In this episode of the Politics in Question podcast, the team discusses thermostatic politics to explain what it means and how it works.
Podcast: What is thermostatic politics?
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U.S. President Donald Trump is shown on television monitor speaking from the Cross Hall of the White House on April 1, 2026 in Washington, DC. Trump used the prime-time address to update the nation on the war in Iran.
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The Contradictions at the Heart of Trump’s Iran War Narrative
Apr 03, 2026
President Trump’s primetime address Wednesday night was meant to project clarity, strength, and purpose. Instead, it revealed something more troubling: a commander‑in‑chief describing a war that exists in two incompatible realities. In one version, the United States has achieved “core strategic objectives,” Iran has been “eviscerated,” and the conflict is “essentially over.” In the other, the U.S. continues to strike targets in multiple countries, the Strait of Hormuz is effectively closed, and the president warns the war will continue for “two to three more weeks” of heavy bombardment.
Both realities cannot be true. Yet Trump shifted between them effortlessly, often within the same paragraph.
Take one of the most sweeping claims of the night:
“We are on track, and the country has been eviscerated and essentially is really no longer a threat.”
If Iran is “no longer a threat,” why are U.S. forces still striking targets in Iraq, Syria, Yemen, and Iran? Why is the administration warning commercial shippers to avoid the Strait of Hormuz, one of the most vital waterways on Earth, except that it is too dangerous to navigate? The contradiction is glaring. A country that poses “no threat” can shut down a global shipping artery that deeply impacts the world economy.
Then there was the triumphant declaration:
“Victories like few people have ever seen before.”
Yet moments later, Trump insisted the war must continue for several more weeks. Victories “few have ever seen” do not usually require another half‑month of bombing. If the victories are that overwhelming, why is the war not over now, and why are more weeks needed? If the end is not in sight, what exactly is being celebrated?
The contradictions deepen when Trump describes U.S. objectives. At one point, he claimed the United States has “achieved our core strategic objectives.” But in the next breath, he said the U.S. is “nearing completion” of those same objectives. Trump's doublespeak manages to be both definitive and non‑definitive at once. Either the objectives have been achieved or they have not. “Nearing completion” is not the same as “achieved,” and the president’s inability to distinguish between the two is not a semantic quibble. It goes to the heart of whether the administration has a coherent strategy or simply a shifting narrative to justify anything that follows.
Other contradictions were subtler but no less revealing:
- Trump described Iran’s navy as “gone” and its air force “in ruins,” yet he also warned that Iran retains the ability to strike U.S. forces and allies.
- He claimed Iran’s missile stockpiles are “just about used up or beaten,” yet U.S. officials continue to brief reporters on the threat of additional missile launches.
- He praised the “masterful job” of U.S. forces in Venezuela, a country not at war with the United States, as if it were part of the same campaign.
- He spoke of “swift, decisive, overwhelming victories,” yet also framed the conflict as a generational struggle that calls for patience and resolve.
The result is a speech that fluctuates between triumphalism and alarmism, between declaring victory and demanding endurance. It is a rhetorical strategy that allows Trump to claim success regardless of what happens next, a pattern familiar from his business career and even from the narrative methods he described in The Art of the Deal. If the war drags on, it is because the U.S. is "finishing the job." If it ends suddenly, it is because the U.S. has already "won." If Iran retaliates, it proves they were still dangerous. If they do not, it proves they were defeated. Every outcome allows Trump to declare victory.
A further sign of the administration’s inconsistencies is reflected in the wild gyrations of the stock market, which swings from optimism to anxiety several times a day in response to presidential tweets and off‑the‑cuff comments. Markets have no political objective; they simply price the probability of future outcomes. When the president’s narrative shifts by the hour, the markets respond in kind because the signals from the White House are inconsistent.
But presidential rhetoric cannot change the reality of war. Wars follow the logic of strategy, capability, geography, and human consequence. And the contradictions in Trump’s speech are not harmless flourishes. They obscure the real questions the public deserves answers to:
- What is the actual endgame?
- What conditions must be met for the United States to stop bombing?
- What risks remain for U.S. forces and civilians in the region?
- What diplomatic or political strategy accompanies the military one?
Most importantly: How can the public evaluate the administration’s claims when the president’s own descriptions of the war contradict themselves?
The American people are capable of handling the truth, even when it is complicated, incomplete, or evolving. What they cannot accept is a narrative that shifts from sentence to sentence, where victory is both achieved and not achieved, where the enemy is both destroyed and still dangerous, where the war is both ending and escalating.
