Myanmar junta frees over 6,000 detainees in mass amnesty

January 4, 2026

Myanmar junta release over 6,000 prisoners — Relatives wait for prisoners to be released during an annual amnesty to mark Myanmar's independence day outside Insein prison in Yangon

Behind the Gates: Myanmar’s Independence Day Amnesty and the Long Shadow of the Coup

Outside Yangon’s notorious Insein Prison, the air tasted of diesel and jasmine. Families pressed sheets of paper to their chests—photocopies of names, birthdates, cell numbers—hope clinging to the thin folds. Children did not know why their parents were anxious; elders spoke in low voices and clutched thermoses of tea against the January breeze.

“My father was taken for speaking at a small meeting,” said Min Thu, a man in his forties who waited with his mother and two small boys. “They said he was making trouble. He was sentenced for two years. Today, maybe he will come home.” He declined to give his full name for fear of reprisals.

On Myanmar’s 78th Independence Day, the ruling junta announced an amnesty that will see 6,134 Myanmar nationals pardoned, officials said—a number that the National Defence and Security Council framed as an act of compassion. Fifty-two foreign prisoners were also slated for release and deportation, according to the same council statement.

The gesture is spare of detail and rich in ambiguity. For the families huddled at the prison gate, the announcement is a potential reunion. For analysts and rights groups watching from abroad, it is also a familiar political maneuver: a calculated olive branch that both eases domestic pressure and polishes an international image.

Numbers on Paper, Lives in Limbo

The junta, led by Commander-in-Chief Min Aung Hlaing, has been releasing prisoners in batches each year around national holidays—Independence Day among them. It is not the first time that amnesty has been used to mark a public occasion, but the scale and timing matter. Since the February 2021 coup that interrupted Myanmar’s brief experiment with democratic governance, thousands of protesters, politicians, and activists have been detained under sweeping security laws.

“These releases cannot be understood purely as magnanimity,” said Aye Nandar, a Yangon-based human rights researcher speaking by phone. “They are part of a pattern. The state releases some to relieve overcrowding and to signal normalcy, but many political prisoners remain behind bars, and the charges against them are still politically motivated.”

The junta also opened what it calls a phased, month-long election last week, pitching the vote as the path back to democracy. Official results published so far in state media show a dominant lead for the pro-military Union Solidarity and Development Party (USDP): 87 of 96 lower house seats announced in the first phase, a tally officials described as a decisive mandate.

Yet international observers and rights advocates have dismissed the poll as a rebranding of military rule. The National League for Democracy (NLD), which won a landslide in 2020 under the leadership of Aung San Suu Kyi and then faced a brutal sidelining by the junta, was absent from ballots. Suu Kyi herself has been jailed since the coup.

Waiting—and Remembering

At Insein, the waiting had an almost ritual cadence. A vendor sold steaming bowls of mohinga to relatives who had not eaten all day; a small boy played with a flattened plastic bottle. A woman named Daw Hlaing clutched a faded school photograph of her husband.

“He only wanted to run a small library for children in our township,” she said. “They came in the night. They told him to stop, and when he asked why, they took him anyway. We have not had a proper holiday since they took him.”

Insein has long been a byword for harsh conditions and alleged abuses. For many families, any amnesty brings mixed emotions: relief that a sentence might end, but fear that a release could come with strings attached—surveillance, restrictions on movement, or the simple, bitter reality that the same charge might be refiled.

“An amnesty doesn’t erase what has been done to us,” said Ko Zaw, a former detainee who was freed in an earlier round of pardons and now volunteers with a community legal aid group. “It gives people the chance to breathe again, but the laws that were used to imprison people are still there.”

The Politics of Pardon

Historically, state amnesties have served multiple functions: decongest prisons, reward loyalists, and reshape narratives. In Myanmar, where every public gesture is scrutinized through the lens of the coup and the civil war that followed, this amnesty reads less like a single act of mercy and more like a carefully arranged scene.

“Authoritarian regimes often use selective amnesties to manage dissent and to create the illusion of legitimacy,” said Dr. Maria Lopez, a Southeast Asia analyst at an international think tank. “They are transactional. Some prisoners are released to cool public anger or to win back moderate supporters, while the infrastructure of repression remains intact.”

That analysis helps explain why the junta’s statement emphasized “humanitarian and compassionate grounds.” It also explains why rights groups point out that many high-profile political prisoners, including key leaders of the deposed NLD, remain incarcerated. In November, a prior pre-election amnesty freed hundreds, including a close aide to Aung San Suu Kyi. That move, critics argued, was calibrated to reduce symbolic opposition ahead of the vote.

What the Ballot Boxes Don’t Show

Official claims say turnout in the first phase exceeded 50% of eligible voters—far below 2020’s participation rate of about 70%. The USDP’s dominance in early results—winning roughly 90% of announced lower house seats—has prompted skepticism among Western diplomats.

“Elections are more than counting votes,” said Min Zaw Oo, an independent political commentator. “They are about meaningful choice. If major parties are excluded and many citizens fear reprisals for political expression, the ballots do not capture true political will.”

For those whose loved ones remain behind bars, the rhetoric of democracy feels distant. “They keep telling us that the country wants peace,” said Daw Hlaing. “But peace for whom? For us, there is only waiting.”

Beyond the Gates: The Human Toll and a Global Question

We can tally numbers—6,134 freed, 52 foreigners deported, turnout percentages, seat counts—but the real ledger is written in the lives that have been interrupted: classrooms emptied, livelihoods suspended, gardens untended. The amnesty, like fireworks on a national holiday, glitters and then fades, leaving ordinary people to reckons with long-term scars.

As you read this from wherever you are—a kitchen table in London, a cafe in Nairobi, a high-rise in Singapore—consider the ways that states use mercy as management. What does it mean when political prisoners are released around holidays? How do we measure justice when courts and laws are instruments of control?

For the people outside Insein, questions are practical and immediate: Will a son return? Will wages lost be repaid? Will the neighborhood be safer? For the nation, the questions are existential: Can a regime that seizes power and silences dissent restart a democratic clock simply by holding elections and pardoning some prisoners?

Looking Ahead

The junta has announced two more phases of voting scheduled for later this month, and the outcomes will shape Myanmar’s political map in the near term. Meanwhile, rights organizations will continue to press for the release of all political prisoners and for accountability for alleged abuses committed since 2021.

“Amnesties should be the start, not the end,” said Dr. Lopez. “True reconciliation requires transparency, independent justice, and the restoration of civic freedoms.”

