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Daily news & progressive opinion—funded by the people, not the corporations—delivered straight to your inbox.
The need for enemies—the worse the better—may well be humanity’s most profound existential threat.
“The enemy of the moment always represented absolute evil, and it followed that any past or future agreement with him was impossible.”
The words are from George Orwell’s 1984 (where else?), explaining the root causes of a dystopian world. The book may be a work of fiction, but his words are deeply embedded in reality—we need enemies, the worse the better! This certainty may well be humanity’s most profound existential threat. I fear it could be “the meteor” that hits Planet Earth, ultimately spelling extinction for the dominant species.
Mostly what we do is prepare for—and wage—war. We always wage it in self-defense, even when in retrospect its motivating factor is colonial conquest. When it comes to the manifestation of power, at its core are the words “us vs. them.” That captures the public spirit so much more fully than cooperation, connection, understanding... or, groan, love.
Waging war poisons the world; it perpetuates and intensifies the problems it purports to be eliminating.
As far as I’m concerned, this is humanity’s primary challenge of the moment. It’s time to transcend war, the meteor of our own making.
As we all know, wars are waging across the planet right this moment. Unless we’re directly affected by the violence, we can easily reduce it to an abstraction, usually with the help of the words “self-defense”—a particularly egregious term when used by the one inflicting the most harm. And for some reason, the name George W. Bush comes to mind—the guy who bequeathed us the “Axis of Evil” as our current reason to be afraid.
But an inescapable fact of American history is the long trail of evil enemies who have helped define us over the centuries. As Jérôme Viala-Gaudefroy writes:
...the American identity is probably the best example of a “self” understood through “otherness.” Research in various disciplines has shown that Americans have long defined themselves through a binary narrative of “us” versus “them.“ Whether it takes the form of the American Indians of the Frontier, the British during the American Revolution, the immigrants in the early 20th century, the Nazis, the communists, and more recently the terrorists...
He also notes, a la Orwell, that our enemy of the moment “has three constant characteristics: It is always deemed a threat, somewhat uncivilized and evil, and serves to define national identity by demarcating... ’ a self’ from an ‘other’... “
Nations are essentially random creations. In order to unify socially into actual entities, their populations have to have a clear sense of who they aren’t. I would add to the above list of “others,” the country’s long history of racial exclusion, which of course begins with the importation of slaves, who were property, not actual human beings. “White” was a word bequeathed to us by God, apparently, and even though moral sanity has been slowly seeping into our national identity, whiteness still plays a significant role in the national task of othering. Think about the “invasion” going on at our southern border, for instance.
And, oh yeah, there’s also that war on Gaza—by which I mean genocide—that we’re playing a key role in sustaining, But as President Trump 2.0 keeps telling us in various ways, we also have a lot of work to do “Americanizing” the Western Hemisphere, from reclaiming the Panama Canal to... uh, seizing Greenland? And then there’s the recent decision by the State Department to officially designate some major Mexican drug cartels as Foreign Terrorist Organizations (FTOs). Yikes, that means they’re really, really evil.
As Jon Rainwater writes, this isn’t just a symbolic gesture. Doing so “opens the door for military intervention under the guise of counterterrorism. The U.S. could justify drone strikes or cross-border raids without Mexico’s consent—a blatant affront to its sovereignty.”
What could be wrong with that? Come on, we have the most powerful military in the world; it’s up to us to decide how and when to use it, right? No matter, as Rainwater points out: “Combining the failed strategies of the war on terror and the war on drugs is not just misguided—it’s doubling down on failure.”
And not only that. “Designating cartels as FTOs,” he goes on, “feels like another chapter in this playbook: framing another country’s problems as existential threats to justify American imperialism. So long liberal internationalism, hello Make the Monroe Doctrine Great Again.”
No matter that war is hell. No matter that the problems humanity faces are basically the problems it created—and they’re serious. Waging war poisons the world; it perpetuates and intensifies the problems it purports to be eliminating. I open my soul with a shout into the darkness. We live, as Rainwater notes, in an interconnected world—a world of complex wholeness. Creating borders can be a reasonable way to get a handle on that complexity, but only—only—if we can also see beyond the borders we’ve created and embrace the wholeness we’re still trying to understand.
What does this mean? As much as I want it to mean. oh, let us say a high-five with God, it often means—as we struggle to transcend our impulsive violence—far quieter, almost unrecognizable change, if any change at all. Consider, for instance, Sen. Bernie Sanders’ (I-Vt.) recent opposition to the latest U.S. sale of weapons to Israel to keep its evisceration of Gaza going. The Senate Foreign Relations Committee now has to consider the merit of his Joint Resolutions of Disapproval, or JRDs. Last November, Sanders also filed JRDs regarding the latest Biden administration’s weapons sale to Israel. When the Senate voted on them, the resolutions lost; only 19 senators voted in support, which can easily feel like nothing more than a pathetic loss.
