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President Donald Trump speaks to reporters before boarding Air Force One at Palm Beach International Airport in West Palm Beach, Florida, on March 23, 2026. President Donald Trump said Monday that there are "major points of agreement" in US- Iran talks which he said must result in Tehran giving up its nuclear ambitions and enriched uranium stockpile.
(TNS)
Trump never actually had a plan
Apr 07, 2026
US President Trump spoke at the Saudi Future Investment Initiative on Friday, March 27. He offered a pristine example of what he calls “the weave.” What detractors take for incontinent verbal rambling is, in his own telling, genius-level embroidery of a rhetorical mosaic.
While spinning his tapestry of soundbites, the wartime president declared that the Iranians “have to open up the Strait of Trump — I mean, Hormuz. Excuse me, for — I’m so sorry, such a terrible mistake. The fake news will say he ‘accidentally said’ (chuckle), now there’s no accidents with me. Not too many. If there were, we’d have a major story. No. Well, we had that with the Gulf of Mexico. Remember the Gulf of Mexico? And one day I said, ‘Why is it the Gulf of Mexico?’ ”
Trump then digressed — sorry, weaved — for a while about the “renaming” of the Gulf of Mexico before getting back to the war.
If you watch the video, the “joke” about renaming the Strait of Hormuz was clearly deliberate. Trump said it was no accident. He has a tendency to float outrageous ideas as jokes to see how they fly — remember his “joke” that Canada should become the 51st state? Whether a joke or trial balloon, it was a terrible thing to say, and even worse idea, lending rhetorical confirmation that the president’s ego — and imperialist ambitions — is the author of this war.
But I don’t want to write a whole column about this relatively minor inanity. I just bring it up to illustrate a point. The president you see ad-libbing whatever pops into his head is the president we’ve got. When the commander-in-chief weaved in some observations about the Saudi crown prince “kissing my ass” because Trump isn’t a “loser” like previous American presidents, that was him, too.
In other words, there is no secret serious, detail-oriented Trump with “encyclopedic molecular knowledge” about matters of state, as Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. claims. What we see is what we’ve got.
This is very hard for some people to believe, and even harder for some people to acknowledge. These twin difficulties are the origin of all those cliches about Trump being a three- or four-dimensional chess master thinking many moves ahead of us mere checkers-playing mortals. When Trump does something unexplainable or indefensible, the best explanation and best defense for his superfans is to simply say the ways of Trump are mysterious, but rest assured he has a plan.
Entering our second month of the war with Iran, the superfans who oppose this war, for various reasons, are left in a pickle. How could this leader with an oak spine, unassailable instincts, deep knowledge and wisdom make such a mistake? How could the man they’ve defended as a genius for so long make what is in their eyes such a monumental blunder?
He was misled, of course.
For some — as it so often is when events don’t go the way they want — blame lands on the Jews, or Israel (a tomayto-tomahto distinction for many). This is how Joe Kent, who recently resigned as director of the National Counterterrorism Center, explained it. It’s Tucker Carlson’s explanation too: We’re in this war because Israel’s prime minister “demanded it.”
Others make the same argument, at one remove. “As this thing goes south, we need to know exactly who talked him into it,” Megyn Kelly demands. “What representations were made to convince the president that this was a good idea. Who? Who specifically?”
Kelly blames Israel, of course, but also advisers and Israel supporters such as Sen. Lindsey Graham of South Carolina, the Daily Wire’s Ben Shapiro and various Fox News pundits (revealingly, she excludes the crown prince of Saudi Arabia).
Now, I think some of these arguments are ahistorical, antisemitic, deranged nonsense (e.g. Joe Kent’s fevered anti-Israel paranoia). Trump has said “no” to Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu more than once, including during this war. But some claims have a patina of merit. If you buy the claim the war is a disaster, then the people around Trump have some culpability.
But not as much as the president himself. If Trump was like the senile “President Auto-Pen” he paints his predecessor to be, then maybe these claims would have more weight. But they don’t say that. They say this genius demigod infinity-level chess savant was deceived.
The leader cannot fail, he can only be failed.
The last resort for Trump’s defenders is to claim the decision to invade Iran was a “betrayal.” This claim at least grants Trump some agency. But for this to be true, the impulsive Trump we’ve seen weaving for a decade has to be different than the weaver in chief who launched this war. And I just don’t see it.
(Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.)
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Close-up of a rusty iron fence painted with stars and stripes at the American-Mexican border in Tijuana.
