Society

John H. Rousselot, the conservative Republican who represented part of the San Gabriel Valley in Congress for 14 years, was an officer of the John Birch Society and who tried to buy Charles H. Keating Jr.’s failed Lincoln Savings and Loan Assn., died Sunday. He was 75.

Rousselot, of Mission Viejo, died at Irvine Medical Center of congestive heart failure, said his son, Craig. He said his father had suffered a heart attack a year ago.

A glad-hander and energetic campaigner, Rousselot was controversial and colorful as he surfed the changing waves of political power as public relations expert, legislator or lobbyist.

He first gained office in 1960 when he ousted incumbent Democratic Rep. George Kasem in the 25th District. But he was so outspoken in defending the right-wing Birch Society, which he had just joined, that he failed to win reelection. In 1970, he was returned to Washington for half a dozen two-year terms in the 26th District, which included his native San Marino.

The congressman’s elective status ended in 1982 after redistricting threw him into a new 30th District, stretching from Bell Gardens to Azusa. Too long out of office and tainted by his association with Keating, Rousselot failed in a 1992 comeback campaign for the 25th District.

In Congress, Rousselot became active on the Banking and Currency Committee, and later the Economic and Budget and Ways and Means committees, where he staunchly opposed spending and tax increases, proposed cuts in the food stamp program, and worked for deregulation of the savings and loan industry. He also advocated U.S. military occupation of Cuba two years before the Cuban missile crisis.

As then-Atty. Gen. Robert F. Kennedy and others criticized the Birch Society in the early 1960s, freshman Congressman Rousselot defended the group: “They are calm, firm, dedicated people who are merely trying to inform themselves about communism.”

If Kennedy read the group’s “blue book,” Rousselot told The Times in 1961, he’d know that “one of the main purposes of each chapter is to keep its members and guests who attend fully informed as to the nature, purpose and intent of the Communist conspiracy in this country.”

First turned out of Congress in 1963, Rousselot was named regional director of the Birch Society — heading the group in California, Oregon, Washington, Arizona, Nevada and Idaho from an office in San Marino. He also served as national Birch Society public relations chairman. In both positions, he continued to insist that the organization’s purpose was to educate rather than advocate or indoctrinate.

But Rousselot resigned from the Birch Society with characteristic drama on April 17, 1979, when he was contemplating running for the U.S. Senate [he didn’t], “to demonstrate to the citizens of California that I am my own man, controlled by no organization or individual.” He also said that he had become disillusioned because Birch Society founder Robert Welch had besmirched President Eisenhower as a Communist agent and Winston Churchill as a traitor.

After Rousselot left Congress, he was in the Reagan White House as special assistant for business matters, then served as Western states coordinator for Reagan’s 1984 reelection campaign.

From 1985 to 1988, Rousselot was president of the National Council of Savings Institutions, a Washington-based lobbying group for banks and savings and loans. In addition to deregulation he worked to enable savings institutions to expand their business beyond mortgage lending.

In 1989, after lobbying for Keating, Rousselot was named the final chairman and chief executive of Lincoln Savings and Loan. With four others, he tried to buy the institution shortly before it was shut down by federal regulators who said that its assets were dissipated. Critics alleged that the attempted purchase was a scheme to delay the federal shutdown in the largest thrift collapse in U.S. history.

“I did nothing illegal, improper or unwarranted,” Rousselot told The Times a few years later.

Nevertheless, in 1993 his former association with the scandal-plagued thrift forced Gov. Pete Wilson to withdraw his appointment to the California Board of Prison Terms when legislators refused to confirm him.

John Harbin Rousselot was born Nov. 1, 1927, in San Marino and majored in political science and business administration at Principia College in Elsah, Ill.

In the 1950s, he established a public relations firm in Los Angeles and became president of the California Young Republicans.

From 1958 to 1960, when he resigned to run for Congress, he was national director of public information for the Federal Housing Administration.

Twice divorced, Rousselot is survived by his son, Craig of Irvine; two daughters, Robin Edwards of Lake Forest and Wendy Sirugo of San Dimas; a brother, Norman of Sonora, Texas; and five granddaughters.

A public memorial service will be planned at a later date.

Cut to a seedy alley behind a Chinese restaurant in Rome: A dozen mobsters menace a slight young man who suddenly pulls out a pair of nunchucks. He swings the traditional stick-and-chain weapons and makes quick work of his enemies, who fall one by one, groaning in pain.

The comedic, legendary action scene is from the 1972 film “The Way of the Dragon,” written, directed and starring Bruce Lee. The martial arts star was a trailblazer, allowing Asian Americans to see themselves represented in a strong, positive light on-screen.

And now he has secured a place in California history, becoming the first Chinese American in state history to have a day designated in his honor.

Lee was born in 1940 in San Francisco. His mother was of European descent and his father was a Cantonese opera star who was on tour in the city, affording his son birthright citizenship.

