I haven’t been ignoring what’s happening in the world.
And I certainly haven’t been living under a rock.
I’ve been angry for months.
Some of the most consequential foreign-policy moves in recent memory unfolded while my site was under construction and my attention had to be pulled elsewhere. The writing I should have been publishing was happening in real time — just not in public. That delay didn’t mean disengagement. It meant interruption.
So when the most recent headlines out of Venezuela hit, it wasn’t a wake-up call.
It was a breaking point.
What finally pushed this into the open wasn’t just the action itself — it was how quickly people around me decided what it meant. My local neighborhood app filled with flags, eagles, chest-thumping celebration. People cheered what they called a “drug bust,” recycled slogans like FAFO, and congratulated themselves on American strength — all without pausing to ask what was actually happening.
That’s when it became clear: this wasn’t really about drugs.
And it wasn’t really about Venezuela either.
It was about how spectacle is used to flatten complexity — and how easily power is reframed as patriotism when people stop asking questions.
Borrowed Swagger Isn’t Policy
FAFO has become shorthand for consequences finally catching up to people who believed they were untouchable. Watching it flipped into a slogan of dominance — used to celebrate military force — felt less like irony and more like cosplay.
We’ve traded the Monroe Doctrine for what I’ll call the Don-roe Doctrine — where “Speak softly and carry a big stick” has been replaced by “Shout loudly and bring the handcuffs.”
For readers unfamiliar with the reference: the Monroe Doctrine, introduced in 1823, warned European powers against colonizing or interfering in the Western Hemisphere. At least in theory, it was framed as defensive — stay out, and we’ll stay out of your affairs. While later abused, its stated premise rested on sovereignty, not ownership.
The Don-roe Doctrine is something else entirely.
It isn’t about deterrence.
It’s about dominance — the idea that if a country exists within our perceived sphere of interest, we get to decide who governs it, how it operates, and whether its leaders “have a choice.”
When language becomes recycled bravado, it stops carrying meaning.
It becomes a signal: Don’t ask questions. Just clap.
“Our Stuff” Isn’t a Foreign Policy
Just hours after the operation, J. D. Vance defended it publicly with this framing:
“Are we just supposed to allow a communist to steal our stuff in our hemisphere and do nothing? Great powers don’t act like that.”
That sentence explains more than any briefing ever could.
Not law.
Not diplomacy.
Not international norms.
Stuff.
Hemisphere.
Great powers.
This is the language of asset recovery, not governance. It treats nations as holdings, resources as inventory, and force as a justified means of repossession.
This is the worldview behind what I call Vance-zuela: not governing alongside partners, but reclaiming what is presumed to already belong to us.
This Was Never a “Drug Bust”
Fentanyl is a real and devastating crisis. That isn’t up for debate.
But foreign military action, regime-change rhetoric, and maritime force are not drug policy. Treating them as interchangeable doesn’t solve anything — it just blurs accountability.
Public health requires sustained, unglamorous work.
Spectacle requires only a headline.
And when the White House insists this is only about drugs, it asks us to ignore everything else in plain sight: the language of control, the talk of “running” another country, and the quiet but unmistakable focus on leverage and resources.
The 24-Hour Collapse
In less than a day, the U.S. storyline collided directly with the reality of a sovereign nation refusing to cooperate.
1. The Transaction
In a public appearance, Donald Trump described Venezuela’s vice president as “gracious,” claimed she was willing to do “whatever we think is necessary,” and then said the quiet part out loud:
“She really doesn’t have a choice.”
That isn’t diplomacy.
That’s takeover language — the kind you’d hear from the J.D. Venture-alist before gutting a company and calling it “restructuring.”
A country was being discussed like a distressed asset.
This clip is from Pondering Politics, and it’s worth your time. What’s shown here doesn’t require spin — the contrast between what was claimed and what followed speaks for itself.
2. The Sovereignty
Just hours later, Delcy Rodríguez appeared on Venezuelan state television, flanked by senior officials, and rejected the entire premise.
She called the seizure of the president an illegal kidnapping, demanded his release, and stated plainly that Venezuela would never be a colony of the United States.
This is the split-screen moment:
A Washington press narrative claiming we’ve successfully “onboarded” a cooperative partner — while the so-called partner stands with her courts, legislature, and military saying no.
While Washington spoke as if consent had been secured, Caracas spoke as if an invasion had occurred.
Both cannot be true.
3. The Retribution
By the next day, the tone snapped again. Trump warned that Rodríguez could pay a “bigger price than Maduro” if she didn’t comply.
So within 24 hours:
- She was “gracious”
- Then “defiant”
- Then personally threatened for asserting sovereignty
This isn’t strategy.
It’s narrative whiplash with a military budget.
The Legitimacy Paradox
A reporter asked a procedural question about whether the United States would work with Venezuela’s vice president, noting that she had been sworn in after being selected by Nicolás Maduro.
The delegitimization didn’t come from the question.
It came from the answer.
In responding, Donald Trump made the implication unmistakable: because she had been picked by a leader he deemed illegitimate, her authority was conditional at best. She was described as “gracious,” compliant, and ultimately powerless — someone who “doesn’t have a choice.”
That framing is where legitimacy was quietly revoked.
But here’s the problem.
Vice presidents in the United States are also picked.
They are not elected independently. They are selected by presidential candidates and ratified as part of a ticket.
So if legitimacy hinges on whether we approve of who did the picking, then legitimacy itself becomes a tool of convenience — not a principle.
Flip the script:
If another country decided they didn’t like our election, kidnapped our president, and announced they were “running” things until a “safe transition” occurred — would we accept them calling J. D. Vance a “gracious” puppet? Or would we call it an act of war?
In the Don-roe Doctrine, war is simply what we call it when people don’t let us take their things.
Of course not.
And that’s the point.
The 2026 Legitimacy Checklist
- Step 1: Do we like who picked you?
? If no, you’re a puppet. - Step 2: Do you control resources we want?
? If yes, you “don’t have a choice.” - Step 3: Are you ours?
? If yes, legitimacy is assumed.
? If no, it’s negotiable.
Welcome to Vance-zuela.
Why This Isn’t “America First”
Running other countries is not America First.
It’s empire language.
And while people are cheering dominance abroad, the problems at home remain:
- Healthcare costs continue to climb
- Housing stays out of reach
- Institutional trust keeps eroding
Foreign spectacle doesn’t pay medical bills.
It doesn’t stabilize families.
It doesn’t fix what’s broken here.
A Note on Satire
Months ago, I wrote a satire piece called The Noble Piece of Work Awards — a commentary on branding chaos as peace and ego as leadership.
I didn’t expect it to age this fast.
Sometimes humor is the only way to point at a contradiction people refuse to see when it’s stated plainly.
Closing
Patriotism isn’t volume.
It isn’t slogans.
It isn’t celebrating force without asking what it costs — or what precedent it sets.
If we decide that choice is something only the powerful deserve, we shouldn’t be surprised when that logic eventually turns inward.
Sovereignty doesn’t disappear all at once.
It erodes the moment we decide it only matters when it’s convenient.
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