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"For rail customers, it will be a choice between ‘Hell or the highway,’” said Mark Wallace, the national president of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers and Trainmen.
Two of America's largest railway workers unions have come out against the $85 billion merger of two major railroad conglomerates, warning that it will harm competition and worker safety.
The Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers and Trainmen (BLET) and the Brotherhood of Maintenance of Way Employees Division (BMWED) represent more than half of the employees at the Union Pacific Railroad and the Norfolk Southern Corporation, which it plans to acquire.
The US Surface Transportation Board (STB) is expected to receive a formal proposal from the two companies on Friday. President Donald Trump said in September that the deal "sounds good" to him.
If approved, it would allow the two firms to merge into the largest railroad company in US history, controlling more than 50,000 miles of track across 43 states. According to the Associated Press, such a railroad would likely control over 40% of the nation's freight.
The unions warned on Wednesday that the deal would create a "de facto monopoly" in large swaths of the country.
“We believe this transcontinental railroad will make shipping by rail less attractive as the merged carrier passes off rail lines that serve small towns, factories, and farms to short line railroads while running miles-long slow-moving trains on the main line," said BLET national president Mark Wallace. "For rail customers, it will be a choice between ‘Hell or the highway.’”
Loosened merger regulations by Congress have allowed railway companies to consolidate over the past 40 years. As the unions point out, in 1980 there were roughly 40 different Class 1 railroads in the US, whereas in 2025 they have combined into just six entities.
An October analysis by the American Economic Liberties Project, which warned against the Norfolk Southern-Union Pacific merger, noted that as a result of this consolidation, "shippers reported a deterioration in service, fewer options with higher prices... while workers lost jobs and those who didn’t face strenuous working conditions."
While the unions credited Norfolk Southern’s spending on new safety measures following 2023’s catastrophic derailment in East Palestine, Ohio, they said that Union Pacific “continues to cut corners and oppose needed reforms.”
During the Biden administration, federal regulators found that Union Pacific made a concerted effort to undermine government safety assessments, including coaching employees on how to respond to questions from the Federal Railroad Administration and threatening them with discipline if they did not give the company's preferred responses.
The merger has received backing from SMART-TD, the nation's largest railroad union, which cited promises from Union Pacific CEO Jim Vena not to lay off workers as a result of the acquisition.
But BLET and BMWED say these promises are hollow and that the proposal given to unions still allows the company to have the ultimate say over which workers are protected and provides no guarantees for employees against being transferred to jobs hundreds of miles away or from having their lines sold to short line railroads that pay less.
“We don’t believe anything Vena says about how workers would be treated in the Supersized Union Pacific,” said Tony Cardwell, president of the BMWED. “The agreements reached with some other unions related to job protections post-merger have loopholes big enough to traverse freight trains through. We refuse to accept the same terms in return for our unions’ support for the merger.”
"The last 40 years of railroad consolidation clearly demonstrate how this merger could threaten public safety and harm shippers, workers, consumers, and the broader economy," said an economic analyst.
A merger between two of America's biggest railroad companies could have "disastrous consequences" for workers and consumers, according to a report out Monday.
In late July, labor unions raised alarm as Union Pacific Railroad announced a $72 billion deal to acquire Norfolk Southern Railway, which, if approved by the US Surface Transportation Board (STB), would make the new entity the largest railroad company in American history, controlling over 50,000 total miles of interstate rail.
The American Economic Liberties Project (AELP), an anti-monopoly think tank, provided more evidence for those concerns with its new analysis.
"A combined Union Pacific-Norfolk Southern will have disastrous consequences: less safe workers and communities, less competition, higher costs, and service disruptions," said one of the report's authors, AELP senior fellow Erik Peinert. "For good reason, there has never been an attempt at a consolidated transcontinental railroad system until now—a scale of railroad consolidation not even met by the railroad barons of the Gilded Age."
As the report explains, America's interstate rail system is dominated by four companies that operate as a pair of "regional duopolies." Norfolk Southern lines stretch across the Eastern US, along with those owned by CSX, while areas west of the Mississippi River are covered by Union Pacific and BNSF.
This already heavily consolidated system is the product of Congress' deregulation of railroads during the 1980s and 1990s, most notably through the replacement in 1995 of the more powerful Interstate Commerce Commission (ICC) with the STB, which has more limited authority to regulate mergers.
