Debating is what we do here at Times Opinion. Good-faith back-and-forth is at the core of our mission and our daily work. We give you arguments, you decide what to think. And so when we review the major events of the past year — which included a land war in Europe, the collapse of crypto and, yes, The Slap — it’s only natural for us to reflect on the debates: What can the United States do to try to end that war? Is crypto a reasonable thing to invest in? When is it appropriate to hit someone in the face for making a joke about your wife?
As 2022 nears its end, we are presenting 22 of the debates that defined the year, revisiting the ones you might remember (and reminding you of the ones you might have tried to forget) and asking the most important question of all: Did you change your mind?
Click on the topics to read more and vote.
Like them or hate them, masks long ago became culture war fodder — that is, the debate around wearing them was so laden with subtext that it was hardly about the value of masks at all. And this year the debate dragged on.
After the T.S.A. lifted its mask mandate on airplanes in April, videos went viral of mid-flight celebrations as pilots announced that the rules had changed. This was proof that Americans were ready to bare their faces and inhale. Or was it? Some public health advocates — and public commentators — argued that our noses and mouths should stay covered, for the good of ourselves and our neighbors. A late autumn surge in respiratory viruses brought the issue back.
But at this point in the pandemic, most minds are probably made up. So would all that energy be put to better use pushing for better building ventilation instead? At least open windows aren’t fraught with symbolism — yet.
Experts waxed poetic about the potential of the hybrid workplace, if only every company’s existing offices, workflows and managerial structures were completely redesigned around it. Companies trying to enforce some amount of mandatory in-office time, meanwhile, gestured back to the halcyon days when merely the zip produced by passing a warm body in the hallway resulted in unparalleled creative output.
Yes, there are real reasons to love the hybrid work model (less commuting time, but you still know your colleagues) and reasons to hate it (going to an empty office just to sit on Zoom feels like a scene from “Dilbert”). But until every company’s return-to-office plan is final and firm, we’re going to keep the conversation going — around the water cooler or over email.
Crime rates have risen in many parts of the United States over the past few years. But they remain far lower than they were as recently as the 1990s. One thing that’s definitely spiked: heated, politicized, polarized discussion around the issue.
What’s the deal with crime? Has much of America descended into lawlessness thanks to soft-on-crime progressive prosecutors and a movement to “defund the police”? Are liberals refusing to grapple with reality when it comes to robberies and murders? Or is it essentially all in our heads, really more of a story about bad vibes than bad guys? Are people confusing other issues — especially homelessness — with crime? In the run-up to this year’s midterm elections, crime was a top issue in races from Oklahoma to New York, but ultimately it rarely proved decisive.
There are serious, unsettled questions about how crime is measured: Statistics are notoriously unreliable, outdated and piecemeal. And policing — and everything around it — remains as fraught as ever. Let’s see if the vibes improve in 2023.
When President Biden announced in August that the federal government would forgive up to $20,000 per borrower in student loan debt (estimated to total roughly $400 billion), the response was fierce. Activists, anxious debtors and Senator Elizabeth Warren — to name just one prominent voice — said that the package was a huge step toward fixing the problem of America’s costly higher education system. Some even said Mr. Biden’s debt relief plan didn’t go far enough.
Many other Americans, on the other hand, felt that the White House’s plan was just plain unfair: They had scrimped and saved to pay for post-high school education and now others were getting undeserved handouts. And anyway, would a payout do anything to solve the real issue, which is that higher education in America is far too expensive?
In the end, it won’t be the court of public opinion that matters: The administration’s debt relief plan has been tied up in legal challenges practically since the day it was announced, and it’s headed for the Supreme Court. That means we’re in for at least another year of disagreement.
The event that would come to be known as The Slap — the actor Will Smith’s assault on the comedian Chris Rock after the latter made a joke about Mr. Smith’s wife, Jada Pinkett Smith — was so shocking (Physical assault! During one of live television’s most stage managed events!) and touched on so many of America’s most neuralgic subjects (Free speech! Toxic masculinity! Ableism! Black manhood! Black womanhood!) that it spawned a flurry of takes in the aftermath that few other events this year have matched. (Remember when Judd Apatow tweeted that Mr. Smith “could have killed him”? Remember when a spokesman for the British prime minister weighed in?)
