I’m embarrassed to start a piece with such an overused line as “we are in the midst of an opioid crisis,” but sometimes a cliche is a cliche because its truth is beyond dispute. So, yes, let’s start by acknowledging that we’re in the midst of such a crisis, and one that’s particularly dangerous for our kids. Overdose deaths among U.S. teenagers nearly doubledin 2020, the first year of the COVID pandemic, and rose another 20% in the first half of 2021 compared to the decade before the pandemic. The 2021 CDC Youth Risk Behavior Survey laid bare the grim reality ahead of us: 6% of high school students misused prescription opioids within the past 30 days. That’s over 900,000 students.
This is an emergency. A group of kids about the size of the population of Austin is in the grip of life-destroying chemicals, yet our political leaders remain conspicuously mute on potential solutions. This is particularly frustrating because there’s a promising approach to helping kids recover from addiction to opioids and other substances: recovery high schools (RHSs).
These schools are designed for students in recovery from substance use disorder or co-occurring disorders. RHSs recognize that each student must be on an active journey of recovery. The staff supports them every step of the way, with administrative personnel, teachers, substance misuse counselors, and mental health professionals all working together to create a nurturing environment.
Recovery high schools work. A study in the National Library of Medicine found that, after a year, 55% of RHS students reported three months of abstinence from alcohol and drugs, compared to 26% of their counterparts in traditional schools, with urine analysis corroborating these numbers. RHS students boasted graduation rates 21% to 25% higher than their peers, and every dollar spent on these programs yields a societal return of $3 to $7. The study has limits primarily due to the small sample size, but other studies have shown similarly positive results.
Despite these promising results, there are only 45 of these schools in the entire country. In a political climate unmarred by dysfunction and distraction, RHSs would be showered with deserved attention. Yet, beyond a smattering of articles and documentaries, these programs languish in obscurity and financial neglect.
This is precisely why we devoted a portion of last Tuesday’s Lost Debate episode to highlighting these schools. We spoke with two Massachusetts RHS principals: Ryan Morgan of Independence Academy in Brockton and Michelle Lipinski of Northshore Recovery High School in Beverly.
Our conversation covered a vast expanse of topics, but three central tenets of these institutions resonated with particular clarity:
The understanding of addiction as an illness, not a moral failing, means schools prioritize treatment over retribution.
A refusal to overpromise acknowledges that recovery is a lifelong process that transcends short-term objectives.
The voluntary nature of the programs places the onus of participation on the students rather than external forces.
RHSs are typically small, facilitating crucial one-on-one interactions between students and adults. This intimacy is paramount, as a poorly executed program could inadvertently exacerbate the issue by clustering students with shared addictions.
As one might expect, these programs come with a heftier price tag than their conventional counterparts, and dedicated funding remains elusive. Lipinski proposes congressional action to establish a robust funding stream to expand these schools and to consider revising the Individuals with Disabilities in Education Act to accommodate recovery school funding through traditional special education mechanisms. This seems to be a straightforward, sensible course of action—a chance for politicians in the nation’s capital to demonstrate that the opioid crisis is not simply a pretext for finger-pointing but an opportunity for unity and meaningful action.
Once upon a time, America thought it had the answer to its housing crisis: construct massive, government-run housing projects for low-income families. But these concrete behemoths, towering over their urban landscapes, soon became symbols of well-intentioned policy gone wrong, living embodiments of our nation’s broken dreams. As crime and decay took root, it became clear that this approach didn’t alleviate poverty; it exacerbated it. Rather than provide a ladder out, they trapped families in a perpetual cycle of hardship and despair. In searching for a better way to house the poor, Congress passed the Housing and Community Development Act of 1974. This created a system, soon known as Section 8, which provided vouchers to help cover the costs of renting on the private market.
The political evolution of Section 8 reveals a peculiar partisan cycle. Here’s Jeremy Johnson, writing in Social Science History:
Vouchers were originally proposed as a Republican alternative to Democratic public housing construction and slowly emerged as a viable component of housing policy in the United States. In the mid-1990s, a shift occurred in which Democrats embraced vouchers and Republicans retreated from their innovation.
Government-sponsored public housing construction, an ambitious program forged during the New Deal, aimed to provide decent housing for low-income Americans. The plan faced conservative and Republican opposition necessitating compromises that diminished the scale of the program, yet expansion of the supply of low-income housing through publicly financed construction dominated policy for decades. Republicans, who argued against the prospect of socialized housing, eventually proposed rental vouchers (originally called housing allowances) as a policy alternative. The competitive electoral environment of the latter half of the twentieth century ensured rental vouchers would continue as a lynchpin for partisanship.
