Former California state Controller Betty Yee pulled out of the 2026 governor's race on Monday, telling CBS she saw no path to victory after weeks of pressure from party leaders who wanted low-polling Democrats to clear the field. Her exit narrows a primary that has already been rocked by the departure of onetime frontrunner Eric Swalwell, who suspended his own campaign amid sexual misconduct allegations.
Yee framed the decision as a concession to political reality, but not without taking a parting shot at what she called the party apparatus that squeezed her out. She described internal polls commissioned by unnamed "party bosses" as tools designed to thin the herd, not measure genuine voter sentiment.
The result is a Democratic field in open turmoil just weeks before the June 2 primary, with no clear standard-bearer and a Trump-backed candidate sitting atop the latest survey.
Yee, who served two terms as California's state Controller, never broke into the top tier of the crowded gubernatorial field. The New York Post reported that California Democrats had been pleading with low-polling candidates to drop out for weeks before Yee finally obliged.
In a video announcement, Yee made it official. She told CBS:
"I am stepping aside from this race for governor because this is a time where I do not see a path to be successful. But success comes in all different forms."
Behind the careful language was a blunter problem: money. The Associated Press reported that Yee said donor support was drying up and she lacked the funds to advertise in California's punishingly expensive media markets.
"It was becoming clear that the donors were not going to be there," Yee said. "Even some of my former supporters just felt like they needed to move on."
That candid admission tells you something about how Democratic primary politics work in California. When the money stops, the candidate stops, and the money stopped because party insiders decided Yee wasn't worth the investment.
Yee reserved her sharpest words for the internal polling she said was deployed to pressure candidates like her out of the race. She called them "shame polls", surveys bankrolled by party leaders to demonstrate that certain candidates had no viable shot.
She told CBS:
"I mean, they're doing their job and for whatever reason decided to put money into a poll that would narrow the field."
Yee went further, suggesting that the electorate itself had shifted in ways that punished substance over spectacle. It's a familiar complaint from candidates who lose, but in California's current political climate, where the Democratic establishment has struggled to reckon with recent electoral failures, her words carried a particular sting.
"What they were saying, which was concerning, was that experience and competence was not polling as high as we thought when I first started this race."
She added that voters now seem drawn to conflict and personality over track records.
"We are in this new era where it's kind of almost a reality TV show mentality that people want, and frankly, conflict sells. That's what gets people's attention."
Yee even joked about what it would take to break through: "I'm not a flashy person, I don't come with gimmicks. I even joked with my team one time, maybe I just need to bring a folding stool and throw it off the stage just to get some attention. I mean, what's it gonna take, right?"
Yee's departure came just over a week after the far more consequential exit of Eric Swalwell, who had been among the leading Democrats in the race. Swalwell suspended his campaign after multiple serious sexual misconduct allegations surfaced. Fox News reported that his withdrawal reshaped the primary more dramatically than Yee's, given his higher profile and stronger poll numbers.
The Swalwell controversy has exposed fault lines in Democratic leadership. House Democrats stayed largely silent on the misconduct accusations even as the allegations mounted, raising questions about the party's willingness to hold its own accountable.
With both Swalwell and Yee now gone, a Gudelunas Strategies poll released Monday showed the reshaped field. Trump-backed candidate Steve Hilton led at 20 percent. Xavier Becerra and billionaire Tom Steyer were tied at 15 percent. Chad Bianco sat at 14 percent. Katie Porter trailed at 13 percent.
That a Republican-aligned candidate leads the field in deep-blue California is itself a measure of Democratic dysfunction. Allies of term-limited Governor Gavin Newsom have reportedly floated Becerra as a viable dark horse, but Newsom himself has not issued a formal endorsement.
Newsom's refusal to endorse speaks volumes. The outgoing governor, who built his brand on bold progressive gestures, has apparently decided that picking a side in this fractured primary carries more risk than reward. That leaves Democratic voters without a clear signal from the party's most prominent Californian about who should succeed him.
The endorsement vacuum has only deepened the sense that California Democrats are operating without a coherent strategy. Party leaders pressured low-polling candidates to quit, but the candidates who remain are bunched within a few points of each other, and the frontrunner isn't even a Democrat.
