Pakistani Policies Turning Taliban Foe

The unraveling Pakistan–Taliban relationship highlights the limits of old security doctrines in a changing regional order.

When the Taliban returned to power in Kabul in 2021, Pakistan hoped for a friendly neighbor and a stable frontier. Four years later, that optimism has faded. Relations have soured, trust has eroded, and the Taliban’s growing warmth toward India signals how far Islamabad’s Afghan policy has drifted from reality.

Pakistan’s once-comfortable relationship with the Taliban is deteriorating — not because of ideology, but because of Islamabad’s own policy. What was once hailed as “strategic depth” is now fast becoming a strategic setback.

For decades, Pakistan believed that supporting the Taliban would ensure border security and limit Indian influence. But since the group’s return to power, those assumptions have collapsed.

Instead of cooperation, Pakistan now faces increasing hostility - frequent border clashes, defiant statements from Kabul, and a resurgent Tehrik-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) operating from Afghan soil.

The Taliban’s visible tilt toward India is a symptom of Islamabad’s stance. Pakistan has chosen pressure over diplomacy — closing key crossings, threatening to expel Afghan refugees, and publicly accusing Kabul of harboring militants.

These measures have not subdued the Taliban; they have driven them closer to New Delhi, which offers humanitarian aid and political legitimacy without direct interference.

The irony is stark. Pakistan, once the Taliban’s strongest backer, now finds itself isolated, while India — long regarded as an adversary in Afghan affairs — is quietly re-establishing presence in Kabul. The Taliban, in turn, are using this outreach to project independence and resist external dictates.

Islamabad’s Afghan policy remains trapped in outdated security thinking, viewing Kabul solely through the prism of control.

Unless Pakistan recalibrates its approach — replacing coercion with constructive engagement — it risks losing whatever influence it still retains. The “strategic depth” doctrine that once shaped policy has now turned dangerously shallow.

 

Deepening US Venezuela Confrontation: Drug War or Power Play

Once Washington’s most reliable oil partner, Venezuela now stands accused of becoming a narco-state. The transformation did not happen overnight; it is the outcome of two decades of political defiance, institutional decay, and Washington’s growing use of the “war on drugs” as a tool of geopolitical pressure. What began as a dispute over sovereignty has hardened into a prolonged confrontation where every allegation serves a strategic purpose.

Venezuela’s geography made it a natural corridor for cocaine shipments long before its politics turned hostile. Sharing a 2,200-kilometer border with Colombia — the world’s largest cocaine producer — the country became an attractive route for smugglers. When state capacity weakened and corruption spread across security institutions, trafficking networks found protection within official structures.

The first open clash came in 2005, when President Hugo Chávez expelled the US Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA), accusing its agents of espionage and interference. Washington dismissed the charges, warning the decision would turn Venezuela into a “safe haven for traffickers.” Cooperation collapsed, and intelligence links were cut. The move symbolized a decisive shift - from uneasy partnership to open hostility.

US sources later claimed that cocaine flows through Venezuela rose from 60 tons in 2004 to more than 250 tons by 2007, though these figures remain unverifiable.

For Washington, the statistics justified its narrative that Chávez’s Venezuela had become a narco-military hub. For Caracas, the accusations were a familiar tactic — to equate economic sovereignty with criminal behavior.

The confrontation escalated in March 2020, when the US Department of Justice indicted President Nicolás Maduro and top officials for “narco-terrorism,” alleging collaboration with Colombia’s FARC rebels to ship hundreds of tons of cocaine to the United States.

The US$15 million bounty on Maduro’s arrest blurred the line between diplomacy and law enforcement. It was unprecedented for a superpower to treat a sitting head of state as a cartel boss.

Maduro’s government called the move “a pretext for intervention,” and not without reason. Having failed to unseat him through sanctions and isolation, Washington found in the drug war a new justification to tighten pressure. While Venezuela’s institutional rot is undeniable, the “narco-state” label has become a convenient geopolitical weapon — used selectively against regimes unwilling to align with US strategic interests.

The drug war, in this case, is less about cocaine and more about control. Two decades after the first rupture, the US–Venezuela standoff remains a contest of narratives — one dressed in the language of law enforcement, the other wrapped in defiance of imperial power. Between them lies a reality both sides refuse to face - geopolitics, not narcotics, fuels this enduring hostility.

Is Pakistan Being Pushed into a ‘US Proxy War’ in Afghanistan?

Behind the new wave of border clashes may lie an old script — one written in Washington and played out in Islamabad and Kabul. Has Pakistan once again been cast in the role of America’s proxy?

The recent spike in Pak-Afghan border tensions has once again pushed the region to the edge of confrontation. Reports suggest that armed militants crossing from Afghanistan have attacked Pakistani security posts, prompting Islamabad’s “severe retaliation.” Yet, beneath the visible smoke of gunfire lies a far more intricate and disturbing reality — one that hints at the shadow of global power politics.

