Coders are saving the Second Amendment: DIY guns and digital resistance
America has always defended itself and its freedoms with a gun in hand. But as technology evolves, code is starting to take its place.
A new generation of Second Amendment supporters no longer visits shooting ranges or joins the NRA — instead, it circulates blueprints for 3D-printed weapons. Its members' mission is to protect their homes and their right to bear arms, no matter how the government feels about it.
While Americans argue about bans, laws, and protests, an entire ecosystem of do-it-yourself gun culture has grown right under their noses. It's nothing like the old movies, where weapons were built from pipes and nails. Ghost guns — firearms without serial numbers or registration — are often made with parts printed on 3D printers and bought online. U.S. law allows individuals to make firearms for personal use, as long as they don't sell them. According to the ATF, this is legal in many cases.
This culture has gone far beyond garages. Blueprints and guides are now spread through Tor, Telegram, and GitHub – anonymously and in ways that are nearly impossible to erase.
The first famous design, 'The Liberator,' was posted back in 2013. To this day, anonymous communities keep sharing new versions. These self-styled digital patriots view the right to bear arms as a core freedom.
Critics argue they undermine control, because weapons without serial numbers can't be traced. Laws can limit sales, but not ideas. While politicians try to close down stores, millions are downloading code. The Second Amendment has been digitized — it now lives in browsers.
When the Supreme Court recently allowed new regulations on so-called 'ghost guns,' as detailed in this ruling, it only proved the paradox: Governments can chase physical parts, but the digital heartbeat of the Second Amendment grows stronger. For every law targeting the sale of hardware, a thousand computer files escape into the wild — untraceable, unstoppable, multiplying in the encrypted corners of the internet, where freedom now lives.
Maybe we have reached the point where weapons are no longer just objects. They cannot be eradicated through any amount of banning, seizing, or burning so long as they can be downloaded.
Yes, it's scary, but freedom isn't about comfort. It is about risk, discomfort, and chaos — and living with that to keep the right to defend yourself.
I don't support putting guns in the hands of criminals. I also don't believe the answer is total control, or that such a thing is even possible. Today, the state is trying to catch up with the internet. But the internet will never stop. As Wired explains, this movement is spreading faster than any law can catch up. And maybe the real question isn't whether to ban weapons — it's how to live in a world where a weapon is now knowledge.
This is Prometheus's curse for the digital age: We have stolen the fire of creation, and now we must live with its light, its heat and its burns. The more the government tries to play god by banning and seizing, the deeper into the cave the forge of innovation moves, hammering out new blueprints where Zeus's lightning cannot reach.
Maybe this is the new era of the Second Amendment — and its files can't be taken away from Americans.
Artem Kolisnichenko writes on crime, immigration, and border policy across the American South and Southwest.
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Los Angeles Times
an hour ago
- Los Angeles Times
Wasn't the president supposed to be deporting criminals?
