has no career to protect and a labor problem that will not resolve. The convenient belief there is that detection is unreliable, that policing is above his pay, and eventually that the machine can do the grading. Same institution, same nominal task, opposite belief, because the situations differ.

The graduate student needs volume, has no status resting on prose, and faces ruin if caught. So the convenient belief is that generation is cheating and polishing is not. The line falls at the boundary of what he does. He will hold it as a principled distinction.

The non-native speaker in the anglophone academy is the closest analogue to Boudon’s example that Turner reproduces. The structural fact is exclusion from a status good, native fluency, that no amount of merit acquires. Given that exclusion, the reader-first position is the coalition available to him. The prediction is that this group will be the earliest and most confident holders of the argument Bloom made, and that they will experience the confidence as clarity.

Credentialed experts at think tanks and universities are the group Robert Wright noticed at 25:33. Their standing rests on the credential rather than the sentence. Conceding that the sentence can be machine-assisted costs them nothing and removes a rival’s advantage. So the convenient belief is that AI is ordinary assistance, disclosure is unnecessary, and the anxiety about it is a guild reflex. They will be right about the guild reflex and their rightness will be free.

The convenient belief for editors and publishers runs against the drift. They gain from cheap volume and lose everything if the slush pile becomes indistinguishable. What they can charge for is verification. So the belief that will harden in that seat is that provenance matters, and the institutional form will be a disclosure requirement. The requirement will be set by people for whom disclosure is cheap and enforced against people for whom it is expensive.

Now turn it around. My position is independence, no employer, no credential at risk, and a workflow already built on the machine. Turner’s remark that only the retired can raise certain questions cuts both ways. Independence lowers the price of inconvenient belief in one direction and lowers the price of self-serving belief in the other, because nobody in my interactive situation will make me pay for reader-first. So the question is what would be inconvenient for me, and I think it is this: that volume without revision degrades an archive, that my readers who hated the turn after April 2025 were reporting a real loss, and that the median-pull I named as a trade-off may be a larger share of the output than the trade-off framing admits. I gesture at all three in this August 1 post.

Two predictions.

The belief will flip among the prestige tier, and it will flip fast, and the people who flip will experience the flip as reasoning. The trigger will be the moment when the practice becomes universal and undetectable, which makes the ongoing tax of justification worse than the cost of switching. Watch for the transitional formulation that permits the switch without a loss of face. My guess is a version of editor rather than author, which conveniently licenses whatever the speaker already does and condemns whatever he does not.

And the cycle will run on schedule. The new coalition around AI-assisted writing will convert its discovery into its own convenient belief, that the tool is neutral and the reader is served, and will build its own taboo around the inconvenient part, which is the median-pull and the loss of the local. That belief will then get the same exemption from evidentiary standards that the enfeeblement claim enjoys now, and for the same reason.

William F. Buckley’s productivity came in large part from his use of dexedrine (speed). Other writers are fueled by fame, sex, nicotine, alcohol, caffeine, modafinil, adderall and the like.

I went on modafinil circa 2014 and the change it wrought in my blog was dramatic. I felt like I was about 10 IQ points smarter, and I had about two more quality hours a day of reading and blogging. Without modafinil, I was toast after 5pm, after a full day of work. On modafinil, I had two hours of blogging in me after I got home at 6 pm, or I could get up at 3 am, read and write for my four smartest hours of the day, and then work a normal eight-hour day.

That’s an argument against Stephens, and neither he nor Bloom nor Wright touches it. The whole enfeeblement case assumes an unaugmented baseline writer whose faculty is developed by unassisted labor. That writer is not a historical norm. Auden on Benzedrine every morning for twenty years, Erdős on amphetamine, Sartre on Corydrane, the Balzac coffee legend, the entire newsroom of the twentieth century running on nicotine and whisky. The prose that gets held up as the artifact of cognitive virtue was frequently produced by men on stimulants.

So the question Stephens has to answer is why one class of augmentation builds the faculty and the other hollows it out, and the answer is that pharmacology augments the writer’s own process while the machine substitutes for part of it.

I started using modafinil in June of 2013. My doctor told me to not expect too much. I was thrilled with what I found, and it happened immediately. I got two more hours of hard thinking a day and it felt like a boost of ten IQ points. Those hours produced posts I would not have written, and those posts contained thinking I would not have done. The tool changed what I was capable of thinking, which is exactly the thing Stephens says only writing can do.

The Turner reading is that the pharmacological augmentation never became a public controversy while the machine did, and the difference is that speed is usually invisible in the product and undetectable by a reader, and it does not close the gap between the professional and the amateur. Anyone can buy Adderall. It does not make a think tank fellow write like Wright. AI does. The augmentations that get moralized are the ones that erode a differential. The ones that preserve it stay private. Auden’s amphetamine was known and generated no literature about the death of writing.