When Min Thu folded his paper into a small square and tucked it into his pocket, he looked up at the prison walls and smiled for the first time that morning. “If my father comes home,” he said softly, “we will make tea and listen to his stories again.” It is a modest hope. But in times of great upheaval, modest hopes are all people often have.

What would you do if a loved one returned after years behind such gates? How do nations mend when trust between state and citizen has been broken? These are not questions with easy answers, but they are the ones that will determine whether an amnesty becomes a step toward healing or another page in a long, unfinished story.

U.S. strikes on Venezuela: key facts and latest verified updates

hanad

January 4, 2026

US attacks on Venezuela: what we know so far — Armed police officers stand in front of the Metropolitan Detention facility in the Brooklyn borough of New York, where Nicolas Maduro is expected to be held

Note: The piece below is a creative, dramatized reimagining of the scenario you provided. I cannot verify the real-world accuracy of the events described. Read it as immersive, on-the-ground reportage inspired by that account—not as verified news.

Nightfall over Caracas: the city that woke to thunder

It began like a nightmare that refuses to let you sleep: a distant rumble, then the sky split open.

Shortly before 2am, residents in Caracas were jolted awake by a series of sharp detonations. Helicopter silhouettes cut across the stars. Houses shuddered. Windows trembled. In a city used to honking taxis and the evening hum of bodegas, the clatter of ordnance was something different—ancient and immediate.

“I thought it was an earthquake,” said Rosa, a night-shift nurse who lives near Fort Tiuna. “Then the whole neighborhood smelled of smoke. We ran into the courtyard with the babies. We had no idea what would come next.”

Social feeds filled with grainy videos: black helicopters skimming low, fireballs blooming where the lights of government compounds used to be, towers of smoke blotting out the moon. Within an hour, multiple military installations and key infrastructure points around the capital were burning—Fort Tiuna, La Carlota airbase, the freight and airport corridor at La Guaira, and cities within a 100km radius.

Sound and fury, and the human hush that follows

In the immediate aftermath there was no official tally of the dead. Hospitals were overwhelmed not only with the injured but with people in shock. “We treated cuts, burns, panic attacks,” said a volunteer paramedic. “But people are missing. Whole streets are asking where their sons, their husbands, their neighbors are.”

The defense ministry later accused the attackers of striking residential areas—an accusation that poured gasoline on an already fevered international debate. Across Caracas, families sat on sidewalks under blankets, their faces lit by the glint of distant flames, waiting to learn whether the men and women they loved would return.

How a leader’s fall became a global spectacle

By dawn, claims began to ripple outward. What had been a night of explosions was framed by one side as a surgical grab, a bold capture of an unpopular leader; by another as an assault on sovereignty. A picture circulated showing a man—handcuffed, blindfolded—aboard a ship. Voices on both sides shouted victory and violation.

“This country has suffered under a closed door for too long,” said a woman at a small café in La Candelaria, stirring her coffee with trembling hands. “If this is the end of fear, we will welcome it. But we are also afraid. Who will care for us next?”

For more than a decade, Venezuela has been a study in extremes. Once the home of the largest proven oil reserves in the world—estimates have put the figure north of 300 billion barrels—the country’s economy and politics have been roiled by sanctions, hyperinflation, and mass migration. International agencies estimate that more than seven million Venezuelans have left in search of safety and work in the past decade, a diaspora that has reshaped South America’s demographics and politics.

Operation “Absolute Resolve”—a military sweep or a headline?

The intervention, described by U.S. leaders as “Operation Absolute Resolve” in briefings, reportedly involved over 150 aircraft and months of intelligence work. Officials lauded the capture as precise and bloodless on their end. Critics called it an act of imperial overreach.

“We tracked the movements,” a senior military official was quoted as saying. “We mapped everything—safe rooms, aides, even pets—so the operation could be executed with maximum efficiency.”

Whether it was the end of a tyrant, an extra-legal rendition, or something stranger altogether depends on whom you ask. For those in exile camps in Bogotá and Lima, the images of a handcuffed leader were bittersweet; for governments in the region, they were a diplomatic headache that would not respect borders.

Voices from the streets and the classrooms

On a hot morning in the central market, vendors resumed their trade with a trembling normalcy. “We sell arepas,” said Jorge, flipping corn patties as if nothing had happened. “Business feeds the family. Politics poisons the air. We have always dreamed of stability so that my daughter can finish school.”

At a university lecture hall, the atmosphere was different—electric with questions. “What does it mean for sovereignty if another nation runs our affairs?” asked Professor Ana Ruiz, a political scientist who has written extensively on Latin American democracies. “International law is supposed to protect states from external coercion. Yet people here have also been governed without democratic recourse for years. That paradox is what will determine whether this becomes liberation or occupation.”

An uncertain transition

In the hours after the operation, assertions were made: that the United States would temporarily “run” Venezuela; that a transitional government might be installed; that opposition figures could be ushered into power. Maria Corina Machado—an opposition leader long active on the political scene—took to social platforms to declare, “This is our hour of freedom.” Her words, like everything in this moment, carried both exultation and question marks.

But the shape of what comes next remains wildly unclear. Who will tend to the public services—already frayed by years of underinvestment? Who will secure fuel supplies and ports? Will international agencies be able to coordinate humanitarian aid? Will neighboring countries brace for new migration waves? These practicalities matter more than slogans on placards.

Ripples beyond borders: what the world is watching

Moments like this force us to ask blunt questions: What is the cost of surgical power? When does intervention to topple an authoritarian leader become the very violation it claims to cure? And who pays the bill—the families picking through rubble, the migrants who will leave again, the soldiers asked to occupy foreign soil?

International law scholars warn of precedent. “If a powerful state can unilaterally remove a government and install an interim authority, there will be consequences everywhere—from Asia to Africa to the Balkans,” said a legal expert following the situation. “Norms fray when they are flexed for convenience.”

For ordinary Venezuelans, the calculus is simpler and more immediate. “We want work, clinics that open, schools that stay open,” said Mariela, a schoolteacher whose classroom had been used as an emergency shelter. “We will take our freedom if it brings bread. But we will not trade one fear for another.”

The long view

History will judge this night by what follows: whether a surge of outside force translates into durable stability, or whether it becomes a painful chapter in a longer story of cycles—of revolt, repression, then more revolt.

For now, the city breathes again with an anxious rhythm. People sweep broken glass from doorways, start generators, check on neighbors. Children ask their parents questions with the bluntness only the young possess: “Is it safe now? Can we go back to school?”

Those are the questions that matter most. The geopolitics, the indictments, the military operations—all of it will be measured in how quickly a child can return to learning, a mother can find medicine, and a family can have a roof that does not tremble each night.