Following the US withdrawal from Afghanistan in 2021, Washington appeared to have lost its strategic foothold in the region. The Taliban’s refusal to hand over the Bagam Air Base — once a vital hub of American military operations — was not merely a symbolic rejection; it was a strategic rebuff. The superpower lost a vantage point near China, Iran, and Central Asia.

It is no coincidence that within months of that refusal, Afghanistan began facing renewed instability, and Pakistan started encountering an inexplicable surge in cross-border attacks.

My hypothesis is simple: when Washington cannot re-enter Afghanistan directly, it may seek to create circumstances that justify intervention. The most effective way to do that is to provoke conflict. The pattern fits. Anonymous “operators” — possibly non-state actors with advanced intelligence capabilities — carry out attacks inside Pakistan, inviting a retaliatory strike. The resulting escalation allows the US to portray the region as unstable and Taliban-controlled Afghanistan as a “global threat.” A familiar pretext for yet another intervention is thus created.

Ironically, Pakistan — which has already paid an enormous price in blood and economy during the first “War on Terror” — now risks being drawn into another one, this time as an unwilling participant in someone else’s geopolitical chessboard. The tragedy is that Islamabad still struggles to draw a clear line between its national interests and Washington’s regional ambitions. History, it seems, is repeating itself — and not for the better.

What complicates matters further is the deep mistrust between Islamabad and Kabul. The Taliban government, already under economic sanctions and political isolation, accuses Pakistan of toeing the American line. Pakistan, on the other hand, blames Afghanistan for harboring militants of the Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan (TTP). Yet neither side seems willing to see how external forces might be manipulating both.

The strategic question Pakistan must ask is: Whose war are we fighting this time? If recent cross-border provocations are indeed part of a larger plan to destabilize the region, Islamabad must avoid taking the bait. A measured, intelligence-based response — not blind retaliation — is the need of the hour. Pakistan’s security cannot depend on reaction; it must rest on foresight.

The lesson from the past two decades is painfully clear. Every time Pakistan has fought on behalf of someone else, it has lost — in lives, in reputation, and in internal cohesion. If history is repeating itself, the least we can do is refuse to play the same role again.

Hamas Agreeing to Ceasefire: Victory or Defeat

This ceasefire is not the end of war. It is merely the pause between two tragedies.

After months of destruction, displacement, and despair, Hamas has agreed to a ceasefire. Its supporters call it a “strategic pause,” but in truth, it reflects exhaustion — political, military, and moral. When resistance drifts from purpose to performance, it loses the essence of struggle and becomes an exercise in survival.

Hamas overestimated its resilience and underestimated the duplicity of the Arab world. The self-proclaimed defenders of Palestine turned spectators, mouthing empty slogans while doing business with Tel Aviv.

The Western champions of democracy and human rights proved, once again, that these values have geographical limits. In this moral vacuum, Hamas found itself fighting alone — a resistance without reinforcements.

The ceasefire may silence the guns, but it cannot disguise the catastrophe. Gaza stands in ruins — its governance crippled, its population scattered, its children scarred.

Israel may not have destroyed Hamas, but it has devastated everything around it. The resistance lives, but the society it claimed to protect lies in ashes.

Yet Israel’s so-called “victory” is equally hollow. Two years of relentless war have brought neither peace nor security. Instead, Israel finds itself morally isolated and diplomatically cornered. The global sympathy it once commanded has turned to disgust. Even among its traditional allies, questions are being asked: how long can “self-defense” justify collective punishment?

To conclude, is this ceasefire a victory or a defeat?

For Hamas, it is survival without success; for Israel, dominance without dignity. Both sides are trapped in a cycle of destruction that yields no justice, only rubble and resentment.

The true defeat lies with the international community — which has normalized occupation, tolerated brutality, and renamed surrender as “peace.”

 

کون بنے گا غزہ کا بادشاہ

غزہ جل رہا ہے، مگر تخت خالی نہیں۔ ہر کوئی بادشاہ بننے کو بے چین ہے — کوئی بندوق لے کر، کوئی قرارداد اٹھا کر، کوئی انسان کے آنسو بیچ کر۔ یہ وہ بادشاہت ہے جس کے محل ملبے میں دفن ہیں، اور رعایا مٹی میں۔

عرب دنیا اب صرف بیانات کی بادشاہت چلاتی ہے۔ کوئی قطر میں کانفرنس بلاتا ہے، کوئی ریاض میں “امن” کے تسبیح دانے گنتا ہے۔ ہر کوئی سمجھتا ہے کہ اس کی خاموشی ہی دانش مندی ہے۔ غزہ میں خون بہے یا بچوں کے لاشے بکھریں، اصل مسئلہ یہ ہے کہ فوٹو سیشن میں کون اگلی صف میں بیٹھے گا۔ بادشاہت کے خواب اب تسبیح کے دانوں سے نہیں، “لائکس” اور “ڈالرز” سے گنے جاتے ہیں۔