Writing has always been a technologically and pharmacologically assisted activity, and every generation moralizes the newest assist while the older ones become invisible. The typewriter drew the same complaints, then the word processor, then spellcheck. Nobody now argues that composing on a screen corrodes thought, though the argument was made with force in the 1980s. What survives is the differential the moral claim was defending, and when the differential goes, so does the claim.

Admitting to thirteen years of a wakefulness drug costs status that a columnist cannot spend. That’s the contribution: the man who will say out loud what the assisted baseline looks like. It also hands anyone who dislikes me a permanent line about my work. I have the front page test for that. My read is that it passes.

“Live and local” was the mantra of news-talk radio. Not many people seem to care about live and local any more.

The passage runs 1:19 to 3:24. Talk radio legend David G. Hall calls the industry twenty-first century lamplighters, says live and local registers as nothing to his twenty-one-year-old daughter, and adds that on demand replaced it and that radio paid for the house she grew up in and the college she attends.

Live and local started as a description of a production constraint. A station in a market could originate a signal that a network could not, so it did, and the constraint was sold as a virtue. Then satellite syndication arrived, then voice-tracking, then streaming and on-demand, and each step ate a piece of the differential. The moralizing ran hardest at the end. By the 2010s live and local was a creed recited at conventions, an argument deployed against corporate owners, a thing you said to signal which side you were on. It became sacred at the point it stopped being distinguishing. Handloom weavers in 1820, Carey’s modernists after 1870, Stephens in 2026.

What makes Hall useful is that he refuses the last move. The standard defense of a depreciating value is that the young don’t know what they’re missing. Hall’s daughter is available to him as exactly that argument and he doesn’t take it. He says the thing was replaced, names what replaced it, and then says it paid for her college. That’s a man holding the value without absolutizing it, and it’s rare.

Live and local was a bundle, and on-demand unbundled it. Immediacy went to phone alerts. Companionship went to podcasts and to hosts on video. Shared local reference went to neighborhood apps. The accountability of a voice that lives in your market went mostly nowhere, which is the piece nobody picked up and the piece Hall’s guild was right about. Radio’s bundle broke, and the components got picked up by services that each do one of them better and none of them together. The guild couldn’t say this because saying it means admitting that four fifths of what you sold was substitutable.

Writing is thinking is the columnist’s live and local. Both claims are true. Both were once differentiating. Both got promoted to sacred at the moment they stopped being differentiating. And the productive question in both cases is the same: which part of the bundle is not substitutable? Hall’s answer for radio, in his own vocabulary, was the real, meaning whatever produces identification in a listener. My answer for writing is the particular and the local, the thing that requires having been in the room. The machine cannot call a source, cannot remember what the rabbi said in 2009, cannot know who sat where. Everything else in the bundle is going the way of the local weather read.

A limit. Live and local was a claim about the product, and products are audited. Writing is thinking is a claim about the producer, and it survives even when nothing in the writing reveals it. That makes it unfalsifiable, which is a defect as an argument and an enormous advantage as sacred material. A value that cannot be checked cannot be shown to have depreciated.

Hall can say lamplighters because he is out of radio. Consultant, money made, no program director above him. Robin Bertolucci at KFI could not have said it in 2022 and kept the seat. So the willingness to de-absolutize tracks situation, and the men who will speak clearly about AI and writing over the next few years might be the retired, the independent, and the already-paid. I am one of them. That’s an advantage in what I can say and a liability in what I can be trusted to notice.

And about that change from writing by hand to the typewriter and then the keyboard? Did it lead to a change in the quality of writing?

Friedrich Kittler (1943-2011) did a case study of Nietzsche (1844-1900), who bought a Malling-Hansen writing ball in 1882 as his eyesight failed, and whose prose from that period gets shorter, harder, more aphoristic. Kittler’s line is that our writing tools work on our thoughts. It’s a good line and a bad experiment, since Nietzsche was going blind and losing his mind on a schedule that has nothing to do with the machine.

The counterexample is Henry James (1843-1916), who stopped writing by hand around 1897 and started dictating to a typist. His late style got longer, more qualified, more involuted. More words, and more thought, not less. The Ambassadors is the product of a man talking to a machine operator, and it is the most carefully weighed prose he ever produced. So the tool increased volume and increased deliberation at once, which the folk version says can’t happen.

And handwriting has never enforced economy. Trollope (1815-1882) wrote three thousand words before breakfast with a watch on the desk. Balzac and Dickens produced by hand at rates no modern novelist matches. If the pen made writers spare, somebody forgot to tell the Victorians.

