President of Venezuela Nicolás Maduro on November 21, 2025 in Caracas, Venezuela.
The United States carried out a “large‑scale strike” on Venezuela early Saturday, capturing President Nicolás Maduro and his wife, Cilia Flores, in a rapid military operation that lasted less than 30 minutes. President Donald Trump confirmed that the pair were “captured and flown out of the country” to face narco‑terrorism charges in U.S. courts.
Explosions and low‑flying aircraft were reported across Caracas as U.S. forces—identified by officials as Delta Force—hit multiple military and government sites. Venezuelan officials said civilians were killed, though the scale of casualties remains unclear.
The Venezuelan government condemned the strike as an “imperialist attack” and urged citizens to mobilize in the streets.
Attorney General Pam Bondi said Maduro and his wife have been indicted in the Southern District of New York on narco‑terrorism and weapons charges, and will “face the full wrath of American justice on American soil”.
According to U.S. officials, the operation was carried out by Delta Force. This elite U.S. Army special operations unit transported Maduro to a U.S. warship before his transfer to the United States for prosecution.
Venezuela’s attorney general reported that civilians were killed during the U.S. strikes, though the number of casualties has not been independently verified. The government accused Washington of targeting civilian infrastructure in addition to military sites.
President Trump said the U.S. will be “very strongly involved” in determining Venezuela’s political future and suggested that the country’s oil industry will play a significant role in upcoming decisions. When asked who would lead Venezuela in the interim, Trump said, “We’re going to have to look at it right now.
The capture of Maduro marks one of the most dramatic U.S. military operations in Latin America in decades, and the long‑term implications for Venezuela’s governance and regional stability remain uncertain.
Hugo Balta is the executive editor of the Fulcrum and the publisher of the Latino News Network
President Donald Trump calls children as he participates in tracking Santa Claus' movements with the North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD) Santa Tracker on Christmas Eve at the Mar-a-Lago resort on December 24, 2025 in Palm Beach, Florida.
In the warmth of 'It's a Wonderful Life,' where generosity is a shared civic duty, today's holiday season stands in sharp contrast with the divisive rhetoric that permeates our daily lives. This was poignantly captured in a piece by Amy Lockard in the Fulcrum on Christmas day What ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ Warns Us About America Today about the holiday season as a time of goodwill — a reminder that this time of year is meant to soften us, widen our circles of concern, and renew our belief that generosity is not a luxury but a civic necessity.
Amy’s writing resonated with me because it captured something I’ve always felt: that the holidays invite us to imagine our better selves.
It was only a matter of time before the day's news intruded on the serene picture, shattering the warm, festive mood.
During the traditional NORAD Santa‑tracking calls on Christmas Eve, a 10‑year‑old from Oklahoma asked the president about Santa’s journey. Instead of the usual light-hearted reassurance, the President spoke of making sure Santa “wasn’t infiltrated,” warning that the United States couldn’t allow any “bad Santas” into the country. He later added that Santa “loves Oklahoma.”
It was a fleeting exchange — the kind that would usually dissolve into the warm blur of holiday ritual. But it also revealed something deeper about the stories we now tell, even in moments meant to be innocent. Our President's language of suspicion, threat, and infiltration has become so normalized in our political bloodstream that it now spills into conversations with children about Santa Claus.
As if this wasn’t enough, today on social media, our President on Christmas day, he wished us all a Merry Christmas by posting this uplifting message of goodwill to all mankind, “to all, including the Radical Left Scum,” while accusing them of “doing everything possible to destroy our Country.” The exact message is:
“Merry Christmas to all, including the Radical Left Scum that is doing everything possible to destroy our Country, but are failing badly. We no longer have Open Borders, Men in Women’s Sports, Transgender for Everyone, or Weak Law Enforcement. What we do have is a Record Stock Market and 401 (k) s, Lowest Crime numbers in decades, No Inflation, and yesterday a 4.3% GDP, two points better than expected. Tariffs have given us Trillions of Dollars in Growth and Prosperity, and the strongest National Security we have ever had. We are respected again, perhaps like never before. God Bless America!!! President DJT”
The holiday season I remember wasn’t about assigning blame or scoring points. Unfortunately, the messages from our President speak to the times we live in.
If one chooses to ignore our President, the holiday season message has endured the test of time. The idea that this is a season of goodwill and love toward all mankind shouldn’t be just about the holiday season, but about the fabric of our nation. It is time to see one another as neighbors rather than threats, and to return to the virtues embodied in the Declaration of Independence: that all men are created equal.