At first most Democrats derided rental vouchers; they appeared as half-measures compared to expanding the supply of affordable housing. Over time, however, Democrats came to acquiesce in the implementation of the Republican policy and by the mid-1990s they were promoting it. For their part, the Republicans eventually won the voucher program they had long championed. However, as Democrats embraced vouchers, many Republicans reversed course and opposed what was once their own reform.
Today, you’d be hard-pressed to find a Democrat who opposes Section 8. Though few Republicans want to outright rescind the program, you can findplentyof them who are skeptical of it. That begs the question: could we eventually see a similar realignment on school vouchers and Education Savings Accounts?
It’s hard to imagine such a world, but it’s important to remember the time horizons. Section 8 took about 20 years to see the parties trade positions on the issue.
It’s easier for me to see Democrats eventually embracing vouchers and ESAs than Republicans abandoning them. That’s because I believe most, if not all, Republican states will embrace universal eligibility (like Arkansas and Arizona have). That means the program will be more analogous to Medicare (a more popular program with the GOP) than Medicaid (one less so). If every family in America, regardless of income, received a Section 8 voucher, then it would be politically difficult for either party to oppose that program after enacted (it’s why Social Security and Medicare are called the “third rail”).
For Democrats, I could see a few reasons they’d eventually get behind school vouchers and ESAs. The first is that they generally support vouchers in other contexts. If a Democratic candidate for office campaigned on ending Section 8 or Medicaid and replacing either with only government-run options, they’d be booed out of the room. You could imagine, years from now, after the acrimony over implementation has faded, that Democrats view school vouchers and ESAs as an entitlement to be protected at all costs. Ironically, Democrats will be even more likely to support these programs if Republicans turn on them (which is more likely if they are confined to low-income families), as they’ve done (somewhat) on Section 8. Such is the nature of our partisan society.
Of course, the difference between ESA/vouchers and Section 8/Medicaid is the presence of teachers unions. Though organized labor was involved in public housing construction and the running of public hospitals, they were nowhere near as robust back when those laws were passed than the teachers unions are now. If they were, families would likely still be trapped in Robert Moses-esque poverty factories and overwhelmed government hospitals. I doubt unions would ever get behind school vouchers and ESAs, but if their overall ranks of members diminish after many families leave the traditional system, they may lose the power to dictate the terms of Democratic policy.
I wouldn’t hold my breath. The Democratic candidates I’ve worked with would bend to the will of a public sector union even if it only had ten members. That means, regardless of whether unions see their ranks shrink, we can count on a showdown between two democratic constituencies: organized labor and communities of color. The latter are much more likely to benefit from school vouchers or ESAs if the laws are written, as some states have, to begin eligibility with the lowest-performing schools and lowest-income neighborhoods. That could be why initial polling on the issue (albeit from pro-voucher groups) seems to suggest Black families are particularly supportive of ESAs. I’d want to see more polling on the subject from neutral organizations. Still, I wouldn’t be shocked if families who feel they aren’t being served well by the current system embrace a policy that gives them more options and more control. After all, they’d simply be getting what affluent families take for granted.
From henceforth, Lost Debate will be called The Branch.
Why the name change? To start, we rarely debate on our shows. We more often have respectful discussions and nerdy deep dives. Our team briefly considered a change to “Lost Discussion,” but that doesn’t quite roll off the tongue.
The Branch has a double meaning. It evokes an olive branch to political and ideological opponents, a good-faith effort to engage with those whom we disagree. That spirit permeates all of the work we do. I’m a former Obama staffer and lifelong Democrat, but I host our flagship show with a Gen-Z libertarian/conservative New York Post columnist. Our Spanish language show Pulso y Péndulo pairs a former Republican member of Congress with a more liberal-leaning Univision journalist. And our education commentators span the gamut from conservative Gen-X veteran educators to socialist teenage students. But we aren’t Crossfire; our conversations aren’t performative. We’re all genuinely trying to find truth and understanding.
Our new name is also an allusion to the fourth branch of government, a term used to describe the role of civil society and the media in ensuring a vibrant and enduring democracy. In this sense, we focus on the stability, improvement, and longevity of our civic institutions, laws, and norms. Big yawn, I know. Our vibe isn’t as fun as the down-with-the-system populist ethos of our friends in alternative media (more on that below), but we believe our democracy (or republic, if you will) is extremely fragile and totally underrated. Sure would be a shame if something happened to it!
