Voices from the Arab press: Elon Musk, the world's first trillionaire

Not long ago, a millionaire was considered a member of a tiny global elite. Then America introduced the age of the billionaire, transforming economics, finance, and society.

Now we have entered the era of the trillionaire. In 2020, Musk was worth $28 billion and ranked 35th among the world’s richest people.

Six years later, his fortune has exploded to a level that defies ordinary economic logic. Whether I find that believable is irrelevant; the numbers speak for themselves.

Historically, great fortunes were built through manufacturing or finance. Today, technology dominates the summit of global wealth, with seven of the 10 richest people deriving their fortunes from the sector.

Yet Musk is not merely rich. He and a handful of technology magnates are reshaping the future itself. Space exploration was once the exclusive domain of governments; now, private entrepreneurs lead the charge. Musk is also pushing efforts to merge artificial intelligence with the human brain, placing some of humanity’s most consequential questions in private rather than public hands.

This is not simply business success – it is the privatization of the future. Admirers compare him to Edison or Einstein, perhaps with some exaggeration, but his influence is undeniable.

The obvious question is what any individual could possibly do with such wealth. Musk says half of it is intended to solve problems on Earth and the other half to build a self-sustaining city on Mars. Many find that answer unconvincing. They see fortunes of this scale as evidence of a profound moral imbalance in a world marked by extreme inequality.

Even if Musk earned every dollar legitimately, critics argue that economic and tax systems increasingly favor the wealthy and amplify their gains. As billions are spent pursuing life on Mars, millions of children still lack food, medicine, and opportunity.

Ancient philosophers taught that true wealth meant having enough. Looking around today, that idea feels more distant than ever.

National Immigrant Heritage Month, observed in the US during June, should be more than a celebration of cultural diversity; it should be a reminder of the complicated history that made America what it is today. At a moment when some seek to rewrite that history by emphasizing only national triumphs while erasing uncomfortable truths, it is worth remembering that the United States was built upon two original sins: slavery and the dispossession of indigenous peoples.

The wealth that powered the early republic came in large part from enslaved labor and from land taken from native communities.

Yet America’s story did not end there.

Ironically, each new wave of immigrants encountered suspicion, discrimination, and hostility from earlier arrivals who considered themselves the “real Americans.”

The same pattern is repeating itself today. Communities whose ancestors were once mocked for their language, culture, and customs now direct similar accusations toward newer immigrants, particularly those from Latin America.

What gets lost in this cycle is the lesson history repeatedly teaches us: America grows stronger because of those it welcomes, not despite them.

The country learned agricultural and political lessons from indigenous peoples, even while dismissing them as savages. Southern wealth depended on enslaved workers even while slaveholders demeaned them. The industrial economy depended on immigrants, even while many were treated as outsiders.

America’s food, music, literature, diplomacy, fashion, business culture, and civic life all bear the imprint of generations of newcomers.

What truly makes America great is not a mythologized past but its extraordinary ability to absorb different peoples and cultures, and transform them into a single society. The real danger lies in forgetting that truth and replacing history with comforting fiction.– James Zogby

The battle unfolding in southern Lebanon is no longer about a hilltop, a valley, or a border village. It is increasingly a struggle over maps, spheres of influence, and the shape of the postwar South.

As negotiations in Washington continue to falter, there are mounting signs that Israel is no longer thinking in terms of returning to the status quo that existed before the war. Instead, it appears determined to translate military gains into a new security reality that extends well beyond Resolution 1701 and the Litani River.

Diplomatic sources involved in the Lebanese-Israeli talks say that a comprehensive ceasefire agreement has existed in draft form for weeks, but repeated efforts to implement it have failed.

These concerns are reinforced by discussions within Israel itself, where military planners reportedly debate two strategic options known as “Little Oranim” and “Greater Oranim.” The first would consolidate existing gains and create a strengthened security belt along the border. The second would envision a much broader advance toward Nabatieh, Zahrani, Tyre, and Sidon, effectively redrawing southern Lebanon’s security geography.

Even more significant is the growing discussion of the Zahrani River as a future security line, replacing the Litani as the reference point for Israeli strategic thinking. Such a shift would bring Nabatieh, one of the political and logistical centers of Hezbollah’s support base, much closer to the heart of the conflict.

At the same time, Israeli officials increasingly describe drones, rather than rockets or tunnels, as the dominant threat, turning the war into a contest of technology and adaptation. Statements by Israeli commanders expressing readiness to advance as far as Beirut may be intended as psychological pressure rather than operational plans, but they reveal a broader reality: Israel wants allies and adversaries alike to understand that it no longer accepts the prewar balance.

The question is no longer where Israeli forces might stop. The question is what kind of southern Lebanon will remain if Israel succeeds in imposing its new security vision, and whether the peace that follows the war will be shaped by negotiation or by facts established on the battlefield.

A few months ago, Iraqi parliamentarian Youssef Al-Kalabi was demanding that Iraq stand up to America and calling for resistance against US President Donald Trump. Years earlier, he accused former prime minister Mustafa Al-Kadhimi of serving American interests.

I do not enjoy revisiting the adventures of our politicians, but Iraq’s political theater leaves little choice. The contradictions are impossible to ignore.

We are constantly asked to participate in a never-ending performance called “with America and against America.” Many of the politicians who once praised American officials, presented gifts to Donald Rumsfeld, and sought the approval of Paul Bremer later discovered a passion for anti-American rhetoric and resistance. Our political class seems addicted to dramatic scenes, always searching for the next headline-grabbing statement while ordinary citizens continue waiting for prosperity, development, and competent governance.

Some may ask whether I am happy about Trump. The answer is simple: neither I nor millions of Iraqis elected him, congratulated him, or spent our days socializing with American diplomats.

What continues to amaze me is how Iraqi democracy has become a source of endless irony. For years, people have pointed to corruption, failure, and decay, yet the parties in power neither see nor hear. Instead, they reinvent themselves under new slogans about achievement, progress, awareness, and reform while producing little change.

Every morning, Iraqis are expected to laugh at the spectacle of politicians moving effortlessly from one position to its opposite.

After more than two decades, I struggle to recall a single Iraqi official who publicly objected to foreign powers speaking on Iraq’s behalf or interfering in its affairs. Perhaps that is the biggest joke of all.