This will strike the literal-minded as illogical, but I think Huntington Park Mayor Arturo Flores, a Marine veteran of Iraq and Afghanistan, had a righteous point when he declared at a news conference with Southern California mayors that immigrants being rounded up by Immigration and Customs Enforcement in communities like his 'are Americans, whether they have a document or they don't.' 'The president keeps talking about a foreign invasion,' Flores told me Thursday. 'He keeps trying to paint us as the other. I say, 'No, you are dealing with Americans.'' California's estimated 1.8 million undocumented immigrants who have lived among us for years, for decades, who work and pay taxes here, who have sent their American-born children to schools here, have all the responsibilities of citizens minus many of the rights. Yes, technically, they have broken the law. (For that matter, so has President Trump, a felon, and he continues to violate the Constitution day after day, as his mounting court losses attest.) But our region's undocumented Mexican and Central American immigrants are inextricably embedded in our lives. They care for our children, build our homes, dig our ditches, trim our trees, clean our homes, hotels and businesses, wash our dishes, pick our crops, sew our clothes. Lots own small businesses, are paying mortgages, attend universities, rise in their professions. In 2013, I wrote about Sergio Garcia, the first undocumented immigrant admitted to the California Bar. Since then, he has become a U.S. citizen and owns a personal injury law firm. These Californians are far less likely to break the law than native-born Americans, and they do not deserve the reign of terror being inflicted on them by the Trump administration, Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem and Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, who has pointlessly but theatrically called in the Marines. 'So we started off by hearing the administration wanted to go after violent felons gang members, drug dealers,' said Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass, who organized the mayors' news conference last week, 'but when you raid Home Depot and workplaces, when you tear parents and children apart, and when you run armored caravans through our streets, you're not trying to keep anyone safe. You're trying to cause fear and panic.' And please, let's not forget that when Congress came together and hammered out a bipartisan immigration reform bill under President Biden, Trump demanded Republicans kill it because he did not want a rational policy, he wanted to be able to keep hammering Democrats on the issue. But it seems there is more going on here than rounding up undocumented immigrants and terrorizing their families. We seem to have entered the 'punish California' phase of Trump 2.0. 'Trump has a hyperfocus on California, on how to hurt the economy and cause chaos, and he is really doubling down on that campaign,' Flores told me. He has a point. 'We are staying here to liberate the city from the socialist and the burdensome leadership that this governor and this mayor placed on this country,' Noem told reporters Thursday at a news conference in the Westwood federal building, during which California Sen. Alex Padilla was wrestled to the ground and handcuffed face down for daring to ask her a question. 'We are not going away.' So now we're talking about regime change? (As former Harvard law professor Laurence Tribe put it on Bluesky, the use of military force aimed at displacing democratically elected leaders 'is the very definition of a coup.') Noem's noxious mix of willful ignorance and inflammatory rhetoric is almost too ludicrous to mock. It goes hand in hand with Trump's silly declaration that our city has been set aflame by rioters, that without the military patrolling our streets, Los Angeles 'would be a crime scene like we haven't seen in years,' and that 'paid insurrectionists' have fueled the anti-ICE protests. What we are seeing play out in the news and in our neighborhoods is the willful infliction of fear, trauma and intimidation designed to spark a violent response, and the warping of reality to soften the ground for further Trump administration incursions into blue states, America's bulwark against his autocratic aspirations. For weeks, Trump has been scheming to deprive California — probably illegally — of federal funding for public schools and universities, citing resistance to his executive orders on diversity, equity and inclusion programs, on immigration, on environmental regulations, etc. And yet, because he is perhaps the world's most ignorant head of state, he seems to have suddenly realized that crippling the California economy might be bad politics for him. On Thursday, he suggested in his own jumbled way that perhaps deporting thousands of the state's farm and hospitality workers might cause pain to his friends, their employers. (Central Valley growers and agribusiness PACs, for example, overwhelmingly supported Trump in 2024.) 'Our farmers are being hurt badly by, you know, they have very good workers. They've worked for them for 20 years,' Trump said. 'They're not citizens, but they've turned out to be, you know, great. And we're going to have to do something about that.' Like a lot of Californians, I feel helpless in the face of this assault on immigrants. I thought about a Guatemalan, a father of three young American-born children, who has a thriving business hauling junk. I met him a couple of years ago at my local Home Depot, and have hired him a few times to haul away household detritus. Once, after I couldn't get the city to help, he hauled off a small dune's worth of sand at the end of my street that had become the local dogs' pee pad. I called him this week — I have more stuff that I need to get rid of, and I was pretty sure he could use the work. Early Friday morning, he arrived on time with two workers. He said hadn't been able to work in two weeks but was hopeful he'd be able to return to Home Depot soon. 'How are your kids doing?' I asked. 'They worry,' he said. 'They ask, 'What will we do if you're deported?'' He tells them not to fret, that things will soon be back to normal. After he drove off, he texted: 'Thank you so much for helping me today. God bless you.' No, God bless him. For working hard. For being a good dad. And for still believing, against the odds, in the American dream. @ @rabcarian
Newsweek
an hour ago
- Newsweek
Denmark Raises Retirement Age to 70 - Could The US Do The Same?