It seemed like every possible angle had its proponents: Mr. Smith was defending his wife in a way that Black women are rarely defended; defending a woman’s honor with physical violence was an expression of toxic masculinity. Will and Jada were longtime celebrities who should know by now how to take a joke; no one should have to take a joke. Mr. Smith should be arrested for assault; calls for his arrest showcased Americans’ carceral attitudes toward Black men.
In the end, the fact that The Slap — a minor scuffle involving three famous people — was being mustered as evidence for so many different agendas and worldviews should perhaps be taken as a sign that the simplest take is the right one here: America really likes talking about celebrities.
This year, the digital gold rush dried up. Prospectors who had mined speculative assets weathered a series of crashes that threatened to bust their boom towns while everyone else watched. Even “no coiners” finally had to figure out how crypto works, if only to learn enough to mock its true believers.
One might think that after a year of crypto implosions, culminating in FTX’s November mega-collapse (to blame: the Democrat-boosting billionaire Sam Bankman-Fried’s bad business practices — and maybe even criminality), faith in the currency’s sanctity might finally fail. After all, even if workplace harassment, a trash-talking C.E.O. turned fugitive or an embarrassing series of hacks didn’t kill your faith in crypto’s prophets, surely the loss of your teacher’s pension fund would.
But crypto’s not gone yet. Its boosters are still boosting, insisting that this short-term dip in the market amounts to nothing more than growing pains. And large firms like Fidelity and BlackRock haven’t given up on crypto investing, either. In doing so, they’re transforming glimmering speculative mumbo-jumbo into just another line item in your friendly neighborhood investment portfolio.
The Depp vs. Heard trial produced so many grim details about the pair’s life together that it’s hard to single out a defining moment. Was it Mr. Depp’s texts to a friend about wanting to have sex with Ms. Heard’s corpse? Or when he accused her of defecating in their bed? It produced audio clips in which the whole country heard two Hollywood stars screaming at each other like the most toxic couple you know stumbling home after last call. At first, following the trial seemed tawdry, like being invested in some especially prurient celebrity gossip.
But then something seemed to shift. The internet appeared, en masse, to side with Captain Jack Sparrow, going into meme-making overdrive with such fervor that it was almost suspicious. (Indeed, there’s evidence that bot accounts were created to retweet hashtags like #AmberHeardIsALiar.) Then came the verdict, which awarded a whopping $8.35 million to Mr. Depp at a moment when it felt like women’s rights were on the ropes: Less than a month earlier, a draft of the Supreme Court opinion that would eventually repeal Roe v. Wade had leaked.
Many argued that what we were seeing unfold around Depp vs. Heard was the inevitable #MeToo backlash. Some found this idea delightful and hoped Ms. Heard’s ugly behavior, as revealed in court, might succeed in undermining the idea of “believe women” for good; others felt that the reaction to the trial proved just how deep misogyny still runs through American culture. But by the time it was over, most seemed to agree that this trial wasn’t just about a messy celebrity couple but something bigger.
The moment that Queen Elizabeth II died in September, the future of the British monarchy suddenly seemed like an open question. And so did how to assess the late royal’s legacy.
To many, she was an icon: She ruled for 70 years, presided over the transition from empire to commonwealth and served as a living link to the generation that won World War II. (She herself worked as a mechanic during the war.) She was, her supporters said, a steady figurehead for the ship of state during a tumultuous period and a leader of a British democracy that took decades to extract itself from a postwar malaise and emerged with diminished influence and power.
On the other hand: She ruled for 70 years and presided over the transition from empire to commonwealth, a process that was sometimes ugly. Under her ceremonial gaze, the fading empire brutally repressed people in its colonies — the Kenyan Mau Mau rebels and the Catholic Irish most famously — and was reticent to condemn apartheid South Africa and committed atrocities against Malayan National Liberation Army rebels. Queen Elizabeth was not making governmental decisions that led to policy, exactly, but the legacy of her rule is still the legacy of the Britain she presided over, republicans claim.
Under her son and successor, Charles III, certainly less popular than his mother, questions about the monarchy’s future — and its past — will likely only intensify.
Inflation made life expensive in 2022, and the Federal Reserve came to the rescue by raising interest rates for the first time in years. But it’s a finicky process: Raise them too little and inflation persists; raise them too fast and the economy falls into a recession. People will lose their jobs and be unable to buy the goods that inflation was making unaffordable anyway. In a survey of America’s top academic economists, nearly 70 percent said they expected a recession in 2023.