Border Communities Know ICE’s Impunity All Too Well
Apr 06, 2026
The Department of Homeland Security shutdown has officially passed one month as lawmakers continue to debate limits on ICE’s use of force. Though we’ve arrived at this legislative standoff due to aggressive, and sometimes fatal, immigration enforcement actions in cities in our country’s interior, for communities along the U.S.–Mexico border, such abuses are nothing new. As I reveal through my academic research, immigration agents have operated with near-total impunity at the border for decades.
I uncovered patterns of excessive violence, coercion, and abuse at land ports of entry, through which more than 200 million people including workers, students, and visitors legally enter the U.S. every single year. The link between agents’ actions on the streets of American cities and the way they operate at the southern border is inevitable—yet something the current conversation about ICE and potential reforms overlooks.
Take Antonio for example, a Mexican student from Tijuana who I interviewed for my research. Antonio explained that he learned from a young age that he had to comply with Customs and Border Patrol’s (CBP) authority, even when the agents’ practices infringed on his rights: “Basically, my mother instilled in me from a young age how CBP officers could do anything. They can take away my visa, they can beat me up, they can throw tear gas at me, they can insult me, and we can’t do anything.”
When such misconduct occurs, agents often intimidate and retaliate against people who cross the border to discourage them from filing complaints. Commuters and migrants are coerced to remain compliant even in situations of clear abuse. That parallels tactics used against legal observers of immigration enforcers in U.S cities—approaches that have stirred outrage among Americans across the political spectrum.
But even when complaints are filed, the current system protects agents. Investigators for the American Immigration Council revealed that 97 percent of grievances filed by migrants after suffering abuse from Border Patrol agents resulted in “no action taken.” This impunity is also evident in the lack of accountability in cases of fatal shootings involving migrants and U.S. citizens, deadly and reckless Border Patrol vehicle pursuits under Texas’ Operation Lone Star, and cross-border shootings by Border Patrol against Mexicans.
Despite the prevalence of lethal force and abuse at the U.S.-Mexico borderlands, they rarely receive national attention—though they resemble agents’ aggressive approaches in Minnesota, Chicago, and elsewhere that have shocked the nation. Broadening the public’s and our lawmakers’ understanding of the violence committed by immigration enforcement agents is crucial to create much needed systemic change, not only in our cities but also at the border.
For instance, the recent documentary Critical Incident: Death at the Border, focuses on Border Patrol’s cover-up of the death of Anastasio Hernández Rojas, a long-time San Diego resident who was in custody at the San Ysidro Port of Entry. In 2010, Border Patrol agents brutally tortured, beat, and suffocated Rojas. These injuries left him brain-dead at a San Diego hospital, where he died from his injuries three days later.
To finally stop such abuses from happening at our border, structural reforms are needed. One place to start is to make it easier to file complaints when abuse occurs, ensure those complaints are taken seriously, and ensure misconduct investigations are fully transparent through CBP’s Office of Professional Responsibility. Meanwhile, in cities far from the border, it’s important to prohibit immigration enforcement agents from driving unmarked vehicles or wearing masks during their operations, which limits legal observers’ ability to identify and document civil and human rights violations.
But if lawmakers are truly invested in addressing ICE’s lethal practices, their vote should not further expand DHS’s already enormous budget, with the ultimate goal to defund and abolish ICE. The struggle of citizens killed in cities like Minneapolis is the struggle of the U.S.–Mexico borderlands, and vice versa.
Estefanía Castañeda Pérez, Ph.D., is an assistant professor at the Department of Political Science and International Relations at the University of Southern California. Her academic research examines border violence, race and ethnicity, and policing.
Border Communities Know ICE’s Impunity All Too Well was first published on Latino News Network and was republished with permission.
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us a flag on pole under cloudy sky
Photo by iStrfry , Marcus on Unsplash
The Exit Coalition: A Bipartisan Chance to Defend the Institution
Apr 05, 2026
In the year marking the United States Semiquincentennial, dozens of members of Congress—from both parties—will quietly make a consequential decision: they will not return. Most coverage treats this as routine political churn—retirements, career moves, the normal rhythm of electoral life. But in a Congress defined by constraint and dysfunction, these departures create something rare and fleeting: freedom to act independently.
Fifty-plus lawmakers across the House and Senate are not seeking reelection in 2026—well above the typical 25 to 35 members who step aside in most election cycles. Republicans account for roughly 40 of those departures, including nearly 35 in the House. Some are retiring outright. Others are pursuing higher office. A smaller number are simply stepping away.
But raw numbers overstate the opportunity. Many of those departing remain politically constrained—candidates for governor or Senate seats, or members closely aligned with party leadership and future ambitions. Strip those away, and a more realistic pool emerges: perhaps a dozen to two dozen lawmakers, across both parties, who are truly positioned to act with relative independence in their final term.
