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The sun also rises in Appalachia

In the hollows of West Virginia, where the ridges rise sharply and the coal seams have long since thinned, a quiet revolution is flickering to life. It’s not the kind that rumbles with machinery or blackens the sky but one that hums softly on rooftops, catching the sun’s rays and transforming them into something practical — something like hope. Dan Conant, a lanky, earnest man with a preacher’s zeal and an engineer’s precision, leads this shift. As the founder and CEO of Solar Holler, a solar installation company based in Shepherdstown, he is determined to bring clean energy to rural America — not as a Silicon Valley afterthought but as a lifeline for places like Appalachia, where the old ways of powering life are fading into memory.Conant doesn’t talk about solar in abstract terms, filled with gigawatts and global salvation. For him, it’s personal, grounded in the dirt and clapboard of the communities he serves. “The ability to deliver for rural places — particularly places like central Appalachia, places that have been left behind — is absolutely huge,” he says in an interview with CEO.com. “This is an opportunity to build wealth, to build sustainable jobs, and to lower costs for folks who desperately need it.” In a region where the coal industry once promised prosperity but has left behind shuttered mines and shrinking towns, Conant views solar not merely as a power source but as a promise fulfilled — a means to give people a stake in their own future.Solar Holler isn’t your typical solar company, pursuing utility-scale contracts or suburban rooftops filled with cash. Conant’s team focuses on the small and scrappy: a church here, a firehouse there, a double-wide trailer on a hillside. They’ve installed panels on the roofs of volunteer fire departments in Mingo County and powered the United Mine Workers’ training center in Beckley. It’s a patchwork strategy, born from necessity in a landscape where large grids don’t always reach and budgets often fall short. “We’ve learned how to do solar in a way that works for rural America,” Conant explains, “not just the flat, sunny plains of Arizona, but the hollers and hills of West Virginia.”What sets Solar Holler apart is its refusal to treat rural folks as charity cases or afterthoughts. Conant’s team leans heavily into creative financing — federal tax credits, low-income solar grants, and partnerships with unions — to make solar accessible for people who’ve never had spare change to invest in a green dream. Take their work with the United Mine Workers: Solar Holler installed solar arrays to reduce energy costs for retired miners, a nod to the past that also serves as a bridge to the future. “We’re not here to maximize profit,” Conant says. “We’re here to maximize impact.” That might mean shaving margins to get a system on a low-income home or rigging up a “Solar Test Kitchen” for a nonprofit, where the only return is the glow of a community pulling itself forward.Since its founding in 2013, Solar Holler has transformed from a scrappy startup into a company that has installed over 1,500 systems across West Virginia and eastern Kentucky, employing dozens of locals — electricians, roofers, and recent high school graduates who might have otherwise left the area. Conant refers to it as “stopping the brain drain,” and he proudly expresses his satisfaction with it. “We’re training people, providing them with skills, and keeping them here,” he states. “That’s how you rebuild a place.”There’s poetry to this idea of harnessing the sun in a land once defined by what lies beneath it. Appalachia has powered America before — its coal lighting cities and forging steel — but the cost was steep, paid in lungs and landscapes. Now, Conant argues, it’s time for a new chapter, one that doesn’t pit progress against identity. “This isn’t about tree-hugging,” he says with a chuckle. “It’s about keeping the lights on, in a way that makes sense for us.” Solar Holler’s crews aren’t outsiders preaching a coastal gospel; they’re neighbors, speaking the language of pragmatism and paychecks.Policy has acted as a tailwind. The Inflation Reduction Act, with its substantial solar tax credits, has accelerated Solar Holler’s mission, allowing them to stretch dollars further and reach deeper into the hollows. “It’s been game-changing,” Conant admits. “Without it, we couldn’t do half of what we’re doing.” But he’s quick to point out that the real magic happens in the execution: navigating the steep slopes, the tight budgets, and the skepticism of folks who’ve heard big promises before. Solar Holler’s success isn’t just in the panels they bolt down — it’s in the trust they build, one handshake at a time.On a crisp morning in Logan County, you can see it unfold. A Solar Holler crew is on a roof, drilling mounts into shingles while a homeowner watches from the porch, coffee in hand. The system won’t just reduce her electric bill; it will give her something to brag about at the diner. Down the road, a church shines under its own array, a beacon of what’s possible when a company invests in the people it serves. “This is what it looks like to do it right,” Conant says, and you believe him — not because he’s selling a vision, but because he’s living it, one sunlit roof at a time.

