The generation of the boomers The United States, including Donald Trump, maintains a complex relationship with oil, deeply marked by the energy crises of the 1970s. Endless lines at gas stations are an image etched in their minds. For them, that shock marked the end of the economic romance experienced during the postwar period, and since then, the price of gasoline has become their barometer of the country's economic health, even though it often isn't.

When Donald Trump ordered the capture of Nicolás Maduro at the beginning of the year, some accused him of creating a smokescreen to cover up the published files of pedophile Jeffrey Epstein. Perhaps that was the case, but it is becoming increasingly clear that, like many other US presidents before him, he has fallen into the legacy trap. In their second term, they stop looking at popularity polls and seek to write their own epitaph.

Sixty-five years ago, John F. Kennedy asked the world not to ask what the United States could do for it, but what they could do together "for the freedom of man." It was the expression of an idealism that, almost half a century later, would resonate in the inaugural address of the first African American president in the country's history. Barack Obama addressed "all other peoples and governments" to assure them that America was "a friend to every nation that seeks a future of peace and dignity" and that his country was prepared, once again, to exercise global leadership.

From the excessive and coercive response in the streets of cities like Los Angeles and Minneapolis—where the National Guard and ICE immigration agents are deployed against protesters—to international interventions in Venezuela and Iran and pressure on Cuba and Greenland, Donald Trump not only acts as if his power were unlimited, but also as if his power were unlimited. And he does so because the system—until now—has largely allowed it: Congress, dominated by his party, has relinquished its role as a counterweight; the Supreme Court has offered him crucial cover, shielding his executive orders from almost any judicial checks; and both the economic elites and the international community have validated his power, whether out of self-interest or fear of reprisals.

Rob Reiner was a totem of American pop cultureespecially for Generation X and Millennials who grew up with his films. His work has served not only as a sentimental education for millions of people in the United States, but also throughout the world. Whether through the loss of innocence in Count on me., adaptation of the book The Body by Stephen King; the moral integrity ofSome good men; the triumph of love over tyranny – even if it was in a comical key – in The Princess Bride; the idealization of presidential power in The President and Miss Wadeor the existential questions of When Harry Met SallyHis films offered a shared narrative that allowed Americans to understand each other despite their differences. This connection stemmed from a profound, almost otherworldly idealism. Reiner was considered a spiritual heir to Frank Capra for his faith in public institutions and a humanism that placed individual decency above any ideology. He was convinced that, as long as the rules of the game were respected and civilized dialogue was maintained, the democratic system would be able to protect the most vulnerable and expose corruption and abuse of power. This principle can be found in the legendary 1970s sitcom. All in the FamilyThe show catapulted Reiner to fame with his portrayal of Michael Stivic, a progressive son-in-law who clashed with his conservative father-in-law, Archie Bunker. Through everyday confrontations, the series tackled issues such as racism, sexism, politics, and the generation gap—controversial topics that traditional television comedies had previously avoided. However, far from the toxic polarization characteristic of the Trump era, the series was an ode to coexistence, showcasing an increasingly difficult-to-conceive reality: that two seemingly irreconcilable extremes could live under the same roof because they still shared a common moral compass.

Of the "Shut up, piggy" to a journalist to ask an uncomfortable question, in the defense of an authoritarian prince and the trivialization of the murder of a dissident journalist. This week, Donald Trump has once again displayed mafia-like methods. In fact, these practices have already become a defining feature of his second presidential term.

The victory of Zohran MamdaniBorn in Uganda and raised in Queens, Joe Biden's run for mayor of New York City coincided with the departure of Nancy Pelosi, the historic Democratic leader and first woman to speak in the House of Representatives. Knowing her track record, it's hard to believe it's a coincidence. Pelosi doesn't leave anything to chance. Her decision to leave politics signals a generational shift, something she championed when she pressured Joe Biden to step down afterward. of his disastrous presidential debate against Donald Trump

The offices of the First Lady of the White House, destroyed; the private movie theater of the American presidents, razed; the garden dedicated to Jacqueline Kennedy, reduced to rubble; the entrance to the East Wing, where suffragettes campaigned for women's right to vote between January 1917 and June 1919, annihilated; and the hall where Pau Casals played for John F. Kennedy, now reduced to dust and debris: this is how what Betty Ford, wife of Gerald Ford—the vice president who succeeded Nixon after Watergate—called the "heart" of the White House has disappeared.

The meeting between Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin in Anchorage, Alaska, could perfectly be described as another summit no hamburgerThree hours of meeting, lots of photos and a red carpet, but no agreement to stop the war in Ukraine. In English political jargon, the expression nothingburger It describes a situation that seems important or media-fueled, but in reality lacks substance or real consequences. It literally means "a nothing burger," that is, with the appearance of meat but without meat or flavor. The term is attributed to the 1950s Hollywood gossip columnist Louella Parsons, but it became especially popular after the 2016 presidential campaign, the one that brought Donald Trump to the White House.

Donald Trump has fueled conspiracy theories to his own benefit since the beginning of his political career. First, as a Republican candidate, he questioned the nationality of then-President Barack Obama and, years later, he embraced delusions like QAnon—a supposed Satanic pedophile cabal—to captivate and retain a dedicated base of followers. This strategy has now backfired, and these hot summer days have become hellish, to the point that has been forced to order his attorney general to release witnesses from the grand jury that indicted Jeffrey Epstein.

With Trump 2.0, mass immigration raids in the United States have returned, but this time transformed into media spectacles designed to generate fear and reinforce the new administration's political narrative. The US president, a former television showman, has two good apprentices in this new phase: Secretary of Homeland Security Kristi Noem and "border czar" Tom Homan. With cameras and influencers far-right at their side, are the protagonists of these anti-immigration operations designed to go viral on the networks.

Donald Trump has not been in the White House for even a month and he has already turned the world order upside down. He has revived old obsessions: flight buy greenland In order to secure its natural resources, it has targeted the Panama Canal due to Chinese influence and has revived its strategy of economic threats through tariffs. It continues to confront one of its historical allies, Canada, by repeatedly suggesting the possibility of annexing it as the 51st state. Finally, it has made clear the return of the madman theory with its crazy proposal that US occupies Gaza, expels Palestinian population and turn the territory into a kind of "Middle Eastern Riviera."