"Even by the very lax merger standards of the late 1990s and early 2000s, these combinations were recognized as mistakes with devastating outcomes," the report says. "Shippers reported a deterioration in service, fewer options with higher prices, and the loss of jobs, while workers lost jobs and those who didn't face strenuous working conditions."
Though STB's rules tightened in 2001, requiring mergers to "enhance" competition instead of simply not harming it, the damage was already done. Over the next two decades, the report noted that the top four major railroads came to haul 7% fewer loads while hiking freight rates twice as fast as inflation. This was due in large part to the fact that 50% of customers were now "captive," that is, they had access to only one rail line, compared to just 27% two decades prior.
Another megamerger, the report warns, would cause a "likely permanent loss of competitive rail services for shippers" in large sections of the country, specifically the Midwest, where Union Pacific and Norfolk Southern have overlapping lines.
The deal has been opposed by a consortium of shipping associations, including the Freight Rail Customer Alliance, the American Chemistry Council, and the National Industrial Transport League (NITL), which warned that it would slow down service and lead to price hikes.
Labor unions—including the Teamsters, the Transport Workers Union of America, and the Railroad Workers United—have also opposed the merger, citing the companies' histories of cutting costs by laying off employees and flouting safety standards.
"Historically, rail consolidation results in job loss, diminishing labor power in negotiating better working conditions and pay, resulting in staffing shortages that lead to burnout and increased safety risks for workers and the public," the report says. "And in general, consolidation results in stagnant and reduced wages for workers, as there are fewer buyers for labor and greater leverage for the consolidated companies."
There is also a risk that if the STB approves the merger, it could embolden the other half of the duopoly, CSX and BNSF, to merge as well, creating a national duopoly where "choice and competition would be lost."
In part due to the STB's more stringent rules, no interstate railroads have attempted to merge in the 21st century. However, the Trump administration seemed to give Union Pacific and Norfolk Southern a green light when—just as proceedings for the merger were beginning in late August—President Donald Trump fired Robert Primus, a Democratic member of the STB who had been an outspoken critic of railroad consolidation, which broke a 2-2 tie on the board between Democrats and Republicans.
At the beginning of October, Primus sued the Trump administration, which had not explained his firing other than that he "did not align with the president's America First agenda." After meeting with the CEO of Union Pacific in September, Trump said that the merger "sounds good."
"Our country's supply chain demands that the board be independent and transparent. Congress mandated it 138 years ago," Primus said upon filing the lawsuit. "Failure to do so will negatively affect the network: railroads, shippers, and rail labor alike, disrupting the supply chain and ultimately injecting instability into our nation's economy. This is dangerous, and wrong, and cannot be allowed to happen."
Railroad Workers United said that Primus "was removed not for inefficiency or malfeasance, but for daring to stand for fair competition and consumer interests, a principle too radical for the 'America First' cabal."
Ashley Nowicki, the report's other author and a policy analyst at the AELP, said that the firing of Primus, "who questioned rail consolidation and the railroad's substantial lobbying efforts, raises serious concerns about political interference."
"The last 40 years of railroad consolidation clearly demonstrate how this merger could threaten public safety and harm shippers, workers, consumers, and the broader economy," she continued. "The Surface Transportation Board must show it can operate independently and protect the public interest over Wall Street."
The former Microsoft CEO and Clippers owner’s scandal shows how media culture hails billionaires as visionaries while their fortunes rest on monopoly, exploitation, and illusion.
Los Angeles Clippers owner and former Microsoft CEO Steve Ballmer is at the center of an NBA investigation into whether a bankrupt “green finance” startup secretly funneled tens of millions of dollars to Kawhi Leonard in a scheme to dodge the salary cap. Ballmer insists he was duped, not complicit. But even if he escapes punishment, this scandal is less about basketball than about a larger truth: Ballmer’s rise, like that of so many billionaires, rests not on genius but on monopoly, exploitation, and a media culture eager to turn raw power into the illusion of “superhuman brilliance.”
Steve Ballmer’s story is not just about one executive’s choices. It is about the deeper rot in a system that rewards monopoly, celebrates exploitation, and dresses up greed as genius. If we want to build a just and sustainable world, the first step is to stop believing the fairy tale.