But maybe it was more than that. “...never before have so many senators voted to restrict arms transfers to Israel,” noted the senior policy adviser for the organization Demand Progress. He called the vote “a sea change” among congressional Democrats—an awakening, an infusion of... do I dare say: moral sanity?
This doesn’t stop the slaughter. This doesn’t stop the hell. But let it give us the will to keep trying.
Combining the failed strategies of the war on terror and the war on drugs is not just misguided—it’s doubling down on failure.
In the capricious tapestry that is U.S. foreign policy, you can find a recurring pattern: Washington champions sovereignty as a holy principle of the international order when it aligns with its interests—think Ukraine under Biden—but casually disregards it when inconvenient.
The latest thread in this tapestry is last Thursday’s unprecedented State Department decision to formally designate eight groups, including major Mexican drug cartels such as the Sinaloa Cartel and Jalisco New Generation Cartel, as Foreign Terrorist Organizations (FTOs). Beneath the Trumpian tough-on-crime pose lies a policy that threatens to violate Mexico’s sovereignty and destabilize a vital relationship, and reinforces the imperialist tendency that has caused so much damage here in the U.S. and across the globe.
Labeling cartels as FTOs isn’t just a symbolic gesture; it opens the door for military intervention under the guise of counterterrorism. The U.S. could justify drone strikes or cross-border raids without Mexico’s consent—a blatant affront to its sovereignty. President Claudia Sheinbaum highlighted: “This classification should not serve as a pretext for the United States to invade our sovereignty.” Any such military intervention would violate Congress’s constitutional war powers, but Trump is unlikely to respect such legal niceties.
The desire to rise out of extreme poverty can not be bombed out of existence.
Elon Musk has made this clear. Musk recently declared on his social media platform that the FTO designation would make cartels “eligible for drone strikes,” a comment that is both legally dubious and deeply unsettling.
Mexican cartels are not terrorists in the way most people understand that word. They’re not trying to overthrow governments or spread extremist beliefs. Yes, they commit horrific acts of violence—killings, kidnappings, extortion—but their primary motive is profit, not ideology. As the narcocorrido (“drug ballad,” a musical genre popular on both sides of the border) "Clave Privada" by Banda el Recodo goes:
I was poor for a long time
Many people humiliated me
I began to earn money...
Things are flipped around now
Now they call me boss.
Understanding the driver of these cartels isn’t rocket science: it’s all about the Miguelitos (i.e. the 1000 peso note). Imposing travel bans might inconvenience cartel leaders but it won’t dismantle their billion-dollar empires. The terrorist designation is unlikely to even cut profit margins because many cartels are already designated as transnational criminal organizations (TCOs), so the FTO designation does not provide significant new policy tools to target their finances.
Drone attacks are unlikely to stop a notoriously violent business where cartel leaders are already frequently killed in assassinations by competitors or shootouts with government forces. The war on terror has shown to the U.S. that “Decapitate the Kingpin” is a loser’s game. In fact, Mexico’s own “kingpin strategy” targeting and elimination of high-ranking cartel members has created power vacuums and increased violence. Combining the failed strategies of the war on terror and the war on drugs is not just misguided—it’s doubling down on failure.
The desire to rise out of extreme poverty can not be bombed out of existence. Meanwhile, the other main drivers of this problem are illicit markets fueled by U.S. demand for drugs and corruption within Mexico—issues that require smarter policies to address. Words matter in policymaking. Using “terrorist” as a catch-all term is already destructive and distorting, from the U.S. “war on terror” to the Netanyahu-Biden-Trump war in Gaza to China’s oppression of the Uighur in Xinjiang. This action exacerbates the problem.
There’s something disturbingly familiar about this whole idea—a familiar whiff of paternalism. For decades, the U.S. has intervened in Latin America under various pretexts: fighting communism during the Cold War, waging war on drugs in the 1980s and 1990s, and now combating “terrorism.” The results have often been disastrous for the region. Designating cartels as FTOs feels like another chapter in this playbook: framing another country’s problems as existential threats to justify American imperialism. So long liberal internationalism, hello Make the Monroe Doctrine Great Again.
