Turbo America

It was a crisp March morning in Austin, and just outside the Texas Capitol a swarm of protesters large enough to fill a sports arena had gathered to wave signs and shout into megaphones. Packs of bureaucrats who worked in the building stood together with clipboards and whispered among themselves. It was unclear exactly what was being protested. But judging by the signs, with slogans like “F’Elon and the Felon,” it had something to do with Elon Musk: the firehose of daily chaos emanating from DOGE since the Trump inauguration, the sense that Musk had made himself something of a shadow president.