Meanwhile, senior Democrats have claimed ignorance about the Swalwell allegations that helped trigger this chain of events, a posture that strains credulity given how long the congressman had been a fixture in party circles.
Betty Yee served eight years as California's chief fiscal officer. She ran on experience and competence. By her own account, the party told her those qualities weren't enough, and then cut off her oxygen supply.
She insists the work isn't over. "I do feel we've run a successful campaign," she said. "But the work doesn't stop here. My commitment to public service is both in my public life and in my personal life. So I will be back to the communities."
Whether she returns to public life or not, her departure lays bare a familiar pattern. The Democratic Party in California, a one-party state for all practical purposes, manages its primaries less through voter choice than through donor pressure, internal polling, and behind-the-scenes arm-twisting. When the machine decides you're done, you're done. The broader Democratic approach to elections often prioritizes institutional control over grassroots competition, and this race is no exception.
Several open questions remain. Which specific party figures commissioned the polls Yee called "shame polls"? What was her actual polling number, a figure conspicuously absent from the public record? And will the remaining Democrats coalesce around a single candidate before Steve Hilton consolidates his lead?
In a state where Democrats hold every lever of power, they can't even organize a clean primary. That tells you everything about who's actually running California, and how well it's going.
Patrick Muldoon, the actor who brought Austin Reed to life on "Days of Our Lives" and played Richard Hart on "Melrose Place", died Sunday at his Beverly Hills home after a sudden heart attack. He was 57.
His partner, Miriam Rothbart, found him unconscious on the bathroom floor after he had gone to take a shower that morning, Page Six reported. Paramedics were called, but Muldoon was pronounced dead at the scene.
The death, first reported by Deadline, came without warning. Muldoon's sister, Shana Muldoon-Zappa, told TMZ that her brother had spent a quiet Sunday morning with Rothbart at their home before stepping away to shower. When he took too long, Rothbart went to check on him and discovered him unresponsive.
Fifty-seven years old. No long illness. No public decline. Just a heart attack on a Sunday morning in Beverly Hills, a reminder that time does not negotiate, not even with people who seem to have plenty of it left.
Muldoon grew up in San Pedro, California, the son of Deanna and Patrick Muldoon Sr. He graduated from the University of Southern California in 1991 and played on the Trojans football team. Even before finishing school, he had started testing the waters in Hollywood, appearing on two episodes of "Who's the Boss?" while still in college.
After graduation, Muldoon landed a three-episode recurring role on "Saved By the Bell," playing Jeff opposite Tiffani Thiessen's Kelly. That small part opened a bigger door. By 1992, he had been cast as Austin Reed on "Days of Our Lives," a role he held through 1995 and reprised from 2011 to 2012.
The entertainment industry has lost several familiar faces in recent years. James Van Der Beek, star of "Dawson's Creek" and "Varsity Blues," died at just 48, another sudden loss that hit fans of '90s television hard.
During a hiatus from "Days," Muldoon moved to primetime. He played Richard Hart on "Melrose Place" from Season 3 through Season 5, cementing his name in the decade's pop-culture lineup. In 1997, he took on the role of Zander Barcalow in Paul Verhoeven's "Starship Troopers," appearing alongside Denise Richards in what became a cult sci-fi favorite.
Muldoon did not stop at performing. He moved behind the camera as an executive producer, working on projects including "The Tribes of Palos Verdes," "The Dreadful," and "Riff Raff." At the time of his death, he was executive producing "Kockroach," a film set to star Chris Hemsworth, Taron Egerton, and Zazie Beetz.
His latest movie as an actor, "Dirty Hands," is set for release later this year.
Outside of film and television, Muldoon served as lead singer and guitar player for The Sleeping Masses. The man clearly did not sit still. He built a career across daytime drama, primetime soap opera, feature films, independent production, and live music, a range that few in Hollywood bother to attempt, let alone sustain for three decades.
The passing of beloved actors always stirs a particular kind of grief among audiences who grew up watching them. Demond Wilson of "Sanford and Son" recently passed at 79, drawing similar tributes from fans who felt they had lost someone they knew.
