reckoning

Aaron Sorkin’s “The Social Reckoning,” a sequel to 2010’s David Fincher-directed “The Social Network,” is hitting theaters as part of a surge of tech geek takedowns that includes documentaries on Elon Musk and Theranos’ Elizabeth Holmes, as well as Luca Guadagnino’s upcoming comedy “Artificial” about OpenAI’s Sam Altman.

Still, its timing couldn’t be worse.

Cursory and hollow, it recounts the true story of Wall Street Journal reporter Jeff Horwitz (Jeremy Allen White) and Facebook whistleblower Frances Haugen (Mikey Madison), a disenchanted data engineer on the company’s civic integrity team, who paired up for a 17-part investigative series that provided proof of what people already sensed: Facebook boosted misinformation and rage-bait to juice user engagement at the cost of our country’s mental health.

The script ends shortly after Haugen testified before Congress in October 2021, noting that the carpet in her waiting room had recently been swapped out because of bloodstains from the Jan. 6 Capitol attack. The film rewinds to that day, too, and attempts to squeeze drama from slow-motion reenactments of the rioters, which Alexandre Desplat scores to an overbearing military dirge as Mark Zuckerberg (Jeremy Strong) and his good little Facebook soldiers mull over whether to take down the U.S. president’s incendiary posts.

Back in our own reality, Zuckerberg and the president just had lunch last week. At this point, we’re all so psychically drained that the only response we can muster to this vacant period piece is: So what?

Sorkin has my sympathies. The future moves faster than a film in development. And he fundamentally gets the peril we’ve put ourselves in by entrusting Zuckerberg, who is, at minimum, an ethically askew man. After all, Sorkin’s own screenplay for “The Social Network” remains a prescient masterpiece.

But the movie’s problems go beyond arriving simultaneously too slowly and too soon for Zuckerberg’s endgame, where his emptying social media empire has him gambling his fortunes (and ours) on AI. Expanding his scope from Harvard to the planet, Sorkin now aims to show that we’re all trapped in Zuckerberg’s insensitive mind view. Cold computer speak has infected everyone like a virus. When Madison’s Frances goes on a blind date, her online match says he appreciates that the internet makes it simpler for singles to pair up “within their own vector.” The buddy-buddy Winkelvoss twins’ version of the app might actually have been better for the world.

Meanwhile, Zuckerberg, who mostly stays on the sidelines of the movie, is now a mighty billionaire and, as Strong plays him, a dour, lifeless dork. Gone are the beer bashes, the thrill of invention and any hint that Zuckerberg lusted for something — women, attention, clout — other than a quarterly earnings report. This Zuckerberg is no longer made of flesh and blood but ones and zeros. Pity Strong couldn’t play the CEO after his bro-y 2024 mutation into MMA-fighting Marky Mark. At least that guy is amusingly ridiculous. Trapped in this stiffer, earlier incarnation, the only acting Strong is able to do is poke his head straight up from his shoulders until he resembles a retractable pen.

Worse, all the other characters in the film talk just like him: charmless, frigid and quick to cut each other off with snippy corrections. I could forgive that if it was just Facebook’s employees: Madison’s quavering, exasperated Frances, the co-worker (Anna Lambe) who insists she and Frances are merely colleagues, not friends, even after their company frittered away the meaning of the word, and a media relations executive (a smooth Billy Magnussen) who gets the scariest line, coolly insisting that “we’re post-government around here.” After all, these are the folks who saw “The Social Network” and still wanted to work for Zuckerberg.

But the opposition is steeped in that same monotone rudeness. Sorkin must have adored that earlier film’s opening scene where Rooney Mara insults a clueless Jesse Eisenberg because he’s written three-dozen takes on it. At Sorkin’s version of the Wall Street Journal, everyone up and down the masthead — editors, writers, even interns — insults each other with such relish that someone should be written up by HR. The fast-and-furious dialogue hits its nadir when Madison’s Frances slips Jeff important documents that he can’t even read because she nonsensically starts chattering about the looming coronavirus.

Here’s where you say that this is just how Sorkin writes characters. And here’s where I counter that a movie about how algorithms destroy humanity has to have some credible humans in it, if only to illustrate its own point.

Instead, Sorkin’s protagonist-bots come with bolted-on personality quirks. White’s journalist is a Luddite who would rather be late to his own job interview than use Google Maps. He comes across as so clueless that the audience can barely credit him for his reporting work winning an eventual Pulitzer — he’s just soulful eyes and a cellphone ringtone that tinkles old show tunes.

