My Christmas Miracle

Happy holidays everyone!

Get that (ginger)bread!

Baking gingerbread cookies with my 6-year-old niece. The sounds of a loved one playing Animal Crossing. The neighborhood blanketed in snow. Tomorrow, on Christmas morning, I’ll be watching my nephew and nieces giddily open presents. 

My work focuses on a lot of ugliness but today I’m struck by just how good life can be, too. As someone who’s been unhappy about the state of the world for as long as I can remember, the good has always been difficult for me to acknowledge. But this year it’s undeniable, and that’s largely thanks to you.

When I quit my staff reporter job in April over the lack of editorial independence, I had no plan B. I had accepted the possibility that not enough people were going to subscribe to this newsletter and I would have to move onto something else. But within days, a couple thousand people chipping in $10 a month saved my ass, as Trump would say. These were not the billionaire philanthropists, venture capital or prestige-obsessed foundations that seem to bankroll every news organization. These were regular, everyday people for whom $100/year is an actual dent in their disposable income. The outpouring of generosity defied conventional wisdom about how “there’s just no money in independent journalism,” or that “your only hope is to get a job at the New York Times or Bloomberg.” 

I don’t want to sound dramatic but the honest truth is that it felt to me like a miracle. I kept thinking of a scene in Blade Runner 2049, where an android freed from his programming tells another still captive to his own: “You newer models are happy scraping the shit…because you’ve never seen a miracle.” Well, I saw one when I resigned in April. What I saw was that ordinary people can move mountains, doing things that weren’t supposed to be possible except for the powerful, the big money types.

I’ve done my best to return the favor. From the Luigi Mangione manifesto to the J.D. Vance Dossier and many other stories, I’ve endeavored to provide people with the documents that major media have deemed unfit for public consumption (although for some reason it’s okay for the media to circulate these things among themselves). I’ve learned something in the process: that I myself, someone just as ordinary as my readers (I have no journalism degree, fancy awards or familial connections), am also capable of far more than I thought possible. For the first time, I really do believe that the public has power and can throw off the gerontocrat’s loafer on our necks.

In 2025, I want to make this year look like a mere dry run by arming the public with more of the information withheld from it than anyone could’ve imagined. I can only do that if significantly more of you become paid subscribers — but if I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that you can.