Life is short, but it turns out to be long enough to waste a lot of time in conversations with fellow human beings who, let’s say, are not thinking things through. Here are some telltale utterances I have noted over the years that indicate it is probably time to end the talk with a smile and a thank you. Most of these are political, but they can come up in many contexts.

Please feel free to add in the comments any telltale signs you have noticed and I omitted.

1) “Politicians are all the same.”

This one takes about five seconds of not very deep thought to throw out the window. Is JD Vance really just like Kamala Harris? Donald Trump like Pete Buttigieg? Boris Johnson is Angela Merkel’s twin? Et cetera, et cetera. Politicians are actually a very diverse bunch, with diverse and often conflicting motives, interests, visions and styles. If your guy can’t see this, smile, say thank you and walk.

2) “It’s all about the money.”

Though Donald Trump may eventually prove me wrong, in my experience, very little in life is actually all about and only about the money. (Any couple who has ever discussed a real estate decision knows this.) Many factors go into a decision - recognition, convenience, fear, ambition, envy, glory, charity, dreams, jealousy, love, competitiveness, laziness, covetousness - to name just a few. This is true whether it is a business investment, politics, home life, ethics (yes, ethics), whatever.

In politics, where this is usually applied, money certainly talks. But money will take you only so far – you still have to win an election by getting the most votes, not the most money. If it were only about the money, Hillary Rodham Clinton and Harris would have won in 2016 and 2024, or Michael Bloomberg in 2020.

3) “I always say what I think.”

No, you don’t. Nobody does. You wouldn’t last a minute in any job, marriage, friendship or meaningful relationship or social situation if you did. To the contrary, if you have a modicum of intelligence, you filter your thoughts and express those that will get you the outcome you desire. In fact, probably, the smarter you are, the more you do this.

4) “I’m entitled to my opinion.”

In a political context, this one is usually said by someone who believes 9/11 was an inside job, Obama was born in Kenya and the United States is run by a ring of Democrat sodomite pedophiles operating out of a pizzeria. Yes, you are entitled to an opinion - when it is based on facts. You are not entitled to make shit up and repeat it as truth.

Likewise, if your partner says this to you when you’re discussing the movie you just saw, it is probably time to shut up. (See point 3 above.)

5) “The media are biased/all liars”

A variation on this is “I don’t believe anything I see/read in the media.”

OK, let’s break this one down. Who won the World Cup? Ok. And how do you know that?

So there’s at least one thing we got from the media that we believe.

But mostly, what people really mean when they say this is, “I don’t recognize my views in most of the media I watch.” In the U.S., from the MAGA side of the political spectrum it is “The lamestream media are corrupt.”

Yes, media are biased. But the “the media” is not a monolith, any more than the politicians are. They certainly have some traits in common – they simplify, sensationalize, sometimes exaggerate, or omit. At their very best, they are an imperfect reflection of reality, or just the day’s events. But that is where discernment comes in. Is Fox News the same as MS Now? Are the BBC and Sky identical? El País and El Español? the same?

The real issue, though, is: Can you tell the difference between fact and opinion? Reporting and spin? If you can’t, learn how. That is discernment.

6) “All politicians lie.”

This is a variation of the first point. While it is probably true (given that all people lie), it will usually be deployed to deflect – that is, yeah, my guy made that up, but everybody does that. Well, not really. There are mistakes, there is context (statecraft requires a degree of dissimulation), there are fibs, and there are whoppers, stuff your guy just made up. And then there are conspiracy theories, disinformation and false accusations. Again, discernment is key here.

7) “I don’t trust anyone.”

Have you been tested for clinical paranoia? Seriously, anyone who says this cannot be trusted. How can you trust someone who does not trust?

Funnily enough, in Spain, where I live, distrust is often equated with intelligence. There are dozens of “refranes” – the commonplaces which often substitute for thought in Spanish conversation – to reinforce the association. The effect, at least as a foreigner, is the opposite. When you think about it, “I don’t trust anybody” is not a very smart thing to say.

Since the two massive back-to-back earthquakes devastated large swathes of La Guaira and other towns last week, another seismic event has been brewing in Venezuela.

Defying orders from the White House, María Corina Machado, the leader of the opposition to Venezuela’s puppet regime, has vowed she will return to be with the Venezuelan people in this moment of mourning and to help them recover.

In videos recorded this week from Panama, Machado chided the government of Delcy Rodríguez for briefly closing down Venezuelan airspace to prevent her return. How Machado plans to return is uncertain, but an incognito entry may be the only option. Venezuela has long land borders with Colombia, Brazil and Guyana and is separated from Trinidad and Tobago by a seven-mile strait, the Serpent’s Mouth. The possibilities are there.

Machado has been outside of Venezuela since December 2025, when she escaped house arrest to travel to Oslo to receive the Nobel Peace Prize. She was awarded the prize for leading Venezuela’s democratic opposition to victory in the 2024 elections, which were overturned by dictator Nicolás Maduro.

Donald Trump and Rodríguez want to keep Machado out of Venezuela for the same reason: her presence would electrify and provide hope to the Venezuelan people. While delighted that Trump removed Maduro from the country, most Venezuelans – opinion polls say 89% - are deeply dismayed by his installation of Rodríguez, Maduro’s vice president, as a supposedly transitional successor. Impatience was mounting even before the earthquakes added grief, anger and frustration with the slow, sometimes obstructionist, response of Rodriguez’s government.

Since extracting Maduro in January, the Trump Administration has prioritized stability and business deals over democracy. In his initial press conference confirming Maduro’s capture, Trump mentioned the word “oil” 19 times, but “democracy” did not pass his lips. He sees only natural resources and income streams to be developed.

Between the greed and knavery of the Trump Administration and the corruption of the failed Chavista regime, it’s difficult to see how these deals and investments will help the Venezuelan people. Most likely, the contracts now being signed with the illegitimate government in Caracas are merely sowing the seeds of lawsuits that will take years, possibly decades, to unravel.

The U.S. government itself has seized control of the sale of Venezuelan oil. It has yet to provide an account of where the revenues have gone. According to Venezuelan economist Ricardo Hausmann – in an article titled “The Rape of Venezuela” - operational decisions about Venezuela’s oil industry are being taken in the Trump White House. Reports abound that anyone wishing to do business in Venezuela must first be cleared by Mauricio Clavel-Carone, the Florida lawyer and friend of Marco Rubio whom Trump has made his Venezuelan “viceroy.”

This is what Donald Trump is determined to protect from democracy: A quickly developing ecosystem of corruption and cronyism with a vested interest in continued autocratic rule and secrecy.

It won’t work. As I wrote in January, Venezuela will be a democracy, whether Trump likes it or not. After trying to align with Trump – even making the unfortunate gesture of handing him her Nobel Prize medal - Machado is right to blow up the status quo. The pretense that an unpredictable army or security forces could react violently to her return are just that, pretense. At this stage, the army and security forces will do whatever the U.S. tells them to do.

