Important Wednesday Night Message

Are We Becoming Numb to the News? Why I’m choosing to go deeper, not louder.

Earlier today, I had a conversation that’s still echoing in my head. I was talking with someone about journalism, about what it means to be doing this work now—in this moment. The conversation took a turn when they asked me:

“Do you ever feel like the news you report might desensitize people?”

It caught me off guard. Not because I hadn’t thought about it before—I have. Often, in fact. But because I’ve never said the answer out loud. And maybe it’s time I did.

The answer is yes. I worry about that. Every single day.

Because here’s the truth: the kind of news I report isn’t easy. It’s not fluff. It’s not evergreen content designed to make you feel good. I’m often reporting on the erosion of rights, the unraveling of systems, and the real-world consequences of political power. And there are days—even as someone deeply immersed in it—when I feel overwhelmed, heartbroken, or just... numb.

And yet, I keep doing this work because I believe someone has to. But I can’t do it alone. Please consider subscribing today to support my work, expand the amount I can cover, and do the deep dives these stories require:

That scares me. And it should scare all of us.

Look at what we’ve just lived through in the last two months alone.

• Elon Musk and Donald Trump had a very public falling out.

• The U.S. bombed targets in Iran.

• ICE raids swept through Southern California.

• The Supreme Court narrowed the ability of judges to issue nationwide injunctions.

• And now we’re watching as the Epstein files are in the news and the names of powerful people swirl around once again.

That’s just eight weeks.
It’s not a news cycle anymore—it’s a flood.
We aren’t just consuming the news anymore. We’re breathing it.

And sometimes, I worry that we’re drowning in it.

Because here’s what happens when people feel like they’re drowning in headlines: they stop paying attention. They disengage. They emotionally shut down. And I can’t blame anyone for that. I’ve felt that myself.

But I also know that turning away has consequences. That the less we look, the more they get away with.
And right now, I’m watching stories slip through the cracks—stories that matter.

No one’s talking about the federal employees who are being pushed out—quietly, strategically—across agencies.

When I report on it, people’s eyes glaze over. It’s become normal.

The conditions at detention centers? Still horrific. Still ongoing.

Maggot-infested food. Overcrowding. Medical neglect.

And yet, we scroll past it. Because we’ve heard it before.

I get it. I do.

But I also think we deserve better than headline whiplash and reactive outrage.

That’s why I’m expanding this platform—not to just report more, but to report better.

I want to dig deeper into the stories that matter.

Not just the what, but the why. And the who.

I want to use my background as a lawyer to investigate the power structures behind the policy decisions.

To follow the paper trails.

To interview the people whose lives don’t make it into the “breaking” segment.

To slow the news down—and in doing so, make it matter again.

But here’s where I need your help.

Subscriptions aren’t just a financial model—they’re a way to build independent, reader-powered journalism. Every paid subscription gives me more time, more freedom, and more capacity to go deeper. To bring on researchers. To travel for interviews.

If you’ve ever read something here and thought, “This should be a bigger story,”—that’s what I want to do more of. And you can make that happen.

So if you can, I hope you’ll consider becoming a paid subscriber. It doesn’t just support me—it supports this work.

It supports a kind of journalism that refuses to accept numbness as the new normal.

Subscribe here if that speaks to you.

And if you’re not in a place to do that right now, that’s okay. Truly. All of my news will always be free and accessible. There will never be a paywall on my page.

Here’s what I want you to know:

If the news ever feels like too much, it’s okay to log off.

You can mute my emails. You can close your browser.

You can take a day, or a week, or however long you need.

I’m not going anywhere.

I’ll still be here. Still digging. Still reporting.

Because this isn’t just a job to me. It’s something I believe in.

I believe we still have time to care. To fight. To wake up.

But we can’t do it alone.

So thank you—for reading. For caring.

And if you decide to support this work today: thank you even more.

We’re just getting started.

— Aaron