مغربی دنیا بھی کم تماشائی نہیں۔ کوئی آزادیِ اظہار کے پرچم تلے جلتے گھروں کی تصویریں چھاپتا ہے، اور کوئی “دہشت گرد” کا لیبل لگا کر قبر کی مٹی ہلکی کر دیتا ہے۔ جنہوں نے فلسطینیوں کو تاریخ کا سب سے بڑا سبق دینے کا وعدہ کیا تھا، وہ اب جغرافیہ بھی ان سے چھین چکے ہیں۔

اور حماس؟ وہ بھی بادشاہت کی دوڑ میں پیچھے نہیں۔ تخت بچانے کے لیے رعایا قربان، عزت بچانے کے لیے لاشیں گنی جا رہی ہیں۔ مزاحمت کا نعرہ اب زندہ رہنے کی نہیں، اقتدار بچانے کی علامت بن چکا ہے۔

غزہ میں بادشاہت کا تاج اب خون میں بھیگا ہوا ہے — مگر دعوے دار سب مسکراتے ہیں۔ کوئی اسرائیل کی طرف دیکھتا ہے، کوئی واشنگٹن کی، کوئی تہران کی۔ سب جانتے ہیں، جو بادشاہ بنے گا، وہ رعایا کے خون سے نہیں، خاموشی سے حکومت کرے گا۔

اور رعایا؟ وہ اب صرف ملبے کے نیچے رہ گئی ہے، جہاں بادشاہت کے تمام خواب دفن ہو چکے ہیں۔
آخر میں صرف ایک سوال باقی ہے —
غزہ کا بادشاہ کون بنے گا؟
جو سب کو مار چکا ہے، یا جو اب بھی زندہ رہنے کی سزا بھگت رہا ہے؟

Neither Trump nor Machado Deserves Praise

Both Donald Trump and María Corina Machado thrive on the politics of illusion. Trump promises to “make America great again,” while Machado vows to “liberate Venezuela.” Behind these slogans lies a familiar playbook — inflame divisions, exploit public despair, and crown oneself the only redeemer of a corrupted state.

Trump’s brand of populism is less about patriotism and more about personal vengeance. His contempt for institutions, judiciary, and even allies is legendary. He has converted grievance into a political doctrine and chaos into an electoral strategy. To his followers, this looks like courage; to the rest of the world, it looks like narcissism on steroids.

Machado, meanwhile, is being hailed by the Western media as the “face of freedom.” But her freedom narrative is selective. She belongs to the same Venezuelan elite that squandered the nation’s oil wealth long before Hugo Chávez arrived. Her sudden rediscovery of democracy sounds less like conviction and more like nostalgia for lost privilege.

In a country battered by sanctions, corruption, and poverty, her promise to “rebuild Venezuela” rings hollow without a plan beyond regime change.

Washington, as usual, has learned nothing. It once sold dictators as “pro-West reformers”; now it packages every anti-Maduro voice as a democrat. In reality, Machado’s politics is no less polarizing than Maduro’s — only more polished in presentation.

Populism, whether draped in Trump’s flag or Machado’s rhetoric, remains a dangerous narcotic. It feeds on resentment, not reason. It dismantles institutions in the name of saving them.

Democracy cannot be rescued by those who believe they alone embody the will of the people. Both Trump and Machado thrive on division and deliver little more than slogans. Their rise exposes not their genius but our collective fatigue with genuine leadership.

Neither deserves praise — because both are reflections of societies that have mistaken noise for change.

 

Western Media Starts Wailing When Crude Oil Prices Fall

One of the greatest ironies of the global economy is that when oil prices rise, Western media cries about “global inflation,” but when prices fall, the same voices start lamenting “economic instability.” It seems oil prices are not an energy concern but rather the emotional thermostat of the West — every fluctuation sends their headlines into fever or frost.

Whenever OPEC decides to cut production to stabilize prices, Western analysts call it a “cartel manipulation.” Yet when American shale oil producers flood the market with excess supply, driving prices down, the same pundits celebrate it as a “victory of the free market.” The contradiction is so striking that even economists find themselves wondering — where does the real crisis lie: in the market or in the Western conscience?

If Russia sells oil to sustain its economy, it’s branded a “war economy.” But when the United States sells off its strategic reserves to reduce its fiscal deficit, it’s hailed as an act of “economic wisdom.” The truth is, every drop in oil prices hurts not the ordinary consumer — who might finally breathe easier at the pump — but the investors whose profits are tied to every dollar movement in Brent crude.

To the Western media, oil is no longer just fuel; it’s a narrative weapon — used to control markets, moods, and minds. When oil is expensive, the threat comes from Russia or OPEC; when it’s cheap, the “global economy” is suddenly in peril. The rest of the world can only watch, amused, as the same newsrooms that cheer for capitalism begin to mourn when the market actually behaves like one.