Our President instead has chosen to co-opt Christmas with a fear-based political agenda rather than bring us together as a nation. Goodwill to mankind is not a weakness. Compassion is not partisan.
As we move into 2026, amid the turbulence and uncertainty generated by politicians seeking political advantage, let us return to a more united holiday season. A holiday season that recognizes that our nation has real challenges, but understands that meeting these challenges can be achieved with dignity and honor. Not the version that glosses over real challenges, but the one that insists that how we speak to one another matters. What is the path that you will choose in 2026? Will it help us unite and collaborate, or one that divides? Let this be a time for reflection on the narratives we choose to embrace as we shape our shared future as a nation.
This season invites us to change the path of our nation to one rooted in goodwill, shared humanity, and the belief that we are capable of something larger.
That’s not just a holiday message. It’s a democratic one.
David Nevins is the publisher of The Fulcrum and co-founder and board chairman of the Bridge Alliance Education Fund.
An Israeli army vehicle moves on the Israeli side, near the border with the Gaza Strip on November 18, 2025 in Southern Israel, Israel.
Since October 10, 2025, the day when the US-brokered ceasefire between Israel and Hamas was announced, Israel has killed at least 401 civilians, including at least 148 children. This has led Palestinian scholar Saree Makdisi to decry a “continuing genocide, albeit one that has shifted gears and has—for now—moved into the slow lane. Rather than hundreds at a time, it is killing by twos and threes” or by twenties and thirties as on November 19 and November 23 – “an obscenity that has coalesced into a new normal.” The Guardian columnist Nesrine Malik describes the post-ceasefire period as nothing more than a “reducefire,” quoting the warning issued by Amnesty International’s secretary general Agnès Callamard that the ”world must not be fooled” into believing that Israel’s genocide is over.
A visual analysis of satellite images conducted by the BBC has established that since the declared ceasefire, “the destruction of buildings in Gaza by the Israeli military has been continuing on a huge scale,” entire neighborhoods “levelled” through “demolitions,” including large swaths of farmland and orchards. The Guardian reported already in March of 2024, that satellite imagery proved the “destruction of about 38-48% of tree cover and farmland” and 23% of Gaza’s greenhouses “completely destroyed.” Writing about the “colossal violence” Israel has wrought on Gaza, Palestinian legal scholar Rabea Eghbariah lists “several variations” on the term “genocide” which researchers found the need to introduce, such as “urbicide” (the systematic destruction of cities), “domicide” (systematic destruction of housing), “sociocide,” “politicide,” and “memoricide.” Others have added the concepts “ecocide,” “scholasticide” (the systematic destruction of Gaza’s schools, universities, libraries), and “medicide” (the deliberate attacks on all aspects of Gaza’s healthcare with the intent to “wipe out” all medical care). It is only the combination of all these “-cides,” all amounting to massive war crimes, that adequately manages to describe the Palestinian condition. Constantine Zurayk introduced the term “Nakba” (“catastrophe” in Arabic) in 1948 to name the unparalleled “magnitude and ramifications of the Zionist conquest of Palestine” and its historical “rupture.” When Eghbariah argues for “Nakba” as a “new legal concept,” he underlines, however, that to understand its magnitude, one needs to go back to the 1917 Balfour Declaration, in which the British colonial power promised “a national home for the Jewish people” in Palestine, even though just 6 % of its population were Jewish. From Nakba as the “constitutive violence of 1948,” we need today to conceptualize “Nakba as a structure,” an “overarching frame.”
As a scholar of genocide and trauma and their literary and philosophical representations, I study how the creation of words (such as “reducefire,” “medicide,” “memoricide” or the coining of “Nakba” as a concept) makes realities thinkable for which previously there were no words. This is important because, as Eghbariah underlines, “generating legal language […] to name certain types of oppression is a crucial step toward demanding justice.” “Naming,” Eghbariah quotes a legal study from 1981, “may be the critical transformation,” because naming opens new narrative possibilities. But to find words to name, we also need to listen. Rosemary Zayigh’s oral histories of displaced Palestinians are foundational. Sherene Seikaly describes the heartrending difficulty of finding language in the midst of today’s devastation: “To parent in genocide is to exist in fragments between speech and silence. It is to find words to prepare children for forced absences, sudden deaths, unexpected arrests, and critical injuries” and to “witness famine robbing speech.”