The Federal Reserve is famously tight-lipped about its policymaking. But that didn’t stop economists, politicians and pundits from squabbling over what the central bank should be doing. If price increases were being caused primarily by a spike in the price of oil (or, to use President Biden’s attempt at a coinage, “the Putin price hike”), how much would raising interest rates actually help? Some economists worried about a return to the dreaded stagflation of the 1970s. (Though Ben Bernanke, a former Fed chairman himself, wrote in The Times that that wasn’t going to happen.) Other economists said it was time to cool down the economy before wages started to rise too much, creating an unstoppable spiral.
As the year draws to a close, it looks like inflation may be slowing, and the Fed’s rate increases with it. We may never know what actually was the cause.
The House’s hearings into the Jan. 6 riot were many things: a piece of political theater, a ratings (and traffic) boon for the political news media, a second draft of history, a formal investigation into the actions of Donald Trump and those around him during the day’s events.
But did they matter beyond a record for posterity? In a country riven with partisan polarization and divided into information bubbles, could they? Judging by the reception that election denial got at the polls, it seems that the American voter did consider them important: None of the election deniers in states that Mr. Biden won in 2020 were elected to office, and no candidates that ran on election denial anywhere won their elections.
But Mr. Trump is running again in 2024. The hearings did not end his political career any more than the riot itself did, and the movement that he galvanized is still around. Changing minds is different from rallying the converted. Whether the hearings were truly important might not be known until the ballots are counted in two years. Until then, we may have to make do with half-verdicts.
Two political truisms: Elections are mainly about economic conditions, and the president’s party is at a severe disadvantage during midterm elections. So with high inflation, high gas prices in particular and a possible recession on the horizon, prospects for a Republican blowout seemed good. But instead of a red wave that would set the stage for a Republican trifecta in two years, Democrats added to their Senate majority (even if they did lose the House).
Was the verdict of the voters motivated by Mr. Biden’s policy agenda and a fulfillment of his promise to restore the soul of America? Or was it a vote of no confidence in the Republican Party’s culture war politics, continuing fidelity to the unpopular Mr. Trump and anti-abortion overreach? It’s hard to divine an answer from the inkblot test of the exit polls, but Mr. Biden is not a popular figure.
It could be that even if voters were mostly voting against Republicans and not for Democrats, they were mobilized to do so by the Democrats’ political strategy, which emphasized attacking Republicans on abortion rights and election denial as much as talking about pocketbook issues. If so, this could bode well for their chances of retaining the presidency when voters go to the polls in two years.
Cake frosting smeared on the Mona Lisa. Mashed potatoes flung at a Monet. Tomato soup splashed across a van Gogh. This year, environmental activists all over the world made headlines with a series of shocking (and somewhat bizarre) attacks on famous works of art, vandalizing them with what seemed to be whatever was in their refrigerators. (Though it’s worth noting that none of the paintings were actually damaged.)
The attacks were certainly successful at getting people’s attention — newspapers across the world, including this one, published stories about them — though reactions were mixed. Many were outraged by the defacing of these masterpieces, insisting that the activists be held legally or even criminally responsible. Others who were more sympathetic to the activists’ cause came to their defense, arguing that their actions were justified given their noble intentions and the truly dire state of our planet.
The stunts, some of which were accompanied by sit-ins and speeches, were intended to draw international attention to the climate crisis at a moment when tamer forms of protest have not inspired collective action. Which raises the question: What is effective protest?
In April the Tesla C.E.O., wealthiest man on Earth, and avid tweeter Elon Musk moved to purchase Twitter for $44 billion. When, after many months of waffling, the sale finally went through in late October, Mr. Musk announced sweeping changes. He laid off nearly half the staff and announced that he would crack down on misinformation and impose an eight-dollar monthly subscription fee for verified status.
The world erupted into debate about the company’s future — much of it taking place on Twitter itself. Some mourned the imminent demise of the beloved platform, worrying that Mr. Musk’s more laissez-faire approach to content moderation would turn the site into a cesspool of misinformation and hate speech; others countered that Twitter already was a cesspool of misinformation and hate speech, and if Mr. Musk ran the company into the ground the world would be better for it.
The whole ordeal has reinvigorated a long-simmering debate about the role of social media in American politics and modern life.
When House Speaker Nancy Pelosi decided this summer that she would visit Taiwan, she knew she was stirring up a geopolitical hornet’s nest. China considers the island an integral part of its country and intends to reclaim it someday; Taiwan sees itself as a democratic fortress standing up to the world’s most powerful authoritarian. Ms. Pelosi seems to agree with the Taiwanese.