Perhaps one day, crude prices will drop — and Western media won’t start wailing. But until then, every fall in oil prices will sound like a siren in newsroom.

Gaza War: Russia and China Look Indifferent

At first glance, Russia and China seem unmoved by the relentless bloodshed in Gaza. Their silence is often mistaken for apathy. But in reality, both are pursuing a deliberate and ruthless calculation — letting the United States drown in a moral crisis of its own making.

Moscow and Beijing see Gaza not as a regional conflict but as the ultimate exposure of Western hypocrisy. For decades, Washington lectured the world on human rights while funding Israel’s occupation machinery. Now, as civilian deaths pile up, the United States finds itself stripped of credibility. Russia and China see no reason to save America from the consequences of its double standards.

At the United Nations, their diplomacy is coldly efficient. Both talk of peace but avoid taking any direct lead, knowing well that every American veto on a ceasefire resolution is another self-inflicted wound for Washington. Why intervene when your rival insists on showcasing its moral bankruptcy before the world?

For Russia, already locked in the Ukraine war, Gaza is an unexpected advantage — a distraction that diverts Western attention and resources.

For China, the war exposes America’s declining global authority, strengthening Beijing’s narrative of a fairer, multipolar world. Both understand that the longer Gaza burns, the weaker US influence becomes in the Global South.

Neither Moscow nor Beijing wants to be entangled in Middle Eastern chaos. They prefer to appear detached while quietly cultivating Arab trust and sympathy. Their silence is not a void — it is strategy, precision, and patience rolled into one.

The West calls it indifference. In truth, it is the art of letting a rival crumble under the weight of its own contradictions.

The opponents of Russia and China say these countries are not neutral; they are opportunistic. And in Gaza’s tragedy, they have found a powerful stage on which America’s self-proclaimed moral leadership is collapsing — in full view of a watching world.

Who Suffers More from Falling Oil Prices? OPEC Members or United States

The recent slide in global oil prices has once again stirred a debate, who suffers more — the oil-exporting giants of OPEC or the United States, now a major producer itself? The answer, as always, lies in the economics of dependence and the politics of energy.

OPEC countries, particularly in the Gulf, rely overwhelmingly on oil revenues to finance their national budgets, social programs, and development plans. For economies like Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and Iraq, crude exports still account for more than two-thirds of total income.

When oil prices tumble below US$70 a barrel, their fiscal positions come under pressure. Budget deficits widen, subsidies become unsustainable, and ambitious diversification drives, like Saudi Vision 2030, face funding gaps.

For smaller OPEC producers such as Nigeria or Angola, the pain is even sharper — lower prices mean currency depreciation, inflation, and social unrest.

In contrast, the United States, despite being the world’s largest oil producer, experiences a more nuanced impact. Lower prices hurt shale producers in Texas and North Dakota, where high extraction costs make many wells unprofitable when crude dips below US$60.

Bankruptcies, layoffs, and reduced drilling activity follow swiftly. Yet the broader US economy benefits - cheaper gasoline boosts consumer spending, cuts transport costs, and eases inflationary pressure — all positives for growth and household budgets.

While US oil companies may bleed, the country’s economy as a whole absorbs the shock better than most OPEC states can.

The fiscal and social dependence of OPEC members on oil revenues magnifies their vulnerability. As against this, the United States — with its diversified economy, flexible markets, and domestic consumption — ultimately gains from lower energy costs.

In short, the current oil price decline hurts OPEC far more deeply. For Washington, it is a mixed blessing; for Riyadh and its peers, a financial headache.

Unless OPEC recalibrates its dependence on hydrocarbons, every fall in crude prices will continue to expose the fragility of their oil-driven prosperity.

 

Iran's rise to regional powerhouse rattles friends and foes alike

Iran’s steady emergence as a regional powerhouse is reshaping the Middle East’s strategic landscape — and not everyone is comfortable with it. What makes Tehran’s ascent intriguing is that it unsettles both adversaries and allies, blurring traditional fault lines and forcing recalculations from Riyadh to Washington, and from Moscow to Beijing.

For decades, Iran was viewed through the prism of sanctions, isolation, and revolutionary zeal. Despite economic constraints and diplomatic pressure, it has built robust influence through a mix of ideology, resilience, and strategic alliances. Its regional proxies in Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, and Yemen — once dismissed as militant networks — now form a formidable web of influence, capable of shaping outcomes from the Gulf to the Mediterranean.

Iran’s growing clout has not only alarmed its foes. Even its supposed friends find Tehran’s assertiveness unnerving. The Gulf states, after years of rivalry, cautiously reopened diplomatic channels, realizing that confrontation is costly. Yet normalization is driven more by necessity than trust.