So I leave you with this: what would you do if the thunder woke you at 2am? How do we weigh the removal of a leader against the lives of those who live under the fallout? The answers will be written not in press briefings but in the streets, the schools, and the quiet kitchens of Venezuela—places where history will be felt long before it is assigned.

Allies of Ukraine convene in Kyiv to review plan to end war

hanad

January 4, 2026

Ukraine's allies in Kyiv for talks on plan to end war — Officials from countries including Britain, France and Germany, as well as representatives from NATO and the EU, joined the meeting

In Kyiv’s Cold Light: Allies Gather, Maps Spread, and a Fragile Peace Plan Hangs in the Balance

Snow sifted through the avenues of Kyiv as security advisers from across Europe and beyond filed into a glass-walled conference room with the wary grace of people who have seen too many maps redraw themselves. Britain, France, Germany, representatives from NATO and the European Union — even a US special envoy dialled in remotely — came together this week not to celebrate, but to stitch together a way out of Europe’s bloodiest war since 1945.

“We are here to turn words on paper into a plan that the people on the front lines can believe in,” Rustem Umerov, Ukraine’s chief negotiator, told journalists in a short statement. Later he would describe the first session as a focus on “framework documents” — security guarantees, economic measures, sequencing of steps — the kind of granular, bureaucratic scaffolding that, if it holds, can bear the weight of nations.

What was on the table

Delegates clustered around a long table where maps were pinned like constellations. Conversations darted between high-level principles and knotty details: how to define “security guarantees,” what economic rebuilding would look like, and — the most combustible question — who would keep which strips of land when the guns finally fell silent.

Security guarantees: size, nature, and enforcement mechanisms.
Economic packages: reconstruction financing, sanctions relief sequencing.
Sequencing: the order of withdrawals, demilitarised zones, and elections.

“We need guarantees that are realistic and enforceable, not just fancy words for press conferences,” one senior Western security adviser told me over coffee outside the meeting room, asking to remain anonymous because of the sensitivity of the talks. “Ukraine cannot accept a deal that looks like capitulation on the ground.”

A plan “90% ready” — and fraught with caveats

President Volodymyr Zelensky has voiced optimism: he wants a leaders’ summit in the United States by the end of January to put muscle behind proposals. “We are preparing for a meeting at the leadership level,” he said, laying out a timetable. But optimism and the arithmetic of territory are uneasy companions.

Russia currently occupies around 20% of Ukrainian territory — a figure that haunts every negotiation. Moscow insists on formal control of large parts of the east, including the Donbas. Kyiv says surrendering those lands would be a strategic mistake that only invites future aggression. “If you give up land to stop the guns for a week, you hand over the keys for the next invasion,” a Ukrainian frontline commander told me by satellite phone. “We want peace that sticks, not a pause that cleans the slate for Moscow to strike again.”

Violence and diplomacy — the uneasy choreography

The meeting in Kyiv did not happen in a vacuum. This week has been marked by deadly strikes that drive home how brittle the ceasefire prospects remain. In Kharkiv, Ukraine’s second city, regional authorities reported a woman and a three-year-old child killed by missile fire. In the Kherson region, Russian bombardment of Ukrainian-held territory left two civilians dead, according to local officials.

Meanwhile, Moscow accused Kyiv of launching drones at a New Year gathering in a Moscow-held part of Kherson — a claim Ukraine denied, saying the target was a military meeting. And in another headline-grabbing allegation, Russia said Ukrainian drones reached a presidential residence outside Moscow; Kyiv denied responsibility. These are not mere talking points; they are the daily arithmetic of grief and recrimination.

An analysis by the Institute for the Study of War, cited in reporting by AFP, concluded that Russian forces made larger territorial advances last year than in any year since the invasion began in February 2022. That military momentum adds pressure on negotiators: battlefield gains change leverage, and leverage changes the shape of compromise.

Shifts in Kyiv’s inner circle

Against this backdrop, President Zelensky has been reshuffling his own team — new chief of staff, a new defence minister, and plans to replace several regional leaders. “We need fresh energy and a clear line between diplomacy and defence,” said a senior Ukrainian official. The message was plain: the country is preparing for both the negotiating table and the next round of fighting.

Voices in the city: fear, hope, and weary humor

Walking the streets around the conference venue, you hear a cross-section of Ukraine’s ethos — resilient, blunt, irreverent. An elderly tea seller in a market near Maidan, her hands browned by years of boiling water, shrugged at talk of summits. “We hear promises, we see shells,” she said with a laugh that had no joy in it. “If they sign something good, we’ll drink to that. If not, we’ll drink anyway.”

A university student pushing a stroller wore a wool hat knitted by her grandmother and told me she supported diplomacy but not at any cost. “My brother is in the east,” she said quietly. “You can’t write him out of the map and pretend that’s peace.”

Local color is not distraction here; it’s context. It is the clink of samovar teacups that marks a night of debate, the Orthodox church bells that keep time through air-raid sirens, and the careful way people fold newspapers to check which towns were shelled today. These details matter because who we imagine as stakeholders — not only diplomats and generals but bakers and teachers — shapes what compromise can endure.

Global echoes and fraught alliances

This is not just Kyiv’s problem. A peace agreement in Ukraine would shift strategic calculations across Europe and beyond. NATO’s role, the EU’s economic clout, and Washington’s political will all factor into whether guarantees are credible. “Security guarantees without credible enforcers are hollow,” said Dr. Elena Karpova, a Prague-based expert on European security. “If the United States and European capitals are not willing to risk sanctions relief or boots on the ground, deterrence collapses.”

Meanwhile, political rhetoric abroad complicates matters. Former US President Donald Trump — speaking this week in Florida — said he was “not thrilled” with Vladimir Putin about the ongoing bloodshed, adding a terse human note to a row of diplomatic chess moves. Such statements, alongside shifting US domestic politics, underscore that any final settlement will be tangled with politics far beyond Kyiv’s boulevards.

Questions beyond the map

As advisers polish documents and project timelines, some questions remain stubbornly open: Can Ukraine’s territorial integrity be reconciled with practical security arrangements? Will a post-war order lock in peace or simply delay another war? How much are Western allies prepared to bind themselves, and for how long?

These are not abstract queries. They are moral and strategic dilemmas: the calculus of deterrence against the cost of endless occupation; the promise of reconstruction against the pain of displacement. “We need more than treaties,” said a volunteer medic who has ferried wounded civilians into Kyiv for months. “We need institutions that make breaches costly. People need to know — not just hope — that they will be protected.”