As Venezuelans continued to dig to rescue their families, friends and neighbors from the rubble, The New York Times reported this week that Machado’s possible return has “stoked intense discussions” within the Rodríguez government about how to respond. The Wall Street Journal has reported on divisions among Trump advisors, with Rubio said to be sympathetic to Machado’s return but others opposed, leading to conflicting signals. According to the Journal, Trump has told Rodríguez not to interfere if Machado returns. If they want to remain on the winning side in Venezuela, Trump and Rubio would be wise to drop any remaining opposition to Machado’s return and to advise Rodríguez to do the same.

María Corina Machado is a Venezuelan citizen with as much right to be in her country as any Venezuelan. She is not the leader of a paramilitary force or revolutionary army. Nor is she a proponent of civil violence. She is the leader of the peaceful democratic opposition. Her main position is that elections should be held as soon as possible.

This is not about class warfare among Venezuelans or any of the other smokescreens the Rodríguez government will try to deploy. This is about whether or not Venezuelans will have a say in their country’s future.

Earthquakes rarely happen in isolation. Venezuela has suffered several tremors since the devastation of June 24. Regardless of how the return of María Corina Machado to her country plays out, the fragile foundations of Trump’s delusional neocolonial plans for Venezuela have also been shaken.

Note to readers: I lived in Caracas for two years as a young reporter. See my previous post for more background.

It’s been a long, uneven process, sometimes going slowly, sometimes very quickly. First there was a more local, gradual type of gentrification; later came the very different, turbocharged international variety. The direction of travel has been clear for some time. My neighborhood in Madrid, Justicia, where I have lived for 24 years, has become part of what I call “international-land,” a small, foreign-accented enclave within what used to be a very Spanish city.

When I walk on the streets, I hear English being spoken some good percentage of the time. It is not just the expats; I often hear it being spoken by chic young Spaniards in a mixed group, something I don’t recall seeing 20 or even 10 years ago. Many of the young people look like they have walked directly out of a social media feed – groomed, styled and ready to be photographed. Indeed, I see them taking the shots, filming the reels at all hours of the day.

Butchers, fruit stores, small groceries and even the tiny, one-slip auto mechanic have been replaced by jewellery stores, galleries, wine shops. Nearly all the traditional Spanish restaurants, bars and tavernas have disappeared. The menus in the new restaurants, the clothes and other goods in the shops, are tailored to well-heeled international tastes and styles. They are priced well out of reach of 90% of Spaniards.

This change is not a bad thing for me. I am comfortable with the international vibe; as a journalist, I have lived in “international-land” for much of my adult life. I can afford most of the shops and restaurants. My apartment is worth nearly three times what I paid for it 12 years ago.

But it is potentially not good news for Spain. Some areas of Madrid have always been exclusive, but they were not “another country.” Since the industrial revolution, the divide between city and countryside has always been visible if one cared to look, but it seems to have profoundly deepened in many places. If wide swathes of the largest cities become inaccessible or “foreign” to much of the population, especially the young, that divide becomes a source of envy, resentment, and bitter, self-destructive politics.

There is nothing new in this wave in Madrid. The influx of people, investment and styles from abroad has been going on for more than a decade. In the last five to ten years, it noticeably accelerated as rich Latin Americans, seeking insurance against leftist governments in Mexico, Venezuela, Colombia, Peru and Chile, set up second homes or moved here for the duration. They’ve been joined by many Americans seeking respite from Trump’s United States.

Partly as a result of this influx, and partly because of restrictive housing development policies, most young Spaniards have been priced out of housing in the city. As the trend continues, the divide will grow.

The most similar example that comes to mind is Britain. I lived in London in the 1990s, when Tony Blair’s “Cool Britannia” generated much of the same type of media hype and magnetic pull that is now focused on Madrid. I lived in the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea, in an area sometimes called “The Ghetto” because of the concentration of well-to-do expats. I worked in a newsroom with at least a dozen nationalities and socialized mainly with non-Brits. I was deep in international-land. Madrid gives off a very similar feel now.

What was happening at the time in Britain is clearer in retrospect. The industrial midlands and north withered in the post-Thatcher years. The proportion of wealth and economic weight of London grew as it became the financial capital of Europe. In 1980, London accounted for about 17% of the country’s GDP; by 2025, that had grown to 23%, according to House of Commons research. (The same figures for Madrid were 14% and 20%.) In 2016, the disenchanted regions outside of London voted for Brexit, to “take back control,” while London remained firmly in the “Remain” camp. That referendum was a watershed, setting off a sea-change in British politics which is still playing out: the demise of the Conservative Party, the weakening of Labour and the emergence of two new, former fringe forces, national-populist Reform of Nigel Farage and the Greens.

In his 2017 book, “The Road to Somewhere,” the British journalist and commentator David Goodhart sorted people into three prototypes: “Somewheres,” “Anywheres” and “Inbetweeners.” “Somewheres” are those with a strong connection to a specific place or community. “Anywheres,” usually urban, socially liberal and well educated, are those with skills and proclivities that enable them to live and thrive anywhere. They are generally less concerned with the well-being of their place of residence precisely because if things go south, they can always move. The “Anywheres,” Goodhart argued, had come to dominate in Britain but were losing their grip.

Wresting government back from the “Anywheres” may not be a bad thing, but the politics of division have left the U.K. worse off than it would have otherwise been. A recent paper by the National Bureau of Economic Research concluded that Britain’s GDP is between 6% and 8% lower than it would have been without Brexit.

To be clear, I wouldn’t want to see the change in Justicia reversed. The first time I saw the neighborhood was in 1990, years before I moved here, when I came to a friend’s wedding in the striking neo-classical local church, Santa Bárbara. Walking to the church that morning, I saw discarded needles in derelict doorways, unkempt buildings, litter and the occasional addict sleeping off his Friday night. That had mostly been cleaned up by the time I moved in, in 2002, though there was still some residual male prostitution on a Saturday night.

Moreover, my neighborhood is an extreme example. There are still many barrios in Madrid that are barely affected by the recent internationalization. For those who want a more authentic Spanish experience, it is available.

Also, what’s happened in my neighborhood is related to - but different from - that other modern-day plague, mass tourism. The international gentrification I describe is residential, not tourism. London’s “international-land” existed long before mass tourism had made many public spaces in that city unwalkable and inauthentic. Mass tourism long ago transformed Barcelona into an adult amusement park, more akin to Eurodisney than to other Spanish cities. In Madrid, except for the crowds around some of the most popular sights, this is not happening with the same scale or visibility as in Barcelona or some other world tourism capitals. It is not the case of my neighborhood.