Based on facts, either observed and verified firsthand by the reporter, or reported and verified from knowledgeable sources. Newsweek AI is in beta. Translations may contain inaccuracies—please refer to the original content. Workers in Denmark have been rocked by the news that the government has approved raising the retirement age to 70 - the highest in Europe. For now, the Danish can retire with their public pension at 67, but that threshold will gradually climb to 70 by 2040. Reports indicate that some Danes are unhappy with the decision, with protests taking place in the capital, Copenhagen, in the lead-up to the vote in May. Across the world, retirement ages increase because people live longer, placing strain on pension systems. Fewer workers support more retirees, prompting reforms to ensure financial sustainability. Longer work lives boost productivity and tax revenue. However, this shift can disadvantage those in physically demanding jobs or with health issues who can't delay retirement, experts have explained to Newsweek. Retirement in the U.S. The news from Denmark comes as the U.S. full retirement age (FRA) also changes, albeit to 67, for those born in 1960 and after. The FRA has been steadily rising since legislation was passed by Congress in 1983, a move made to help shore up the Social Security trust funds that pay benefits to more than 70 million Americans in 2025. This means that anyone claiming benefits before reaching this age will face a permanent financial penalty, reducing their Social Security payments for the rest of their life. If retiring at 67, older Americans can get their full insurance amount, and if they retire later, they can get even more. Even as the U.S. retirement age has already crept up, some lawmakers have indicated they want it raised even further. The Republican Study Committee, comprising 170 GOP lawmakers, published a budget proposal in 2024 that advocated for "modest adjustments to the retirement age for future retirees, to account for increases in life expectancy"—raising the retirement age to 69. In December, Senator Rand Paul introduced an amendment to the Social Security Fairness Act to raise the full retirement age all the way to 70, proposing three-month annual increases until reaching that threshold, but it was not adopted. These have been touted as solutions to the looming Social Security funding issue. As it stands, in 2035, the funds that help pay for benefits along with payroll taxes will run dry, forcing a 17 percent across-the-board cut in benefit payments unless Congress acts to shore up the system by increasing its revenue, reducing benefits or a combination of both. Other options include raising payroll taxes, cutting benefits for future recipients, or a combination of all three. The Congressional Budget Office estimates that increasing the FRA to 70 would address roughly half of the system's 75-year shortfall. "Raising the retirement age is part of the solution, but not a standalone fix," Jeremy Clerc, co-founder and CEO of Assists and a contributing writer at Assisted Living Magazine, told Newsweek, given the huge impact it could have on future retirees. Steep, Dangerous and Complex Regardless of whether raising the retirement age is chosen as the path to helping Social Security toward longstanding solvency, a later FRA could see different types of workers face potentially unfair disparities. "Not everyone reaches their late 60s in the same shape — physically, financially, or emotionally," Clerc said. "In senior living, we see the disparities up close. For some, two extra years of work is manageable; for others, it's a steep, even dangerous, climb. Reform needs to reflect that complexity." For Clerc, the answer is clear. "Absolutely—and significantly so," Clerc said when asked whether lower-income and blue-collar workers would suffer disproportionately. "They live shorter lives, reducing their years to collect benefits. They're also more likely to perform physically demanding, manual labor, which limits the ability to work longer." Jonathan Price, senior vice president and retirement practice leader at benefits consultancy Segal, agrees. "Delaying Social Security's retirement age will put additional stress on those in physically demanding roles," he explained to Newsweek. "They will likely need to drop out of the labor force and claim Social Security prior to the new retirement age. "Delaying Social Security normal retirement age would likely have an oversized impact," particularly on those who are forced to retire and claim benefits earlier than 67 - or in a raised FRA scenario, 69. IMAGE TO BE REPLACED. IMAGE TO BE REPLACED. Photo-illustration by Newsweek/Getty Clerc said that raising the FRA could slash average lifetime benefits by nearly 