Holding the Line

This June, a TikTok user posted a video to that social-media platform that quickly “went viral,” garnering over two million views, 367,000 likes, 156,000 shares, and over ten thousand comments. What made it so immediately and immensely popular? Its relatability. In the video, the TikToker, who goes by the handle @sewerlidd, compares the total bill for groceries he purchased in 2022 with the total for the same items in 2024. The difference? Today, those same groceries, from the same grocer, cost nearly four times as much. Two years ago, his online order of 53 items from Walmart.com cost $126.67. When hitting the “Reorder All” button from his purchase history, the same 53 items now cost a whopping $414.39.

“I feel like I’m going to be sick,” @sewerlidd says in astonishment. And every American grocery shopper shares his nausea.

When something of this nature comes to light, it never fails to generate controversy. And this one didn’t. After all, it’s an election year, and this video could be further proof of the failure of Bidenomics. Joe Biden; his handpicked successor to the throne, Kamala Harris; and their lackeys in the media wouldn’t want this to become a point-scorer for their opponents in the inevitable partisan disputes over the economy. Indeed, The Atlantic already published an article (Feb. 14) taking aim at “Republicans’ disproportionate economic negativity when a Democrat is in office” and blaming “right-wing media” for their pessimism — as if Republicans don’t interact with the economy on a regular basis.

News flash: Republicans do. Democrats do. Independents do. We all do.

This was followed by further attempts in various media outlets to quell concerns about the economy. The left-leaning National Public Radio, for example, ran a feature titled “Why Experts Say Inflation Is Relatively Low but Voters Feel Differently” (April 25). Even the right-center Barron’s got in on the act, trying to tell us that “Inflation Might Not Be as Bad as It Looks” (May 21).

Everything is fine, just peachy, they’re saying. It’s your feelings and perceptions that are out of whack.

This is classic media gaslighting — which Merriam-Webster defines as “psychological manipulation” that “causes the victim to question the validity of their own thoughts, perception of reality, or memories” — and it’s one of the main reasons why Americans’ trust in the media is at a record low. It’s nearly impossible to shake the sneaking suspicion that most media outlets are advancing an agenda rather than objectively reporting the news.

As for the TikTok video in question, Walmart representatives responded, stating that the discrepancies in prices are due to discontinued items in @sewerlidd’s original order, rather than to inflation, as is generally supposed. (It should be noted, however, that the brief, 46-second video doesn’t show the entire list of items. What can be seen are things like ramen noodles, spinach, Wheat Thins crackers, and Fritos chips — you know, everyday, in-stock products.) After all, goes the argument pushed by National Public Radio, Barron’s, and the like, the rate of inflation is steadily decreasing. Indeed it is. The rate of inflation for food was 10.4 percent in June 2022, whereas now it’s down to 2.2 percent (per the Consumer Price Index put out by the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics).

See, it’s not as bad as you think.

Don’t be fooled. All this means is that the rate of price increases has slowed — slowed but not stopped. In other words, prices are still increasing.

Believe what you will about the reason for the drastic difference in prices in the TikToker’s orders. You only have to compare your own past and current receipts to see how much prices have risen — and for items still in stock. I did.

My wife and I do a lot of our shopping at Costco — we have a large family — where items are supposedly sold at closer to wholesale than retail prices. Yes, some items still cost roughly the same now as they did two years ago. But there are numerous exceptions. A container of Clorox wipes, for example, jumped from $14.99 in 2022 to $18.69 in 2024 (a 25% increase), while a two-box pack of Cheerios went from $7.99 to $9.89 (11%). A package of tortillas went from $7.99 to $8.79 (10%), while a box of Swiffer dusters went from $16.49 to $17.89 (9%). You get the idea. If we were to buy only these items — none of which has been discontinued and all of which are the same size and/or quantity — we’d pay an average of 16 percent more.

Now, that’s nowhere near four times as much, but it’s nothing to sneeze at either. That’s because high costs at the checkout counter of your local grocery store aren’t an isolated occurrence. They’re part of a larger surge in the basic cost of living. Consider: Our family’s combined gas-and-electric bill jumped $81 from June 2022 to June 2024 (a 50% increase), while our monthly health-insurance premiums mushroomed $409 (59%) — with the same number of people in the house. Our annual homeowner’s insurance premium increased $624 (41%). Water, garbage, auto insurance, Catholic school tuition — it’s all gone up.

Tell me which of these we can do without. None is a luxury item.