Saudi Arabia’s rapprochement, brokered by China, underscores this pragmatic shift — acknowledging Iran’s influence while seeking to contain it through diplomacy rather than confrontation.

The United States, meanwhile, remains entangled in a paradox. Washington cannot ignore Iran’s expanding regional reach, but its policy of maximum pressure has yielded minimal results.

The European powers, too, find themselves frustrated — wanting engagement on nuclear and energy fronts but constrained by American sanctions.

Russia and China, while cultivating ties with Tehran, remain wary of an overconfident Iran that might complicate their own regional interests.

Domestically, Iran’s leadership is projecting its defiance as strength — a message that resonates in a region weary of Western intervention. Yet, its economy remains fragile, and social unrest continues to simmer beneath the surface.

Iran’s rise is not just about military might or regional leverage; it is a reminder that power in today’s Middle East comes with contradictions.

Tehran’s growing assertiveness has turned it into both a symbol of resistance and a source of regional anxiety — a paradoxical power that leaves neither friends nor foes at ease.

 

Two Years of Israeli War on Gaza

Two years into Israeli war on Gaza, the region stands devastated — physically, morally, and strategically. What began as a campaign of “self-defense” has turned into a prolonged assault that has razed cities, erased families, and rewritten the moral code of modern warfare. Israel may claim tactical victories, but the strategic outcome is a quagmire that even its staunchest allies struggle to justify.

Gaza today is a graveyard of statistics — tens of thousands of dead, hundreds of thousands displaced, and almost the entire population dependent on aid. The relentless bombardment has not uprooted Hamas; it has only deepened the political and emotional trench dividing Israelis and Palestinians. Far from eliminating militancy, Israeli campaign has turned Gaza into a permanent symbol of resistance and despair — a living wound in the conscience of the Middle East.

The Israeli leadership sells this war as a quest for security. Yet, two years on, Israel is less secure, not more. Its borders remain tense, international isolation grows, and domestic protests simmer under the surface of official triumphalism.

The myth of “precision warfare” has collapsed under the rubble of homes, schools, and hospitals. Even Washington, Israel’s diplomatic shield, is beginning to show fatigue — forced to defend the indefensible in every international forum.

Meanwhile, the Arab world’s silence has been deafening. Once vocal capitals have turned pragmatic, their outrage replaced by quiet normalization. The Palestinians, once betrayed by borders, are now betrayed by indifference.

Israel’s war on Gaza is no longer about eliminating Hamas — it is about maintaining an illusion that military dominance can substitute for political vision. But wars end; occupations linger; and history has a ruthless memory.

Two years later, Israel may have won battles, but it is losing the narrative — and with it, the moral ground that once set it apart from those it condemns.

Gaza’s ruins are not only a testament to Palestinian suffering but also to Israel’s strategic and moral decay. The war may still rage, but the victory, if ever claimed, will be hollow.

 

Palestinian Experience: Cycles of Betrayal

The Palestinian question remains one of the most enduring and unresolved issues of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. From the early days of British colonial involvement to the present-day geopolitical maneuvering, Palestinians have repeatedly found themselves at the intersection of promises made and promises broken — victims of a cycle of disappointment perpetuated by global powers and regional actors alike.

The first major turning point came with the Balfour Declaration of 1917, in which Britain simultaneously pledged support for a Jewish homeland in Palestine while assuring Arabs that their political rights would not be compromised. The contradiction proved devastating, the Mandate period institutionalized inequality, laying the foundation for future conflict.

The Nakba of 1948 further deepened Palestinian displacement and dispossession, as hundreds of thousands were uprooted without meaningful international intervention. Subsequent decades brought renewed hopes — and renewed betrayals.

The 1967 war not only expanded Israeli occupation but also exposed Arab regimes’ hollow rhetoric of liberation.

The Oslo Accords of the 1990s, once hailed as a breakthrough, devolved into a mechanism for managing rather than resolving occupation.

International mediators, notably the United States, often acted less as neutral brokers and more as enablers of the status quo.

Even in recent years, Palestinians continue to confront shifting alliances and selective morality.

The Abraham Accords normalized ties between Israel and several Arab states, effectively sidelining the Palestinian cause.

Each diplomatic milestone elsewhere in the region has come at the expense of Palestinian aspirations for sovereignty and justice.

The persistence of this pattern underscores a grim reality - for over a century, Palestinians have been entangled in a geopolitical web that values stability over justice and negotiation over equity.

Until the cycle of symbolic commitments and political abandonment is broken, the Palestinian experience will remain defined by unfulfilled promises — a history not of reconciliation, but of recurring disappointment.

 

Hamas succumbs to US Pressure as Arab Support Evaporates

After months of defiance, Hamas is quietly edging toward concessions under mounting US pressure — not because Washington’s diplomacy suddenly turned persuasive, but because the Arab world has walked away.