Friends of Muldoon offered a remembrance to Deadline that painted a picture of the man behind the screen credits. Fox News reported the tribute, which spoke to a warmth that colleagues said defined him off camera:
"[Muldoon] loved animals and people alike, gave unforgettable hugs, and possessed a rare quality of making others feel safe and seen."
That kind of tribute, specific, personal, unprompted, says more than any highlight reel. It is the sort of thing people say when they mean it, not when a publicist drafts it.
Muldoon is survived by his partner Miriam Rothbart, his parents, his sister Shana Muldoon-Zappa, and his brother-in-law Ahmet Zappa. He also leaves behind children, though their names were not publicly disclosed.
There is no scandal here. No cautionary tale about excess. Patrick Muldoon was a working actor and producer who had been at it since the early 1990s, still active, still building. He spent a Sunday morning at home with the woman he loved, went to take a shower, and never came back.
Heart attacks at 57 are not unheard of, but they are not expected either. The suddenness is the cruelest part. One moment, a quiet morning in Beverly Hills. The next, paramedics and a pronouncement that cannot be reversed.
For the millions who watched Austin Reed navigate the tangled storylines of Salem, or who saw Richard Hart scheme his way through the halls of Melrose Place, Muldoon was a fixture of an era when appointment television still meant something. He belonged to a generation of performers who showed up, did the work, and gave audiences characters worth caring about.
Fifty-seven is too young. That is not commentary. It is arithmetic, and a hard reminder to everyone watching that the people we take for granted can be gone between one ordinary moment and the next.
Venezuela's acting president Delcy Rodríguez publicly thanked President Donald Trump and Secretary of State Marco Rubio on Thursday for what she called their "goodwill" in rebuilding diplomatic and economic relations between Washington and Caracas, a striking turn from a regime figure who, just months ago, denounced the United States for capturing her former boss.
Rodríguez made the remarks during the signing ceremony for Venezuela's new Mining Law, a sweeping piece of legislation that revokes decades of socialist restrictions on the country's mining sector and opens the door to foreign investment, particularly from American companies. Christian K. Caruzo reported that Rodríguez used her opening remarks at the ceremony to express gratitude to Trump, Rubio, and other U.S. officials involved in the diplomatic process.
The scene would have been unthinkable a year ago. Venezuela under Nicolás Maduro spent years antagonizing Washington, courting Tehran, and treating the International Monetary Fund like a colonial relic. Now, with Maduro in U.S. custody and the regime scrambling to survive, the same government apparatus is rolling out the welcome mat for American capital and calling it progress.
Rodríguez's tone on Thursday stood in sharp contrast to her posture in the hours after Maduro's arrest. On January 3, a U.S. law enforcement operation in Caracas, authorized by President Trump, resulted in the capture of Maduro and Cilia Flores. Rodríguez responded with a fiery emergency address, demanding their release and accusing the United States of launching an attack on Venezuelan sovereignty.
In that televised speech, as the New York Post reported, Rodríguez declared Maduro "the only president of Venezuela" and framed the U.S. raid as military aggression aimed at seizing the country's resources.
"The government of the United States launched an unprecedented military aggression against the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela," Rodríguez said.
She also announced military deployments in major cities and called for public mobilization. Iran's foreign minister reportedly spoke with Venezuela's foreign minister and condemned the U.S. action, with Rodríguez herself claiming the operation carried "Zionist" overtones.
That was January. By late March, the two countries had officially reestablished diplomatic ties. By Thursday, Rodríguez was thanking Trump by name.
The new Mining Law, approved last week by lawmakers in the regime-controlled National Assembly, headed by Rodríguez's brother, Jorge Rodríguez, represents one of the most concrete breaks with the Chávez-Maduro economic model. The legislation rescinds restrictions imposed by decree during the early years of Hugo Chávez's rule and introduces provisions designed to attract foreign investment into Venezuela's mining sector.
It follows a similar move months earlier, when lawmakers from the ruling United Socialist Party of Venezuela approved reforms to the nation's hydrocarbons law, allowing foreign investment into the oil sector while revoking long-standing restrictions. Together, the two reforms amount to a quiet dismantling of the socialist framework that defined Venezuelan economic policy for more than two decades.