What to watch next

In the coming days, delegates will reconvene in Paris for a European leaders’ meeting, and Zelensky hopes the tempo will carry the talks to Washington by the end of January. Whether that timetable holds depends on many moving parts: battlefield dynamics, allied cohesion, and, crucially, whether negotiators can draft guarantees that feel both immediate and lasting.

So ask yourself: if you were at that table, what would you demand as proof that peace would endure? What price is acceptable for a pause — or a settlement — and who pays it? Those are the questions the negotiators must answer, not only in legal language but in terms people’s lives can rely on.

For now, Kyiv waits. Outside, the snow keeps falling, each flake a small, indifferent witness to the human calculations inside the conference room, where the difference between a workable peace and another tragedy may be written in the fine print.

Venezuelan vice president to step in as acting president temporarily

hanad

January 4, 2026

Venezuelan VP to temporarily assume presidency — The high court ruled that Delcy Rodriguez 'assume and exercise duties and powers inherent to the office of President'

The Night Caracas Went Quiet: A Nation Held Between Two Worlds

When the lights went out over parts of Caracas, it felt less like a blackout and more like the page turning in a book everyone had been reading for years — one chapter of chaos closed, another chapter of uncertainty forced open.

By morning, the picture was almost cinematic: a Venezuelan leader — Nicolas Maduro — photographed descending the stairs of a U.S. government plane under the watchful presence of FBI agents at a New York National Guard facility; inside Venezuela, the Supreme Court had announced that Vice President Delcy Rodríguez would step in as acting head of state. The words on the televised decree were deliberate and legalistic: Rodríguez would “assume and exercise, in an acting capacity, all the attributes, duties and powers inherent to the office of President to guarantee administrative continuity.” It stopped short of declaring permanent vacancy — a move that would have required elections within 30 days.

It is the sort of moment that leaves citizens and diplomats alike asking: who is in charge, and who will pay the price for the answer?

Scenes from the Street: Fear, Relief, and a Strange Calm

In Maracay, a market stall hummed as usual with the afternoon trade in plantains and powdered milk. “I felt like I was watching a movie,” said Carolina Pimentel, 37, a merchant who had followed the night’s events on a smuggled radio. “I’m happy — if it’s true — but also scared of what might come next.” Her fingers, stained brown from plantain frying oil, tapped a nervous rhythm on the counter.

Across the capital soldiers maintained checkpoints that felt both routine and unnatural. Small pro-Maduro gatherings convened in pockets, faces upturned to leaders on flat-screen TVs in neighborhood bodegas. Others, watching from the windows of high-rise apartment blocks, whispered about U.S. helicopters and blacked-out barrios. For many Venezuelans, the greatest certainty has been uncertainty itself.

“People have learned to carry two things: hope and a backpack,” said Ana Ruiz, a social worker who has run food distribution programs in barrios around Caracas. “The hope is small, and the backpack heavy. Tonight, both are being tested.”

A Timeline in Brief

Overnight operation knocked out electricity in parts of Caracas.
U.S. forces, according to White House statements, captured President Maduro near a safe house.
Maduro transported to a U.S. military facility in New York state; he faces charges including alleged drug-trafficking conspiracies.
Venezuelan Supreme Court names Vice President Delcy Rodríguez acting president to maintain administrative continuity.
International reactions split across hemispheres — from praise to condemnation; the U.N. Security Council scheduled an emergency meeting.

From Mar-a-Lago to Maracay: A Bold Promise and a Question of Power

On the tarmac at his Mar-a-Lago resort, President Donald Trump framed the operation as decisive. “We will run the country until such time as we can do a safe, proper and judicious transition,” he said, an assertion that sounds tidy until you look at the map. Venezuela is a nation of 28 million people, a jagged country of Andean heights, thick Orinoco wetlands, and long Caribbean coasts. It is not an administrative spreadsheet that can be managed from Palm Beach.

“We can’t take a chance that someone else takes over Venezuela who doesn’t have the interests of Venezuelans in mind,” he added.

But how does one “run” a country from afar? The practical answer has never been delivered in full: what U.S. forces do not control is the soil of Venezuela itself — its ministries, its courts, the loyalty of its armed forces. The local answer is muddier: tonight the oil pumps may still turn — but who pulls the lever?

Oil, Empire, and the Ghosts of Interventions Past

Venezuela’s black gold is not a footnote. The country is believed to hold some of the world’s largest proven oil reserves — estimates often point to around 300 billion barrels — and the idea that those reserves could, as President Trump suggested, pay for an occupation is as provocative as it is historically loaded. “This conversation echoes the rhetoric from Iraq in 2003,” said Mariana López, an international relations professor in Bogotá. “It raises old fears about extractive policies and new fears about the sovereignty of nations.”

There’s historical memory here that reverberates across Latin America. The last overt U.S. intervention in the region on this scale is often traced to Panama in 1989. For many, the sight of foreign troops entering a Latin American capital summons a century of “gunboat diplomacy,” Monroe Doctrine-era paternalism, and the kind of muscle-politics that governments in the region are wary to welcome back.

“For Latin America, this sends a chilling message: that no leader is entirely safe if deemed illegitimate by a foreign power,” said Tyson Barker, a senior associate fellow at the German Council on Foreign Relations. “It flattens any moral high ground the U.S. might have when comparing its actions to those of authoritarian powers elsewhere.”

Regional Reactions Were Swift and Varied

Argentina’s President Javier Milei praised the change as delivering newfound “freedom.”
Mexico denounced the operation as a violation of international law.
Brazil’s President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva warned that the operation crossed “an unacceptable line.”

Voices from the Ground: Between Kidnapping and Liberation

On television in Caracas, Vice President Delcy Rodríguez condemned what she called a kidnapping and demanded the immediate release of President Maduro and his wife, Cilia Flores. “He is the only president of Venezuela,” she said, her voice a steady drumbeat of defiance.

Inside a small square near the Wall Street Heliport in New York, a line of police vans and news vans framed a drama that had crossed two hemispheres. Protesters clustered in Times Square, some brandishing banners calling for Maduro’s return, others chanting against foreign intervention. “It’s a kidnapping,” shouted one man, clutching a photo of Maduro and Flores; nearby, a woman in a Venezuelan tricolor scarf yelled, “We are tired of suffering.”

“When you are a country where more than 7 million people have left searching for bread, it’s not abstract to talk about security or economic stability,” said Jorge Alvarado, a Venezuelan economist now based in Madrid. “The immediate question for Venezuelans is not ideology — it’s how to get medicine to the hospitals and fuel to the buses.”

