In this edition of #ListenFirstFriday, the 17-year-old founder of YAP Politics discusses efforts to bridge the polarizations between political affiliations.
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The U.S. and Israel’s joint military campaign against Iran, which rolled out under the name Operation Epic Fury, is a phrase that sounds more like a summer action film than a real‑world conflict in which people are dying. The operation involves massive strikes across Iran, with U.S. Central Command reporting that more than 1,700 targets have been hit in the first 72 hours. President Donald Trump described it as a “massive and ongoing operation” aimed at dismantling Iran’s military capabilities.
This framing matters. When leaders adopt language that emphasizes spectacle, they risk shifting public perception away from the gravity of war. The death of Iran’s supreme leader following the bombardment, for example, was a world‑altering event, yet it unfolded under a banner that evokes adrenaline rather than anguish.
The name Epic Fury does more than describe military action; it markets it. It suggests inevitability, righteousness, and even entertainment value. But war is not entertainment. It is destruction, displacement, and death. When language sanitizes or glamorizes violence, it becomes harder for the public to grapple with the ethical stakes of military force.
U.S. Secretary of War Pete Hegseth speaks during a news conference at the Pentagon on March 2, 2026 in Arlington, Virginia. Secretary Hegseth and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff General Dan Caine held the news conference to give an update on Operation Epic Fury. (Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images) (Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images)
In his first briefing, Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth said, “Two days ago, under the direction and direct orders of President Donald J. Trump, the Department of War launched Operation Epic Fury, the most-lethal, most-complex and most-precise aerial operation in history." The phrasing is unmistakably promotional—“most-lethal,” “most-complex,” “most-precise”—as though he were unveiling a new weapons platform or a blockbuster film rather than describing a real military campaign in which real people are dying.
Hegseth’s language repeatedly frames the conflict as a long-awaited moment of righteous vengeance. He describes Iran’s actions over the past 47 years as a “savage, one-sided war against America,” and casts the U.S. response as “our retribution against their ayatollah and his death cult.” He tells the public, “If you kill Americans, if you threaten Americans anywhere on Earth, we will hunt you down without apology and without hesitation, and we will kill you.” This is not the sober language of a statesman explaining the gravity of war. It is the language of a revenge narrative—one that reduces complex geopolitical realities to a simple morality play.
The danger of this rhetoric is not merely stylistic. It shapes how the public understands the conflict. When Hegseth boasts that “America… is unleashing the most lethal and precise air power campaign in history” and celebrates the absence of “stupid rules of engagement” or “politically correct wars,” he is not simply describing military strategy. He is signaling that restraint, proportionality, and international law are obstacles to be discarded. He is inviting the public to view the overwhelming force not only as justified but also exhilarating.
This framing obscures the human consequences of the operation. Iranian cities have been struck repeatedly. Civilian infrastructure has been damaged. Families are fleeing. Hospitals are overwhelmed. These realities are nowhere in Hegseth’s remarks. Instead, he speaks of “epic fury,” “lethality,” and a “generational turning point,” as though the suffering of ordinary people is irrelevant to the story he wants to tell. Even when acknowledging American casualties, he uses them to justify further escalation: “No apologies, no hesitation, epic fury for them and the thousands of Americans before them taken too soon by Iranian radicals.”
The rhetoric also encourages a dangerous sense of inevitability and triumphalism. Hegseth tells U.S. troops, “We are not defenders anymore. We are warriors, trained to kill the enemy and break their will.” He assures them, “We will finish this on America-first conditions of President Trump’s choosing, nobody else’s.” This is not the language of limited, carefully calibrated military action. It is the language of totalizing conflict—conflict framed as destiny, as purification, as a test of national character.
When war is framed this way, dissent becomes harder. Nuance becomes suspect. Civilian casualties become collateral to a narrative of righteous fury. And the public becomes more likely to accept open-ended conflict when it is packaged as a spectacle rather than a tragedy.
The United States has a long history of naming military operations in ways that evoke purpose or resolve—Desert Storm, Enduring Freedom, Inherent Resolve. But Epic Fury marks a shift toward something more explicitly theatrical. It is not a name meant to clarify objectives or communicate seriousness. It is a name meant to excite, to dramatize, to sell.
War is not a product. It is not a storyline. It is not a moment for branding. It is a human catastrophe, even when undertaken for reasons leaders deem necessary. When officials adopt language that glamorizes violence and reduces geopolitical complexity to a revenge narrative, they erode the public’s ability to understand the true stakes of military action.
The question now is whether the public will accept this Hollywood‑style packaging of war—or whether it will demand a return to language that reflects the gravity of life, death, and the responsibilities of a democratic nation.
