So much of the public conversation about climate change gets flattened into one narrow question:

“Is this going to cost more at the pump?”

As if the destabilization of the Earth’s climate — the oceans, forests, wildlife, agriculture, and the basic systems that sustain life — can somehow be reduced to a few cents on a gallon of gasoline.

That framing has always struck me as deeply inadequate.

So when I invited former Washington Governor Jay Inslee onto my show on WBAI 99.5 FM in New York City to talk about rising fuel prices, I shifted the conversation outside that narrow economic lens. Instead, I asked him to explore the larger moral and human questions behind the climate crisis — what kind of relationship we want to have with the living world, and what kind of future we are capable of building.

Not in a fru-fru, dreamy idealist kind of way. But grounded in the reality of the situation we’re actually facing.

To his credit, he met that invitation and took it even deeper.

Toward the end of the conversation he spoke about something very simple: birds. The loss of them. The strange quiet that follows when species disappear.

And he also described something hopeful — riding on a clean electric bus. Not just the emissions difference, but the quiet of it. The way the driver doesn’t have to shout over a roaring engine all day, the way the whole experience becomes calmer and less exhausting.

It was one of those moments that reminded me that the energy transition isn’t just about policy debates or infrastructure plans.

It’s about the quality of life we create, right now.

What struck me most about this conversation was Governor Inslee’s optimism — not a denial of the seriousness of the moment, but a grounded belief that humanity still has the capacity to make wiser choices.

We also talked about why change has been slow, and he spoke about that with real compassion.

But he also painted a picture of what is still possible.

One of the things I try to explore here in The Peace and The Power is how we face enormous challenges without losing our humanity — how we hold truth, compassion, and imagination at the same time.

This conversation with Governor Inslee felt like a glimpse of that.

You can listen to the full interview below.

What we are seeing now is a shift from narcissism to megalomania, and that shift matters because it changes how power behaves — and what responses actually work.

Narcissism seeks admiration. Megalomania demands submission. A narcissist wants attention; a megalomaniac wants control. When that kind of personality encounters resistance, the response is not reflection or adjustment. It is escalation.

This is why appeasement has stopped working.

This pattern has been visible for some time. European leaders have learned to open meetings with exaggerated praise, public flattery, and affirmations of strength — not because they believe them, but because they know access and cooperation depend on it. We saw it even more starkly with Volodymyr Zelenskyy, who was openly criticized for failing to show sufficient deference, only to adjust his tone — offering overt praise and personal affirmation — after which relations immediately warmed. These were not policy shifts. They were behavioral accommodations, learned through consequence.

Appeasement assumes that the powerful ultimately want stability — that concessions will calm the situation and restraint will be reciprocated. But megalomania feeds on boundary violation. It interprets restraint as weakness and compromise as permission.

That distinction explains much of what is unfolding now.

Domestically, there is no longer serious debate about whether limits are being respected. We are watching them tested and crossed in real time: courts attacked for enforcing the law, civil liberties treated as obstacles, administrative authority expanded without transparency, constitutional constraints handled as inconveniences rather than guardrails. The issue is not ambiguity. It is whether boundaries will be enforced.

Internationally, the response has been unusually direct.

After the president’s speech at the World Economic Forum in Davos, several world leaders openly questioned whether the United States can still be treated as a reliable democratic ally — particularly with respect to NATO, support for Ukraine, and the stability of global trade systems that have anchored economic cooperation for decades.

Alliances do not function on weapons systems alone. They function on credibility. Once credibility erodes, everything else becomes provisional, including security guarantees, trade agreements, and diplomatic assurances.

For years, allied governments tried accommodation: softening language, absorbing instability, treating norm-breaking as personality rather than escalation. In practical terms, they indulged the behavior and hoped it would exhaust itself.

But behavior that has never encountered sustained consequences does not self-correct. It escalates until an external limit is imposed.

That is why the shift we are seeing from Europe matters. It is not emotional backlash. It is a decision to stop confusing accommodation with control.

When real limits finally appear — not from critics or the press, but from systems that cannot be flattered or worn down — courts, markets, allied governments acting together — the reaction follows a familiar pattern. Increased volatility. Anger. Repeated testing of whether those boundaries are real.

History is clear on this.

Trade wars offer a useful example. In the 1930s, the Smoot–Hawley Tariff Act triggered retaliatory tariffs that collapsed global trade and accelerated political radicalization. What began as economic leverage spiraled because once escalation starts, backing down is framed as surrender.

That is why recent European threats of coordinated trade measures matter. Restricting market access is not symbolic pressure. It is leverage. And when consequences move from rhetoric to markets, as in when economic pain becomes imminent, power responds. Not out of principle, but because disorder becomes unmanageable. I would not be surprised if pressure from American corporations doing business in Europe was not responsible for President Trump’s extreme course correction regarding his extreme tariff threats toward the EU for not giving him Greenland. Those enterprises certainly did not want to face a trade bazooka.

This brings us to containment.

After World War II, the key insight was not appeasement and not panic. It was discipline: alliances, economic pressure, clear red lines, and patience. Containment did not change psychology. It changed the environment. It constrained options and reduced the payoff of escalation — but only because allies acted together.

That is why what Mark Carney said in Davos is worth paying attention to. He warned that middle powers can no longer rely on compliance or deference for safety, and that collective action is now necessary to avoid being dominated rather than consulted. He described the current moment not as a transition, but as a rupture — with systems built for cooperation now being used as instruments of coercion.

That is not reassurance. It is boundary-setting.

After Vietnam, U.S. credibility collapsed not because the country lost a war, but because allies no longer trusted its judgment or restraint. Rebuilding that trust took decades. Credibility, once lost, is expensive to restore. When it erodes, allies hedge and prepare for unpredictability.

That is what we are seeing now.

Appeasement fails not because people lack civility, but because the problem has changed. When the issue is entitlement to domination, the response has to change as well.

Megalomania does not de-escalate gracefully. When consistent boundaries are imposed — by courts, by markets, by allied governments — the response is often further escalation. Crises are manufactured. Spectacle is sought. Pressure is applied wherever resistance appears weakest.

That does not mean boundaries are a mistake. It means we should expect pushback when they are enforced.

What works is steady, collective restraint, enforced patiently, until domination stops paying off.

That is the moment we are in now.

The question is whether our institutions are prepared to hold the line.

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This morning, I spoke through this argument live on the radio — responding to the moment as it’s unfolding. For those who want to hear how this lands out loud, I’m sharing that audio below