The contradictions in Trump’s speech are not simply rhetorical inconsistencies. They are symptoms of a deeper problem: a war unfolding faster than it is being understood, and a president more committed to the appearance of victory than to the clarity required for democratic accountability.
Until those contradictions are resolved, the public will remain in the dark, and the war will remain detached from the very strategic logic the president insists is guiding it.
David Nevins is the publisher of The Fulcrum and co-founder and board chairman of the Bridge Alliance Education Fund.
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Protesters gather as Harvey Weinstein arrives at a Manhattan court house on January 06, 2020 in New York City.
Getty Images, Spencer Platt
We Teach Prevention to Victims, Not Accountability to Power
Apr 03, 2026
Each time a major sexual assault case comes to light, the public conversation follows a familiar pattern. Awareness campaigns are launched. Safety tips are shared. People are reminded to watch their drinks, walk in groups, and trust their instincts. The focus quickly turns to what potential victims should do differently.
But the harder question remains: Why does sexual assault continue to happen on such a large scale?
Recent headlines make that question impossible to ignore. The world continues to grapple with the legacy of the Jeffrey Epstein case, which exposed how wealth, influence, and institutional failures allowed sexual abuse to continue for years despite repeated warnings. At the same time, new allegations involving César Chávez have forced communities to confront painful questions about power, loyalty, and silence within movements built on justice. Survivors in those cases have described years of fear, retaliation, and disbelief, underscoring a truth that extends far beyond any single individual.
Consider also the recent case in France involving Gisèle Pelicot. For nearly a decade, her husband drugged her and invited dozens of men to rape her while she was unconscious in her own home. Investigators later identified more than ninety assaults committed by multiple perpetrators over several years. This was not a stranger in a dark alley. This was a husband, a home, and a network of men who chose to participate. The case shocked the world, yet it reflects a pattern that has existed for generations.
Sexual violence is rarely random. Research from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention consistently shows that the perpetrator is often someone the survivor knows, such as a partner, coworker, neighbor, or family member. These environments are built on trust, authority, and power.
I wrote previously about prevention in trusted spaces and continue to stand by that recommendation. Prevention should be directed toward people known to us, not only toward strangers. But the second most important priority is accountability. Without accountability, prevention becomes a promise without protection.
The scale of sexual violence raises uncomfortable questions. Is the problem a lack of awareness or a lack of consequences? Is it a failure of education or a failure of systems to act when harm occurs? Sexual violence is not only about individual behavior. It is deeply connected to the misuse of power and control, particularly in environments where authorities go unchecked and reputation is protected.
To be sure, men can also be victims of sexual assault. Their experiences deserve recognition, support, and justice. Yet the reality remains that sexual violence is shaped by social structures that normalize dominance and entitlement. These dynamics often place men in positions of authority and influence, making them more likely to be perpetrators and making institutions more hesitant to hold them accountable. This is not an accusation against individuals. It is an acknowledgment of patterns that have persisted across generations.
Breaking the silence has become a rallying cry in recent years. Survivors who come forward are often described as courageous, and rightly so. Speaking about sexual violence requires extraordinary strength. But courage should not be a prerequisite for safety. Reporting harm should not feel like stepping into uncertainty without protection.
Many survivors never report sexual assault. Studies have shown that fear of retaliation, disbelief, stigma, and institutional inaction are among the most common reasons survivors remain silent. Silence is often interpreted as weakness or shame, but in many cases, it is a rational response to systems that have historically failed to deliver justice.
Recent revelations across sectors have reinforced this reality. In the Epstein case, records showed that warnings about abuse surfaced repeatedly before meaningful action was taken. In the emerging allegations surrounding César Chávez, survivors have described remaining silent for years out of concern that speaking out would harm a movement they believed in. These stories differ in context and geography, but they share a common thread: power without accountability creates risk.
The persistence of sexual violence is not evidence of moral failure among survivors. It is evidence of structural failure within institutions.
If society is serious about preventing sexual violence, safety can no longer be treated as an individual responsibility. It must be treated as an institutional obligation. Prevention cannot depend on survivors being vigilant. It must depend on systems being accountable. Policies alone do not create safety. Enforcement does. Action does. Consequences do. Institutions must do more than write procedures and conduct training. They must respond decisively when harm occurs. They must protect those who report misconduct. And they must accept responsibility when failures happen. Real prevention requires reporting systems that survivors can trust without fear of retaliation, consistent enforcement of policies regardless of status or reputation, leadership that is held responsible for safety outcomes rather than procedural compliance, independent oversight when misconduct is alleged, and consequences that are timely, transparent, and unavoidable. These are not aspirational goals. They are the minimum standards of any institution that claims to protect people. Safety is not created by awareness alone. Safety is created by accountability.