In earlier conflicts, Hamas could rely on a chorus of Arab solidarity — fiery statements, emergency summits, and token aid. This time, the silence is deafening.

Arab capitals are fatigued, divided, and increasingly indifferent to Hamas’s political theatrics. The group that once claimed to embody the Arab street now finds itself isolated, cornered, and expendable.

Behind the scenes, Washington’s pressure has been relentless. Aid leverage, regional diplomacy, and quiet coordination with Egypt and Qatar have created an environment where Hamas has little room to maneuver. Even its traditional allies — Doha and Ankara — are urging pragmatism over defiance. The message is clear - yield or face total annihilation.

Arab governments, meanwhile, have recalibrated their priorities. Stability, trade, and relations with the West outweigh emotional appeals to Palestinian militancy.

The Abraham Accords, quiet intelligence links, and economic realignments show where the region’s real interests now lie.

For Hamas, this shift is existential — its political survival depends on Arab sympathy, and that sympathy has run out.

Critics say, Hamas’s own strategy hastened this moment. By aligning with Iran, alienating Arab governments, and launching attacks that invited catastrophic retaliation, Hamas burned the very bridges it now desperately needs. Even street protests across Arab cities have failed to translate into meaningful state action.

As US pressure mounts, Hamas’s bravado is giving way to backdoor bargaining. The Arab world’s silence has become Washington’s strongest weapon.

Hamas may yet sign a ceasefire, not as a victor of resistance, but as a movement abandoned by its own region.

For Gaza, this is not just political defeat — it is a painful reminder that Arab solidarity ends where national interest begins.

 

 

Donald Trump: Loose Bull or Fearless Leader

Donald Trump is no longer just a political figure — he has emerged as a major force of disruption. To his critics, he’s a loose bull, to his loyalists, he’s a fearless fighter standing alone. Both sides may be right, that makes him dangerous.

The general impression is that Trump doesn’t follow rules; he tramples them. He doesn’t debate ideas; he dominates the stage. Every insult, every indictment, every scandal seems to fuel his sense of destiny. For millions of disillusioned Americans, he’s not the problem — he’s the rebellion.

A rebellion without restraint easily turns into wreckage. Trump’s politics are built on grievance, not governance. He thrives on outrage, feeds on division, and weaponizes mistrust. His rallies ignite passion but also paranoia; his promises stir hope but sow hostility. Underneath the red caps and roaring crowds lies a country tearing itself apart.

His defenders say he speaks truth to power. May be yes, but he also speaks poison to democracy. The media is “the enemy,” the courts are “corrupt,” and the system — unless it serves him — is “rigged.” It’s not leadership; it is demolition disguised as defiance.

The tragedy is that Trump didn’t create America’s anger — he merely harnessed it. He turned frustration into a political movement and chaos into a campaign strategy. That’s his genius, and his curse.

Trump may call himself the voice of the forgotten, but in truth, he’s the echo of a broken democracy shouting at itself.

Whether the United States can survive another round of his rampage — or finally find the courage to tame its loose bull — will decide not just an election, but the future of its republic.

 

Israel Propping Up Clerics, It Wants to Topple

Israel loves to project itself as the master strategist of the Middle East, but its obsession with weakening Iran’s clergy-led regime has turned into a textbook case of shooting oneself in the foot. Every strike, every sanction pushed through Western allies, every act of aggression meant to undercut Tehran’s clerics only hardens their grip on power. Far from collapsing, the system feeds off Israel’s hostility.

Nationalism is a powerful weapon. Iranians who may loathe the suffocating theocracy often rally behind it when Israel rattles its sabers. The clergy has perfected the art of turning external threats into political oxygen. By painting Israel as an existential menace, the clerics recast themselves as the sole guardians of sovereignty. Instead of cracking the system, Tel Aviv provides its clergy foes with the ultimate justification for survival.

Worse still, Israel’s strategy systematically silences the only real alternative inside Iran: reformists. Moderates who advocate engagement with the world are mocked as naïve or treacherous whenever Israel ups the ante. The hardliners gleefully point to every strike and sanction to prove that diplomacy is a fool’s game. In doing so, Israel eliminates any space for evolution from within, ensuring that Iran remains dominated by the most rigid voices.

And then there’s the economic side. Sanctions and isolation have not strangled the clergy; they’ve enriched it. The opponents often allege, the Revolutionary Guards and clerical networks thrive on smuggling, black markets, and sanction-busting schemes. Ordinary Iranians pay the price with rising prices and shrinking opportunities, while the very elites Israel wants to weaken grow stronger.

Israel’s strategy is not just flawed — it is counterproductive. Instead of destabilizing Iran’s clerical establishment, it props it up, fuels its legitimacy, and crushes dissent. Tel Aviv claims to be undermining its greatest enemy; in reality, it is handing the clergy the very tools it needs to endure.