What We Do
We’re a non-profit digital media company. We believe the most critical conversations in society happen in the dark corners of the internet—on platforms dominated by political arsonists, nihilists, and extremists. Our mission is to infuse more empathy, nuance, and objectivity into those conversations.
In service of that mission, we strive to provide objective and entertaining news and commentary. And we approach that work in a few unique ways:
Target the overlooked: We focus on audiences other media has underinvested in: political eclectics, independents, Black and Brown moderates, Gen Z, Spanish speakers, and international audiences.
“Whole buffalo” approach: We aren’t wedded to any one platform and adapt content from the same show for YouTube, TikTok, and Instagram.
Ideological diversity: Our hosts have different political beliefs yet complementary values around democracy, dialogue, and disagreement.
Surprise the audience: Our independence means we keep our audience guessing about where we’ll come down on the key issues.
Using this model, we’ve achieved promising early results. In 2022, our podcasts were downloaded 4.4 million times and social media users engaged with our content 2.2 million times. Learn more about our shows and newsletters here.
New Media, Old Problems
When we started this journey over a year ago, we thought we’d primarily be an antidote to an insular, biased, and ossified mainstream media. In that sense, we eagerly took our seats at the “alternative media” table in the cafeteria. Many of our comrades at that table have pushed us to sharpen and, in some cases, change our perspective on critical issues. For example, I took the Wuhan Lab Leak theory more seriously and earlier than many of my progressive friends because of conversations with hosts and writers from other outlets. The same could be said of a host of issues unrelated to the pandemic, such as debates around policing, regulation, and campus free speech.
Yet despite the many strengths of our alternative media colleagues, too many of them are repeating the same mistakes they sought to correct — and are showing an alarming lack of rigor and humility.
They practice motivated reasoning, overselling evidence for their pet theories and underselling or ignoring evidence for inconvenient ones.
They embrace a faux populism, playing on the emotions of their audience by telling simple stories with half-baked and disingenuous solutions — and clear heroes and villains.
They see the humanity in their friends but not their opponents. If an institution they hate makes a mistake, it’s often because of some core sinister motive. If an ally or ideological fellow traveler makes a mistake, to the extent they acknowledge it, it’s chalked up to good intentions gone wrong.
They throw many darts at the board, claim credit for the ones that hit the bullseye, and ignore the rest. “January 6th was an inside job. Ukraine is a wag the dog play. The 2020 election was stolen. Biden will never indict SBF. Ivermectin is a miracle drug. The press is suppressing the Wuhan theory.” When one of many theories turns out to be accurate, they hold it up as an example of their credibility while often quietly moving from the rest.
They “just ask questions” to avoid owning irresponsible theories while steering their audiences with reckless speculation.
They overemphasize the mainstream media’s role, painting them as the big bad and themselves as the underdogs — failing to consider that their own alternative media outlets often garner significantly larger audiences than any cable news show.
I could go on and talk about both-sidesism, the insular back-scratching, or the creeping anti-intellectualism. I trust you get the picture.
This is, of course, itself a generalization. “Alternative” media is a diverse ecosystem that includes a multitude of voices, some of whom avoid many of these fallacies. The worst offenders, however, command the largest audiences. In fact, what we call alternative media is much larger than what we consider mainstream media.
Nothing I write above absolves the legacy media of their many sins. I could write a long list of their common fallacies and biases, but others have made those points much better than I have. I’m also less concerned with traditional outlets because they lose audience and influence daily. They are yesterday’s story. The more important question is what we replace them with.
In short, I thought we were setting out to correct the problems in mainstream media, but I have become convinced that our colleagues in alternative media are growing more smug and powerful and less accountable or reflective than any traditional outlet has.
How We’re Different
We’ve sometimes made the moves I criticize above. That’s why we spend a tremendous amount of time critiquing our own work — and refining our values, which consist of the following:
Aggressively Humble: We “steel-(wo)man” our arguments by identifying the strongest and most nuanced forms of the other side of a position before engaging with it. We also admit mistakes and rectify those mistakes with an effort commensurate with the harm caused by our errors.
Anti-populist: It’s easy to say, “fuck the experts” or “abolish the FBI” when you don’t have skin in the game or an obligation to articulate an alternative. That’s why we believe in the power of institutions to improve people’s lives and think they should more often be reformed than torn down. We also fight the urge to tell simple stories about complex issues and are careful not to overuse emotions like outrage, hate, and contempt.
Independent: We say what we believe, even when it’s unpopular or costly to do so. That means we aren’t afraid to take on powerful interests, invite heat on social media, or offend our friends.