Forget partisan talking points. The cost of living is, without question, much higher now than it was two years ago. That’s not a matter of perception or emotion; it’s a cold, hard fact. It doesn’t matter if you’re a Democrat, a Republican, or a member of the American Solidarity Party: If you make an honest inquiry, you’ll come to this same conclusion.

As we all know from experience, prices that go up rarely, if ever, come down again. It’s gotten to the point where we feel a welcome sense of relief when the cost of something stays the same. Predictable, inflation-proof pricing? Yes, please!

One product that stands above others in terms of predictability is the one you’re holding in your hands. That’s right: the NOR’s domestic subscription rates have risen only once in the past 40 years, and that singular increase was over a decade ago. That’s nothing if not stable. Since 2013 (if you’ve been reading that long) you’ve paid the same price per issue, per year. We take pride in the NOR’s being a model of consistency — not only in price but in appearance and in quality of content — in an ever-evolving media landscape. The problem is that this media evolution (or social-media devolution, if you prefer) has pushed the printed word to the edge of extinction.

Since 2005 over 2,900 newspapers have ceased publication, and the rate of decline shows no signs of slowing: Some 360 newspapers have shut down since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic. According to a study by the Medill School of Journalism at Northwestern University, by next year one-third of all U.S. newspapers will have disappeared since 2005.

Even for the lucky ones that have lasted there’s bad news: They’ve seen their circulations (and ad revenues) plummet. Naturally, this has meant staff reductions and layoffs.

Magazines aren’t faring much better. The roll call of the recently deceased includes old mainstays such as Popular Science (after 151 years of publication), Reader’s Digest (after 86 years), The Washington Post Magazine (after 36 years; Jeff Bezos’s megabillions couldn’t save it), Entertainment Weekly (32 years), and even Playboy (67 years; though there are rumors it will relaunch as an annual rather than a monthly), as well as niche periodicals such as Texas Observer (a feisty progressive publication founded in 1954), Powder (for skiing enthusiasts, started in 1972), Backstreets (serving fans of rock singer Bruce Springsteen since 1980), and Bookforum (a literary magazine launched in 1994).

Lately, we’ve been wondering whether the NOR, another niche publication (in print since 1977), will be among the next to be tossed into the recycling bin of history.

You see, despite our prided predictability, the NOR isn’t immune to the dual forces of inflationary economics and the widespread cultural antipathy to reading. Our circulation (and ad revenue) is dwindling along with everyone else’s (having dropped 20% in the past two years). Luckily, we haven’t had to lay off any of our few staff members. As for inflation, we feel its pinch — and we feel it acutely.

As with so many things in this economy, the prices we pay for the goods and services necessary to publish the NOR have ballooned. Postage increases, for instance, have become as predictable as the rain. This summer, the U.S. Postal Service bumped up the price of first-class postage by 26 percent over what it was two years ago. Meanwhile, our per-issue cost for periodical postage has gone up 31 percent. Printing costs have risen as well: We’re paying 30 percent more to print each issue of the NOR.

The largest cost increases we’ve incurred have been for insurance. The premium to insure the NOR headquarters in Berkeley (the house I grew up in, and still the home of my mother, NOR managing editor Elena Vree) increased 28 percent. On top of that, in this particular spot in northern California, it’s necessary to have earthquake insurance — our home office is within a few miles of the Hayward Fault — and it’s not cheap. (It’s been 35 years since the last “big one” in the Bay Area, the Loma Prieta quake of 1989, and they say we’re due.) Earthquake insurance alone costs $5,598 per year. Ouch!

Not only the building needs insuring. We also carry professional liability insurance, the annual premium for which is $8,745, and directors and officers insurance — that is, until the premium for the latter more than tripled, from $4,500 to $15,000 a year. Who can afford that?

It’s no wonder so many businesses (and residents) are fleeing California. It’s too darn expensive.

Before you ask, yes, we have shopped around for better rates for every type of insurance we have. The problem is — in case you haven’t heard — that insurance in California is in crisis. Many agencies, such as Farmers and Safeco, are canceling policies left and right, while others, such as State Farm and Allstate, refuse to issue new policies in the Golden State. (Why is insurance in crisis? It’s a complex tale that involves wildfires — which, contrary to climate alarmism, primarily result from outdated electrical infrastructure and failed forest-management policies — price gouging, and government corruption.)