The truth is brutal: Israel’s war against Iran’s clerics may be the biggest gift it has ever given them.

 

US double standards: Calling Hamas Terrorists, Negotiating Anyway

The United States loves to preach moral clarity - we do not negotiate with terrorists. Hamas, Washington insists, is a terrorist outfit responsible for bloodshed and chaos. Yet when the fighting in Gaza escalates and pressure mounts, the very same US administration finds itself scrambling for ceasefires—talking, directly or through intermediaries, to the very group it vilifies.

This is not strategy; it is double standards dressed up as pragmatism. US labels Hamas terrorists when it wants to project toughness at home, but when hostages are in danger, when civilian deaths spark global outrage, or when Arab allies threaten to break ranks, suddenly those “terrorists” become indispensable negotiating partners. The moral line evaporates the moment US interests are at stake.

The hypocrisy runs deep. The US slammed the Taliban for decades, only to sit across the table with them in Doha. It demonized Iraqi insurgents, then quietly cut deals to protect its own troops. It threatens “rogue states” like North Korea, then rushes into summits when the nuclear rhetoric escalates. With Hamas, the pattern is the same - condemnation in speeches, cooperation in practice.

This duplicity has consequences. By insisting Hamas is illegitimate yet negotiating with it whenever convenient, Washington undermines its own credibility. The message is clear: terrorism is a negotiable label, applied or ignored depending on political expediency. For people in the Middle East, this only confirms what they already suspect—that US policy is not about principles, but about protecting its own interests and Israel’s dominance.

If the US truly believes Hamas is a terrorist organization, then it should be consistent and refuse talks, no matter the cost. If, on the other hand, it recognizes that Hamas is an unavoidable political actor, then it should drop the pretense and admit it. Straddling both positions—condemnation in rhetoric, negotiation in reality—is not statesmanship. It is hypocrisy.

Can Washington Buy Hezbollah Guns?

Washington believes US$230 million can buy stability by disarming Hezbollah and empowering Lebanon’s army. In a country where weapons are seen as survival, and aid is tied to political strings, dollars may deepen divisions rather than deliver sovereignty.

United States is betting big on Lebanon. Its latest US$230 million aid package, funneled into the army and security forces, comes with one not-so-hidden agenda: disarm Hezbollah. For Washington, the formula is simple—dollars for sovereignty. Strengthen the Lebanese Armed Forces, dismantle weapons caches, tie reconstruction money to compliance, and Hezbollah will finally be forced under state control.

But Hezbollah is not a street gang waiting to be bought out. It is Lebanon’s most powerful political and military force, one that commands loyalty, provides services, and—above all—wields arms that many see as the only shield against Israel. When bombs fell on Beirut in 2006, it was not the Lebanese army that stood firm, but Hezbollah. To expect the group to trade rockets for US money is to misunderstand its very identity.

The US plan hinges on a fragile bargain: Hezbollah hands over weapons, Israel halts incursions, and Lebanon begins to rebuild. Yet history says otherwise. Israeli jets still scream across Lebanese skies with impunity. Promises of restraint ring hollow to a movement born from decades of occupation and war. In Hezbollah’s calculus, surrendering arms is not reform—it is suicide.

Washington frames this as state-building. Hezbollah calls it blackmail. By tying basic recovery—electricity, infrastructure, reconstruction—to disarmament, the US is accused of holding Lebanon’s survival hostage. Aid, in this view, is just another weapon of war, designed to weaken “the resistance” where bombs failed.

The clash is stark: United States believes money can buy stability; Hezbollah insists weapons guarantee it. In between stands a broken Lebanon, desperate for relief yet divided over who really protects it.

If Washington thinks $230 million will unravel a militia that survived wars, sanctions, and sieges, it may soon discover that in Lebanon, guns are worth more than dollars—and sovereignty is not for sale.

 

Trump-Netanyahu Peace Plan: Ceasefire or Trap

The Trump–Netanyahu meeting in New York was staged as a diplomatic triumph. Cameras clicked, statements flowed, and a so-called historic deal was announced. Israel has formally endorsed Trump’s 20-point Gaza peace plan, but beneath the fanfare lies a script written as much for domestic politics as for genuine peace.

At the heart of the plan are four pillars: 1) an immediate ceasefire if accepted, 2) release of hostages within 72 hours, 3) a phased Israeli withdrawal, and 4) disarmament of Hamas. On paper, this sounds like a path out of a devastating war. In reality, it looks more like an ultimatum dressed as diplomacy.

The governance structure proposed is even more telling. Gaza would not return to the Palestinians in any meaningful sense but be handed over to a technocratic committee under international oversight. A “Board of Peace” chaired by Trump—flanked by international figures like Tony Blair—would supervise the transition. Hamas, the very power broker in Gaza, is not only excluded but delegitimized entirely. This is less a peace plan than a regime-change blueprint.