Even before her plane took off, commentators began weighing in. The Times Opinion columnist Thomas L. Friedman called it “utterly reckless, dangerous and irresponsible.” More hawkish commentators, meanwhile, urged her not to back down in the face of Chinese threats. In an Op-Ed of her own in The Washington Post, Ms. Pelosi wrote that the visit “should be seen as an unequivocal statement that America stands with Taiwan, our democratic partner, as it defends itself and its freedom.”
In the end, the speaker’s trip didn’t lead to a war between China and the United States. But it did ratchet up tensions in the Pacific, with the Chinese military circling the island and issuing warnings. It’s pretty clear that Xi Jinping’s mind didn’t change.
It wasn’t just about Maitland Jones Jr. But his story seemed to encapsulate what was on many Americans’ minds. When The Times reported in early October that Mr. Jones, a chemistry professor at New York University, had been fired following a petition from students complaining that his organic chemistry class was simply too hard — impossibly hard! — a debate erupted across the country: Is the problem students or the system?
The professor wasn’t just speaking for himself when he said that universities “coddle” students instead of giving them “tough love.” Many inside the academy and beyond feel that students these days prefer spoon feeding to long hours in the library. And it’s not just about orgo, either. The same generation that can’t handle hard work can’t handle ideas that it finds too “triggering,” either.
Or … maybe not. The Jones story was also instructive about changes to American higher education: how its increasing cost has led many debt-laden students to feel more like customers than pupils; how a system of gatekeeping is past its expiration date; how students are challenging old hierarchies of power; how colleges are relying on adjuncts to do more and more work — all topics worthy of serious discussion.
The Supreme Court’s decision in June to overturn Roe v. Wade was hardly a surprise. Just weeks earlier, a draft of the decision was leaked to Politico. Still, it felt like a shock to Americans on both sides of the divide over abortion rights. Even the pro-life movement has to admit that the court’s decision was out of step with public opinion: More than 60 percent of Americans want abortion to be legal in most cases.
While much discussion focused on the future of reproductive health care and rights, another issue quickly arose in the wake of the decision, and other conservative rulings on gun control and the environment: Was the Supreme Court losing its legitimacy? The court’s official duty is to interpret the Constitution, but historically, its rulings have largely been in line with popular opinion. Not anymore. Opinion polls showed that faith in the justices was at an all-time low.
Many legal scholars warned that America’s highest judicial body was undermining itself by moving too far to the right. Many conservatives, meanwhile, argued that that bridge had already been crossed with liberal rulings — including Roe — making the court seem like a political body rather than an independent arbiter of the law. Maybe the question is not if the court has lost its legitimacy, but when.
That the number of young people who identify as transgender is on the rise is not in dispute. But what does it mean? Is this a sign that more are living openly as their real selves, in a more welcoming society? Or a sign that the standard tumult of adolescence is being channeled in a new direction with potentially unintended consequences?
There are those like Erica Anderson, a transgender psychologist, who argue that clinicians today, acting in the name of tolerance and inclusivity, have become too ready to default to interventions like hormones or puberty blockers for every young person experiencing gender dysphoria, without performing the comprehensive individual mental health assessments that should accompany them. And then there are others — including many advocates for trans rights — who argue that the debates around trans youth are just another facet of a larger moral panic around gender, and dismiss the idea that joining the ranks of one of society’s most marginalized and vulnerable groups is a choice anyone would make lightly.
Where is all this going? It would be one thing if it could remain a discussion among those who, in good faith, are simply seeking the best way to help young people who are indisputably in distress. Unfortunately, these same young people are also indisputably being used by right-wing politicians across the country as cannon fodder in the culture wars. (See: Gov. Greg Abbott’s order that Texas health agencies should treat the provision of medical treatments to transgender young people as “child abuse.”) That’s a development that adds heat to the debate, but not much light.
“I’ve heard the word ‘diversity’ quite a few times, and I don’t have a clue what it means,” Justice Clarence Thomas told a lawyer for the University of North Carolina in a much-quoted line from oral arguments before the Supreme Court this fall that will determine the fate of affirmative action in America.
All signs point to the conservative court ending the current form of race-based preference in higher education admissions, many of which have been in place since the late 1960s. Some are cheering the looming end of a flawed system, which has succeeded in making elite campuses more racially diverse while still leaving them woefully out of touch with — and out of the reach of — most Americans. Others fret that the end of race-based preferences will come long before they have succeeded in their initial goal, as articulated by Lyndon Johnson in a 1965 speech at Howard University: giving Black people the same chance of success in America as white people.