Sexual violence will not end through awareness campaigns alone. It will not end through training sessions or policy statements. It will end when institutions demonstrate that harm carries consequences and that power does not shield perpetrators from responsibility.
Prevention begins with education. It continues with accountability. It becomes real only when systems are willing to act.
Stephanie Whack is a survivor of domestic violence, an advocate at the intersection of victimization and homelessness, and a member of The OpEd Project Public Voices Fellowship on Domestic Violence and Economic Security. In 2024, she was awarded the LA City Dr. Marjorie Braude Award for innovative collaboration in serving victims of domestic violence.
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Democratic party donkey symbol
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The Democratic Party - Missing in Action
Apr 03, 2026
The country has been suffering under the thumb of Trump now for more than a year. So much of our country and people's lives are in shambles because of his actions. He has broken his promises to his middle-class and rural supporters (see my article, "Listen Up, Trump Supporters!"). He has disabled government agencies that protect the people. He has not only taken America to war against Iran without much of an explanation or the approval of Congress, but clearly the war and all the billions that have been spent and will be spent have not and will not result in anything that improves the interests of the United States in the region, and may in fact worsen them.
Trump controls, in large part, by being the most forceful presence, not just in the United States but in the world. In his king-like demeanor, he constantly takes action to undermine or destroy the government's traditional roles; he is a congenital liar, and he is so revered by his followers that he controls the airwaves and the media. The Democratic Party—the loyal opposition—has had no forum to act since Trump has mostly side-stepped his totally subservient Congress in moving his policy agenda forward.
Individual Democratic politicians have certainly made statements about Trump's actions from the sidelines. But the Party itself has not developed a structured, regular format for providing the American people with a counterweight, to let them know its take on what is happening in Washington. It has been missing in action.
Since there is no anointed leader of the party at this point, it falls to the Party leadership, both in Congress and at the DNC, to create a media vehicle to provide this information to the people and to be a regular presence in their lives. Trump provides his information and is present every day. For the sake of the country and the Party, it must provide its information and presence regularly and dependably, probably weekly, with social media posts during the week.
There is precedent for such a media vehicle. I can't think of anything recent, but in the 60s, the Everett Dirksen/Charles Halleck show was the Republican answer to the Kennedy and Johnson administrations. From the moment Kennedy took office in 1961 until Dirksen's death in 1969, the Republican leaders of the House and the Senate met weekly for a televised chat about what had been going on in the government over the previous week. Known as the "Ev and Charlie Show," it was well received and widely viewed and provided the Republican Party with a voice and presence when they were in the minority, as the Democrats are now.
This Democratic media vehicle must be more than a way to provide clear and focused criticism of Trump and his policies; the Party must use this forum to present to the people its vision of what the government should be doing to fulfill its various roles—including securing the rights of all people—grounded always in its take on our founding principles as expressed in the Declaration of Independence. And it must explain those principles clearly to the people because Trump and MAGA have fostered a perverted version of those principles. (See my articles, "Where Is the Democratic Party's Clarion Voice," and "The Far-Right's Biggest Lie.")
It could well be that disapproval of the war and high gas prices could result in Democrats winning both the House and the Senate in the upcoming midterm elections. But the party cannot leave that to chance. They must give people a reason to vote Democratic, rather than just registering disapproval of Trump.
Why? If Democrats win, they will have to present a united front against Trump's policies for the remaining 2 years of his presidency. They can only do that successfully if they have been given a mandate by the people. But their winning the election will only be considered a mandate for them if they have presented their proposals to the people. And so the election becomes not just a rebuke of Trump but an affirmation of the people's support for Democratic policy positions grounded in our founding principles.
Ronald L. Hirsch is a teacher, legal aid lawyer, survey researcher, nonprofit executive, consultant, composer, author, and volunteer. He is a graduate of Brown University and the University of Chicago Law School and the author of We Still Hold These Truths. Read more of his writing at www.PreservingAmericanValues.com
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George Washington saved the American Revolution not by winning battles, but by refusing defeat. From the daring 1776 Brooklyn evacuation to lessons for the 2026 US-Iran conflict, this story explores how wars are won through endurance, not just victory.
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Washington, the Military Escape Artist
Mar 31, 2026
Many wars are remembered for decisive battles. The American Revolution survived because one army refused to be destroyed.