A quarter-century ago, Madrid was not a very exciting city. Most shops closed at midday and from noon on Saturday until Monday morning, making for boring weekends. The culinary offering was, let’s say, homogenous. Waiters were surly. It had its touches of elegance, but there was little trendy about it. Old-fashioned and traditional would be more apt descriptions.

That has changed, for the better. There is variety, the cultural offering is considered among the best in Europe (or the world), the buzz is palpable. But the emergence of a new divide within Spanish society and politics, between the “Somewheres” and “Anywheres,” can only add to the polarization and division that already poison Spain’s body politic. If history is any guide, the seeds of future political and social strife may already be planted in my small international enclave in Madrid.

There are many possible takeaways from King Charles’s visit to Washington last month. The speech to Congress in which he wryly reminded America’s elected representatives why they had broken away from his ancestor’s realm. The residual American deference to royalty, especially British royalty. How Charles and Camilla outclassed the 47^th President of the United States and the First Lady in every possible way.

It turns out that kings aren’t so bad after all, at least not in the early 21st Century. That is why I think this is a good moment for the “No Kings” movement to change its name. My first choice would be “No Tyrants,” but “No Dictators” would do in a pinch.

I am American, but as an adult I have lived in three kingdoms - Spain, Britain and Belgium – and become a citizen of one of them, Britain. In its modern form, there is much to be said for constitutional monarchy. It provides a certain anchor in society, a sense of continuity and national purpose. When it works well, it can provide a conscience and moral center sometimes lacking in democratic politics. I do not think it is a coincidence that Europe’s constitutional monarchies have so far been more resistant to national-populism than non-monarchical states such as Poland and Hungary, which fell under the sway of cynical demogogues.

As democracies, constitutional monarchies are not perfect, of course. They are susceptible to the same type of mismangement, political gridlock and even corruption as their non-monarchical neighbors. Royal houses are not immune to scandal or political missteps. They seem to have a propensity for sexual pecadilloes. But in each country I have lived in, the monarchy has been a force for humane, enlightened values.

***

The royal road to democracy in Spain
Spain is the most vivid example of the relevance and impact a monarch can have in modern times. Following the death in 1975 of the strongman Francisco Franco after a 39-year reign, his chosen successor was Juan Carlos de Borbón, grandson of Spain’s last king, Alfonso XIII, who had voluntarily fled the country in 1931.

Juan Carlos I was crowned two days after Franco’s death. Under the terms of a pact between Franco and his father, Juan Carlos had been educated by Franco from the age of 11. He attended military schools and held the title “Prince of Spain.” Many expected him to govern Spain in a similar manner to Franco, relying on support from the military, the Church and Spain’s conservative elites to reign.

Juan Carlos had other ideas. Together with Adolfo Suárez, a former Franco minister, he deftly guided Spain toward becoming a democratic constitutional monarchy, deploying his monarchical authority to overcome resistance from hard-line franquistas.

His goal was achieved in 1978, three years after Franco’s death, when Spanairds voted overwhelmingly in favor of a constitution that made the King the Head of State and empowered the democratically-elected parliament to name the Head of Government. When revanchist military officers mounted an anti-democratic coup attempt in 1981, Juan Carlos ordered them to stand down, ending the challenge to Spain’s new democracy.

For Spain to be democratic seems obvious and natural today. It was nothing of the sort in 1975. The King made it that way.

After a popular 39-year reign, Juan Carlos abdicated in 2014 in favor of his son, Felipe, in the midst of a scandal that involved an elephant-hunting trip in Botswana, a vengeful ex mistress, tax evasion, possible commissions from Spanish companies and other unseemly monkey business. His legacy, however, will be that he guided Spain to democracy.

His more discreet son, now Felipe VI, is not immune to controversy for occasionally weighing into matters of state, especially Catalonia’s unconstitutional 2017 push for independence. But he is committed, earnest and dignified. (Being six feet and six inches tall and thin as a rail helps on the regal bearing front.) When he went with Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez to visit a neighborhood devastated by deadly flash floods in 2024, survivors pelted them with mud. Sánchez fled, escorted into his SUV behind a phalanx of bodyguards. Felipe and his queen, Letizia, stayed for several hours to console victims, their faces splattered with mud.

***

In the UK, governments fall, the monarchy reigns
The British monarchy is living a surprisingly good moment. Surprising because for much of his mother’s reign, Charles was regarded in Britain as an insipid drip, not very bright and prone to whining about his lot as heir for life, unable to fulfill his destiny until his mother would pass away. One of his butlers once revealed that Charles had his staff apply his toothpaste to his toothbrush. He spurned the gorgeous, dazzling, beloved Diana for the dowdy, po-faced Camilla, thus starring in a royal scandal that ran for years. He was seen as cold and distant after Diana’s death. His style and tendency to introspection in interviews contrasted with his mother’s seemingly selfless devotion to duty and her country.

Much of that seems to have been forgotten. As king, Charles has been remarkably self-assured, good-humored and disciplined. He took quick action when his brother was found to be more deeply involved with Jeffrey Epstein than he had previously let on, stripping the former Prince Andrew of his titles and privileges. According to polls, about 60% of Britons think the monarchy is good for the country and less than 25% would like to see it gone.

Charles’s approval rating is also about 60%, with 34% having a negative view, for a net +26% favorability score. By contrast, Labour Party Prime Minister Keir Starmer - facing a rebellion from his own ranks - has a -48% net approval rating, Reform UK leader Nigel Farage is at -39% and Conservative Party leader Kemi Badenoch at -25%. British politicians today are not well regarded.

Importantly, Prince William is even more popular than his father, with about 75% giving him a thumb’s up, boding well for the future of the monarchy.

The British monarchy is also viewed favorably in the 15 Commonwealth nations where the British sovereign is still the Head of State. Those include Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Jamaica, Belize and other island nations in the Caribbean and Pacific. They are all democracies.

Constitutional monarchy has roots in many places, but the ever-evolving British version is what the American founders were most familiar with when they declared independence and drafted the Constitution. They didn’t like the way they were being ruled, but the two houses of Congress and the powers ascribed to it, the independent judiciary, the Bill of Rights were variations on a theme that was first tried in London.

***

Keeping it together in Belgium
The Kingdom of Belgium was founded in 1830 after the southern, Catholic provinces of the Netherlands rebelled against their Protestant Dutch king, William I. Britain and Prussia supported the creation of a new country, which they thought could be a useful buffer state to help box in France. However, Belgium’s northern half spoke Flemish, a dialect of Dutch, while the south spoke French, a linguistic divide that persists – often bitterly - to this day.

When Belgium was founded, the new country’s parliament decided it would be a constitutional monarchy, and then set out to find a king. After offering the job to a French duke, who declined, in 1831 parliament named Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha as “King of the Belgians.” Leopold’s son, Leopold II, went on to conquer, rule and pillage what is today the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Rwanda and Burundi in a way that has become the textbook example of European colonial cruelty, immortalized in Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness.