Madison, 15 years the junior of the real Frances, is too young to convince us that her character truly believes she can turn Facebook into a digital utopia. An ultra-online 20-something, she was a front row witness to Gamergate, yet somehow she’s shocked to overhear about middle-school girls getting bullied on Instagram. Her character wears legwarmers and knit wristlets to the office as protection against the air conditioning, which also serves to emphasize her company’s interpersonal chill.

Yet, bizarrely, the script makes Frances dress like a sex worker whenever she sneaks to Jeff’s hotel to slip him some corporate secrets. It’s a disguise, she explains, although the gag is so forced that it’s just as easy to believe the literal-minded girl is taking her Deep Throat identity too seriously. Or perhaps Sorkin just wanted to remind audiences that this awkward creature is the same actor who won the Oscar stripping off in “Anora.”

A few moments do work, like an opening showdown between a drunk blond (a nasty-great Portia Doubleday) and two cops that gets live-streamed to the web, and Zuckerberg’s congressional coaching sessions with his crisis team, played by Wunmi Mosaku and the comedian Bill Burr. From what we learn of Burr’s Charlie Garrigan, an insider who sold his Facebook stock too fast and then wrote a negative New York Times editorial against the company, he seems to be inspired by early co-founder Christopher Hughes, which would made him the only other callback character from “The Social Network.” But Sorkin has changed his name and upped his age, so as fun and ferocious as Burr is, we also spend his scenes feeling a little confused.

Do we learn anything new about Facebook itself? No. Still, I appreciated how dismissive Frances gets when asked to confirm small scandals that she finds too piddly to care about, like Jeff’s suspicion that Zuckerberg is goosing his posts so that positive comments outrank negative ones 32 to 1. That’s just obvious, her posture says. Facebook is over two decades old and he still hasn’t made many friends.

In March 2025, when California ran out of Medicaid funds to pay doctors and hospitals, the state borrowed $3.4 billion to keep the program afloat. It was, as a spokesperson for Gov. Gavin Newsom insisted, nothing new. Indeed, a handful of times over the years, the state had taken out internal, short-term loans to sustain its healthcare program for poor and disabled people.

The unprecedented move came a few months later, when Newsom and Democratic state lawmakers agreed to pay down the loan — which grew to $4.4 billion — over 10 years instead of later in the year. California’s healthcare safety net, it seemed, was buckling.

Rising healthcare costs systemwide were partly to blame. But so were several state-led expansions that made California’s Medicaid program, known as Medi-Cal, one of the nation’s most generous.

Now, with congressional Republicans’ One Big Beautiful Bill Act expected to reduce federal Medicaid spending by more than $900 billion over 10 years, California and dozens of other states must contemplate the limits of their generosity. The problem is particularly acute in the nation’s most populous state, which spends more on Medicaid than New York and Texas combined.

“We know we can’t afford to serve everybody we want to serve in the model that we have today,” said Mark Ghaly, the former top Newsom health official who now co-chairs the Future of Medi-Cal Commission, a 29-person panel with the goal of modernizing and sustaining California’s Medicaid program for those who need it. “What can we do differently? What can we do smarter?”

The 2025 law that Newsom, a Democrat, has dubbed President Trump’s “Big Ugly Bill” is expected to leave millions more Americans without health insurance, mostly because of new work requirements. It also curbs the use of healthcare provider taxes and other strategies states have deployed to maximize federal funds. Some state lawmakers and consumer advocates have argued the federal cuts, along with rising costs, present an opportunity for the next governor to overhaul a program plagued by long appointment wait times, low reimbursement rates for healthcare providers, and volatile financing.

“If we continue to just give millions and millions into the same system and expect something different — I’m sick and tired of that,” said Caroline Menjivar, a Democratic state senator representing a Los Angeles-area district where roughly half of constituents rely on Medi-Cal.

Democratic lawmakers, who have often clashed with Newsom on Medi-Cal rollbacks, succeeded in getting him to delay a number of painful cuts until 2027 in hope that a new governor might reverse them.

So far, neither of the gubernatorial candidates running in the November election to replace Newsom has offered substantive proposals for a program that covers 1 in 3 Californians — roughly 13.6 million people.

Republican Steve Hilton, a former Fox News commentator, wants to pare back Medi-Cal eligibility and has promised to end coverage for immigrants without legal status, citing that benefit as an example of “wildly unsustainable” state spending. Democrat Xavier Becerra, who has spent decades trying to expand government-funded healthcare, has promised to protect Californians from the massive federal cuts and find and cut billions in administrative waste.