The canal we gave away — Why the U.S. should reclaim Panama’s lifeline

The Panama Canal — eighty kilometers of locks and lakes carved through jungle and stone — stands as a monument to American audacity, a relic of an era when the U.S. didn’t just dream big but etched its ambitions into the earth. Since 1999, Panama has been in control, a handover solidified by the Torrijos-Carter Treaties — a noble gesture that now carries an air of strategic folly. Donald Trump’s call to “take it back” stirs a potent mix of nostalgia and cold-eyed realism. He’s right to want it. The United States must control the Panama Canal — not out of imperial swagger, but because it’s a vital artery of our economic and military might, a choke point too critical to entrust to shaky hands.Imagine a freighter stalled off Colón, its hold packed with Shenzhen-made gadgets, its captain seething as Panama’s rains — or drought — snarl traffic for days. Last year, a parched Gatun Lake reduced canal capacity by a third, forcing ships to reroute around Cape Horn or face extortionate premiums to skip the line. To the average American, it’s just a blip — your coffee maker costs a nickel more, your iPhone arrives a week late. However, zoom out: billions in trade grind to a halt, ports from Long Beach to Newark choke, and factories sweat their razor-thin schedules. That’s the canal’s silent clout. Leaving it to Panama — or, worse, under China’s influence — is a reckless gamble. Control isn’t bravado; it’s a shield.The data supports this. Forty percent of U.S. container traffic passes through those locks — a lifeline for Asian goods flooding the East Coast, LNG heading west, and soybeans and steel powering the heartland. It reduces 8,000 nautical miles from the Cape Horn slog, turning weeks into days and millions into pennies. In 1914, when the first ship sailed through Gatun Locks, it crowned America as a maritime titan — $375 million and 5,600 lives were spent to create a shortcut that reshaped the globe. By 1999, relinquishing it signaled a softer America, trading leverage for a diplomatic pat on the back. Today, with China’s reach extending south, that leverage seems less like a luxury and more like a lifeline.Trump’s pitch hinges on two main issues: fees and foreign influences. He criticizes Panama’s “exorbitant” tolls — $4 million for a gas carrier, a real figure but typical for the industry. The Panama Canal Authority defends its rates as fair, tied to drought and demand, yet Trump’s frustration taps into a deeper concern: America shouldn’t be nickel-and-dimed for what it built. Then, there’s China. “They’re operating it,” he claims — technically mistaken since Panama does — yet the threat is not imaginary. Chinese giants like CK Hutchison Holdings operate ports at both ends, with cranes looming over the locks; their infrastructure investments serve dual roles as geopolitical maneuvers. When Marco Rubio, Trump’s Secretary of State, confronted Panama City in February 2025, demanding a reduction of Chinese influence, he wasn’t bluffing. The canal is too vital to be treated as a bargaining chip.Since 1999, Panama has handled 14,000 transits annually — a $5.2 billion upgrade — but the seams are splitting. Droughts are draining Gatun Lake, stalling traffic; fees are spiking, rankling shippers; and China’s shadow looms, unsettling Washington. The Panama Canal Authority insists it’s neutral, sovereign, and untouchable. However, neutrality is a fairy tale when superpowers collide. If China’s ports — or its navy — tighten their grip, the U.S. could wake up to a throttled backyard. Control isn’t about robbing Panama; it’s about ensuring the canal remains an American asset, not a rival’s lever.When Trump vowed at Mar-a-Lago in December 2024 to “take back what’s ours,” he struck a chord of unease that has hummed since 1999 when the flag fell over Balboa Heights. The canal isn’t just a ditch — it’s a pivotal point of U.S. dominance, a bottleneck that tips the scales in a world of trade wars and warships. His fee fixation may lack precision, but it resonates with a raw truth: America pays dearly for what it once ruled outright. Why pay tolls when you could hold the deed?