Hugo Balta is the executive editor of The Fulcrum and the publisher of the Latino News Network

Texas Rep. Al Green held a sign reading "Black People Aren't Apes," protesting a racist video Trump had previously shared on Truth Social. Green was escorted out of the House chamber just minutes into President Donald Trump's State of the Union address.
This was nothing new.
Before President Donald Trump released a video on his Truth Social account earlier this month that depicted Michelle and Barack Obama as apes, many were already well aware of his compulsive use of AI-generated deepfake content to disparage the former president. Many were also well aware of his tendency to employ dehumanizing rhetoric to describe people of color.
Unfortunately, this high-level bigotry has become a normalized phenomenon in the media cycle today. But it has deep roots in history throughout Western civilization.
While no apology was issued for the video, or for any of the president’s exhaustingly frequent social media posts, this particular video was removed within hours.
Of course, the blame for this “erroneous” post was redirected to an anonymous staffer, but Trump then proceeded to post several photos of himself alongside Black celebrities. This was clearly damage control.
Across the aisle, Democratic House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries decried this imagery as vile. Others suggested the message was backpedaled because he felt the tides turning.
There is precedence. Throughout history, blatant associations of race and animality have been out of bounds because they diminish the humanity of people of color. Underlying this claim is another inference that is even worse: Humanity is a quality that has long been wielded against BIPOC folks. The human, as a social concept, depends on animalization, and dehumanization is human.
The term “dehumanization” implies a process by which one’s inherent humanness is discarded, leaving behind an absent reference. Enlightenment Era thinkers from Western Europe established a narrow conceptualization of the human that was measured, above all else, by the capacity to reason.
Decolonial philosopher, essayist, poet, and scholar, Sylvia Wynter, refers to this figure as “Man,” the benchmark by which one’s full humanity could be recognized. Jamaican-born Wynter, 97, argues that Eurocentric ideas about rationality and civility were inseparable from the racial hierarchy produced by the age of exploration and colonization.
In this culture, as many have been conditioned to perceive the animal as the opposite of the human, the history of the West reveals that animality is not the opposite of humanity—but its precursor. The human is a newer (and intrinsically better) model of the animal. Dehumanization, then, aligns certain humans alongside other nonhuman animals, who are deemed to lack those humanizing qualities.
One of the reasons why so many feel deeply unsettled by racist imagery that likens people of color to nonhuman animals is because it is a cruel reminder not only of a history of violent dehumanization but also because it forces a reckoning with a continuum (from least animal to most animal) that too many still buy into.
Human superiority was entrenched in abolitionist rhetoric from the 18th and 19th centuries. Abolitionist and British surgeon Alexander Falconbridge, who recorded and published his observations from time spent in slave ships between 1782 and 1787, writes, “Nor do these unhappy beings, after they become the property of the Europeans (from whom, as a more civilized people, more humanity might naturally be expected), find their situation in the least amended.” Falconbridge appeals here to his audience’s civility, that which separates “Europeans” from the enslaved, “unhappy beings.”
During this time, Swedish taxonomist Carl Linnaeus developed the binomial system of classification, a categorization system of living beings that codified and hierarchically distributed both race and species.
To justify these divisions, naturalists sought out differences that proved Human superiority—centered around language, art, and culture. The problem, as Amie Souza Reilly, Writer-in-Residence at Sacred Heart University and author of the 2025 book Human/ Animal: A Bestiary In Essays, writes, isn’t “just that the White European naturalists assumed only human animals can reason, or that this reason makes them superior, but that they used this line of thinking to subjugate, enslave, display, and dehumanize people were not White Europeans by aligning nonwhite, nonmale, non-Europeans with animals, therefore pushing themselves to the top of the hierarchy they invented.”
Political scientist at the University of California-Irvine Claire Jean Kim refers to race and species as two interconnected “taxonomies of power.” These taxonomies lump and split nonwhite groups according to how close to nature they are perceived.
Her examination of this satirical drawing, published during the 1867 California gubernatorial race, demonstrates how these taxonomies work not as a set system but as a context-specific methodology used to justify all kinds of oppression—chattel slavery, theft of indigenous land, exploitation of migrant labor, and even industrial slaughter.
To be clear, the point is not to invalidate the harm caused by such dehumanizing discourse present day or historically. My position is in no way aligned with those who claim that Trump’s post has been taken out of context to manufacture controversy.
Claiming ignorance and hiding behind allegory does not dismiss the harm of racialization. However, it is important to recognize that racism like this is tethered to the very core of liberal humanism.
Charles Chesnutt, a Black novelist, essayist, and activist, understood this in 1889, when he published “Dave’s Neckliss.” The short story, alongside several other “Conjure Tales,” is narrated by John, an Ohioan farmer who purchases land in and relocates to North Carolina after the Civil War.