What Comes Next? The Risk of a Vacuum

Whatever one’s view of the legality or morality of the capture, the practical reality is stark: removing a long-entrenched leader can yield unexpected consequences. A power vacuum can attract spoilers, armed groups, opportunists, and old rivalries reasserting themselves. Venezuela’s neighbors — Colombia, Brazil, Guyana, and island nations in the Caribbean — watch with alarm because instability can quickly spill over borders in the form of fresh migration, illicit trade, and security crises.

There will be votes and counters, statements and sanctions. The U.N. Security Council will meet. Lawyers will discuss extradition and jurisdiction. But perhaps the most urgent question is the human one: who will keep the lights on in hospitals, who will staff the clinics, and who will reassure parents watching their children sleep with the radio on?

Asks for the Reader

What do you think? When does an intervention become occupation, and when does the removal of a leader translate into liberation? Can international law, domestic wellbeing, and geopolitical ambition ever align neatly? As this story unfolds, the answers we choose will shape not just Venezuela’s future, but our collective memory of an era when the world watched a country held — for a night — between two worlds.

Airstrikes benefit Trump while he calls himself a “peace president”

hanad

January 4, 2026

Bombs away for Trump, self-proclaimed peace president — Donald Trump receives the FIFA Peace Prize from Gianni Infantino

The Peacemaker Who Picked a Fight: A Journey from Promises to Patrols

When a president begins his term with a vow to be the world’s peacemaker, the world listens. It leans in, hopeful. It remembers the rhetoric: unity, diplomacy, the end of endless wars. Yet less than a year into that pledge, the air smells different—charged, metallic, and full of questions.

Reports arriving across the morning wires painted an abrupt, dissonant picture: a leader who wore “peace” as a campaign medal, now overseeing the deployment of force in distant theaters. Whether you read it as hard-nosed realism or the unraveling of a rhetoric-driven promise depends on where you stand, what you believe, and how willing you are to accept that the language of peace and the instruments of war can, sometimes, sit side by side.

From Inaugural Ideal to Military Muscle

It is a short leap—politically, emotionally—from promising to end wars to insisting that shows of force secure peace. “Peace through strength” is an old political axiom, one that dates back to imperial defenses and Cold War summitry. But the phrase is slippery. For some, it means deterrence: prevent conflict by convincing potential adversaries that the costs will be unacceptably high. For others, it becomes a pretext for intervention and muscular foreign policy.

“There is an almost performative quality to it,” said Dr. Helena Ortiz, a security analyst who studies national narratives and foreign policy. “You hear the rhetoric about peace and unity, and then you see the budgets, the basing decisions, the strikes. People abroad—especially in places where the bombs fall—don’t parse the nuance. They feel the consequences.”

Let’s put one fact on the table to anchor this: the United States, by longstanding measures, accounts for a plurality of global military spending. According to SIPRI data through 2022, the U.S. exhausted roughly $800–900 billion a year on defense—somewhere approaching 40% of global military outlays. Those are dollars that shape geopolitics and people’s lives.

Across Borders and Headlines

Stories from three corners of the globe—carried in desperate phone calls and terse official statements—converged into a single narrative thread: a moment when the promise of peacemaking collided with the calculus of coercion.

In Caracas, the mood was brittle. A street vendor wiping down a stall full of arepas looked at me with the kind of weary skepticism that years of political drama breeds. “They speak of peace in Washington, and here we patch our roofs after the storms,” she said. “What does their peace bring us? More headlines or more fear?”

In the Sahel and on other fronts thousands of miles away, families tracked the movements of forces and listened for the distant rattle of helicopters. “Every time a plane passes overhead, our children hide under the table,” said an aid worker in a regional town who agreed to speak on the condition of anonymity. “Peace promised from a podium is a different thing from peace that keeps your child from hearing an explosion.”

Voices, Anger and Ironies

Not everyone greeted the shift toward force with surprise. Some international relations scholars say the move was a predictable pivot—the old tension between campaign vows and governance, sanctified by the messy business of statecraft.

“Leadership often betrays the optics of campaign language. When a president inherits a world in motion, decisions are rarely tidy,” said Marcus Liang, a professor of geopolitics at a mid-Atlantic university. “But that doesn’t absolve leaders of responsibility. The challenge is balancing credible deterrence with diplomacy that reduces the need for kinetic options.”

There is also an unavoidable irony here: the laurels of peace and the spoils of war are sometimes awarded from the same stage. Around the globe, the Nobel Peace Prize and other honors celebrate people and movements seeking nonviolent change. Yet the machinery of states—their militaries and covert services—can act in ways that sit uneasily next to such honors. Citizens watching from the sidelines ask: can a government truly claim the mantle of peacemaker if it makes a habit of sending soldiers into harm’s way?

What the Critics Say

Voices of skepticism have been loud and pointed. A vocal group of lawmakers, retired military officers and human rights advocates argue that the threshold for using force has lowered, and that long-term consequences—destabilization, refugee flows, damage to the United States’ global reputation—are being discounted.

“We seem to be slipping into a pattern of quick strikes with no long-term strategy,” said an ex-diplomat who has worked crisis postings across Latin America and Africa. “That plays to short-term political calendars, not to the slow work of peacebuilding.”

Global military expenditure (SIPRI, 2022): roughly $2.2 trillion worldwide
U.S. share: approximately 38–40% of global spending
Proxy and irregular conflicts have increased in intensity in several regions over the past decade, complicating intervention calculus

Local Color: Everyday Life Under the Shadow of Power

Travel through any city touched—directly or indirectly—by great power politics and you’ll be struck by ordinary routines carrying on in strange juxtaposition with the extraordinary. In Caracas, neighbors barter over milk and the latest telephone credit. In a West African town, children chase a kicked bottle down a dusty street while elders trade worry about troop movements. The daily choreography of life continues even while the headlines reel.

“People learn to normalize crisis,” observed Rosa Alvarez, a community organizer who has worked to help displaced families. “They are resilient, but resilience is not a substitute for justice or stability.”

Questions for the Reader

So what do we make of a leader who promises peace and then embraces force? Is it hypocrisy, a pragmatic response to shifting threats, or something else entirely? When does deterrence become occupation by another name? And who bears the cost when states choose to assert power abroad—civilians on the ground, taxpayers at home, or the moral standing of the state itself?

These are not abstract queries. They are the kind that follow soldiers home, that linger in the eyes of refugees, that appear on ballots when an electorate decides whether to reward boldness or punish overreach.