The battle for trust in science

The demand for transparency in research — once a quiet murmur among ethicists and a handful of persistent journalists — has grown into a resounding chorus, fueled by a public increasingly distrustful of the institutions shaping their lives. At its core lies a timeless question: Who gets to know what, and when? The answer remains as intricate as the genome central to many of these debates.A March 21, 2025, article from the Genetic Literacy Project highlights the case of a University of Saskatchewan scholar whose research on technological shifts in the global food system was eclipsed in 2013 by freedom-of-information requests. Triggered by allegations of Monsanto’s corporate influence, the requests left a lasting mark despite the university clearing him — colleagues withdrew, students wavered, and the stigma of “tainted research” lingered. The piece frames this not as an isolated incident but as part of a broader pattern, spanning Canada to Brazil, where academics studying genetically modified organisms (GMOs) face similar scrutiny.This tension is not new, but it has gained urgency. Over the past decade, science — particularly biotechnology — has become a battleground for trust. Corporations like Bayer (which acquired Monsanto in 2018) and academic institutions tout collaborations that yield breakthroughs in agriculture and medicine. Yet a wary public, feeling like unwitting subjects in an unconsented experiment, demands clarity. Transparency has become a litmus test for legitimacy.The numbers underscore this shift. A Pew Research Center survey found that only 26 percent of Americans have strong confidence in scientists to prioritize the public’s interest, down from 39 percent in 2016. This decline reflects real events: the glyphosate controversy, where 2019 litigation uncovered Monsanto documents — reported by The Guardian — suggesting the company downplayed the herbicide’s risks; or the 2018 uproar over He Jiankui, the Chinese scientist who gene-edited human embryos, reigniting calls for oversight. Each episode chips away at scientific credibility, raising a persistent doubt: If the process lacks clarity, why trust the results?The Genetic Literacy Project proposes a structural fix — new partnership standards, proactive funding disclosures, and institutional backing for researchers facing public records demands. It points to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services Office of Research Integrity, which offers a collaboration framework detailing goals, contributions, and data standards — a potential blueprint for universities and corporations alike. Yet this solution carries a paradox: transparency, while noble in principle, grows messy in practice, inviting misinterpretation, skepticism, and even hostility.Where does this leave us? Transparency isn’t a panacea—it’s a tightrope. Too little risks further eroding trust, and too much could paralyze researchers under relentless scrutiny. The Genetic Literacy Project argues that leaving it to individuals breeds inconsistency. Instead, institutions must lead — setting auditable standards, documenting decisions, and bracing for backlash. Only then can science navigate this era of doubt with both integrity and resilience.

The case for an ugly peace: Why Ukraine should embrace negotiation with Russia

Ukraine, which has showcased its resilient spirit and steadfast commitment to sovereignty, now finds itself at a crossroads. The prolonged conflict with Russia has taken a significant toll, and ironically, the outlines of an “ugly peace” may provide a route to lasting stability.Recent developments highlight a tentative shift towards de-escalation. U.S. President Donald Trump and Russian President Vladimir Putin have negotiated a 30-day ceasefire to stop attacks on Ukraine's energy infrastructure. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy has welcomed this initiative and expressed hope for ongoing military assistance from allies like France and Germany. However, the path to peace is fraught with complexities. Skepticism surrounds Russia’s commitment to a lasting resolution, and there are worries that the ceasefire might act as a strategic pause for Russia to regroup. European leaders, while cautiously optimistic, maintain that Ukraine’s sovereignty and territorial integrity are non-negotiable. The human aspect of this conflict cannot be emphasized enough. Reports of widespread suffering, including the torture of civilians and the abduction of over 20,000 children to Russia, underscore the urgency of integrating humanitarian considerations into any peace negotiations. Ensuring the consent of the Ukrainian population, securing the release of prisoners, and establishing mechanisms for justice are crucial to breaking the cycle of impunity. President Zelenskyy’s delicate balancing act involves satisfying domestic aspirations for sovereignty while engaging in pragmatic diplomacy to garner international support. His recent interactions with President Trump highlight this tightrope walk as he navigates the demands for concessions without alienating his citizens. While the prospect of conceding territory or delaying NATO aspirations may be undesirable, the alternative — a prolonged conflict leading to further loss of life and infrastructure — paints a bleaker picture. Engaging in earnest negotiations, supported by strong international guarantees, could create a path toward sustainable peace that acknowledges geopolitical realities while safeguarding Ukraine’s core sovereignty.