But the discussion around affirmative action has also broadened. Diversity on campus: What does it mean? Would class-based admissions help achieve a better version of it? And who does it actually serve? Does it imply that minorities are instruments to improve the educational experience of the majority? Is the goal to make elite campuses more diverse or to help underprivileged Americans receive the best possible education — in which case, why focus on a handful of selective schools that serve a tiny percentage of the population?
The Supreme Court is expected to rule next summer — but it’s unlikely to be the last word.
Golf is supposed to be boring, right? Maybe not. The so-called gentleman’s game found itself in the center of a firestorm this year, with players openly sniping at one another in the press and pundits debating major ethical questions.
The firestorm began when plans for the LIV Golf Tour were announced this summer. The new tour, which kicked off with a tournament in Britain in June, is to be a rival to the more established P.G.A. and DP World Tours. Some players and fans say that LIV will undermine the legacy tours and permanently alter the professional game for the worse; LIV’s backers say it will push needed reforms to the P.G.A. But the biggest source of controversy? LIV’s primary backer is Saudi Arabia, which put some $400 million into getting it off the ground. (And, of course, there was Donald Trump: Several of LIV’s events have been held at clubs owned by the former president.)
Phil Mickelson, a P.G.A. champion, called the Saudis “scary” to get involved with, citing the 2018 killing of the Washington Post writer Jamal Khashoggi — the very reason, detractors say, that Saudi Arabia is trying to rehab its reputation through sports. But that wasn’t enough to stop Mr. Mickelson from joining LIV in the hopes that it puts pressure on the P.G.A. Now he insists that the new tour is “the winning side.” His biggest foil is also one of the game’s biggest stars: Tiger Woods, who was reportedly offered around $700 million if he signed onto LIV, has been one of its most vocal opponents, saying that the flood of money is bad for competition.
Even if this debate may have escaped your attention, its implications could be enormous for a world of sports increasingly awash in foreign cash.
When Russia invaded Ukraine on Feb. 24, condemnation of President Vladimir Putin was swift and loud from across the political spectrum. So was support for the government in Kyiv. Out-and-out defenders of the Kremlin were exceedingly difficult to find in America.
But once Ukrainian forces drove the Russians back from Kyiv, and as the war dragged on through the summer and the fall, disagreements began to emerge. The United States and its European allies poured weapons and aid into Ukraine, but how was this going to end? Some figures — including left-wing members of Congress, anti-intervention analysts and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff — suggested that the United States should begin pushing for negotiations between Moscow and Kyiv. How many more lives needed to be lost before a settlement was reached? Didn’t the dangers of the war spiraling out of control (Mr. Putin has, more than once, raised the threat of using nuclear weapons) make peace an imperative? Only diplomacy could bring the bloodshed to an end. Louder, though, were the voices calling for Washington to continue to back Ukraine as it made gains on the battlefield. The realist argument was, in the words of one Washington foreign policy specialist, “baloney.” And anyway, it would be up to Ukraine — not its allies — to decide when it’s finally time to come to the table.
As 2022 draws to a close, the fighting continues and peace talks look as distant as ever — which probably means that the debates will continue.
This summer, the art world was set abuzz when the Colorado State Fair’s annual art competition awarded its top prize to an A.I.-generated image: Jason Allen’s “Théâtre d’Opéra Spatial.” The image, which was created using an online software that produces complex and highly stylized images based on words entered into a text box, swiftly inspired a backlash from other artists who accused Mr. Allen of essentially cheating, and ignited a conversation about what, in the age of A.I., counts as art.
A.I.-generated art has been around for years. But tools released in 2022 — with names like DALL-E 2, Midjourney and Stable Diffusion — have made it easier than ever to produce visually striking images with little more than a few clicks. This has made many human artists understandably nervous about their futures. Why would anyone pay for art, they wonder, when they could just generate it themselves? It has also generated a fierce debate about the ethics of A.I.-generated art. On the one side are people like Mr. Allen, who believe A.I. art is the way of the future. As he put it: “Art is dead, dude. It’s over. A.I. won. Humans lost.” On the other are those who believe that something that requires so little skill or effort can’t truly rise to the level of art — or who say that what these apps produce essentially amounts to a high-tech form of plagiarism. Of course, that’s not going to stop people from using them.