The stories center around interactions with Uncle Julius, a Black man whose anecdotes about the slave plantation are filtered through John’s rational lens. In this story, John’s observations reveal himself to be the arbiter of what constitutes the human: “But in the simple human feeling, and still more in the undertone of sadness, which pervaded his stories, I thought I could see a spark which, fanned by favoring breezes and fed by the memories of the past, might become in his children’s children a glowing flame of sensibility, alive to every thrill of human happiness or human woe.”
Rather than a biological fact or even an essential right, the human here is a marker of one’s place in the social order, and it can be given or taken away on a whim from those marked as other.
Sen. Tim Scott (R. SC) said he could only “pray” that the racist video post was a fake, because the alternative would mean grappling not just with the president’s racism but with his unassailable power to determine—like Linnaeus, like Falconbridge, like John—the relative value of all human—and nonhuman—life.
Akash Belsare is an assistant professor of English at the University of Illinois Springfield and a Public Voices Fellow with The OpEd Project.
The record of the Trump 2.0 administration is one of repeated usurpations and injuries to the body politic: fundamentally at odds with the principles of democracy, without legal or ethical restraint, hostile to truth, and indifferent to human suffering. Our nation desperately needs a stout and engaging response from the party out-of-power. It’s necessary but not sufficient for Democrats to criticize Trump, rehearsing what they are against. If it is to generate renewed enthusiasm among voters, the Democratic Party must offer a compelling positive message, stating clearly what it stands for.
Fortunately, Democrats don’t need to reinvent this wheel. They can reach back to a fraught moment in our history when a president brought forward a timely and nationally unifying message, framed within a coherent, memorable, and inspiring set of ideas. In his address to Congress on Jan. 6, 1941 – a full 12 months before Pearl Harbor – Franklin Delano Roosevelt termed the international spread of fascism an “unprecedented” threat to U.S. security. He also identified dangers on the home front: powerful isolationist leanings and, in certain quarters, popular support for Nazi ideology. Calling for increased military preparation and war production (along with higher taxes), he reminded citizens “what the downfall of democratic nations [abroad] might mean to our own democracy.”
Roosevelt framed his speech by naming four “essential human freedoms,” applicable not just domestically but “everywhere in the world”:
The first are First Amendment guarantees. The last two spoke directly to a nation still emerging from the Great Depression and anxious about international turmoil. The idea that Americans could escape the stain of want and the paralysis of fear resonated across the country. The popular artist Norman Rockwell executed a series of four paintings illustrating each idea. When they appeared as covers on the Saturday Evening Post, the magazine received 25,000 requests for reprints. After we entered World War II, all four ideas served as touchstones, illuminating what we were fighting for.
Fast-forward to the present, which bears an uncanny resemblance to Roosevelt’s world. Along with a terrible disconnect: For FDR, the threats to our nation and its values overwhelmingly emanated from abroad. He could scarcely have imagined that 85 years later the menace would reside in the White House. The 32nd president would be aghast at how the 47th has, in the words of Fareed Zakaria, “declared war on civil society.” Trump has normalized criminal behavior and criminalized constitutionally protected actions – systematically undermining each of the Four Freedoms:
Democrats must not lose sight of pressing kitchen table issues and, above all, the existential threat facing our democracy. But they need to put forward a clearly drawn and detailed plan – couched in the kind of unadorned language Roosevelt used so effectively – to demonstrate how a properly functioning government can restore and extend each of these four fundamental freedoms; How a new generation of enlightened, ethical, and compassionate political leaders can repair the Trump administration’s damage through legislation and responsible governing; And finally, how this “Project 2029” can spark a rebirth of liberty, equality, and prosperity. If properly articulated, such a pledge will resonate with everyday citizens, as it did in Roosevelt’s era. The American people thirst for a forward-looking, hopeful, and elevating message to reawaken faith in our institutions and our deepest values. The scaffold is here, just waiting to be given voice.
Philip A. Glotzbach, Ph.D. is president emeritus of Skidmore College. He is the author of Embrace Your Freedom: Winning Strategies to Succeed in College and in Life, a book of guidance for college students and their parents in these troubled times.
Beau Breslin, Ph.D. holds the Joseph C. Palamountain Jr. Chair in Government at Skidmore College.

President Donald Trump delivered the longest State of the Union address in American history, standing at nearly 108 minutes and more than 10,000 words.
WASHINGTON — President Donald Trump delivered the longest State of the Union in history at almost 108 minutes Tuesday night. He began the address to Congress, which totaled more than 10,000 words, by stating that America is the “hottest country” in the world.
Trump centered his fourth official State of the Union address — the first of his second term — on economic, immigration, and international policy. He framed his accomplishments around America’s 250th birthday.
“Our nation is back,” Trump said. “Bigger, better, richer, and stronger than ever before.”