The Trump–Netanyahu warning was clear, Hamas must accept the plan “the easy way,” or Israel—with full American backing—will impose “the hard way.” This is not mediation; it is coercion.

For Netanyahu, who faces political vulnerability at home, US cover for renewed aggression is a golden ticket. For Trump, the deal enhances his image as a global dealmaker ahead of a bruising election cycle.

Yet the glaring omission remains Palestinian statehood. By skirting this fundamental issue, the plan buys short-term tactical gains but undermines any sustainable settlement.

Arab capitals, from Cairo to Doha, understand that without Hamas’ consent, the blueprint collapses under its own weight. No technocratic committee or international board can govern Gaza in defiance of its most powerful actor.

Trump and Netanyahu call this peace. In truth, it is a gamble - either Hamas yields, or Gaza is marched toward another round of bloodshed under international applause.

Far from solving the conflict, the deal risks deepening it. A plan that sidelines one side while empowering the other is not peace—it is merely the pause before the storm.

Crude oil prices drifting down

Crude oil—the world’s most political commodity—is drifting down again. Markets that once trembled at the whisper of war or an OPEC decree are today unimpressed. Prices are slipping not because the world is safer, but because supply is running ahead of demand, and no cartel seems willing—or able—to hold back the flood.

The immediate triggers are clear. The resumption of Kurdish crude exports has added barrels back to an already saturated market. OPEC Plus, once a disciplined enforcer of scarcity, is instead edging up production to defend market share. Add to this the steady increase in US output, and the result is an unmistakable surplus. In Washington, reports of rising crude stockpiles reinforce the perception that inventories will keep swelling into 2026.

Demand is hardly roaring either. The end of the US summer driving season has clipped consumption, while China—the world’s most important incremental buyer—remains stuck in an uneven recovery. India, though growing fast, cannot absorb the excess.

Analysts now project that inventories will rise by more than two million barrels per day through early next year. In oil economics, that is the equivalent of a slow-motion glut.

Layered on top is the dollar’s strength. Every tick upward in the greenback makes oil more expensive for non-US buyers, further cooling appetite. And unlike past cycles, geopolitical flashpoints—sanctions on Iran, Russia’s war economy, Middle East tension—have not translated into major supply disruptions. Traders, ever cynical, now discount the “risk premium” that once propped up prices.

The real story is structural. Oil is losing its tightrope balance between scarcity and abundance. Producers are pumping more aggressively, while demand faces limits from efficiency gains and a global economy weighed down by debt and weak growth.

Unless OPEC Plus suddenly reverses course or a geopolitical shock knocks supply offline, the path of least resistance for oil is downward.

For consumers, cheaper fuel may feel like relief. For producers, especially those whose budgets depend on oil, it is a creeping crisis. And for the global system, it is a reminder the age of automatic oil windfalls is over, and volatility is the new name of the game.

 

MAGA and Nazism: A Disturbing Comparison

Donald Trump’s “Make America Great Again” (MAGA) slogan has, for millions of Americans, become a rallying cry for patriotism, pride, and national revival. But peel back the red caps, the rallies, and the rhetoric, and one cannot help but be reminded of the echoes of Hitler’s National Socialism (Nazism) in 1930s Germany. While history never repeats itself in the same form, it often rhymes. MAGA and Nazism may be separated by geography, time, and context, yet the patterns of politics of resentment, identity, and exclusion are hauntingly similar.

Is MAGA just politics, or is it an early verse in a dangerous rhyme of history?

Both Trump and Hitler rose from discontent. Hitler exploited post–World War I humiliation, economic despair, and national insecurity; Trump harnessed the frustration of a middle America alienated by globalization, immigration, and cultural liberalism. Both channeled that anger not toward solutions, but toward scapegoats — Jews and minorities in Nazi Germany, immigrants, Muslims, and “global elites” in Trump’s America.

The rhetoric of victimhood is another striking parallel. Hitler constantly reminded Germans they were betrayed by “traitors” and cheated by the world. Trump, in turn, insists that America has been “stabbed in the back” by foreign nations, immigrants, and even domestic institutions — media, courts, and his political opponents. The cry of “America First” is less about revival than about us-versus-them tribalism.

Though, MAGA has not built concentration camps or embarked on genocide. But the infrastructure of hate is disturbingly familiar - demonization of minorities, delegitimization of institutions, glorification of strongman rule, and calls to suppress dissent. Nazism began not with gas chambers but with words, slogans, and rallies that normalized extremism — precisely where MAGA thrives today.

Critics may argue that comparing Trump to Hitler is alarmist. Yet democracies don’t collapse overnight; they are chipped away, one “movement” at a time. MAGA, like Nazism, cloaks itself in the flag, promises restoration of greatness, and scapegoats the vulnerable. The lesson of history is clear: when leaders weaponize nationalism and fear, the road to authoritarianism is short and perilous.