Later, Leopold III, as Head of State and head of the armed forces, in 1940 surrendered the Belgian Army to Nazi Germany. However, rather than flee with his ministers to form a government-in-exile in London, he chose to remain and was held prisoner for the duration of World War II. His decision was divisive and caused a political crisis after the war. To help resolve it, in 1950 he abdicated in favor of his son, Baudoin.

He was the right king for his times. He was low-key and low-profile; his modest grooming and demeaner suggested a distinguished university professor more than a monarch and helped heal the country’s rifts. He was criticized in the early 1960s for having known of plots to assassinate Congolese leader Patrice Lumumba and not having stepped in – a scandal that resurfaced in the 2000s when Belgium accepted responsibility for the killing and Lumumba’s family subsequently sued. A devout Catholic, in 1990, he refused to assent to a bill to legalize abortion. The government came up with a very Belgian solution under which it would declare him unable to reign for 36 hours, pass the legislation into law, and then declare him fit to reign again.

Baudoin was king when I moved to Belgium in 1989. Whatever his controversies, I never heard an ill word spoken of Baudoin – not something I can say for the other monarchs under whom I have lived. His long, popular reign is part of the reason Belgium’s royal house has survived the country’s divisions – and that the divided country remains united. As one journalist once told me of Baudoin, “He’s not the only thing holding the country together, but he is an important part of it.”

Baudoin died suddenly in 1993. He was succeeded by his brother, Albert II, who reigned mostly uneventfully. He abdicated in 2013 in the midst of a paternity suit by Delphine Boel, who was eventually recognized. Albert’s son, Phillipe, is now king. Despite its divisions, Belgium remains a democracy, now reigned over by Baudoin’s nephew, Philippe.

When I lived there, I sometimes heard it remarked that Belgium had only three truly national institutions – the armed forces, the social security system and the monarchy. Symbols of unity can be useful in divided societies.

***

The U.S. challenge is not a would-be king but an autocratic bully
The challenge in the U.S. is not that Donald Trump is trying to become a king; it is that he is an autocrat. The historical figures he most resembles are not those kings and czars who inherited thrones and went on to rule unwisely, but the performative strongmen who bluffed, bullied and bulldozed their way to power in what had been democracies: Putin, Orbán, Mussolini, Hitler, among others.

I admire the “No Kings” movement and its goals. And to be clear, I am not arguing in favor of an American monarchy. I am as aware as anyone that our national narrative involves breaking away from a tyrannical and abusive king, which is surely why the “No Kings” founders chose the name. But our more recent struggles have been against totalitarian and autocratic dictators, not usurping kings. And our most urgent challenge now is that we have an autocrat, a would-be tyrant, in the White House right now. I say call it “No Tyrants.”

Like most Americans of my generation and outlook, I have spent the last year and a half living with a soul-crushing sense of existential angst about the fate of my country. It has been painful and intense to watch the 47^th President of the United States assume the powers of an autocrat, aided and abetted by his party in Congress and by the Supreme Court, with little to no visible, effective opposition.

The looming question through it all has been: Was that it? Are we done with our 250-year-old experiment with constitutional democracy? Are we headed unstoppably on a path to oligarchic authoritarianism?

If you asked me in January, I might have answered that it is certainly the direction of travel. Perhaps not inevitable, but it was the path we were on.

This month, however, for the first time in a long time, the answer is “no,” it is not going to happen. They are not going to pull it off. Trump and his coterie are mean-spirited, ambitious and greedy, but they are also incompetent, fractious and pathetic. That appears to be finally catching up with them.

Dazed and confused by the first 100 days
The first year of Trump 2.0 met my worst expectations. Books will be written about the many depredations the second Trump presidency committed, so I will just describe the first 12 months as a daily assault on the senses as the Trump Syndicate ran roughshod over the nation’s government and social contract. It seemed there was no way to stop them: one morning they were disbanding the U.S. Agency for International Development, that afternoon sacking the Inspectors General, then spitefully berating President Vlodymyr Zelensky on live television in the Oval Office, or rounding up dark-skinned Venezuelans who happened to sport tattoos to deport them to a foreign concentration camp ….That barrage created a sense of inevitablity and helplessness.

With a supine Republican majority in Congress and Democratic leadership unable to rise to the moment, the system of checks and balances that was supposed to brake (and break) this type of abuse of power was shown to be fragile and ineffective. The courts, too, appeared to be unable to respond adequately. Even when the courts did act, the Supreme Court seemed all too willing to tilt the scales back in the Trump Administration’s favor.

The change that enables me to have hope this month started slowly in the autumn. Frustrated by the Trump about-face on releasing the Epstein files, a small handful of Republican congressmen and congresswomen found their backbones. They began to challenge the President and voted with Democrats to release the files. Other fissures started to appear in the Make American Great Again coalition, over Israel and over (of all things) how to respond to neo-Nazism within the party. The seven-week government shutdown was unpopular. The Democrats won big in the November off-year elections. The Republican majority in the Indiana legislature voted against a Trump-backed gerrymander. Trump’s physical and mental decline were on display for anyone who cared to notice.

Gradually, then suddenly
The unravelling picked up speed in the new year. The capture and extraction of Nicolás Maduro in Venezuela could be chalked up as a victory, no doubt. But that was more than offset by the embarrassing but deadly serious Greenland episode, the brutal and lethal DHS assault on Minneapolis, the Supreme Court’s 7-2 ruling against Trump’s tariffs. More recently. there were the firings of Kristi Noem and Pam Bondi. The debacle in the Gulf has further fragmented the MAGA coalition and is highly unpopular beyond MAGA. Inflation is picking up again. The defeat of Viktor Orbán in Hungary reminds us that there is nothing inevitable about a national-populist autocracy.

Perhaps most importantly, with his stream of venomous, acid-trippy tweets and incoherent press briefings, there is a growing consensus that Trump is unwell, many say unfit to serve. His bizarre trolling of the Pope only adds to that impression.

In short, Trump is out of the picture in the foreseeable future. He may make it to January 20, 2029, as removal from office via impeachment or the 25^th Amendment is very difficult. But were he a more conventional president, we’d say he is already a lame duck; as it is Trump, let’s say Dorothy threw a bucket of water on hm.

He is in no condition to conspire and execute a second January 6 or similar action to seize power and seal his despotism. He is melting before our eyes. The MAGA movement knows this and will act accordingly by plotting against one another and splitting into factions. Foreign leaders are suddenly able to say “no” to him. Members of his Administration may continue to show obeisance to Trump, tell the Emperor his new clothes look great, but at some point even that may change.