Expanding coverage

President Johnson signed the law that established Medicaid and Medicare in 1965 to cover certain low-income groups, such as families with children, older people and those with disabilities. Over the last six decades, states have substantially widened that pool, most notably under the Affordable Care Act’s Medicaid expansion to childless adults.

Starting in 2024, California offered healthcare coverage to all low-income residents, regardless of age or immigration status, although lawmakers scaled that back this year. At the same time, the state opted to cover a slew of non-mandated benefits such as physical therapy, hospice care and housing assistance.

“California has always struggled with wanting to have as broad a program as possible but then having to figure out a way to pay,” said Jennifer Kent, who oversaw Medi-Cal under Gov. Jerry Brown, a Democrat. “There is no population that we have met that we don’t want to offer coverage to, and we’ve never met a benefit that we don’t like.”

Since 2010, California’s Medi-Cal enrollment has nearly doubled while spending has ballooned from $50 billion a year to $222 billion. It now makes up more than 40% of overall state spending, according to the nonpartisan Legislative Analyst’s Office.

Conservatives argue the program is bloated and rife with fraud. They say the federal changes will force states to refocus resources on the neediest.

“The role of the safety net programs was just that — to be a safety net,” Hilton said in an interview. “I don’t think it’s a particularly positive boast to say 40% of Californians should be on a program that was designed for people living in poverty.”

Becerra declined an interview request.

Nelly, a 59-year-old from Los Angeles County, was one of millions who have benefited from the state’s Medi-Cal expansion, but she was initially reluctant to sign up.

For years after she left her corporate job to care for her ailing mother, Nelly said, she didn’t consider applying. She remained uninsured until three years ago, when she woke up and couldn’t see out of her left eye.

She enrolled in Medi-Cal in the emergency room. It now covers her appointments with specialists and transportation to and from. While her condition may exempt her from the new Medicaid work requirements, Nelly said, she’s still worried about losing coverage after experiencing numerous paperwork hiccups simply trying to renew.

Nelly, who asked that her full name not be used because she hasn’t told her family about her condition, said she understands not everyone on the program may need it. But, she added, “it should be there for someone like me.”

Tough choices ahead

When Republican state lawmakers got wind of Newsom’s plan to stretch the debt repayment over a decade, they accused Democrats of trying to “paper over” the state’s structural deficit.

“This leaves future governors and legislatures to clean up the mess,” stated a July 2025 memo from GOP senators. The Legislative Analyst’s Office later called the maneuver “unusual.” That could leave Becerra, the favorite to succeed Newsom in the overwhelmingly liberal state, as the face of staggering changes to a program he spent his career defending.

More than 2 million Californians under age 65 could lose health coverage over the next four years as a result of the state and federal policy changes, according to recent estimates by the UC Berkeley Labor Center and the UCLA Center for Health Policy Research. At least 730,000 residents have already disenrolled since June 2025.

State agencies are scrambling to implement new federal work requirement rules for adult Medicaid enrollees under 65, hoping to automate as much verification as possible to blunt coverage losses. And in 2028, states will be required to charge some enrollees fees for many services, making it harder for them to maintain coverage.

Disability rights activists say new asset limits will prevent Californians from getting needed home care, which they say is more cost-effective and humane than nursing homes. Counties, deemed by state law to be healthcare providers of last resort, say they need immediate funding for the millions of uninsured patients they anticipate in the new year.

Hospital administrators have urged policymakers to help them keep their facilities stable, and the state’s most recent budget included some $390 million to assist public and distressed hospitals.

Martin Luther King Jr. Community Hospital in Los Angeles treats five times the patients it was designed to serve, and 80% of patients are uninsured or on Medi-Cal. Demand is so high in the chronically underserved area, MLK Community Healthcare CEO Elaine Batchlor said, that the hospital has erected tents in the parking lot. Most emergency room patients are now treated there.

“We already have an extremely overcrowded, overburdened emergency department,” MLK Community Healthcare CEO Elaine Batchlor said. “Insured care will turn into uncompensated care, and the financial burden for that will fall on providers.”

Becerra has said he opposes the state’s recent freeze on enrollment for adult immigrants without legal status, as well as new monthly premiums set to take effect next year, saying such moves will only saddle taxpayers with higher bills for ER care.

If elected, Becerra will probably need to wade into the politically toxic debate over whether to raise more revenue, cut benefits further, or do both.

Aside from promising to find and eliminate billions in administrative waste from the industry, the nation’s former top health official has not explained how he would cobble together the tens of billions of dollars the state is likely to need just to maintain status quo.