That is not a large number. But in a closely divided Congress, it does not have to be.
For lawmakers not seeking reelection, the usual pressures loosen. The threat of a primary fades. Leadership’s leverage—committee assignments, campaign funding, future advancement—diminishes. The daily calculations that shape nearly every vote begin to change. What remains, at least in theory, is something closer to independent judgment guided by principles.
The question is whether that independence will be used—or simply allowed to pass, quietly, on the way out the door.
Modern Congress operates within a tight web of incentives that spans both parties. Members are expected to align with party strategy, avoid politically risky compromises, and reinforce narratives that mobilize their base. These pressures are not new, but they have intensified to the point that even broadly supported ideas often fail to reach a vote. Procedure has become a gatekeeper. Leadership has become a bottleneck. And individual members, regardless of party, often act accordingly.
Because these pressures are shared, the opportunity—and the responsibility—are shared as well.
Departing members occupy a different space. They are not entirely free—some seek other offices, others hope to maintain influence—but they are freer than they will ever be again. That partial freedom, if used collectively rather than individually, could have an outsized impact in a closely divided Congress.
What would that look like?
It would not require a grand ideological realignment or a new faction competing for control. In fact, the opposite is true. The most credible and effective effort would be narrowly focused and temporary: a small, bipartisan coalition of departing lawmakers committed not to policy outcomes, but to the functioning of the institution itself. In this 250th year, a moment not for celebration alone, but for institutional reflection.
Call it an exit coalition. Call it an institutional caucus. The name matters less than the purpose.
Such a group could begin with a simple, public statement of principles: a commitment to the rule of law, to the peaceful transfer of power, public rights, the constitutional role of Congress as a coequal branch of government, and to the basic expectation that legislation with broad support should be allowed to receive a vote. These are not partisan positions. They are procedural and constitutional ones—foundational to any functioning legislature.
From there, the coalition’s actions could remain limited but meaningful.
First, it could coordinate selectively on key votes where institutional integrity is at stake—must-pass legislation, funding agreements, and matters of congressional authority. Acting together, even a small number of members can alter outcomes or, at a minimum, force broader negotiation.
Second, it could make greater use of existing procedural tools that are often sidelined. Discharge petitions, for example, are designed precisely for moments when leadership bottlenecks prevent widely supported measures from advancing. Used strategically, they can restore a measure of majority rule and transparency to a system that increasingly struggles to reflect common sense.
Third, the coalition could operate in public, not as a protest movement, but as a reminder—a wake-up. Joint appearances, shared statements, and coordinated messaging would frame their actions not as defection, but as adherence to institutional responsibility, to constitutional design, and to the long-term health of the legislative branch and the government itself.
Skepticism is warranted. Many departing members still have ambitions. Some are running for higher office, where party alignment remains essential. Others may prefer a quiet exit to a contentious final chapter. And the incentives that shape congressional behavior do not disappear entirely, even in a final term.
But the countervailing force is equally real: legacy.
At the end of a congressional career, the usual metrics—fundraising totals, partisan wins, media appearances—begin to recede. What remains is a record. Not just how a member voted, but how they chose to act when the constraints were lowest and the stakes, arguably, the highest.
The Semiquincentennial will invite reflection on the country’s founding principles. It will also, whether intended or not, cast a light on the current state of its governing institutions. Congress does not need to be perfect to meet that moment. But it does need to function.
Departing lawmakers from both parties have a narrow window to help ensure that it does.
If you are leaving Congress in 2027, this is the only remaining political asset that is uniquely yours: independence. It cannot be carried forward. It cannot be reclaimed later. It exists only now.
Use it collectively, and it could alter the trajectory of a difficult moment. Use it individually, and it may not be enough to make a difference.
Or do not use it at all—and accept that the final chapter of a public career, in a year of historic reflection, passed much like the rest: constrained, cautious, and ultimately indistinguishable.
The Founders did not design Congress to be comfortable. They designed it to be accountable. For a brief period in 2026, a small group of lawmakers will have the rare ability to act with less concern for political consequences and greater accountability to the institution and the country.
History has a way of noticing such moments.
It also has a way of noticing when they are missed.
Jeff Dauphin is currently retired - Blogging on the "Underpinnings of a Broken Government." Founded and ran two environmental information & newsletter businesses for 36 years. Facilitated enactment of major environmental legislation in Michigan in the 70s. Community planning and engineering. BSCE Michigan Technological University.
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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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