Government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish
Where does this leave the prospects for American democracy? Assuming we make it through the November mid-terms, surprisingly not so bad. The would-be autocrats who would need to carry on the hard-right’s vision of perpetual rule are not up to the task of leading an all-out assault on democracy.

Vice President JD Vance’s tech bro oligarch backers may urge him to try to continue on the Trump path to tyranny, but he probably does not have it in him. Until the first Trump presidency, he was a fairly sane and normal person, a graduate of Yale Law School and was self-aware enough to write “Hillbilly Elegy.” Despite his MAGA posturing, and unlike Trump, he knows better.

Though he has made his pact with Trump and MAGA, Marco Rubio is not of the clan. He has been shameless in becoming a whitewashing mouthpiece for the Trump Syndicate, but nothing about him suggests he is a despot in the making.

That leaves Stephen Miller, the creepy, dead-eyed White House adviser who is said to run anti-immigration policy and to have a hand in everything else, including military decisions. But with all the charisma of Mr. Potato Head, Miller could not get a herd of domesticated sheep to follow him.

This does not mean the next 30 months will be easy or painless. Trump still has too much power, as the misadventure in Iran underlines. As removal from office is only a very remote possibility, he will likely continue with his daily reality show governance, lurching from one attention-grabbing episode to the next. The unravelling of American world leadership, already well under way, will continue. The NATO alliance may not survive. He will almost certainly attempt to meddle in the 2026 mid-term elections, but probably without much impact. He will continue to degrade civic and political life in the U.S., but with the end in sight, it will be more bearable.

The repair work to be done, the reform and rebirth that the post-Trump moment will call for, will be difficult. Still, for the first time in more than a year, I can say to myself, “Yes, we will get there.”

We don’t know what a final ceasefire in the Gulf might look like but it seems fairly certain that Iran’s position in the region has been strengthened. At the same time, U.S.’s future role there is uncertain. With all humility and recognition of my limited first-hand knowledge of the region, here is some inexpert crystal-ball gazing about the aftermath of the U.S.-Israeli misadventure in the region.

First, were I in Iran’s shoes, I would be negotiating intensely with Saudi Arabia, UAE, Bahrain, Qatar, Kuwait, Bahrain, on a new security architecture for the region that either excludes or cuts the U.S. presence down to a symbolic outpost or two.

The U.S. presence in the region was for decades an effective deterrent to Iran or anyone else who would seek to stir things up. The U.S. provided security for the young, weak, oil-rich Gulf states and, supposedly, safegaurded the Strait of Hormuz. From the U.S. point of view, its military presence enhanced its global strategic leverage and provided certain commercial and economic benefits. China could live with it, as long as oil flowed reliably, and couldn’t really do anything about it anyway. Russia couldn’t do anything about it either. Israel was obviously pleased.

Da guys wit’ da most muscle
All that no longer applies. Trump repositioned the U.S. as the strongest family in da neighborhood, da guys wit’ da most muscle, not as the guardian of a rules-based international order. The problem with his might-is-right world is that when you lose, you are no longer right. The conflict with Iran has laid bare the limits to U.S. power, shown that the U.S. is not a reliable source of protection or stability. Not only was the U.S. unable to keep the Strait open, its bases in Gulf countries become magnets for Iranian attacks. If you are Saudi, Qatar, UAE, Kuwait, etc., this must now be abundantly clear. If it isn’t, Iran is likely pointing it out to you.

Saudi Arabia in particular has all its eggs in the U.S. basket, where the base-case scenario is for alternation every four or eight years between Biden-like complacency and Trumpian madness. Add to that Trump’s comments that Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman has been “kissing my ass” and you can understand why this may be the moment for a rethink – including a rapprochement with Iran.

Iran needs to rebuild, Gulf states have the money
Now that the U.S. has found an off-ramp from the Iran conflict and can be expected to wind down its wartime presence, Iran is going to need investment and access to markets to rebuild and prosper. The Gulf states have the money. As part of a negotiated ceasefire, the U.S. can be expected to lift sanctions on Iran. If there is money to be made in rebuilding Iran, Europe will want to participate and China will be at the ready.

Moreover, the Sunni-Shia schism that has been the dividing line in a civil war within Islam since the fall of the last caliphate is not the suppurating wound that it once was. Through Chinese mediation, Saudi Arabia and Iran restored diplomatic relations three years ago. The UAE is Iran’s financial center. Qatar shares a gas field and takes Iran’s side in regional disputes. Iraq is in Iran’s sphere of influence following the U.S. intervention there. Proxy armies are not as active and disruptive as they were 12 years ago.

This all sets the stage for the U.S. to be squeezed out of the region. It may take a while – the current security architecture has been in place for more than 40 years - but it will be the direction of travel. The easiest way to make it happen is for Saudi, Qatar, UAE and the others who are prone to such activities to bribe Trump to withdraw. (I say this only half-jokingly, alas.) That can be through transparent business deals like Trump Resorts or more investment in Trump-led crypto Ponzi schemes - whatever. But Iran will want - not unreasonably - the U.S. bases out or effectively neutralized.

More China, less U.S. in the region
Of course, Israel won’t like this and will try to sabotage it. Israel’s problem, however, is that its reputation in the U.S. is all but shot. Under Netanyahu, it has become a source of deep, bitter division on both sides of the U.S. political spectrum, which will limit its ability to sway U.S. policy. The Gulf states liked Israel as a counterweight to Iran, but in the new security architecture, they won’t need that.

This is not as far-fetched as it may sound. In a recent article published by The Atlantic Council, Abram Paley, U.S. Deputy Special Envoy for Iran with decades of Foreign Service experience in the Gulf, wrote that “…the Trump administration should not underestimate Gulf countries’ ability to use [their channels to Iran] to take steps with Iran that might undercut US interests and long-term goals if Washington is unable to find a suitable off-ramp that serves Gulf Cooperation Council interests. Similarly, Iran might try to take advantage of its relationships with China, Russia, and the GCC in ways that run counter to US interests….”

In any scenario, China can be expected to rachet up its presence in the region. I would, if I were China. It already has a base in Djibouti and controls the port of Gwadar in Pakistan. A base in the Gulf would connect those strategic dots.

The aftermath won’t be limited to the Gulf. With no credible U.S. protective shield for Taiwan – that illusion lies sunken at the bottom of the Strait of Hormuz – the island nation will reach a political understanding with the mainland and in 20 or 25 years will be integrated.

The U.S. will likely confine itself mainly to the Western Hemisphere. Cuba will fall. Attention will turn to Colombia and Mexico. However, the attempt to run countries out of Washington will become a disaster in the medium-term and the U.S. will pull back.

Europe will rearm, with or without U.S. in NATO
Europe will continue to rearm and wean itself off the U.S., quicker and more effectively than expected. (That, in part, is because expectations are so low.) This will happen regardless of whether the Trump Administration tries to pull the U.S. out of the hollowed-out NATO alliance. Ukraine will be all but free of reliance on U.S. government intelligence and logistical support by the end of this year. And if not entirely independent, a lot less dependent than it is today.