Lee grew up in Hong Kong, where he followed his father’s path as a performer, acting in more than a dozen films as a child and studying the close-quarters southern Chinese martial art Wing Chun.

On May 17, 1959, an 18-year-old Lee returned to San Francisco and eventually made his way to Hollywood. He went on to influence an industry that was at the time bereft of Asian American talent, and helped to popularize the genre of martial arts films and ignite Western interest in Hong Kong action cinema.

In recognition of his contributions, state Assemblymember Matt Haney (D-San Francisco) introduced a bill designating May 17 as “Bruce Lee Day” in California. The bill, signed into law Tuesday by Gov. Gavin Newsom, encourages schools and communities to honor Lee’s life and cultural impact.

Haney has described Lee as a “symbol of pride, resilience and possibility for generations who rarely saw themselves reflected with strength and dignity.”

Lee, who saw himself not only as an actor but also as a poet and philosopher, encountered repeated barriers. Up for the main role in the 1970s television series “Kung Fu,” for example, he was rejected in favor of white actor David Carradine.

In 2020, filmmaker Bao Nguyen sought to show how Lee dispelled anti-Asian sentiment and long-held stereotypes of emasculated Asian men in his ESPN documentary “Be Water.”

“The Asian male was the face of the enemy to many Americans,” Nguyen told The Times in 2020. “It was this vicious cycle of society reflecting media and culture, and media and culture reflecting society. There had to be some kind of intervention there and Bruce, in a way, was that intervention. He was the hero that we hadn’t seen before.”

Lee learned much about the systemic oppression that Black Americans faced from his first student, Jesse Glover, who had been a victim of police brutality.

And scholars have pointed out that, although his films had far-from-perfect politics, they touched on themes of fighting oppression. The 1971 movie “The Big Boss” showed Lee battling alongside laborers. “Fist of Fury” saw him opposing Japanese colonialism and discrimination.

Lee died young in 1973, at age 32 — before he was able to witness the full extent of his stardom. He died just one month before the release of “Enter the Dragon,” which was a box-office sensation and is considered a masterpiece of martial arts filmmaking.

There are moments in history when civilizations continue to advance materially while progressively losing confidence in the values  and structures that once gave direction and coherence to collective life. Institutions continue to function, markets continue to expand, and technological progress accelerates uninterruptedly, yet beneath this movement emerges a quieter uncertainty.

As Simone Weil observed, “to be rooted is perhaps the most important and least recognized

need of the human soul.”[1] Yet contemporary societies often struggle to sustain those forms of

belonging and shared meaning that once anchored human communities. The crisis is

therefore not simply political or economic. It concerns meaning itself.

Artificial intelligence has appeared precisely within such a historical juncture. Most contemporary discussions approach AI primarily as a technological revolution, or as an element of economic and geopolitical competition between great powers. Governments now frame it as a strategic race, corporations present it as the next engine of productivity, and Silicon Valley often speaks of AI in the language of inevitability and destiny, recalling Aldous Huxley’s fear that technological progress might ultimately weaken rather than deepen human civilization.[2]

 But such interpretations may ignore something deeper still. AI may be less the cause of a civilizational transformation than one of its clearest symptoms. It reflects a broader historical transition in which inherited moral and symbolic frameworks are dissolving faster than new forms of collective meaning can emerge.

Slouching Towards Bethlehem[3]

This condition closely resembles what Antonio Gramsci described as an interregnum: a period in which the old world is dying while the new world struggles to be born. [4] Such periods produce not only political instability, but also moral exhaustion, the erosion of shared narratives, and declining confidence in beliefs once considered self-evident. Civilizations have passed through similar moments before.

The enduring fascination of Edward Gibbon’s monumental The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire lies not merely in its account of imperial decline, but in its portrayal of the slow weakening of the moral and symbolic foundations that once sustained an entire civilization.[5] Rome did not collapse overnight. Its institutions remained impressive long after few still believed in the civilization they were meant to serve. Administrative power survived even as collective meaning and aspirations deteriorated.

That pattern feels strangely familiar.

Never before have technological capacities appeared so extensive while social distrust, political fragmentation, and loneliness have become so pervasive. Hyperconnectivity was supposed to bring societies closer together. In many cases, it has done the reverse.

AI in the Anthropocene

AI emerges from within this historical condition . It appears perfectly suited to societies organized around abstraction, speed, quantification, and technological mediation. In this sense, AI is profoundly historical. It results from a long civilizational development in which rationalization, efficiency, and technical calculation have come to replace older moral, religious, and symbolic frameworks as primary sources of legitimacy and meaning. What distinguishes AI from previous technologies is that it extends these same principles into domains traditionally considered irreducibly human. Activities once understood as distinctly human, such as reasoning, creativity, interpretation, and even emotional interaction, are now becoming technologically mediated.