Ethically Contrarian: We provide little value as the thousandth voice in a chorus. Whenever consensus forms around a position, it is usually of little interest to us unless we challenge that consensus. At the same time, we aren’t Skip Bayless and Shannon Sharpe; we aren’t contrarian for its own sake. Instead, we aim to find the stories and arguments that are both true and overlooked.
Focused on the Future: We believe most media outlets spend too much time looking backward, rehashing old fights, and nursing past grudges. Our job is to paint a vision of the world we want the next generation to inhabit, which means we spend considerable time on how our schools can best set up kids for success.
Welcoming: We believe a diverse team is a strong team, and we embrace colleagues from different political, racial, ethnic, economic, and cultural backgrounds. But we’re defined not by our differences but by shared values and goals.
These values are, of course, a work in progress. If they look the same a year or five years from now, we’ve done something wrong.
What Next?
We’re making a few key investments in the years ahead.
Unbiased, Un-sensationalized 2024 Coverage
This coming election will be the most education-focused we’ve ever seen. With the rise of DeSantis, the prominence of hot-button topics like Critical Race Theory, trans rights, Education Savings Accounts, and the looming Supreme Court decision over Affirmative Action — candidates for office up and down the ballot will be talking about K-12 and higher education every day. We believe both traditional and alternative media have a hard time thinking straight about many of these topics — and often favor superficial and sensationalized analysis over substance. Given the expertise of The Branch’s team, we have both an opportunity and obligation to get out and engage with voters across the country and help our audience make meaning of debates as they unfold.
Quite frankly, this is what we’ll be best known for in the years ahead: the quality and depth of our education policy, practice, and politics reporting and commentary. We have covered and will continue to cover many issues outside of education. Still, the best of what we produce will always be about our kids and their future.
Gen-Z Newsroom
The majority of our audience is Gen Z, which happens to be the most malleable and independent generation. They are political eclectics — more resistant to party politics or simple labels.
Where do they learn about the world? A quarter of U.S. adults under 30 now regularly gets news on TikTok, and a similar percentage of Gen Z relies on YouTube. That’s double the amount who stay informed through Twitter. News outlets have been slow to invest in these platforms, particularly TikTok because it’s hard to monetize.
That’s why we’re working this year to launch a newsroom dedicated to Gen Z. It will provide a steady stream of breaking news and in-depth explainer content for TikTok, Instagram, and Youtube (it’s important to diversify in the event of a TikTok shutdown). We’ve hired a cadre of Gen Z creators and journalists and have been busy testing content ahead of our launch.
The Global Fight
Wherever we look, we see struggles very similar to our American fight for democracy. Whether it’s India, Israel, Italy, Mexico, or Brazil — institutions, norms, and ideals are under attack by populist nihilists bent on creating illiberal democracies or worse. These movements consume much of the same media and trade in the same ideology across borders. That means it’s on us to link with like-minded citizens of these other countries to cover authoritarian overreach and tell a different, more compelling story about the future. We have several projects in the works on this front that we’ll begin to roll out over the next year.
This Is Personal
Me with my sister and mother in 1988.
I’ve spent all of my adult life — and much of my childhood — deep in the wondrous hellscape that is American politics. I was born into polarization — with a Republican dad and Democratic mom, who, before they got divorced, would fight incessantly about politics. One of my earliest childhood memories is of my parents arguing over which president was responsible for starting the Vietnam War.
I still believe in this fucked up country of ours, despite having ample reason not to. I may be one of the only people left who clings to Obama’s vision of a more united and generous politics. I see it in my family, where we still love and care for each other despite our different politics and our collective trauma.
I see it in my childhood neighborhood in Staten Island, one of the last swing districts in America — where half of my close friends voted for Trump (enthusiastically) but who still cheered on my career in Democratic politics.
I saw it during the Obama campaign, where I saw the man himself up close and can say without a shadow of a doubt that he’s a decent, talented, and visionary leader. The fact that our politics yielded him — perhaps the best we could have possibly produced, means our system may not be totally doomed.
I saw it down South, where I was welcomed with open arms by Republicans, who became some of my closest friends and collaborators as we built a network of schools and lobbied for better education policy.
I saw it at Arena, where I was privileged to support young, visionary leaders like Lina Hidalgo and Lauren Underwood.
And I see it now at The Branch, where I get to work with a group of young, diverse, eclectic thinkers who genuinely listen and persuade each other.
The Branch is not for profit. By removing the profit motive, we have the freedom to tell the stories we want to, the way we want to. This means we depend on your generosity so we can keep creating meaningful content. Support our work here.