During the last week of November, two independent agencies issued two reports that documented the systematic destruction still inflicted by Israel. These reports received scant attention, now that the American public is under the false assumption that “peace” has arrived in Gaza.
The report “Developments in the economy of the Occupied Palestinian Territory” was published by the United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD). Its summary states that the scale of destruction “has unleashed cascading crises, economic, humanitarian, environmental, and social, propelling the Occupied Palestinian Territory from de-development to utter ruin. The military operations have ravaged vital infrastructure, including hospitals, universities, schools, places of worship, cultural heritage sites, water and sanitation systems, agricultural land and telecommunications and energy networks.” Towards the end, the report warns that while the dependence of Gaza on aid is “absolute, […] even this lifeline is obstructed by violence,” adding that Israel’s military campaign has “plunged Gaza into a human-made abyss, without a respite in sight. The sustained, systematic destruction casts significant doubt on the ability of Gaza to reconstitute itself as a liveable space and society.” Without respite in sight, the 'sociocide' is expanding today, during the 'reducefire.” It is rare to read in the official report of a UN agency an expression like “human-made abyss.”
A second report resulted from a study undertaken by a team from the Max Planck Institute for Demographic Research (MPIDR) and the Centre for Demographic Studies (CED) in Rostock, Germany, on the true death toll of Israel’s campaign of annihilation in Gaza. Using a scientific modeling approach, and based on data received from a number of different public sources from Israel, Gaza, and the United Nations, the researchers established that the official death toll by the Gaza Ministry of Health very likely reflected an undercount of at least 35%. In concrete numbers, they estimate the death toll between October 7, 2023, and December 31, 2024, to exceed 78,000 people. After their study’s publication, the scientists also presented an update estimating that by October 6 of this year, the “violent death toll” had “likely surpassed 100,000.” However, as the lead author Ana C. Gómez-Ugarte added, this estimate does not take into account the “indirect effects of war, which are often greater and more long-lasting,” meaning that the toll is likely to be much higher. Already in July 2024, three researchers affiliated with Canadian, Palestinian, British and US research institutes had warned in a “Correspondence” to the renowned medical journal The Lancet that “in recent conflicts, such indirect deaths range from three to 15 times the number of direct deaths,” and that it would be plausible to apply a “conservative estimate of four indirect deaths per one direct death” to the death count in Gaza. The researchers point out that it is impossible to know how many dead are buried under the rubble. Using their “conservative” numbers, the estimated death toll would reach a staggering half a million.
Given that Israel had dropped already in February 2024 the equivalent of two atomic bombs, these numbers are unfortunately not unrealistic, also in light of the threat, issued in November 2023 by the Likud Minister Avi Dichter that Israel would be “rolling out the Gaza Nakba and that there was “no way to wage a war.” Indeed, the correct concept should be “campaign of annihilation,” not “war.” This is what Palestinian legal scholar Noura Erakat responded to when she warned in February 2024 that Israel did not want peace, but a “Nakba peace.” She described “Nakba peace” as “the establishment of security achieved through the removal of native Palestinians who, by their very existence and refusal to disappear, challenge Zionist settler sovereignty.” Her words prove today prophetic. The so-called “peace plan” that is in place with US support allows only for a “Nakba peace” under whose auspices, as Makdisi writes, “Israel can confine an entire population without any means of subsistence to an utterly desolated wasteland and leave it entirely dependent on a trickle of aid handouts that it can turn on and off at will.”
We have to pressure our political representatives to stand up against the appalling variety of “-cides” that define Palestinian life and that risk becoming accepted as the new normal. We have to learn and teach the new words that name these new forms of “colossal violence.” We have to pressure our political representatives to reject the current “Nakba peace” and push for a future that is based on true equality of political rights for Palestinians and Israelis. Crucial steps
include demanding legislative oversight, such as insisting on the State Department’s and Department of Defense’s adherence to the Leahy Laws that prohibit financial and military assistance to foreign military or police units involved in gross human rights violations, and adherence to international law. Other steps include supporting civic advocacy groups dedicated to pursuing a just future in Israel/ Palestine, such as Amnesty International, Jewish Voice for Peace, the Palestinian Futures Fund, the development organization in Palestine, Taawon, and the American Friends Service Committee. But no less important is to finally center Palestinian voices, in Gaza, the West Bank, and here in the United States, and, in Sherene Seikaly’s words, to “listen to ordinary people narrating extraordinary things.” As Seikaly reminds us with Rosemary Sayigh, Palestinians tell their stories to assert “living despite catastrophe” and to “hold tightly” to their “visions of the possible.”