The bottom line is that all these price increases we’re enduring come at a time when our income is decreasing. As a result, we barely meet payroll for our few employees — even though some of our editors have taken voluntary pay cuts. And we’ve had to draw down our meager savings just to cover operational expenses.

I don’t have to tell you that this is an untenable situation.

That’s why we’re seriously considering raising subscription rates. But we’re reluctant to do so until it’s absolutely necessary. We don’t want to have to squeeze those who’ve remained loyal readers of the NOR, as we know they’re feeling the pressure of this economy along with everyone else. A rate increase at this time might drive more readers away. We want to keep the NOR affordable at all income levels.

But we’re facing a massive monetary shortfall, and we must do something. So we’ve decided, at this time, to ask rather than to insist. In order to stave off raising subscription rates for the next two years, we need to raise $250,000. We are asking for your help raising these funds so we won’t have to insist on your paying more with a rate increase.

Why should you want to help? Allow me to explain.

What the NOR offers is unique — and necessary. Where else can you engage with writers who articulate an orthodox Catholic way of thinking and living in 21st-century America — and at such a low cost? What other Catholic journal tries to surprise and stimulate you, to challenge and comfort you, month after month, year after year — even decade after decade? Each issue features writers who understand and identify the myriad threats to the faith inherent in our contemporary world, writers who explore the ways orthodox Catholicism interacts with the culture in areas as diverse as academics, activism, eschatology, entertainment, history, health care, literature, linguistics, marriage, moneymaking, sex, science, technology, transgenderism, wokeism, and warmaking — to name only a few of the themes from recent issues.

It might seem counterintuitive to say this, given our contrarian and at times pugilistic approach, but the unique witness the NOR provides is critical to the health of the Church. You see, the Church needs an independent but faithful voice to help her proclaim — or reclaim, as the case may be — the timeless truths with which she has been entrusted, in a milieu in which fewer and fewer people seem interested in hearing about them. The NOR can do this more effectively than other outlets precisely because it is independent but faithful.

Being independent means we aren’t required to ape the official line. Instead, we are at liberty to point out the failures of our leaders (up to and including the pope) and the easy compromises all believers are tempted to make in order to maintain a façade of peace with the increasingly aggressive secularism that surrounds us. We are able to present an uncompromisingly orthodox view on matters of great (and even small) import because, as we’ve pointed out time and again, the NOR has no Daddy Warbucks funding its endeavors. We don’t have, and don’t care to have, the institutional, foundational, or diocesan sponsorship that’s prone to stifle the witness of other Catholic media outlets. To do so would be to sacrifice our independence, making the NOR a mouthpiece for ideologues with hidden agendas or ecclesiastics with weak stomachs. That’s not how we roll. We’d rather see the NOR erased from the face of the earth than forfeit our independence and be forced to promote someone else’s ideas for the sake of our bottom line. When you pick up a copy of the NOR, you can do so confident in the knowledge that there’s no paid purpose behind any of the opinions published therein. We’re not required to analyze the Church or the world according to the whims of any power-broker or opinion-shaper.

That’s why the NOR doesn’t host fancy cruises or maintain pricey offices in New York City or Washington, D.C. (our staff work out of their homes). We don’t wine and dine high-roller donors or court powerful public figures. We don’t work the speakers’ circuit (we don’t have a travel budget) or produce podcasts (we can’t afford the equipment). Our shoestring nonprofit budget doesn’t allow for any of those luxuries.

As my late father, former NOR editor Dale Vree, was fond of saying, “The NOR is free to tell it like it is.” But freedom, as the old saying goes, isn’t free. No religious order, university endowment, foundation grant, or television network is coming to bail us out. The NOR’s sole means of support is, and always has been, its readers; it is you for whom we write and you to whom we answer. Our faithful readers have come to our rescue many times in the past. We’re asking you to do so again at this very critical juncture. Can we count on you?

To help us meet our fundraising goal, send your donation to New Oxford Review, 1069 Kains Ave., Berkeley CA 94706. Make checks and money orders payable to New Oxford Review. Credit card contributions can be made via our secure server at newoxfordreview.org/donations. The NOR is a nonprofit organization and has 501(c)(3) status with the Internal Revenue Service; donations are, therefore, tax deductible to the extent allowed by law.

We’re desperately trying to hold the line on subscription rates while managing the myriad rising production costs. Please offer a prayer for our ability to do so. And please prayerfully consider coming to our aid in our time of great need. It’s no exaggeration to say that the future of the NOR is in your hands.

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