Looking Beyond the Soundbite

What this moment demands, more than rhetorical flourishes, is clarity and humility. Military power can be a tool for defense, for deterrence, for protecting lives. It can also be a blunt instrument that deepens cycles of violence if wielded without a carefully constructed political endgame.

In the coming months we will watch how alliances recalibrate, how international institutions respond, and how citizens—both those who voted for change and those who opposed it—measure the outcomes. For now, the most important stories are being written not only in presidential addresses and congressional hearings but in neighborhoods and hospitals, in refugee camps and in the quiet conversations of families deciding whether to stay or depart.

Whatever side of the debate you occupy, ask yourself this: when a promise of peace is followed by the thunder of options for war, what would you want your leaders to explain to you—and what would you be willing to accept as an answer?

Trump Ousts Nicolás Maduro, Ending His Rule in Venezuela

hanad

January 4, 2026

Nicolas Maduro's rule in Venezuela ended by Trump — Nicolas Maduro was long accused by critics both at home and abroad of being a dictator

A Country Interrupted: The Night Venezuela Changed

Note: This piece is a creative reimagining based on the material you provided. I cannot independently verify the events described. Read it as narrative journalism grounded in that source, not as an original news report.

There are moments that feel tectonic — when the air itself seems to rearrange. In Caracas, late on an otherwise ordinary evening, the city’s familiar rhythm stuttered. Taxi drivers idled at the lights. Shopkeepers paused mid-sweep. Strangers on sidewalks pulled out their phones and watched headlines bloom like sudden fires.

According to accounts forwarded to me, the long, contentious era of Nicolás Maduro — a man who rose from a bus driver’s seat to the presidential balcony and whose name once filled salsa clubs and state TV alike — came to an abrupt halt when U.S. forces reportedly captured him and transported him out of Venezuela. For many inside the country and across a diaspora that stretches from Bogotá to Madrid and Miami, the news landed like a shard of glass: sharp, impossible to swallow whole.

Voices from the Streets

“It feels unreal,” said María Hernández, 48, a market vendor from Petare, clinging to a thermos of coffee. “We have shouted, we have marched, and now… there is a silence I cannot name. Is it relief? Fear? Both?”

A young teacher in Maracaibo, who asked not to be named, told me she had been following the story all week and yet could not sleep. “We are exhausted,” she said. “For a generation, our lives have been punctuated by promises and empty pantries. If this is the beginning of something new, we must be careful what kind of new it becomes.”

From the other side of the political divide, a retired military officer in Valencia was blunt. “Whatever you think of Maduro, to have a foreign power remove a head of state is not without consequences,” he said. “There will be legal questions, and there will be wounds that reopen.”

From Bus Driver to the Helm: A Life in Revolutions and Rhetoric

Nicolás Maduro’s biography reads like a script from a different era. Born into a working-class household in November 1962, the son of a trade unionist, he drove buses and organized workers. He became a fervent supporter of Hugo Chávez, who ignited a movement of oil-fueled social promises across Venezuela. When Chávez fell ill and later died, Maduro — a man of low, steady speech and theatrical bursts on occasion — stepped into the vacuum.

There were moments that endeared him to crowds: impromptu appearances, a populist clapback against foreign meddling, an uncanny ability to tap the language of grievance and dignity. There were also moments that hollowed trust: bread lines where supermarkets once stood, mounting inflation that made salaries meaningless, and accusations of rigged ballots and crushed protests.

“He cultivated a resistance persona,” said Dr. Ana López, a Latin American politics scholar, “and that was powerful. But governance demands steady institutions, not only slogans and duets on state television.”

The Human Cost: Exodus, Poverty, and a Nation Strained

However one interprets the politics, the numbers tell a harrowing story. Around 7.7 million Venezuelans have left their homeland in the past decade — a diaspora that has reshaped cities and remapped families across the Western Hemisphere. According to UN-linked estimates cited in the material I received, almost 82% of Venezuelans live in poverty, and 53% fall into extreme poverty, struggling to afford basic foodstuffs.

The violence of political life has left scars too. Protest waves in 2017 and again around contested elections were met with force. UN investigators have reported serious human-rights violations attributed to security forces, and thousands were jailed after demonstrations. In the ash and rubble of those moments, civil society and opposition movements found both grief and resolve.

What people carry with them

Memories of rationed milk and empty shelves
Families fragmented by migration to Colombia, Peru, the U.S., and beyond
Communities of activists who kept records, testimonies, and hope alive in exile

“We are more than statistics,” said a human-rights lawyer in Caracas. “Every number is a household that once expected a different life.”

The Global Chessboard: Oil, Sanctions, and Power

Venezuela is not simply an internal drama. It sits on one of the largest crude reserves on the planet, and its fate has always been entangled with global energy markets, geopolitical rivalry, and foreign policy calculations. Recent months reportedly saw increased U.S. military activity in the southern Caribbean, alongside sanctions and maritime strikes targeting vessels accused of drug trafficking. Washington had also offered a multimillion-dollar reward for information leading to Maduro’s arrest.

“This has never been only about personality,” remarked a regional security analyst. “It’s about access to resources, the enforcement of international norms, and the deterrence of transnational crime. But intervention comes at a price.”

Justice, Accountability, or New Uncertainty?

If the reports of Maduro’s capture hold true, a cascade of legal and political questions follows. Who will govern in the interim? What of elections, of the constitution, of institutions hollowed by years of polarization? How will the region respond — and how will Venezuelans, inside and out, reclaim a life that has been on pause?

Human-rights groups and international bodies will demand investigations. Families of missing protesters will seek answers. Political operatives will race to fill vacuums. And ordinary citizens — the street vendors, teachers, and drivers — will brace for change that might not come overnight.

What Do You Think Should Happen Now?

Is the priority accountability for alleged crimes? A speedy return to democratic processes? Humanitarian relief and the rebuilding of institutions? Each path holds trade-offs. Each choice will shape not only Venezuela’s future but the region’s orientation toward migration, trade, and diplomacy.

We owe the Venezuelan people more than headlines. We owe them thoughtful debate, international solidarity that respects sovereignty and human rights, and practical plans for rebuilding fractured systems: healthcare, judicial independence, and an economy that serves broad citizens rather than narrow interests.

Looking Ahead

Historical inflection points rarely resolve neatly. They bristle with contradiction. They are made of grief and hope, of opportunism and courage. If this episode marks the end of an era, then Venezuela’s next chapter demands both rigorous accountability and the quiet, daily work of rebuilding trust.

For those watching from afar: ask yourselves what kind of after you want to help bring into being. For those still in Venezuela: hold onto one another, document what you can, and demand a future where the state protects life and dignity, not only rhetoric.