This approach doesn’t work in today’s interconnected world. Problems associated with drug trafficking—and migration—don’t respect borders; they require multilateral solutions rooted in trust and mutual respect—not unilateral declarations from Washington. Meanwhile, Trump is cutting thoughtful, nonviolent programs like U.S. funding for an organization that has reduced the number of children recruited by gangs to help move drugs and migrants across the border. Trump froze another program targeting fentanyl and methamphetamine trafficking at key ports.
None of this is meant to downplay the seriousness of cartel violence or its devastating impact on both sides of the border. Tackling this issue requires nuance and humility—especially from the U.S.. Instead of designating cartels as FTOs, policymakers should focus on strategies that address root causes: reducing demand for drugs through treatment programs; cracking down on gun trafficking from the U.S. into Mexico as some members of Congress are working to do; supporting anti-corruption efforts within Mexico; and strengthening bilateral cooperation rather than undermining it.
The name change signals a territorial and economic claim over these waters and their resources, further cementing U.S. imperial ambitions in the region.
U.S. President Donald Trump's executive order to rename the Gulf of Mexico the "Gulf of America" isn't just another absurd stunt or another example of his outlandish behavior. It signals a much deeper, more troubling agenda that seeks to erase historical identity and assert imperial domination over a region already suffering under a long history of interventionist policies. At its core, this is a move to expand the U.S. empire by erasing Mexico's presence from a geographical feature recognized for centuries.
The name "Gulf of Mexico" has existed since the 16th century. Its recognition is supported by international organizations such as the International Hydrographic Organization (IHO) and the United Nations Group of Experts on Geographical Names (UNGEGN). These organizations ensure that place names remain neutral and historically accurate, preventing nations from distorting or erasing cultural and historical ties to specific regions. Mexico has formally rejected this renaming, emphasizing that no country has the right to unilaterally change the identity of a shared natural resource that spans multiple borders. This is a matter of respect for international law and sovereignty, which the Trump administration has ignored in favor of pursuing nationalistic expansionism.
Erasing "Mexico" from our maps isn't an aberration. It's part of a long pattern of anti-Mexican racism in the U.S., ranging from political scapegoating and border militarization to violent rhetoric that fuels hate crimes. But this move goes beyond that. It fits into a much larger U.S. strategy of controlling the Western Hemisphere, which dates back to the Monroe Doctrine of 1823, which claimed the U.S. had the right to dictate who influences Latin America. Over time, this ideology has come to justify U.S.-backed military interventions, coups, and economic manipulations in the region aimed at securing U.S. interests and ensuring that Latin America remains in a subordinate position.
While Trump's attempt to erase "Mexico" from the Gulf of Mexico may appear symbolic, it could have devastating consequences.
Not only is the Gulf of Mexico a site of historical importance, but it is also rich in oil and natural resources. This fact is no coincidence. The United States has a long history of trying to control these resources including backing oil company boycotts against Mexico’s nationalized industry in the 1930s and signing trade agreements that favor U.S. companies over Mexican sovereignty. Renaming the Gulf of Mexico signals a territorial and economic claim over these waters and their resources, further cementing U.S. imperial ambitions in the region.
Companies like Google Maps, which has announced plans to rename the Gulf of Mexico to the Gulf of America after Trump's executive order, are just playing into the billionaire-fueled power grab that advances a racist, nationalist agenda of domination and imperialism. Even if Google only applies this change in the U.S., it still normalizes the idea that facts can be rewritten to serve a political agenda. At a time when diplomacy and mutual respect should be prioritized, honoring the internationally recognized name would send a clear message that Google values historical accuracy, global cooperation, and good neighborly relations.
The Gulf of Mexico is more than just a body of water; it is a shared resource of immense ecological, economic, and cultural significance for Mexico, the United States, and the world. It plays a critical role in regional trade, fisheries, and energy production, hosting some of North America's most important offshore oil reserves. The United States has long considered Latin America its "backyard," and this is another proof that its imperial ambitions are still alive.
The environmental devastation already occurring in the Gulf region is evidenced by devastating oil spills and the degradation of marine ecosystems. This destruction is further compounded as U.S. and foreign companies continue to exploit the region's resources with no regard for the long-term damage.
The movement to rename the Gulf of Mexico fits into a broader pattern of anti-Mexican sentiment in the United States that has often manifested in political scapegoating, hateful rhetoric, and border militarization. Such rhetoric fuels violence and hate crimes against Mexican and Latino communities. While Trump's attempt to erase "Mexico" from the Gulf of Mexico may appear symbolic, it could have devastating consequences. It reflects a disregard for historical truth, an aggressive assertion of U.S. superiority, and the continuation of exploitative colonialist practices that harm both the environment and Latin American people.