Ballmer’s career at Microsoft is often painted as the story of a bold leader guiding a tech giant through the new millennium. In reality, it was a case study in how to crush rivals and protect a monopoly. Under his watch, Microsoft racked up record fines from regulators; perfected its notorious strategy of “embrace, extend, extinguish;” and enforced a cutthroat internal culture that stifled collaboration. This wasn’t innovation. It was domination dressed up as genius.
When Ballmer became Microsoft’s CEO in 2000, the company was already facing a bruising US antitrust case over its efforts to crush competitors like Netscape and RealNetworks. European regulators soon followed, hitting Microsoft with record fines for abusing its monopoly. The Commission found that Microsoft had deliberately abused its dominant position by tying Windows Media Player to its operating system and undermining competition in server software.
At the center of these cases was a clear pattern: Microsoft used its dominance not to compete fairly but to block competitors, extend its monopoly, and extract rents from consumers and developers.
If journalism is to serve the public, it must puncture the myths of genius and demand accountability from those who profit most from monopoly and exploitation.
Ballmer did not invent these practices, but he perfected and defended them. The company’s infamous “embrace, extend, extinguish” strategy thrived during his reign: Adopt an open standard, add proprietary extensions, then use those extensions to break competitors’ products or force users into Microsoft’s ecosystem. A series of leaked internal memos known as the “Halloween Documents” revealed how Microsoft viewed open source software as a threat and laid out strategies to undermine it. Far from being a story of daring innovation, Microsoft under Ballmer became a story of protecting monopoly turf at any cost.
Internally, Ballmer presided over the now-notorious “stack ranking” system, in which managers were forced to rank employees against each other, ensuring that some were always labeled failures regardless of performance. Vanity Fair reported that this system was described by employees as “the most destructive process inside of Microsoft.” It encouraged backstabbing, punished collaboration, and destroyed morale.
Yet Ballmer’s reputation in the business press was rarely tarnished. Microsoft’s aggressive tactics and toxic culture were downplayed as part of the “rough and tumble” of the tech industry. Instead of being recognized as symptoms of a deeply flawed corporate ethos, they were cast as evidence of toughness, discipline, or even strategic brilliance.
This discrepancy points to a larger cultural problem: the way American media routinely turns billionaires into celebrities and treats monopolists as “innovators.” Stories often described Ballmer as a “visionary,” even while acknowledging that he missed entire waves of innovation—from mobile phones and search engines to social media. For example, he later admitted that Microsoft “missed mobile by clinging to Windows.” In interviews, he reflected that the early 2000s were defined by “missed opportunities,” and critics pointed out that he “missed every major trend in technology”
But this is not just about Ballmer. Consider how the press has lionized figures like Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos, Jamie Dimon, and the Silicon Valley founders of Google, Facebook, and Uber. Musk is often portrayed as a world-changing genius, yet his real talent lies in projecting an aura of promise rather than delivering consistent transformation. Bezos is hailed as the visionary who built Amazon into a global empire, but the company’s rise is grounded in widespread worker exploitation, aggressive union busting, and what Jacobin bluntly calls a legacy of exploitation. These examples show how easily media culture crowns billionaires as “visionaries” while overlooking the systemic harms that make their fortunes possible.
The mythology of the “genius CEO” is not harmless flattery. It is an ideological weapon. It convinces us that billionaires deserve their fortunes because they are smarter, bolder, and more visionary than everyone else. It hides the truth that their wealth comes from structural advantages, monopolies, and an economy rigged to socialize risk while privatizing reward.
Ballmer’s career is a perfect case in point. Few in the press asked whether Microsoft’s dominance strangled innovation or whether his leadership undermined workers and consumers. Instead, the coverage painted him as a colorful eccentric, a lovable billionaire, and above all a success story—as if his rise were earned brilliance rather than brute monopoly power.
Pablo Torre’s remarkable reporting on the Aspiration scandal is a reminder of what real journalism can do when it asks hard questions instead of recycling corporate talking points. His work not only exposes the hidden machinery of sports business but also shows why we need the same relentless scrutiny of CEOs and executives across industries. If journalism is to serve the public, it must puncture the myths of genius and demand accountability from those who profit most from monopoly and exploitation.