20 percent, according to research from the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities. "It's hard to justify asking a warehouse worker or home health aide to stay on the job into their late 60s or 70s," he said. "These are the same people who burn out early, face chronic pain, and often die younger—yet they'd be the ones asked to wait longer for benefits they've paid into their whole lives." Price warns that policy changes could also ripple through the workforce in unexpected ways. "If SSA's retirement ages were to be delayed, then Americans may need to work longer," he said. "What impact will that have on their employers, opportunities for colleagues moving up through the ranks, and overall labor participation? People and organizations will need time to prepare for those types of changes. It's going to be a big adjustment." How Do Americans Feel? Despite repeated calls from some policymakers to raise the retirement age, most Americans aren't buying it. Polls conducted in recent years indicate strong opposition to a higher FRA. A Data For Progress survey from 2023 found that only 8 percent of voters supported the idea of raising the FRA over 67. Clerc said that if it were to happen, it requires being done with care and that raising the retirement age "must be implemented gradually, equitably, and as part of a holistic reform package." "If we push people to work longer, we need to think about what that means—for them, for their families, and for the economy," Price said.
Los Angeles Times
an hour ago
- Los Angeles Times
Why ‘monstrify'? Look at who benefits when few are considered fully human
In March, the Trump administration deported 238 Venezuelans to El Salvador, allegedly for membership in the criminal organization Tren de Aragua. According to White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt, these men were 'terrorists' and 'heinous monsters.' President Trump echoed her, calling them 'monsters' on his social media platform, Truth Social. In May, ProPublica reported that the White House knew that most of the men had no criminal convictions in the U.S., and earlier reporting indicated that more than 50 of them had entered the U.S. legally and had not violated immigration law. 'Monster' conjures a threat distinct from 'foreign,' 'different,' 'other' or even 'alien.' Here it implies that the deportees are different from 'normal' people (read 'white, Anglo, native-born Americans') in ways that go beyond merely committing a garden-variety crime. Their transgression of the social contract seemingly even exceeds the violent crimes of which they are accused, because U.S. citizens suspected of being 'rapists, murders, kidnappers' — the administration's allegations about these 'monsters' — don't get trafficked to gulags overseas. Monstrifying these people was part of a strategy to justify deporting them by invoking the Alien Enemies Act of 1798 without proof of any crime or gang membership. By doing so the administration threatens to normalize not just the deportation of a handful of individuals but also depriving all residents (legal and undocumented) and U.S. citizens of the right to challenge the legality of their detention or imprisonment. Because one cannot prove legal residence or citizenship without due process, deporting people without legal proceedings is to deny rights that must be extended to all if they are to exist for anyone — a violation all the greater when individuals are sent to a prison from which, in the words of the Salvadoran president, 'the only way out is in a coffin.' Monstrifying individuals and groups is nothing new. The 11th-century chronicler Gerald of Wales, descended from Norman conquerers and Welsh nobility, dismissed the English as 'the most worthless of all peoples under heaven … the most abject slaves' and Ireland as an island inhabited by werewolves, ox-humans and other human-animal hybrids. In 1625, an English Puritan travel editor published a claim (without having set foot in North America) that the Algonquians had 'little of humanitie but shape … more brutish than the beasts they hunt.' In 1558, the Scottish Protestant and firebrand preacher John Knox published a pamphlet against the rule of Mary I of England, arguing that a woman who ruled in her own right was 'a monster of monsters,' her country a monstrous body politic, unlikely to survive for long. In the age of Atlantic slavery, legal instruments known as 'black codes' invented Black Africans transported to the colonies as a new category: the chattel slave who served for life and had fewer rights than white Christian servants. The current president's history of monstrifying people extends to U.S. citizens. In August 2016, Trump called Hillary Clinton 'a monster': supposedly 'weak,' 'unhinged,' 