Russia could potentially benefit. However, it is ruled by a deluded plutocrat and consists of 11 time zones of demoralized slackers. It will likely continue to growl and bare its teeth from time to time but probably isn’t in a position to truly capitalize on the U.S. setback.

Some experts diagree

As a coda, I should say I have run this outlook by two friends who have spent their lives working in the U.S. national security establishment, one a one-star general in the Army and the other a senior analyst in the Department of Defense and the National Security Agency. Neither one sees such deep repercussions; both pointed out that even after a humiliating setback, the U.S. will still be the superior power in military terms, making it a better ally to the Gulf states. The senior analyst doubted that the countries of the region could overcome the Sunni-Shia divide.

I think they are underestimating the damage to U.S. power and prestige wrought by Donald Trump. I have scheduled for us to have a call in a year’s time to see where things stand.

A sideshow of Donald Trump’s bombardment of Iran has been the spat between Washington and Madrid over the Spanish government’s open opposition to the war. Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez has called the joint U.S.-Israeli operation “illegal” and a “disaster” and has said that the large U.S. bases in Spain “are not being and will not be used” in the Iran operation. On Wednesday morning, Sánchez delivered a speech explaining in more detail his opposition and reaffirming Spain’s support for international law.

True to form, Trump lashed out at Sánchez, variously threatening to cut off trade with Spain, to impose financial sanctions or otherwise punish the insolent American ally. Later, White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt said Spain had decided to cooperate after all; Sánchez’ foreign minister denied any such agreement.

Sánchez, the longest-sitting leftist head of government in Europe, has for some time been positioning himself as leader of European opposition to Trump. He was one of the first to recognize a Palestinian state (though that came under Joe Biden’s watch); he has refused to commit to the 5% minimum on defense spending Trump demanded of NATO members; he has criticized the capture of Nicolás Maduro and said it is a mistake for the White House to try to run Venezuela. He has accused Elon Musk of “inciting hatred” and supporting “the heirs to nazism.”

Sánchez upped the ante in February when he published an article in The New York Times’ opinion section explaining his decree to create a fast track for legalizing 500,000 undocumented immigrants in Spain. He did not limit himself to defending his government’s decision. He directly criticized Trump’s anti-immigration actions.

“Some leaders have chosen to hunt down [immigrants] and deport them through operations that are both unlawful and cruel,” Sánchez wrote, as ICE was at large in the streets of Minneapolis.

“We, as Western nations, must choose between becoming closed and impoverished societies, or open and prosperous ones,” he added.

“Governments can buy into the zero-sum thinking of the far-right and retreat into isolation, scarcity, selfishness and decline. Or they can harness the very same forces that, not without difficulties, have allowed our societies to thrive for centuries.”

The contrast to Trump and MAGAs nativist white supremacy, its lawlessness and America first belligerence, couldn’t be clearer.

On the merits, Sánchez has taken a principled stand on the war on Iran, which should be welcomed. It is more consistent than Britain’s, where Prime Minister Keir Starmer has called the war “illegal” but is allowing British bases to be used for the bombardment. It is certainly bolder than the silence of German Chancellor Friedrich Merz. Some European leaders have begun to voice support for Sánchez, most notably France’s Emmanuel Macron.

The irony is, however, that this principled stance is being taken by arguably one of the most opportunistic and least principled leaders in Europe, one who has eroded democratic norms and institutions in his own country, fanned the flames of polarization and is mired in a series of sordid corruption scandals. His fragile coalition, in office but unable to truly govern after some partners withdrew support, has not passed a budget in more than three years. The country is largely running on auto-pilot, with real spending allocations frozen at 2022 levels.

Sánchez has openly criticized judicial decisions and accused the judiciary of “lawfare” in some of the corruption cases against him. He attempted to dismantle one of the investigative units that found corruption within his inner circle. He has placed unqualified loyalists in key government positions and state-controlled companies. His government has gone further than previous administrations in politicizing the public broadcaster, RTVE. Until January 3, his government remained supportive of the Maduro regime in Venezuela, preventing the European Union from adopting a more effective pro-democracy stance.

Perhaps the best illustration of Sánchez’ approach to politics was the broad amnesty he proposed for the organizers of the illegal October 2017 referendum on Catalan independence. In the national election of July 2023, Sánchez strongly and clearly rejected the notion of an amnesty, which was deeply unpopular with voters. Once the election results were in, however, his only path to power was through a pact with the same Catalan nationalists. Their price was an amnesty; Sánchez agreed, driving and even deeper rift into Spain’s polarized politics.

He has been in office for eight years, so the list of Sánchez’ betrayals and offenses is a long one.

As long as the U.S. response is limited to a few Truth Social barbs and Trumpian threats, Sánchez’ opposition to Trump is all upside in terms of domestic politics. He is blessed with a flat-footed, hapless mainstream opposition, the center-right Partido Popular, whose leader obligingly ensures his own irrelevance and invisibility by never having anything interesting to say. The more dynamic far-right Vox is managing the same dilemma as other right-wing parties in Europe when it comes to the deeply unpopular Trump – how to be aligned and, at the same time, maintain a distance. Domestically, Sánchez’ anti-Trump leadership shores hm up with his Socialist Party base and may win him swing votes from the center of the spectrum.

Predictably, Spain’s conservative and right wing media have gone apoplectic at Sánchez’ latest maneuvers, which they denounce as traitorous, craven, cowardly, cynical and dangerous for Spain. But their real fear is probably reflected in one headline announcing, “Sánchez’ ‘no’ to the war raises alarm bells over a new election.” As unpopular as he is, beleaguered by scandal, weakened by defections from his coalition, the conservative opposition dreads facing Sánchez at the polls.

In the coming weeks, we can expect Sánchez to capitalize on the international media coverage his anti-war stances are generating. As he opposes the war in Iran, he will surely also remind us that Spain is a reliable NATO ally, has troops in Lebanon, Iraq, Turkey, Latvia and Slovakia, some of them shoulder to shoulder with U.S. personnel under NATO or U.N. missions, and actively supports Ukraine in its war with Russia.

The intersection of principle and opportunity can be a good place in politics. You can dislike Sánchez, or question his motives - as many in Spain are doing - but he is right about this one. Avoiding a Donald Trump hissy fit can not be the criteria for Spain or any other nation to decide its policies and principles.

A national narrative is the story a people tells about itself, a tale that defines a nation’s character and self-image. It is rooted in history, usually loosely based on historical facts, but it is not history. History is complex and multi-faceted. The narrative does what history cannot do: it reduces the national experience to a simple and clear story.