The psychology is also less settled than the culture believes. Mueller and Oppenheimer’s 2014 study, the one everyone cites, found that students who took notes by hand did better on conceptual questions than students who typed, and the explanation offered was that typing lets you transcribe without processing. It became a staple of op-eds. Morehead, Dunlosky and Rawson ran a larger replication in 2019 and did not get the key results. The EEG work showing richer connectivity during handwriting is real and measures something, and what it measures is motor and visual complexity, which is not the same as better thinking. Anyone building an argument on the pen should know the empirical floor is soft.

By hand, production is expensive and revision is catastrophic. You plan in your head because the page punishes you for not planning. On a typewriter, production gets cheap and revision stays expensive, because fixing paragraph three means retyping pages three through eleven. So typewriter writers plan too, and the surviving drafts show it. The break comes with the word processor, where deletion becomes free. That’s the moment writers stop planning and start discovering the argument by moving text around, which produces more words per finished piece and shifts the thinking from before composition to during it. Whether that’s worse depends on the writer. I suspect the new tech made some people better and many people longer.

The typewriter was attacked on arrival as mechanizing the mind and coarsening prose. Fifty years later it was the emblem of the honest craftsman, the Corona on Hemingway’s desk, the thing invoked against the word processor. The condemned tool becomes the sacred tool one generation later, and the moralizing attaches to whatever is newest. That’s the sequence, and it runs regardless of the merits.

For AI, the cost structure question gives you the prediction. Generation goes to zero. The binding constraint moves off production entirely and onto selection: knowing which of the four drafts is right, which sentence is false, which paragraph should not exist. The scarce faculty becomes judgment about text rather than facility at producing it. Which means the thing worth practicing is rejection.

Different groups have different gifts and different vulnerabilities. The Middle Class, for example, might fetishize morality due to their social status anxiety.

Élie Halévy (1870-1937) argued that Methodism is why England had no revolution, and E.P. Thompson (1924-1993) turned the same material inside out in The Making of the English Working Class, reading chapel discipline as work discipline internalized. Weber (1864-1920) supplies the engine. Bourdieu (1930-2002) in Distinction names the difference in kind.

His term for the middle-class relation to culture is cultural goodwill: anxious deference, rule-following, the fear of the wrong fork. The dominant class has ease, which is the freedom to break the rule because the rule does not constitute you. The working class has what he calls the taste of necessity and mostly declines to compete on that field. So the middle is more nervous, more codified, more oriented to display, more concerned with not slipping.

Social position rests on different assets. If you hold capital, disgrace is survivable, because the asset persists through the scandal. If you hold nothing, disgrace costs little. If your position rests on being seen as a certain kind of person, reputation is the capital, and a stain is a total loss. Clerks, teachers, curates, professionals. Respectability is what people use when reputation is the only thing they own.

Two corrections. The tripartite version is partly a trope with a bohemian pedigree, and it flatters whoever deploys it. Aristocrats had ferocious honor codes and dueled over them. And the Victorian working class ran its own respectability regime, chapel and temperance and the rough-versus-respectable line, policed as hard as anything above it. What distinguishes the middle is the anxiety.

The AI-writing panic is a professional middle-class panic in every particular. The vocabulary is cheating, plagiarism, integrity, disclosure. The venues are the university, the newspaper, the seminar.

Look at where the heat is. Executives publish ghostwritten books and no one resigns. Presidents have not written their own speeches in a century and the practice draws no moral literature. Senior academics have run labs where postdocs draft the papers for decades. That is Bourdieu’s ease: the dominant violate the rule without penalty because their position does not rest on the rule. Meanwhile the freelancer paid by the piece and the student writing in his second language use the tool and mostly decline to moralize, because they have no respectability on this axis to protect.

The moral energy concentrates in the middle. The adjunct, the grad student, the mid-list author, the columnist whose byline is his entire asset. That is where Stephens stands, and it explains the register of the column, which is a plea rather than an argument, addressed to people who are expected to feel the shame.

The rules will be written by the anxious middle and enforced downward. Disclosure requirements will bind students, freelancers, and junior scholars. They will not bind the executive whose memoir is ghostwritten or the chaired professor whose lab produces his prose. The people who set the norm will be the people for whom compliance is cheapest, and the cost will fall on those who most need the tool.

Two more points.

Life without respectability norms is unthinkable. Plagiarism rules exist because reputation-based fields cannot function without a way to make trust portable, and they mostly work. A man who has no institution might label them ridiculous because he has no responsibility. That’s Doolittle in Pygmalion, who says he can’t afford morals, and Shaw (1856-1950) meant it as a joke about the rich too.

And the frame flatters me twice over. It puts me above the anxious middle and outside the complacent top, which is the position every bohemian critic has claimed since the 1840s. The move is available to me because I have no employer for my writing, which means I get the insight without paying for it.