Elisabeth Weber is a Professor of Comparative Literature at the University of California, Santa Barbara, and a Public Voices Fellow with The OpEd Project at UCSB.
Donald Trump has repeatedly used the phrase “holding the cards” during his tenure as President to signal that he, or sometimes an opponent, has the upper hand. The metaphor projects bravado, leverage, and the inevitability of success or failure, depending on who claims control.
Unfortunately, Trump’s repeated invocation of “holding the cards” embodies a worldview where leverage, bluff, and dominance matter more than duty, morality, or responsibility. In contrast, leadership grounded in duty emphasizes ethical obligations to allies, citizens, and democratic principles—elements strikingly absent from this metaphor.
Take Ukraine as a case in point. In the peace talks on Ukraine this year, Trump has insisted that Russia “holds the cards” in the ongoing conflict. But if Russia does indeed hold them, it is not because of some immutable law of geopolitics. It is because the United States—and Trump himself—has ceded those cards by failing to fully back Ukraine’s defense.
Power in international relations is not simply a fixed hand dealt by fate. Instead, choices, commitments, and the willingness to stand by allies all shape it. By declaring that Russia holds the cards, Trump disregards the moral responsibility the United States bears to ensure that Ukraine is not left vulnerable to aggression.
This card-game metaphor strips away the human stakes, treating war and diplomacy as transactional contests. By contrast, principled leadership recognizes national purpose and moral duty. When leaders use only the language of leverage, they obscure the deeper truth: democratic nations have a duty to resist authoritarian expansion, not just calculate strength. Trump’s language thus reflects a broader erosion of social or humanitarian responsibility.
America’s role in the world is not defined by who holds the cards alone. Far more important is whether those cards are played in defense of freedom or surrendered to expediency.
Trump has used this metaphor countless times. He asserted that the United States “held the cards” in its trade war with China, basing his claim on the size of America’s consumer market. Yet the data contradicts this claim. Even as U.S. tariffs reduced Chinese exports to America by nearly 30%, Beijing redirected its goods elsewhere, fueling a record $1 trillion trade surplus. Exports to Europe and Southeast Asia rose significantly, demonstrating China’s ability to reroute supply chains and blunt the impact of U.S. consumer leverage.
Moreover, China has repeatedly used its dominance in rare earth minerals as a counterweight—a sector worth billions annually and vital to defense systems, semiconductors, and electric vehicles. By imposing export controls on rare earths and finished magnets, Beijing makes clear that leverage is not one-sided. The U.S. may have a vast consumer market, but China’s grip on critical materials and its ability to diversify trade partners show that America’s “cards” are far from decisive. Trump’s metaphor thus often clouds reality. Global trade leverage is fluid. China has proven adept at offsetting Trump’s strategic claims.
Of course, Trump also loves to claim leverage over Congress. His constant insistence that he “held the cards” reveals a deeper pattern: he treats constitutional checks not as guardrails, but as obstacles to be bulldozed. In 2025, he tried to cancel nearly $5 billion in foreign aid—already approved by lawmakers—through a rare maneuver called a pocket rescission. He also deployed thousands of National Guard troops to cities such as Los Angeles and Chicago without the governor's consent. Courts later ruled these moves unlawful. He even fired independent agency officials at the Federal Trade Commission and other bodies, flouting statutory protections and claiming these actions proved executive leverage.
The reality, however, is more complex. Unlike the unilateral leverage Trump describes, real power is balanced by constitutional design. Courts have struck down several of his maneuvers, and even members of his own party questioned their legality. Congress retains the power of the purse, oversight authority, and the constitutional mandate to check executive overreach. Trump’s card-game metaphor focuses on unilateral action, whereas the constitutional system demands collaboration within shared powers. In truth, the cards are distributed by design in our Constitution, and democracy depends on respecting that principle.
Trump’s repeated use of the “holding the cards” metaphor may resonate with some as a symbol of dominance, but it ultimately fails to provide moral direction. Leadership is measured not by who bluffs or claims leverage, but by who upholds responsibility and principle.
Reducing governance to a card game overlooks the values that define America: freedom, trust, and a commitment to democratic institutions.
America needs leaders who play not just to win, but to serve the people and defend democratic values.
David Nevins is the publisher of The Fulcrum and co-founder and board chairman of the Bridge Alliance Education Fund.