That story can be a powerful political force, especially when it is accepted by a large majority. It can override economic self-interest, legality and sometimes common sense in national decision-making. We probably would not have seen Brexit in Britain or the Russian invasion of Ukraine without a compelling national narrative to drive those events.

The narrative is divisive if there is no consensus about the meaning and trajectory of a nation’s past. Competing national narratives – there can be more than one - can define the political divides of a nation. That is happening in the United States today.

When I was growing up in the United States (I was born in 1957), we had a clear, widely accepted national narrative. It went something like this: In 1776, a group of very wise and upright men, fed up with the tyrannical rule and unjust taxes of a distant king, signed the Declaration of Indepdence. They asserted that all men are created equal and have the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

After a conflict we called the Revolutionary War, the 13 American colonies gained their independence. They then adopted a Constitution which laid out the rights of citizens and created the first modern representative democracy, in which the people would elect leaders whose power would be restrained by the same Constitution and the checks and balances it contains.

Once that was done, a great nation was born. Human progress, which had been inching along prior to 1776, accelerated exponentially. There were of course some bumps in the road – slavery and the Civil War that was fought to abolish it, for example,. But the direction of travel was clear. The principles of the founders – equality before the law, individual freedom, separation of church and state, government of the people, by the people, for the people - bound us together and underpinned our progress and success.

Those principles enabled the young nation to absorb new peoples, the waves of Germans, Irish, Scandinavians, Italians, Eastern Europeans, Latin Americans and, later, Asians and Africans. All settled peacefully in the vast country and prospered. This simple but grand ideal is inscribed on the Great Seal of the United States: E pluribus unum: from many, one.

By the 1960s, after winning the Second World War, we were building the best society mankind had ever known: prosperous, safe and confident in itself, a beacon for other nations. There were still a few problems to be ironed out – racism, for example, or that war in Vietnam – but we were on it.

That was the narrative. It is a story and is not, of course, history, at least not the entire history. At university, you unlearned much of that story and learned a more complex, nuanced one. The narrative didn’t work for many, including Native Americans and African-Americans. But its principles and aspirations could still inspire. Martin Luther King, Jr., knew that and used the narrative to challenge the country to live up to its principles.

Every president in my lifetime, Democrat or Republican, drew on that narrative. They summoned it to unite us in difficult times, to inspire us in uncertain times and to explain why American leadership and engagement with the world was necessary and positive. When we sent men and women to fight and die, they were fighting not only for security but for freedom, equality, democracy.

Every president, that is, until Donald Trump.

The words “democracy,” “equality” or “freedom” rarely pass Donald Trump’s lips. Instead, Trump’s speeches are laced with mentions of “strength,” “force” and “power.” He depicts a United States that is a victim, taken advantage of by its allies and adversaries alike. Immigration, celebrated by every president prior to Trump, is a curse, an “invasion” that threatens our way of life. For Trump and many of his supporters, that way of life means a white-dominated, Christian country in which the few rule the many, one that rewards strength and force and abhors the checks and balances that defined American governance for 250 years.

In this narrative, the United States is at once the greatest, most powerful, most successful nation in history and, at the same time, is a fallen giant, a victim of its enemies, internal and external, who have sought to tie it down with treaties, international organizations and a trade system that drains away its riches. This is why we need to Make America Great Again (MAGA).

To be sure, the American left has dabbled in narrative rewriting of its own. Sometimes it has emphassized the United States’ territorial expansion as an extension of European imperialism. It has also presented slavery and racism as a foundational element of the American experience – which, of course, it was for many. Some revisionist historians claim American democracy was born in the tribal longhouses of the indigenous Iroquois of upstate New York and not out of the ideas of Rousseau, Locke, Hobbes and Montesquieu; Congress passed a resolution in 1988 asserting the Iroquois connection. But none of this ever became the central narrative, displacing the founders and their principles.

The MAGA narrative was on full display when Marco Rubio spoke at the Munich Security Conference earlier this month. He received a standing ovation from some in the hall who were relieved that he had seemingly warm words for Europe and did not repeat the damning bombast of JD Vance from a year earlier. But scratch beneath the surface, and the blood-and-soil, white-nationalist Christian, MAGA message was loud and clear.

Rubio dismissed the rules-based global order as “an overused term;” falsely stating that it aimed to “replace the national interest” and do away with borders. In this view, allowing mass immigration is a common error committed by the United States and Europe, one that poses a threat to our shted western civilization, and must be reversed.

“We are bound to one another by the deepest bonds that nations could share, forged by centuries of shared history, Christian faith, culture, heritage, language, ancestry, and the sacrifices our forefathers made together for the common civilization to which we have fallen heir,“ Rubio said.

How do we shore up our security, Rubio asks. “The fundamental question we must answer at the outset is what exactly are we defending, because armies do not fight for abstractions. Armies fight for a people; armies fight for a nation. Armies fight for a way of life,” he said.

The “abstractions” Rubio so easily brushes aside surely include life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, government of the people, by the people and for the people, democracy and those other niceties we were taught to believe in. I wonder what Marco Rubio believes motivated the 33,000 Japanese Americans who served in World War II even as many of their relatives were interned; or the Navajo tribesmen who left their reservations to serve as radio engineers; or the 1.2 million African Americans, many still living under segregation but hoping for something better, who also risked their lives for the country?

In case you thought the United States was a magnet for peoples from around the world at least partly because of the prospect of freedom, Marco Rubio astoundingly draws on his own family background to dismiss the idea. After mentioning ancestors who lived in Italy and Spain at the time of the founding of the United States, he says: “I don’t know what, if anything, they knew about the 13 colonies which had gained their independence from the British empire, but here’s what I am certain of: They could have never imagined that 250 years later, one of their direct descendants would be back here today on this continent as the chief diplomat of that infant nation. And yet here I am, reminded by my own story that both our histories and our fates will always be linked.”

Astounding because Marco Rubio, in this narrative, fails to mention that he is the son of immigrants from Cuba, not Europe. That is what is remarkable about his story, not that he had ancestors in Italy and Spain 250 years ago.

But then, a narrative is a story, not a history. Trump, Rubio and those around them know they are trampling on the imperfect but effective narrative that united the United States for generations. They present another narrative, based on a radically different vision of the country, one that looks backward to a time when the founders’ ideals of freedom and equality were a reality for only one type of American.

Their white, Christian, nativist narrative of a natural ruling class in the United States is not new. The vision was embraced by the leaders of the Confederacy during the Civil War. Despite their defeat, it never disappeared. Versions of it reappeared in the 1920s and 1930s, when populist demogogues such as Father Coughlin adroitly used the new medium of radio to build a following. The revered aviator Charles Lindbergh led the isolationist, nativist “America First” movement before World War II.