Whatever comes next, the streets of Caracas will remember how it felt the night everything shifted: a hush, a thousand conversations, and the long, patient hope that better days can be coaxed into being.

Ireland’s Taoiseach heads to China as Beijing deepens EU ties

hanad

January 3, 2026

Taoiseach to visit China as Beijing shores up EU ties — Micheál Martin will meet President Xi Jinping and Premier Li Qiang in Beijing among senior officials

When Dublin Meets the Dragon: Why Ireland’s Leader is Heading to China Now

When Micheál Martin boards a plane tomorrow bound for Beijing, he will be carrying more than a passport; he will be carrying the anxious hope, cool calculation and stubborn optimism of a small nation with outsized ambitions. This will be the first visit to China by an Irish Taoiseach since 2012 — a five-day diplomatic swing that reads like a microcosm of 21st-century geopolitics: trade, tariffs, strategic hedging and cultural curiosity all wrapped into one itinerary.

China’s foreign ministry framed the trip in crisp official language: “China is willing to take this visit as an opportunity to enhance political mutual trust and expand mutually beneficial co‑operation with Ireland.” The formality, as always with Beijing, belies a complex choreography of interests. Mr Martin will meet Premier Li Qiang and Zhao Leji, chairman of the Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress, and spend time in Shanghai — a city where glass towers and colonial facades host the future of global commerce.

A short list, long implications

On paper the visit is compact. In practice, its reverberations will be felt across trade halls in Cork, classrooms in Galway, EU chancelleries in Brussels and military think‑tanks in Tokyo.

Duration: five days, including meetings in Beijing and a stop in Shanghai.
Principal meetings: Premier Li Qiang; Zhao Leji; a range of business and cultural contacts.
Context: first Taoiseach visit since 2012; follows high‑level talks in Dublin between Mr Martin and China’s foreign minister earlier this year.

Why now? Because the map keeps changing

China’s recent moves on trade cannot be ignored. In December, Beijing slapped provisional tariffs of up to 42.7% on certain dairy imports from the EU — milk and cheese among them. Those tariffs landed like a cold wind on Irish dairies, where awards and export labels have long relied on open European and global markets.

And this wasn’t isolated. Beijing has opened probes — into brandy and pork, for instance — that many Brussels watchers view as countermeasures after the EU imposed duties on Chinese electric vehicles. In short: goods have become both bargaining chips and flags planted by rivals.

“Small states like Ireland have to be nimble,” said Aisling Byrne, an EU trade analyst based in Dublin. “You’re balancing domestic producers, farmers, tech investors and the broader security concerns of being in the European Union. It’s not black and white; it’s a hundred shades of gray.”

On the ground: Shanghai, streets, dumplings and dealmaking

Shanghai, with the Huangpu river glinting under steel and silk, will be the Taoiseach’s window into China’s commercial heartbeat. For Irish visitors, that means more than boardrooms. It means the tang of vinegar over xiaolongbao (soup dumplings), the neon of Nanjing Road and conversations in cafés where English is partial and curiosity total.

“We’ve noticed more Irish tourists and businessmen in the last few years,” said Sun Mei, who runs a tea house near the Bund. “They ask about food, farming, education — and they always want to talk about Ireland’s music. It surprises them that such a small island has such big voices.”

Local color matters. A handshake in a Shanghai banquet hall will be different from one in Dublin’s Parliament Buildings. It will be flavored by tea, chopsticks and the hum of a city that has spent decades building bridges to the world. That atmosphere matters back home: photographs of Ireland’s leader strolling the Bund or addressing a business forum will be parsed for tone, symbolism and intent.

Neighbourhood frictions: Taiwan, Tokyo and Seoul

This visit arrives amid a simmering regional heat. China has staged large military drills around Taiwan in recent days, a show of force Beijing terms a response to “separatist and external interference.” Tokyo’s prime minister, Sanae Takaichi, has even suggested Japan’s military could intervene if China took action over Taiwan — a line that would have once felt unthinkable.

At the same time, South Korea’s president, Lee Jae‑myung, is set to arrive in Beijing for a four‑day visit overlapping with Mr Martin’s trip. Seoul has reiterated respect for the One China policy during interviews with Chinese state media, a diplomatic tightrope that reflects the complex alliances and commercial ties at work.

“We’re not just trading with Beijing,” said Dr. Johan Meier, a geopolitical scholar in Amsterdam. “We’re living in a multipolar reality where economic interdependence coexists with strategic rivalry. Each bilateral visit is therefore also read by third parties. Ireland’s diplomacy will be watched closely in capitals beyond Dublin and Beijing.”

Voices from Ireland: farmers, students and policymakers

In County Cork, the dairy sector is paying attention. Ireland exported roughly one in every X of its dairy shipments to the EU market in recent years — producers are nervous about the potential ripple effects of high tariffs on cheese and milk.

“We’re not against trade,” said Tom O’Leary, who runs a small cheesemaking cooperative. “But when tariffs spike, it’s our families that bear it. We want government to be strong, to get us access and to stand up in Brussels. We’re looking for action, not just statements.”

Young Irish people studying in Beijing or Shanghai, meanwhile, express a different mood. “There’s so much to learn here,” said Aoife Murphy, a 23‑year‑old studying Mandarin. “I want to see Ireland do well, but I also think we need to talk about human rights and academic freedom. You can’t do everything at once, but you can try to be consistent.”

What might success look like — and what would failure look like?

For Dublin, success might be narrowly defined: restored access for Irish dairy to Chinese markets, concrete business deals for Irish tech and pharma, deeper cultural and educational exchange. For Beijing, success involves peeling away EU cohesion and demonstrating that bilateral ties with individual member states can be deepened even as relations with Brussels are frayed.

Failure, however, could be equally stark: more tariffs, continued probes into goods, and headlines suggesting Ireland has chosen profit over principle. That binary is too crude; in reality, the middle ground is where diplomacy does its messy work.

Questions to carry home

As the Taoiseach’s plane crosses time zones, consider this: what should small open economies prioritize when the world’s great powers tilt and test the rules? How do you keep markets open without eroding values? And can cultural exchange and trade be instruments of trust in an age of suspicion?

“History tells us that engagement has its risks and rewards,” said Byrne. “But silence is not a policy. Visits like this are opportunities — not guarantees. The job of a small country is to be pragmatic, principled and persistent.”

So take a moment to picture the scene: an Irish leader greeting a Chinese premier beneath ornate ceilings; an Irish cheesemaker watching markets nervously; a Shanghai teahouse smelling of jasmine and possibility. In those small, vivid details we find the human rhythms that make geopolitics more than just an abstract chess match. They make it a story about people trying to navigate a world that is changing faster than any of us would prefer.