The deeper unease therefore concerns anthropology as much as technology. What remains distinctively human when machines become capable of imitating reasoning, generating art, and mediating human relationships?

Such moments of civilizational disorientation are not entirely unprecedented.

The Renaissance confronted a similar rupture. Medieval Europe had long possessed a relatively coherent worldview capable of organizing religion, politics, morality, and human identity within a common order. By the late fifteenth century, however, this equilibrium was beginning to fracture under the pressure of new scientific discoveries, religious wars, and the weakening of older political and spiritual authorities. Thinkers such as Niccolò Machiavelli and Giovanni Pico della Mirandola sought, in radically different ways, to redefine humanity’s place within a rapidly changing world.[6] Pico celebrated human beings as creatures capable of shaping themselves through freedom and intellect, while Machiavelli recognized more soberly that periods of transition dissolve inherited certainties and force societies to confront instability and power directly.

Both understood that historical transformation is ultimately existential before being institutional. Our own transition may prove even more radical because technology no longer transforms only economic or political life, but cognition itself.

AI now mediates everyday experience itself: how people search for information, communicate, work, and make sense of the world around them.

Algorithms no longer merely distribute information. They shape attention, influence perception, and affect how individuals relate emotionally to public life and to one another. Under such conditions, the distinction between human judgment and technological mediation becomes far less clear.

The Price of Nostalgia

One striking feature of the contemporary digital environment is the degree to which individuals now participate voluntarily in their own data extraction. Recent Instagram trends such as the viral “What Were You Like in the ’90s?” challenge encourage users and celebrities alike to upload curated archives of personal photographs spanning decades of their lives. Presented as nostalgia and entertainment, these trends also generate immense quantities of highly valuable visual and behavioural data: faces across time, emotional reactions, aesthetic preferences, social interactions, and patterns of self-presentation. Whether or not such material is directly incorporated into future AI systems, the broader objective remains significant. Human memory, identity, and even nostalgia itself increasingly becomes raw material for computational analysis and commercial platforms.

Reactions to AI therefore oscillate easily between fascination and anxiety. Beneath both lies a deeper uncertainty about whether modern societies still possess a coherent understanding of what human beings are for, beyond economic productivity and consumption.

Friedrich Nietzsche anticipated aspects of this crisis more than a century ago. His declaration that “God is dead” did not merely constitute a theological provocation but signalled the emergence of a civilization in which traditional moral structures would lose authority long before new ones could replace them.[7] Nietzsche feared not nihilism alone, but the possibility that societies might become incapable of generating new forms of transcendence once older ones had collapsed. We saw how his worldview provided an intellectual base for Fascism.

I Read, therefore I Am

In increasingly mediated environments, the act of sustained reading itself begins to take on a countercultural character. To read is, in some sense, to resist. We have access to more information than any previous generation, yet physical books can still provide a sense of orientation. The books people return to, annotate, or simply keep close over time often reveal something enduring about the way they think and who they are.

The central issue, therefore, is not simply whether artificial intelligence will become more powerful. The deeper question is whether societies organized around AI can still sustain stable forms of responsibility and belonging strong enough to preserve coherent collective life. This is ultimately a political and civilizational problem before it is a purely technical one.

Much contemporary discourse still assumes that technological advancement naturally produces historical progress. History offers little evidence for such confidence.

Civilizations do not endure simply because they innovate technologically. They endure because they preserve, or reinvent, systems of meaning capable of holding societies together over time.

The Roman Empire mastered engineering yet gradually lost the moral cohesion that had once sustained it. Renaissance Europe produced extraordinary creativity precisely because it confronted existential instability directly rather than attempting to ignore it.

Contemporary Western societies appear caught between immense technological sophistication and growing uncertainty about their own civilizational narrative.

AI therefore represents more than innovation. It reflects a transformation in how human beings understand themselves, authority, knowledge, and reality itself. The danger is not simply that machines become too powerful. It is that societies now outsource judgment, imagination, and responsibility while slowly losing the cultural and moral resources required to govern these technologies wisely. Yet periods of interregnum are not necessarily periods of decline alone. They are also moments in which civilizations redefine themselves.

AI For Good ?

Historical transitions create possibilities as well as dangers. The Renaissance emerged from the crisis of medieval Europe. Modern democracy emerged from the upheavals of industrial society. Today’s uncertainty may likewise force Western societies to confront questions long obscured by economic growth and technological optimism:

What constitutes a good society? What forms of belonging remain possible in a hyper-mediated world? What aspects of human life should never be reduced to data, prediction, or optimization?

AI cannot answer these questions. But its emergence makes avoiding them increasingly difficult.

[1] Simone Weil, The Need for Roots: Prelude to a Declaration of Duties Towards Mankind (1949/1952).