The president also joked about “winning too much” and welcomed the Olympic gold-winning U.S. men’s hockey team, amid controversy surrounding FBI Director Kash Patel’s celebration with the team and public backlash to the players’ laughter about the women’s hockey team during a phone call with Trump.
According to a Medill News Service analysis, Trump spent more time praising the hockey players and American athletics than he did talking about Israel, Gaza, Russia, Ukraine, and Iran combined.
Policy at the forefront
Trump spent more than a quarter of the address promoting new policy measures and touting his past accomplishments.
With midterm elections on the horizon, Trump focused roughly 10 minutes on the Republican Party’s roadmap for the next two years. He spoke about regulations for artificial intelligence data centers, nationwide voter identification laws, new retirement plan options, and further restrictions on insider trading.
However, Trump spent twice as much time touting what he viewed as the successes of his second administration.
“I do think a lot of the success outlined in the State of the Union will be a part of the Republican message in the fall,” Sen. Eric Schmitt, R-Mo., told the Associated Press.
One reference to affordability
Trump spent about 10 minutes on one of the key issues in the upcoming midterm elections: the economy.
According to a February AP-NORC poll, 59% of people disapprove of Trump’s handling of the economy, compared to just 39% that approve.
Trump only said the word “affordability” once in his entire speech — and it was to attack Democrats, not explain his own economic policies. However, he highlighted increased stock market growth and American oil production, as well as lower inflation and prices on various goods, including gas and eggs, to support his record.
In the Democratic response to the State of the Union, Virginia Gov. Abigail Spanberger, who ran on an “affordable Virginia” agenda, argued that Trump’s policies are not helping American families.
“Is the president working to make life more affordable for you and your family?” Spanberger said. “Is the president working to keep Americans safe, both at home and abroad? Is the president working for you?”
Trump also said it was “unfortunate” that the Supreme Court on Friday struck down his tariffs, a large part of his economic agenda. He added that existing deals with countries and businesses will hold because “a new deal could be far worse for them.”
10 minutes on immigration
In the middle of a Department of Homeland Security shutdown over Immigration and Customs Enforcement funding — and while two-thirds of Americans say ICE agents’ actions have gone too far — the president spent less than 10% of his speech on the topic.
But when he did talk about his immigration crackdown, he didn’t change his usual rhetoric.
Trump did not use the word “immigrant” once during his entire speech. But he mentioned the border 16 times and referred to immigrants as “criminals,” “aliens,” and “illegal” 25 times in total.
The president spent around two minutes of his address attacking Somali residents of Minnesota, calling them “pirates” and accusing them of corrupting the state. Rep. Ilhan Omar, D-Minn., who is the country’s first Somali-American legislator, heckled Trump during his speech.
“You have killed Americans,” Omar yelled across the chambers, in a reference to the fatal shootings of two Americans by ICE agents in her home state this year.
Trump spent another four minutes promoting his immigration policy by telling stories of Americans who were harmed by “illegal aliens.”
The state of Venezuela
After focusing on his domestic agenda for roughly an hour and 15 minutes, Trump pivoted to foreign policy by highlighting the “eight wars” he claimed to have ended in his second term.
“We’re proudly restoring safety for Americans at home, and we are also restoring security for Americans abroad,” Trump said. “Our country has never been stronger.”
In total, Trump spent less than 20 minutes discussing foreign policy.
He used more than half of this time on Venezuela, where U.S. forces captured President Nicolas Maduro and his wife in January. Trump recognized a freed Venezuelan politician and awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor to an American pilot who participated in the operation.
Trump spent just three minutes discussing Iran and preventing the development of nuclear weapons.
The President added that he wanted to “solve this problem through diplomacy.” The Associated Press reported that the U.S. has assembled the largest force of aircraft and warships in the Middle East since 2003.
Everything else
Trump spent the second-most time, about 26 minutes, introducing non-policy-related guests.
For about seven minutes, he gave a Purple Heart to Staff Sergeant Andrew Wolfe and the parents of Sarah Beckstrom, a West Virginia Army National Guard specialist. An Afghan national was charged with killing Beckstrom and injuring Wolfe in a Washington, D.C., shooting in November.
Trump also recognized Erika Kirk, the widow of late right-wing political activist Charlie Kirk, two World War II veterans, and a rescuer and survivor of the 2025 Texas floods.
Trump spent almost the same amount of time celebrating the Olympic U.S. men’s hockey team as he did criticizing Democrats for their handling of the economy and immigration. He did not criticize any Republicans who have spoken out against him.
He also praised Secretary of State Marco Rubio for approximately a minute and First Lady of the United States Melania Trump for almost two.
Marissa Fernandez covers politics for Medill on the Hill.
Ben Shapiro is a Politics & Policy Reporter for Medill News Service.
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