Rodríguez promoted the mining-law reform during a February visit by Interior Secretary Doug Burgum. Energy Secretary Chris Wright and Kyle Haustveit, assistant secretary for the Department of Energy's Hydrocarbons and Geothermal Energy Office, have also met with Rodríguez in Caracas in recent weeks. The breadth of the U.S. delegation signals that Washington sees real economic opportunity in a post-Maduro Venezuela, and that it intends to move fast.
The broader pattern of Democrats failing to constrain Trump's foreign policy makes the administration's Venezuela strategy all the more notable. While critics in Congress have questioned the approach, the results on the ground, diplomatic normalization, legislative reform, and renewed investment channels, speak for themselves.
At Thursday's signing ceremony, Rodríguez offered her most explicit public embrace of the bilateral relationship to date. In her opening remarks, she said:
"I would like to thank President Trump, the Secretary of State, and the Secretaries who have been involved in this entire process for their willingness to pursue diplomatic, economic, and cooperative relations with Venezuela adapted to a reality that allows the truth about Venezuela to be known."
Separately, the state-run outlet Telesur reported that Rodríguez described the resumption of talks between the IMF and Venezuela as a "great achievement of Venezuelan diplomacy" and thanked not only Trump and Rubio but also the United Arab Emirates, Brazil, and Qatar.
The IMF and World Bank both announced Thursday that they had resumed dealings with the Venezuelan regime, ending a seven-year-long rupture. For years, both Chávez and Maduro maintained a highly antagonistic stance toward the IMF. That the institution is now back at the table, and that Caracas is celebrating rather than protesting, marks a significant shift in the regime's orientation.
Michael Kozak, a senior official in the State Department's Bureau of Western Hemisphere Affairs, laid out the administration's strategy at a congressional hearing the same day. Speaking before the U.S. Congress Western Hemisphere Subcommittee at a hearing titled "Latin America After the Fall of Maduro," Kozak said the first phase of Trump's three-phase plan for Venezuela, stabilization, is "done."
The second phase, Kozak told lawmakers, will focus on recovery of the Venezuelan economy and "political reconciliation." He emphasized that the approach is not about "trusting" the regime, and pointed to the United States's "very significant" control of Venezuela's oil revenue as a source of leverage. The third phase, transition, remains ahead.
That framing matters. The administration is not handing Rodríguez a blank check. It is conditioning cooperation on measurable outcomes while holding substantial economic cards. The fact that Venezuela's own lawmakers are dismantling Chávez-era restrictions suggests the leverage is working.
The political dynamics in Washington are no less interesting. While some Democrats have openly admitted their party has failed to offer a coherent alternative, the Trump administration has moved decisively on Venezuela without waiting for consensus.
National Review noted that Rodríguez had been described as a hardline socialist, a former chief of Venezuela's intelligence service SEBIN, and a sanctioned official tied to documented human-rights abuses. Prior reporting indicated that she and her brother had tried to present themselves to Washington as a more acceptable post-Maduro alternative while preserving the ruling chavista system, a formula sometimes called "Madurismo without Maduro."
Trump himself acknowledged the relationship's transactional nature early on. After Rodríguez spoke with Rubio following Maduro's capture, Trump said: "She said, 'We'll do whatever you need.'" An administration official told the New York Times that Rodríguez is "certainly someone we think we can work at a much more professional level than we were able to do with him."
None of this erases Rodríguez's record. Her father was a Venezuelan Marxist figure. She rose through the ranks of the same system that impoverished millions and drove an exodus that destabilized the entire region. But the administration appears to have calculated that working with the regime's surviving structure, under firm conditions, is more productive than leaving a vacuum.
That calculation echoes broader debates playing out in Washington, where bipartisan disagreements over Trump's foreign policy approach have become a recurring feature of the political landscape.
Several things remain unclear. The exact terms of the new Mining Law have not been published in detail. The full scope of the IMF and World Bank's resumed engagement has not been specified. And the timeline for the third phase of Trump's plan, the democratic transition, has no public deadline.