Donald Trump declares the U.S. ‘will take charge of’ Venezuela

hanad

January 3, 2026

Donald Trump says US 'will run' Venezuela

“We will run Venezuela”: What a Single Sentence Reveals About Power, Politics and the Human Cost

When a leading U.S. politician declared, almost offhand, that “we will run Venezuela,” the words landed like a stone in a still pond — concentric circles of alarm, disbelief and weary resignation spreading out across continents.

It was not just a slogan. It was a provocation with history tangled in it: echoes of past interventions, the shadow of the Monroe Doctrine, the hum of satellite feeds and social timelines. But beyond the geopolitics, those four words carried a human weight — for the millions who fled Venezuela’s collapsing economy, for the families still in Caracas waiting for medicine and light, and for entire neighborhoods in Miami and Bogotá where Venezuelan voices now mix with local rhythms.

Scenes and Voices: From Caracas to Miami

At a café in eastern Caracas, a teacher named Rosa stirred her coffee slowly and said, “We have lived with foreign threats for years. But what really scares me is the idea of being decided for. We want our future to be Venezuelan-made.” Her eyes, steady as the cracked tile floor, held both fatigue and defiance.

In a crowded living room in Hialeah, Florida, Jose — who arrived four years ago — watched the clip on a neighbor’s phone and laughed bitterly. “They talk about running our country as if it were a property they could manage,” he said. “Hasn’t anyone learned anything? When outsiders try to ‘fix’ things, it’s our people who pay.”

These reactions — cynicism, fear, a bitter humor that coats many immigrant conversations — are visible across the hemisphere. In Bogotá, a bakery owner who took in relatives from Maracaibo described how conversations in his shop turned political and personal within minutes. “We want stability, yes, but also dignity,” he told me. “Many of us fled not because someone else failed, but because the system collapsed. We don’t want someone else to be in charge of our living rooms or our hearts.”

Context and Reality: A Nation in Crisis

To understand why a statement about “running” Venezuela triggers such a response, you have to look at the scale of the country’s collapse. Over the past decade, Venezuela’s economy contracted catastrophically. Estimates from international organizations place the GDP decline at roughly two-thirds since the early 2010s, and hyperinflation devastated savings and salaries, driving millions to seek safety and opportunity abroad.

Today, more than seven million Venezuelans live outside their country — one of the largest displacement crises globally in recent memory. Hospitals struggle for basic supplies; power outages and shortages of water remain common in many regions. Sanctions, domestic mismanagement and fluctuating oil prices created a perfect storm that transformed a once resource-rich nation into a deeply impoverished society.

Against this backdrop, the idea that an external actor could merely “run” Venezuela feels less like strategy and more like erasure to those who remember better days.

International Law, Sovereignty and the Limits of Power

On paper, international law is clear: sovereign nations are not playgrounds for foreign administrations. The UN Charter emphasizes non-intervention, and post-World War II norms generally prohibit direct occupation or governance without consent. In practice, though, power politics has often blurred those lines.

A veteran foreign policy analyst I spoke with — who has spent decades working on Latin America — framed the debate this way: “There are legal mechanisms and there is the reality of power. Saying ‘we will run’ a country crosses a boundary. It invites questions about occupation, legitimacy, and ultimately, about whose consent matters.”

Historical Echoes

Latin America has long memories. The 20th century is littered with examples of external influence and regime change in the region: overt military interventions, covert operations, and political support for favored factions. Those memories fuel suspicion today. When a powerful country speaks of running another, older wounds reopen.

What Would “Running” Venezuela Even Look Like?

Speculative as it may be, it’s worth parsing the practicalities. Would “running” mean administration by a foreign-appointed caretaker government? Economic trusteeship? Military governance? Each option is fraught — legally risky, operationally complex, and politically combustible.

Occupation or direct administration would likely violate international law and provoke broad condemnation.
An economic trusteeship could face resistance from local institutions and requires massive oversight to prevent abuse and corruption.
Military governance would risk further destabilization and is likely the most perilous option for civilians.

Each path also raises the question: even with superior resources, can an external power fix the social and political fractures that led to the crisis? The answer, for most experts, is: not by force or fiat. Stabilization requires local buy-in, institutional rebuilding, and decades of trust-building.

Voices of the Region

Leaders in Latin America reacted with a mix of alarm and rhetorical restraint. A foreign minister from a neighboring country said, “Sovereignty is a cornerstone of our coexistence. Any hint of external governance is unacceptable. We urge dialogue and diplomacy, not declarations of control.”

Humanitarian organizations, meanwhile, warned of the risks to aid and relief operations. “Politicizing assistance turns life-saving work into bargaining chips,” an NGO director told me. “People who need medicine and clean water cannot wait for political theater to be resolved.”

Broader Themes: Power, Populism and the Global Order

So why does a phrase like “we will run Venezuela” keep surfacing in political rhetoric? Part of it is domestic: strong, decisive language plays well for certain voter blocs who favor clear solutions over nuance. Part of it is historical: great powers have long flirted with the idea that their governance could solve foreign problems. And part of it is the deeply human tendency to look for simple answers to complex problems.

But the dangerous fallacy is to equate capacity with legitimacy. Running a country isn’t like running a corporation, and governance imposed from outside rarely produces durable peace. The global lesson is clear: power without legitimacy — even when clothed in promises of efficiency — often produces long-term instability.

What Should We Ask Ourselves?

As you read these lines, consider this — what kind of global order do we want to live in? One where might makes right, or one where consensual governance, even messy and slow, is the norm? How do we balance the urgent need to alleviate suffering with respect for national self-determination?

And for those of us far from Venezuela, there’s a moral question: when does intervention to prevent human suffering become another form of harm? The answers are rarely tidy.

Conclusion: A Call for Humility and Humanity

Language matters. When leaders speak of “running” another nation, they are not merely outlining policy; they are casting a vision of who holds power and who does not. For Venezuelans — those who stayed, those who left, and those working in exile — such talk can feel like a reopening of old wounds.

What the moment really needs is not bravado, but humility: a recognition that sustainable recovery requires local agency, years of investment in institutions, and international cooperation guided by law and respect. The hemisphere’s future will not be written by one speech, one administration, or one bold phrase. It will be forged in clinics and classrooms, in municipal councils and market squares, in countless small acts of repair.

Will the world learn from the past, or repeat it? That question is no longer rhetorical — it is urgent, and it is ours to answer.

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