Why Trump Took So Long to End Israeli Killing in Gaza?

As Gaza bled, Washington watched. For weeks, bombs rained on civilians while the so-called champion of “peace through strength” stayed silent. Donald Trump, quick to boast of brokering deals, turned hesitant when the cost of morality threatened his politics. His long silence over Israel’s brutality was not confusion — it was complicity.

Trump’s trademark swagger vanished when Gaza burned. The self-proclaimed deal-maker watched from the sidelines as Israel’s relentless bombing turned a crowded strip into a graveyard. His hesitation wasn’t diplomacy — it was political calculation dressed as caution.

He delayed action because he feared offending the Israel lobby and evangelical base that bankroll and bolster his politics. Their loyalty mattered more than the lives lost under Israeli bombs.

Washington’s silence was not indecision; it was endorsement. By refusing to restrain Tel Aviv, Trump aligned moral blindness with political convenience.

Behind the scenes, his advisers argued that Israel remains America’s indispensable proxy in the Middle East, and any pressure might embolden Iran or upset Gulf partners.

In truth, Trump was unwilling to challenge a policy that defines US dominance in the region — where stability is measured by arms sales, not peace. Gaza’s children simply did not fit into that equation.

But the cost of silence mounted fast. The world watched in horror, and even US allies began questioning Washington’s humanity.

When images of famine and flattened hospitals flooded global screens, Trump finally called for restraint — a gesture too late to cleanse the blood on American hands.

His eventual push for ceasefire wasn’t moral awakening; it was damage control. The U.S. was losing global credibility, and Trump’s “America First” mantra was turning into “Morality Last.”

For all his talk of strength, Trump blinked when leadership demanded courage. Gaza will remain the chapter where his silence spoke louder than his slogans.

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.