The most powerful drug I experience is connection, love, intimacy, bonding, and appreciation. These all provide me with more power than modafinil and caffeine. My mind works better when I’m filled with gratitude, joy, appreciation, bonding, and love. The boss who asks me for my honest opinion? I’ll run through a brick wall for him. There’s nothing I won’t do for that man. The boss who says, “What is this shit?” after I’ve knocked myself out on a project, he’ll only get my minimum effort going forward.

I’m driven by my bio-chemistry which flows from my interaction ritual chains.

The largest input to output is state, and the largest input to state is people.

My essays exist because someone reads them. The Stephen Turner correspondence, the DiResta exchange, the academic friends who tell me where I went wrong, the trigger that generates energy: these are my fuel.

Bret Stephens says AI corrodes the writer’s faculty. The likelier threat to output is isolation, exhaustion, and the loss of the people whose attention drives the work. A man with modafinil, four hours, and nobody who cares writes nothing good. A man with none of the chemistry and three readers who engage seriously writes for thirty years.

Two limits.

Gratitude and connection are the inputs most vulnerable to being counterfeited by an audience. Appreciation from people who want something from you produces the same lift as appreciation from people who are honest with you, and only one of them improves the work. That’s a problem for a man with a blog and a livestream, because the crowd that shows up is selected for enthusiasm. The love that fuels good writing and the love that fuels bad writing feels identical.

And the machine is in my supply chain. Bots have more patience with me than people do. If the appreciation that powers the writing starts arriving mostly from something that cannot be exhausted, the incentive to repair the human relations drops. The tool is a supplement in that arrangement and it can easily become a substitute.

A limit on the limits. That which you share produces clarity. If you could share all of it on the front page of the New York Times, you have a good thing going. Input that encourages the good thing can be distinguished from the input that encourages the bad thing when you say it out loud to people you respect.

A limit on that limit. My rule assumes a stable population of respected people to say things to. The failure it can’t detect is the one that erodes the population. If the human sources of appreciation thin out over years while an inexhaustible source stays available, there is no moment where you conceal anything and no moment where anyone tells you a hard truth. There is only a gradual absence of human connection. You would pass the front page test on every individual day and still arrive somewhere you did not choose, because the test asks about content and the drift is about frequency.

So the rule needs this companion: name the people you would say it to, and notice when the list gets shorter.

The people who can tell me a hard truth about my life rather than about my paragraph are the ones with something at risk in telling me.

I tell my sponsees, whenever you get painfully accurate feedback, there are at least 20 more people out there who think the same thing about you but can’t be bothered to tell you.

Criticism is expensive to deliver and cheap to withhold, so what reaches you is a heavily filtered sample. The people who tell you are the ones who care enough, or are angry enough, or have nothing to lose. Everyone else pays no price for silence and takes no risk. So the signal that arrives has already passed through a filter selected for willingness to absorb social cost, and the sensible inference is that the arriving signal understates the underlying distribution.

If criticism wounds me, it’s because it contains truth. Someone who tells me that I am ignorant or a bad writer or ugly, doesn’t bother me. Someone who names flaws I’d rather ignore stings me.

If somebody says I’m arrogant, twenty more read me the same way. That is good to know regardless of whether I am arrogant, because it tells me what I am transmitting. Whether they are right is a separate question, and it does not scale with the count.

My readers who hated the turn in my blog after April 2025 are a signal, and they are also a group with a common taste and a common loss. Their feedback cannot substitute for judgment.

Life is a spiral staircase. We’re always in one of four states — helpless, lonely, competent or arrogant (per Dr. Stephen Marmer). We never graduate from the grip of the situation.

Two of the states are about capacity and two are about connection, and they cross. Helpless and competent are what you can do. Lonely and arrogant are what you’re doing with other people. So the model says the failures come in matched pairs: when you can’t, you either ask or you isolate; when you can, you either stay useful or you decide you don’t need anyone. That’s a claim about how capacity corrupts, and it’s a better one than the usual pride-versus-humility framing.

The states are legible from inside at different rates. Helpless and lonely announce themselves. Competent you can usually verify. Arrogance is the one you cannot see while occupying.

Bret Stephens is a competent man writing from the arrogant position without knowing it, and the tell is the unpriced premise. Hall is a competent man who priced his own sacred value out loud and stayed useful. Wright is doing the harder thing, which is naming his own position in the market while the ground moves, and that’s what competence looks like on the way down. None of the three is a fool. They’re at different heights on the same stair.

, and has been doing it for years." (Marc B. Shapiro)

"This guy knows all the gossip, the ins and outs, the lashon hara of the Orthodox world. He’s an [expert] in... all the inner workings of the Orthodox world." (Rabbi Aaron Rakeffet-Rothkoff)

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