[2] See Aldous Huxley, Brave New World (1932) and his later essays such as Brave New World Revisited (1958), where he warns that technological efficiency and social conditioning could erode authentic human experience.

[3] The phrase alludes to the final lines of W.B. Yeats’ poem “The Second Coming” (1919): “And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, / Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?”

[4] Antonio Gramsci, Prison Notebooks (written 1929–1935, published posthumously). The “interregnum” concept appears in Notebook 3: “The crisis consists precisely in the fact that the old is dying and the new cannot be born; in this interregnum a great variety of morbid symptoms appear.”

[5] Edward Gibbon, The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (6 volumes, 1776–1789). Gibbon famously attributed part of the decline to the rise of Christianity and the erosion of civic virtue.

[6] Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, Oration on the Dignity of Man (1486) — often called the “Manifesto of the Renaissance”; Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince (1532) and Discourses on Livy.

[7] Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science (1882, §125 – “The Madman”) and Thus Spoke Zarathustra. The full phrase is usually rendered “God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him.”

What should I wear today?

Do I want to choose between my comfort or someone else’s comfort? If I buy this shirt, it will be a bargain for me, but it risks someone else’s life. Is that worth it? Those workers need work, so I am helping by creating demand for their products. Right?

As a college student, I want to fit in: same styles, same jewelry, same colors, same brands. However, I am also in search of a job and living off savings from my high school job. I have bought clothes from Shein as well as other questionable fast fashion brands. I justified my purchase for my bank account’s comfort and to make me feel like I fit in. I pretended to know about the environmental harm and the treatment of garment workers, but it was a selfish decision.

Fast fashion is not new.

It started in the late 1970s and rose to popularity in the 1990s as companies tried to keep up with trends (Kelleher, 2026). Companies started offering lower prices to encourage consumers to continue buying more clothes. The lower prices often came at the cost of garment workers as well as the toll on the environment. Companies like Shein, Amazon, Forever 21, H&M, Primark, Uniqlo, Fashion Nova, and many other brands worldwide are accused of working with suppliers who violate international human rights.

Gender in the garment industry.

The garment industry consists of almost 100 million people, with 75% of the workforce being employed in Asia. However, with high levels of informal employment, a true number is hard to estimate, but around 60 to 80% of the workforce is female (Amnesty International, 2025). For women, the garment industry is seen as a way to enter the workforce (Tahir, 2024). These women are predominantly young women who are internal migrants without family and support networks, making them more vulnerable to abuse and exploitation by companies (Amnesty International, 2025). Common violations are wage theft, harassment, inhumane working hours and conditions, and restrictions on speaking out (Business and Human Rights Centre, 2023).

They also face discrimination from male management, reporting a lack of access to childcare, maternity pay, and other benefits. Pregnant women are also a target because they are considered “unproductive.” When workers unionize, they face threats and retaliation from management and hostility from the government, making negotiating better conditions impossible (Amnesty International, 2025).

Who is responsible?

Big-name brands are the ones who are profiting, because they get cheap labor and fast production time, and they get to blame the suppliers for the inhumane conditions. Brands demand that suppliers respect human rights in the workplace but incentivize them to do the

opposite. In Pakistan, they force suppliers to use price-bidding systems to undercut other factories to win contracts, which leads to cutting corners in terms of safety conditions for workers (Kashyap, 2023). After brands foster these conditions, they avoid responsibility by citing lack of control over international suppliers.

While the International Labor Organization (ILO) sets out freedoms for workers, it is up to member countries to supervise, enforce, and report on the implementation of standards. Bangladesh, Cambodia, India, Myanmar, and Pakistan are all member states of the ILO and should be backing up workers’ rights, but these governments often lack capacity to address these issues (Helm, 2025). This is often seen as the government overlooking the abuses as the industry benefits economic development and growth (Amnesty International, 2025).

What can I do?

Not all consumers might have bought from companies like Shein, but you probably have bought from Amazon, Gap, Walmart, Target, IKEA, and other “higher quality” brands. You should not go to your closet and throw out all brands that are unethical; that would contribute to the environmental damage from the garment sector. Students can focus on creating a wardrobe of capsule essentials rather than today’s trendy clothes. By using articles like the Fashion Transparency Index and other credible sources to inform your consumption choices, you can support ethical practices and treatment of women in the garment industry. On an international level, you can follow and sign the accord by the Clean Clothes Campaign to ensure safety in the workplace and empower workers to speak up without fear (Clean Clothes Campaign, 2026).

Now, I stare at my closet, wondering what I should wear. My clothes help express my personality, keep me comfortable, and help my confidence, but is that really worth the cost of other women suffering? These trends will be over by the time my Amazon package arrives. The women making my clothes are more than just workers and should be treated first as humans. I know I vote with my dollars, so I will vote for the protection of workers’ rights over my own comfort.