'unbalanced,' someone who would be 'a disaster' as president and who allegedly threatened 'the destruction of this country from within.' In October 2020, Trump twice called Kamala Harris 'this monster.' The distinctions drawn by people in power trying to divide a population are often unworkable. How do you tell a law-abiding person from a terrorist gang member? From their tattoos, according to this administration. Neither citizenship nor immigration status is visible on a person's body or audible in their voice, yet people of color of every immigration and citizenship status have long faced racial profiling. Attempts to define visible signs of the monster are not new either; nor is the fact that monster-making sweeps up an immense number of people in its dragnet. But monsters are never hermetically sealed from the group whose borders they were invented to define. This ham-fisted attempt at an evidence-based reason for trafficking people to El Salvador echoes earlier attempts to identify distinct groups in a population where human variety existed on a continuum. Notorious among these examples was the monstrification and mass slaughter, in Nazi Germany, of Jewish, Roma, Sinti, LGBTQ+, disabled and neurodiverse individuals as well as political dissidents. In the U.S. today, to tolerate, permit or encourage the monstrification of any non-citizen and consequently deny them due process is to tolerate, permit and encourage this to happen to U.S. citizens. The category of the human is shrinking as politicians, tech bros and right-wing pundits monstrify everyone who isn't a cis-het white man. Today's dehumanizing language extends beyond the Venezuelan deportees that this administration labeled as 'monsters.' It extends to women, minorities and LGBTQ+ people by questioning their right to bodily autonomy, privacy and dignity. It extends to people who are unhoused, poor, disabled or elderly, as social services are cut. These narratives hail back to a broader, centuries-long Western tradition of gazing at other people and framing them as monstrous: as beings who supposedly broke the category of 'human' and could be legitimately denied of fundamental rights. Monster-making campaigns always serve a purpose. For European colonizers, claiming that Indigenous people were less than human disguised European land grabs. Laws defining enslaved Black Africans as chattel property legalized their enslavement and broke the labor solidarity between white servants and enslaved Africans. And the Nazis claimed that Jews and other minorities had caused Germany to lose the First World War and were responsible for the nation's economic collapse. Again today, the goals of monstrification serve the myth of white supremacy, including the notion that the U.S. was meant to be a white ethnostate. Thus while the Trump administration terminated a program for refugees fleeing Cuba, Haiti, Nicaragua and Venezuela, it welcomed white Afrikaners from South Africa by calling them refugees. Furthermore, by exploiting Jews' proximity to whiteness, this administration is monstrifying Palestinians in order to justify the Israeli government's human rights violations. By declaring that protesters, including those who are Jewish, calling for an end to the Gaza slaughter are antisemitic, and by withholding research funds from and interfering with universities by calling them hotbeds of antisemitism, the administration attempts to convince people that Palestinian civilians do not deserve food, homes, safety or even life — and that recognizing the humanity of Jews requires denying that Palestinians are human and have human rights. Yet the administration's own antisemitism is clear: Trump has pardoned leaders of antisemitic and white supremacist organizations and hosted prominent antisemites as dinner guests. This multi-pronged campaign of monstrification strengthens the personal loyalty of white supremacists and Christian nationalists towards Trump and sows discord and poisons solidarity among his targets and critics. Monstrifying narratives have been undermining the possibility of a more inclusive body politic for millennia. But there's an antidote to us-them messages of hate, fear and exclusion that claim that only a tiny minority of people are truly human. That antidote is to realize that by recognizing the humanity of others we don't disavow our own humanity: We demonstrate it. It behooves us to demand that all people receive equal protection under the law, and to call out monstrifying narratives that, in the end, dehumanize us all. Surekha Davies is a historian, speaker and monster consultant for TV, film and radio. She is the author of 'Humans: A Monstrous History' and writes the newsletter 'Strange and Wondrous: Notes From a Science Historian.'