Ranking the future: How Clark Benson turned a nerdy habit into a digital dynasty

In the sprawling, sun-bleached expanse of Los Angeles, where dreams are as plentiful as palm trees and just as likely to topple in a stiff breeze, Clark Benson sits at the helm of Ranker, a digital media company that has quietly become a titan of crowd-sourced opinion. It’s a platform that thrives on a simple, almost primal impulse: people love to rank things. From the best horror movies to the most overrated tourist traps, Ranker’s lists — vetted and voted on by millions of users — offer a type of democratic clarity in an age drowning in subjective noise. Benson, a serial entrepreneur with a mop of dark hair and a restless energy that suggests he’s always chasing the next idea, has built a career on turning personal obsessions into profitable ventures. However, as he recounted in a recent interview with CEO.com, his journey is less a straight line than a series of calculated detours through the wreckage of the dot-com boom, the rise of social media, and now the murky waters of artificial intelligence.Benson’s story begins, as many entrepreneurial tales do, with youthful restlessness. Growing up in the Midwest, he was the type of kid who made lists — albums of the year, concerts he’d attended — long before the internet amplified such compulsions. “I’ve always been a list nerd,” he says, his voice echoing the faintest hint of self-deprecation. This trait stayed with him throughout his college years at the University of Illinois, where he studied finance, and into his early career, which included a position at Virgin Records in the nineties. There, he had a front-row view of the music industry’s pre-digital swagger — grunge reigned supreme, CDs were treasures, and the concept of streaming seemed like science fiction. Yet even then, Benson was looking ahead, sensing the seismic shifts that would soon transform the world he knew.His first major breakthrough came with eCrush, a proto-social network launched in 1999, just as the dot-com bubble was inflating to its delirious peak. Targeted at teens and young adults, eCrush allowed users to send anonymous flirtations to their crushes, revealing identities only if feelings were mutual. It was a clever take on the awkwardness of youth, and it caught on — big time. By 2006, Hearst Corporation acquired it, giving Benson his first taste of a lucrative exit. “It was a wild ride,” he recalls, “but it taught me that you don’t need a billion users to create something valuable. You just need the right ones.” The sale was a triumph, but it also left him at a crossroads. The internet was changing — MySpace was giving way to Facebook, and the era of scrappy startups was evolving into something slicker and more corporate. Benson, however, wasn’t ready to cash out and call it a day.Instead, he doubled down on his entrepreneurial spirit, exploring music marketing with Almighty Music Marketing and even co-owning a record store in Redondo Beach called Off/Beat Music. (It closed in 2001, a victim of the Napster era.) However, it was Ranker, launched in 2009, that would become his crowning achievement. The concept was deceptively simple: take the “wisdom of crowds”—a phrase Benson shares with the reverence of a mantra—and apply it to every imaginable topic. Want to know the best Rolling Stones album? Ranker has a list, voted on by thousands. Curious about the worst airline food? There’s a list for that, too. “I wanted to create something that didn’t depend on one expert’s opinion,” he explains. “The crowd, over time, gets it right.”Getting Ranker off the ground was no easy task. The early days were tough — Benson bootstrapped the company with his own funds, dedicating nights to mastering search engine optimization since there was no marketing budget. "I’d work all day, then go home and study SEO until 2 a.m.,” he says. “It was brutal, but it worked.” Gradually, the site gained traction, its lists appearing in Google searches like digital breadcrumbs. By 2011, Ranker was attracting millions of unique visitors each month, enough to lure venture capital and a growing staff now numbering in the dozens. Today, it ranks among the top fifty websites in the U.S., according to Quantcast, an impressive achievement considering its niche: no cat videos, no breaking news, just lists.Benson’s talent for identifying trends has kept Ranker relevant as the internet has evolved. He anticipated the rise of the influencer economy — “People trust voices they relate to, not faceless brands,” he observes — and shifted Ranker to take advantage of it, partnering with creators to extend its reach. Now, he’s focusing on AI, a technology he regards with a mix of enthusiasm and caution. “It’s going to change everything,” he says, “but it’s also going to inundate the web with low-quality content. Our advantage is human-validated data — real people voting, not bots generating answers.” It’s a bold assertion, but Ranker’s statistics support it: the site records tens of millions of votes each year, showcasing its retention in an age of short attention spans.Despite his success, Benson remains a man in motion, perpetually unsatisfied. “Ranker’s doing great — traffic’s up, revenue’s up — but I still feel like we’re only halfway there,” he admits. He dreams of spinning off new ventures from Ranker’s wealth of opinion data — perhaps a predictive analytics tool or a consumer insights platform. At home, he’s a husband to Jenifer and a father to twins Austin and Zani, but his downtime is limited. A music enthusiast, he’s seen over a hundred bands perform in a single year — twice — chasing the thrill of live shows from Phish to Radiohead. “It’s my reset button,” he says.In a way, Benson embodies the paradox of the modern entrepreneur: a dreamer anchored by pragmatism, a listmaker who flourishes in chaos. Ranker may not possess the cultural cachet of TikTok or the gravitas of the New York Times, but it has carved out a distinctive, enduring space in the digital realm. As the internet progresses toward its next transformation, Benson is already planning his next move—because, for him, the list is never complete.