The next governor must tread carefully, Kent warned. “When people come and say, ‘Well, you should just do this because it’s the right thing,’ ” she said, “all of those right things have fiscal consequences.”

Mai-Duc writes for KFF Health News, a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues and is one of the core operating programs at KFF — an independent source of health policy research, polling and journalism.

As Israel prepares to mark three years since the October 7 attacks and with less than a month to go to parliamentary elections, one topic is dominating the electoral agenda.

Media reports that Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu was warned by the United Arab Emirates before the attacks have put his alleged responsibility back in the spotlight.

“Did he know?” is the question on everyone’s lips.

Listening to the accusatory choir, one might think that Israeli society finally is acknowledging the real meaning of October 7. Yet the opposite is true.

Instead of giving a platform to a reckoning, the elections function to scapegoat Netanyahu for his alleged role in facilitating Hamas’s attack while absolving Israeli society and the Zionist movement of its collective responsibility for the preceding violence and ensuing genocidal aggression.

For example, it does not insist on investigating whether the “Hannibal Directive” was deployed as part of the Israeli military response on October 7 and whether it killed Israeli citizens and how many.

It does not scrutinise subsequent Israeli military operations or whether they put the Israeli hostages in danger or how many were killed by Israeli bombs.

There is no questioning of why key Palestinian negotiators were attacked during ceasefire and hostage negotiations, including Ismail Haniyeh, Hamas’s chief negotiator, in July 2024 in Tehran and Hamas’s negotiating delegation in September 2025 in Doha.

There is no debate about why the Israeli government repeatedly rejected ceasefire proposals that could have brought the hostages back much earlier.

There is little attention paid to the fact that Netanyahu and former Defence Minister Yoav Gallant face arrest warrants from the International Criminal Court for crimes against humanity.

None of these made the cut. Why?

The answer lies in the psychological state of Israeli society. For many Israelis, October 7 became a psychological rupture, making it difficult to reconcile their sense of humanity with their complicity in the criminal reality that followed.

The problem, then, is not that Israelis are in denial or misinformed. It is that a large portion of the society is complicit in criminality and actively avoids reckoning with it.

The absence of Gaza and Palestinians more broadly from Israeli political discourse is because of their complete dehumanisation by Israeli society.

How else could one explain the absence from the election rhetoric of questions about, and subsequent accountability for, actions against the Palestinian people?

Why has the Israeli military killed at least 74,000 Palestinians, the vast majority of them civilians? Why has it carried out mass and arbitrary detentions, torture and enforced disappearances of Palestinians?

Why has it targeted journalists, medical workers and academics? Destroyed and occupied hospitals? Wiped out ancient landmarks and irreplaceable cultural heritage sites?

Why has the sadistic and often sexually deviant celebration of destruction, subjugation, ethnic cleansing and death by Israeli soldiers been allowed?

What’s more, there is also little interrogation of the consequences of bombing and invading Lebanon, killing nearly 9,000 people since October 2023. Or bombing Syria and Yemen.

These are not isolated abuses. They are symptoms of a system of theft and domination driven by greed and sustained through psychological conditioning, segregation, fear and rewards for aggression. In line with the “Wired to Steal” model, dehumanisation helps produce consent for aggression while escalation following acts of resistance leads to normalisation of further expansion and robbery.

Thus, this election is not about a reckoning with October 7 or its horrifying aftermath. It is a lens onto a fascistic settler society engaged in denial and dehumanisation of an Indigenous “other” as a means of evading and normalising its own ongoing genocidal actions. Although Netanyahu may become the scapegoat, replacing him does not address the underlying machinery of domination and may instead serve to entrench it further.

That machinery remains firmly in place. The continuity between the violence unleashed since October 7 and the longer history of Zionist colonial expansionism is striking, with no lessons learned other than how to improve and grease the machinations of genocide. Fear, victimhood and the construction of a permanently besieged “us” against a dehumanised “them” continue to produce consent for further aggression and expansion.

October 7, therefore, has become not an occasion for genuine reckoning but another means of avoiding one. Netanyahu seeks to focus responsibility for the attacks on questions of what he knew and when while leaving the much broader record of what Israel has done since largely outside the electoral debate. His opponents, meanwhile, have their own complicity and ambitions to answer for. Thus, there is little political interest in a genuine reckoning with October 7. The fixation on Netanyahu allows the wider political establishment and Israeli society to avoid confronting the system of domination in which they remain invested.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.