After the war, however, and after the civil rights battles of the 1950s and 1960s, that narrative and the racism that accompanied it became so unacceptable, so submerged, that it was not publicly or directly voiced. Politicians wanting to tap into the narrative did it through indirect references we call “dog whistles.” Think of Ronald Reagan’s “welfare queens” or George H.W. Bush’s famous Willie Horton campaign ad.

When we fight over a national narrative, we are really fighting over the nation’s future. I believe Trump, Rubio, Vance, Stephen Miller and their axis will find that our national narrative will not be so easily redrafted to suit their needs.

In the late summer of 1979, I arrived in Caracas to start my first job after university as a reporter with The Daily Journal, el diario venezolano en inglés. I had two suitcases, about $200 in cash and dodgy Spanish. I was 21 years old.

The starting salary was just under 140 dollars a month in a city that was a third more expensive than New York. I spent the first two or three months renting rooms, until I found an apartment in the center of Caracas, in the mostly immigrant Candelaria neighborhood. I shared the flat with seven other men – two Asturians, an Italian, a Uruguayan, a Chilean, a Colombian and a Venezuelan.

Venezuela was booming at the time, riding the wave of the second oil crisis of the 1970s, sparked by the Iranian Revolution. Crude oil prices doubled to more than $39 a barrel – $175 dollars in today’s dollars, adjusted for inflation. Within a less than a year, I was earning enough from freelance journalism and editing to move into posher quarters east of the center, on the Plaza Altamira.

As a reporter, I mainly covered business and economics. I still marvel at how open and willing business leaders and high government officials were in dealing with this young and inexperienced American.

The Venezuela I knew and worked in was boisterous, vibrant, dynamic and free-wheeling, sometimes with a tinge of lawlessness. We often compared it to the American Wild West. Parties were extravagant and conspicuous consumption rampant in the gleaming new shopping centers of Caracas. “Está barato, dame dos” was the slogan attributed to Venezuelans returning from weekend shopping sprees in Miami.

Most importantly, Venezuela was democratic – very proudly, deeply democratic. At a time when nearly all its neighbors had some variety of dictatorship in power, Venezuela had a well-embedded tradition of peaceful, democratic transitions of power. The two main political parties – the social democratic Acción Democrática and the Christian democratic COPEI – dominated, though more radical leftist parties such as Movimiento al Socialismo also participated.

But democracy went beyond being a system of government; by the time I was there it had become part of the identity of the Venezuelans. It set them apart, put Venezuela on an equal footing with the leading countries of the developed world and fulfilled Simon Bolivar’s dream of a free and democratic continent. Carved onto the entrance to one of the tunnels visitors passed through to enter Caracas was Boliver’s prescient warning: “Nothing is more dangerous than allowing power to remain in the hands of a single citizen for a long time. The people become accustomed to obeying him and he to commanding them; that is the origin of usurpation and tyranny.” (Hugo Chávez later replaced it with “Motherland, Socialism or Death.”)

Looking back, the seeds of chavismo were already being sown. Alongside the exuberance, there was a sense of national frustration that, for all its riches, the country remained under-educated, undernourished, underdeveloped. Corruption was rife in the national government. In 1989, a few years after I left, a rise in gasoline prices was enough to set off three days of riots resulting in a harsh military crackdown known as the “caracazo”. Chávez’ first coup attempt followed three years later.

***

Venezuela is now in its 27^th year of chavismo. A quarter of the country has fled the oppression, corruption, poverty and hopelessness it has to offer. Yet despite the election that Nicolás Maduro tole in 2024, despite so many false starts and dashed hopes, there is every reason to believe Venezuelans still strongly support democracy. In 2024, 60% of Venezuelans told the Latinobarometro poll that they support democracy, significantly higher than the result on Colombia, Brasil, Mexico, Peru or Ecuador. Only Argentina, Uruguay and Costa Rica scored higher. Perhaps unsurprisingly, this figure is down from a few years earlier, but for many years, even as its citizens fled, Venezuelans believed in democracy at the highest rates in Latin America, by a wide margin.

***

In October 2023, I drove my Venezuelan partner and her daughter to a school in the Chamberí district of Madrid where the Venezuelan opposition was holding a primary vote. Most of the opposition had formed a united front, led by María Corina Machado.

Lines to vote wound around the block but moved quickly. People of all color and class participated. The mood was one of good-natured determination. At one point, a young man wheeling his uncle about faced a long staircase to get to the urns, located in the basement. The young man hesitated. “Tio, no creo que….” (“Uncle, I don’t think we can…) The old man didn’t let him finish; groaning insistently and giving instructions with his hands. The young man picked up his uncle and carried him down the stairs. He was going to vote.

María Corina Machado won with about 90% of the vote.

Nine months later, we stood in 40º heat (104º fahrenheit) outside the Aluche train station in the suburbs of Madrid, my partner as a volunteer helping guide voters to the only authorized polling place in the Community of Madrid. By then, the Maduro government had disqualified Machado as a candidate; her handpicked delegate, Edmundo Gonzálerz, ran in her stead. The government had also disqualified most of the citizens outside of Venezuela from voting. The Comisión Nacional Electoral estimated that about 68,000 out of 7.7 million overseas Venezuelans were eligible to vote; of those, only about 6,000 managed to change their voting center to the country in which they resided.

Still, there was a steady stream of voters and dozens of volunteers to greet them and hand out snacks and campaign merch after they had voted. There was still determination.

***

María Corina Machado does not need to be reminded of this as she prepares to meet Donald Trump in Washington this third week of January 2026. I have defended her obeisance to Trump in recent months as necessary to Venezuela’s urgent need to rid itself of the usurper Nicolás Maduro. Her dedication of her Nobel to Trump, even her remarks suggesting interference in the 2020 U.S. elections – all necessary to keep the toddler-in-chief onside.

But she should take off the gloves in Washington this week. As will often happen with autocrats, he is overplaying his hand in Venezuela. After removing Maduro – which I would also defend – Trump has refused to lay out his vision for a transition beyond declaring himself acting president and expropriating oil shipments. He would much rather have a pliant and corrupt dictatorship than a hopeful, vibrant democracy. I believe he is underestimating the democratic determination of the Venezuelan people.

María Corina radiates the type of serenity that Mandela and Gandhi gave off, which comes from the certainty of the righteousness and inevitability of her cause. Trump-watchers know that he demands flattery but also that he sees through it and does not respect it. She should show more Mandela and Gandhi when she goes to the White House and less FIFA.

She should ask that the U.S. facilitate her safe return to Venezuela. She should request U.S. assistance in freeing the remaining 490 political prisoners in Venezuela.

Trump told Vladimir Zelensky 11 months ago that the Ukrainian president had “no cards” in its resistance to Russia. It turned out Zelensky has plenty of cards, about 38 million of them. Maria Corina should remember her 30 million cards as she deals with the Trump Administration.

¡Gloria al bravo pueblo!