The irony of Ballmer’s current predicament is almost too sharp. The company at the center of the scandal, Aspiration, branded itself as an “ethical financial” startup, promising consumers the ability to save the planet while banking. Its pitch was slick and appealing: Open an account, round up your debit-card purchases, and the company would plant trees or invest in clean energy The company even raised $135 million to expand its “conscious consumerism” model, promoting debit cards that supposedly planted a tree with every swipe. But investigations later showed that the green promises were exaggerated, with ProPublica revealing that the company counted trees not yet planted and diverted some consumer funds toward administrative costs rather than reforestation.
Indeed, Despite the glossy promises, testimony from former employees and bankruptcy filings exposed a starkly different reality. It was less an environmental company than a marketing engine, spending lavishly on celebrity endorsements such as the $28 million Kawhi Leonard deal now under scrutiny, while delivering little measurable benefit to the climate. The startup positioned itself as a sustainable alternative to traditional banks, promoting tree-planting debit cards. Behind the branding, however, its financial practices were shaky. Aspiration relied on questionable deals to inflate its revenue and set up a high-profile IPO, even as its business model was already beginning to unravel.
Why do we continue to celebrate executives who built their fortunes on monopolistic practices, even as those practices hollow out innovation and concentrate wealth?
If Ballmer was indeed duped by Aspiration, as he claims, it only highlights how easily billionaires buy into glossy branding that flatters their image as progressive leaders. After the scandal broke, Ballmer admitted he felt “embarrassed and kind of silly” for not seeing through the company’s flaws. Yet Aspiration’s collapse alongside a multimillion-dollar “no-show” endorsement deal is not an outlier. It is a symptom of how much of today’s tech and finance sector manufactures a fraudulent sense of progress and value, dressing up speculation and extraction as innovation. In this world of legalized scams and corporate greenwashing, Ballmer’s embarrassment is less an excuse than a reminder of how disconnected billionaire investors are from the human and ecological costs of their money.
Aspiration’s story also echoes a broader pattern. Theranos promised a revolution in blood testing, WeWork styled itself as the future of work, and FTX declared it would reinvent finance. Each was celebrated as visionary until the façade collapsed, leaving behind fraud, debt, and disillusionment. These high-profile failures reveal how the mythology of innovation is repeatedly weaponized to disguise little more than hype, speculation, and exploitation. The media and investors continue to fall for it, again and again.
The NBA investigation may or may not conclude that Ballmer violated the rules. But the larger scandal here is not limited to basketball. It is about how our culture treats men like Ballmer as role models—how we conflate wealth with competence, market share with innovation, and ruthless opportunism with genius.
It is also about how the very firms that claim to be solving our most urgent crises, from the climate emergency to economic inequality, are often vehicles for speculation and greenwashing, not solutions. They promise progress but deliver only shareholder returns and a deeper entrenchment of the same unequal and unsustainable order.
The Ballmer story forces us to ask harder questions. Why do we accept that billionaires should own sports teams at all, turning civic institutions into vanity projects for the ultra rich? Why do we continue to celebrate executives who built their fortunes on monopolistic practices, even as those practices hollow out innovation and concentrate wealth? Why do we allow financial startups to market themselves as saviors of the planet while continuing to accelerate ecological collapse?
The real lesson of this scandal is that we must break the spell of billionaire mythology. Ballmer is not a singular villain; he is an emblem of an age in which billionaires are lauded as saviors while their empires rest on monopoly, exploitation, and illusion. The media has played a crucial role in maintaining this façade, selling the public a narrative of “genius” to justify inequality.
A more honest narrative would recognize that the wealth of men like Ballmer was built on systems of exclusion, not innovation. It would expose the ways that corporate culture, whether in Big Tech or in the world of “ethical finance,” uses the language of progress to mask exploitation. And it would challenge the very legitimacy of an economy in which billionaires can fail upward, celebrated as geniuses even as their companies and investments leave wreckage behind.
What we need are not more billionaire idols but real accountability. It is long past time to stop confusing power with brilliance and to recognize that genuine progress will never come from self-styled saviors at the top. It will come from democratic action, collective struggle, and the hard work of reshaping our economy around justice rather than monopoly and the myth of capitalist progress.