Made in the USA: A dream we can’t afford to abandon

In the humming factories of Shenzhen and the sleek boardrooms of Brussels, a quiet shift is underway — one that threatens to leave the United States watching from the sidelines. China and Europe, long seen as economic rivals to American dominance, are deepening their ties, forging a partnership that could reshape the global order. Against this backdrop, the U.S. must reassert its industrial might, not out of nostalgia for a bygone era, but as a matter of survival in a world where manufacturing muscle still matters.The numbers reveal a stark story. China’s industrial output now surpasses that of the U.S., accounting for nearly 30 percent of global manufacturing, according to the World Bank, while America’s share has declined to 16 percent. Europe, meanwhile, has embraced its role as a regulatory superpower, establishing standards that ripple across continents. The recent thaw in Sino-European relations — highlighted by a 2020 investment agreement and an array of trade discussions — only intensifies the challenge. Beijing provides inexpensive labor and raw materials, while Europe contributes cutting-edge technology and a vast consumer market. Together, they are forming a bloc that could marginalize American interests, ranging from semiconductors to green energy.This isn’t just about economics — it’s about power. Industrial dominance underpins national security. A nation that can’t produce its own steel, chips, or batteries is vulnerable to its rivals. The Pentagon recognizes this: a 2021 report warned that U.S. reliance on foreign supply chains, particularly from China, poses a “strategic vulnerability.” Exhibit A: the chip shortage that crippled American automakers while Chinese firms continued to thrive. Exhibit B: Europe’s push for “strategic autonomy,” a polite way of saying it wants to rely less on America.History provides a lesson. In the 20th century, America’s industrial base won wars and forged a superpower. The Arsenal of Democracy didn’t just produce tanks; it generated jobs, innovation, and influence. Today, that base is weakening. Decades of offshoring have gutted the Rust Belt, leaving behind vacant plants and a workforce trained for yesterday’s economy. Meanwhile, China’s Belt and Road Initiative connects a network of infrastructure from Asia to Africa, and Europe invests heavily in its green industrial revolution. The U.S., in contrast, debates infrastructure bills that never seem to get started.Reclaiming industrial primacy will not be easy. It involves confronting hard truths: tax breaks for Wall Street will not rebuild factories in Ohio; free-market platitudes will not counter Beijing’s state-driven juggernaut. It requires a strong policy — subsidies for critical industries, tariffs to level the playing field, and a workforce retrained for the 21st century. Critics will shout “protectionism,” but what’s the alternative? A nation that outsources its backbone risks losing its spine.The stakes are evident. If China and Europe weave their economies closer together, America might find itself a consumer rather than a creator in the upcoming industrial age. The time for complacency has passed. In the face of rising powers, the U.S. must chart its own course — hammer, steel, and resolve intact.