George Washington understood that reality during the darkest months of the Revolutionary War. In 1776, the American rebellion stood on the edge of collapse. The Continental Army had been defeated repeatedly, and the British believed the conflict might soon end with a single decisive blow.
The Night the Revolution Almost Ended
On the night of August 29, 1776, George Washington had not slept in two days.
His army, 9,000 men, was trapped on Brooklyn Heights. British forces had driven them there after a crushing defeat, routing the Continental Army through the undefended Jamaica Pass and shattering its forward lines in a matter of hours. Now the survivors were pressed against the East River, the Royal Navy controlling the surrounding waters, British troops digging siege lines just 600 yards away. Captain Sir George Collier, commanding HMS Rainbow off Long Island, recorded in his journal that all of Washington's men "must be killed or taken prisoners. . . . If we become masters of this body of rebels, the war is at an end."
Washington had other plans.
He ordered a silent evacuation. Through the night, Colonel John Glover's regiment of Marblehead fishermen and sailors rowed small boats back and forth across the East River in darkness and rain. Oars were muffled in cloth. Washington himself rode the lines through the night, then stood at the landing to supervise each embarkation, cheering, calming, and encouraging his troops through what one historian called one of the most difficult trials a soldier can endure.
By dawn, the army was still not fully across.
Then the fog came. A thick morning mist settled over the harbor so dense that one soldier wrote you could scarcely discern a man at six yards distance. The final battalions crossed under its cover. Washington was the last man to board the last boat, with British forces already closing in on the shore behind him.
In London, bells rang across the city, candles were lit in windows, and King George III awarded General Howe the Order of the Bath. The rebellion, it seemed, had been broken.
It had not.
His Only Job Was Not to Lose
The fog that morning was luck. The decision to cross was strategy.
What Washington understood that Howe did not was this: the army was the revolution. Lose it, and everything collapsed. Keep it alive, and the rebellion could survive any number of battlefield defeats. As he wrote to Congress during the campaign, "We should on all occasions avoid a general action, or put anything to the risk, unless compelled by necessity."
Over the following months, his forces were pushed across New Jersey toward the Delaware River. Soldiers marched without proper shoes. Enlistments were expiring. Thomas Paine described the moment as "the times that try men's souls." Yet the rebellion refused to die.
Henry Clinton's own narrative of the campaigns returns again and again to the same frustration: the Americans would not be brought to a decisive engagement. The British captured New York and Philadelphia. They won nearly every engagement. But as long as Washington's army survived, Britain faced another campaign season, another round of ships and soldiers and money crossing 3,000 miles of Atlantic. The conflict widened as France entered the war in 1778, followed by Spain and the Dutch Republic. Winning battles did not end the war. They lost because they could not convert battlefield success into strategic closure.
The British controlled the battlefield. The Americans controlled time.
What Washington Would Recognize
Washington's endurance strategy depended on one condition: the army had to survive. That condition is worth keeping in mind as the United States wages war against Iran in the spring of 2026.
When this piece was first drafted, the US-Iran confrontation looked like a recognizable asymmetric contest. Iran possessed missiles, drones, and regional proxy networks designed to complicate and prolong any conflict with a technologically superior adversary. The strategic logic seemed familiar: not battlefield dominance but cumulative cost and political attrition.
Events since February 28 have, if anything, deepened the parallel.
US and Israeli forces launched surprise airstrikes killing Supreme Leader Khamenei and numerous other Iranian officials. Iran's missiles, nuclear infrastructure, air defenses, navy, and proxy command networks have all been severely degraded. Yet US intelligence assessments suggest Iran's regime will likely remain in place, weakened but more hard-line, with the IRGC exerting greater control. Atlantic Council analysts warn that Iran's long history of asymmetric conflict suggests the kinetic portion of this war could be just a start.
Washington lost battles, too. He kept fighting.
This is where Washington's lesson bites hardest. The British did not lose because Washington outfought them. They lost because they could not end the war on terms that justified its cost. Destroying Iran's conventional military resolves one question and immediately raises another: what does strategic closure actually look like, and is the United States prepared for the long, irregular campaign that may follow the airstrikes?
That question, as of this writing, has no public answer.
The Fog Lifts. The Question Remains.
Strategic success is not always about imposing outcomes. Sometimes it is about denying them.
Washington's campaign offers a reminder that wars can turn not on moments of victory but on the refusal to accept defeat.
Some conflicts are not decided by who wins but by who cannot be defeated.
Edward Saltzberg is the Executive Director of the Security and Sustainability Forum and writes The Stability Brief.
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