Whether Rodríguez's public praise for Trump represents a genuine strategic pivot or a survival maneuver by a regime figure with no better options is a question only time will answer. What is clear is that the Trump administration has moved from confrontation to conditioned engagement in a matter of months, and that Venezuela's ruling class, for now, is playing along.
Meanwhile, the immigration consequences of Venezuela's collapse continue to shape domestic policy debates in Washington, a reminder that what happens in Caracas does not stay in Caracas.
When a socialist regime starts thanking the American president by name and dismantling its own economic restrictions to attract U.S. dollars, that is not goodwill. That is leverage, applied correctly.
Sen. Chuck Grassley, the longest-serving member of the United States Senate, is not ruling out another run. The Iowa Republican told the Daily Iowan he would decide on a ninth term in roughly a year to eighteen months, and he has already filed a statement of candidacy with the Federal Election Commission.
If Grassley runs in 2028 and wins, he would be 101 years old by the time that term expires. He turns 92 in September.
The filing, reported by the Washington Examiner, does not commit Grassley to a campaign. But it does something more telling: it keeps the door wide open at a moment when Iowa's Republican bench is already reshuffling around him.
Asked directly about his plans, Grassley offered a non-answer that sounded a lot like preparation. He told the Daily Iowan:
"Ask me again in a year, maybe a year and a half."
He said the factors he weighs are the same ones he has considered before, "family considerations and whether or not I can do the job." That formulation is notable for what it leaves out. Grassley did not mention age. He did not suggest retirement. He framed the question entirely around capability and family, the same test he says he has applied through more than four decades in the Senate.
Grassley has served in Congress for over 50 years. He entered the House in 1975, moved to the Senate in 1981, and has not lost a race since. In 2022, at age 89, he defeated Democratic challenger Michael Franken with 56 percent of the vote in his eighth reelection campaign.
That margin was comfortable, but the broader political landscape in Iowa has shifted since then. Newsmax reported that Sen. Joni Ernst has signaled she will not seek reelection, making her the first Iowa Republican senator to voluntarily retire since 1968. Rep. Ashley Hinson is widely expected to pursue Ernst's open seat in 2026, which could trigger a broader Republican reshuffle, including the possibility that Iowa House Speaker Pat Grassley, the senator's grandson, enters the race for Hinson's congressional district.
Grassley has built his political brand on a ritual that most modern senators abandoned long ago: visiting all 99 Iowa counties every year, holding open question-and-answer sessions with constituents. He described the practice in straightforward terms.
"I do the same thing all six years of a term. I just travel the counties every year and have a Q&A in every county."
He said he lets voters set the agenda at those sessions. "I let them set the agenda on their Q&As," Grassley stated. What he hears, he said, is not abstract Washington politics. It is prescription drug prices. The five-year Farm Bill. E15 ethanol blending. Transportation funding. The Highway Bill and Infrastructure Bill, which he noted "runs out at the end of this year."
That list reads like a to-do list, not a farewell tour. Grassley is chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee and president pro tempore of the Senate, third in the line of presidential succession. Those are not positions a man holds while quietly packing his desk.
His continued focus on federal election legislation further suggests an active agenda. Grassley is the co-author of the Safeguard American Voter Eligibility Act, which would require voter ID at the polls and proof of citizenship when registering to vote. Asked about the bill's prospects, Grassley deferred to Senate Majority Leader John Thune.
"You'll have to ask Senator John Thune that whenever he forces the vote, and I think he's looking forward to getting it passed."
On the substance of voter ID, Grassley was blunt: "I think it's pretty simple for people that can't show the documents that you prove your citizenship."
Grassley's relationship with President Donald Trump adds another layer to the 2028 question. Trump has repeatedly claimed on social media that he secured Grassley's reelection to the Senate, saying Grassley was "down, by a lot" before Trump's intervention. The two have also been in a recent standoff over the Judiciary Committee's "blue slip" practice, which allows senators to block judicial nominees who would serve in their home states.
That tension has not stopped Grassley from appearing alongside Trump. An image caption from a July 3, 2025, event shows Grassley arriving at a Trump rally in Des Moines. And during his 2022 campaign, Grassley made no secret of his alignment with the former president. Fox News reported that Grassley publicly welcomed Trump's endorsement, citing Trump's 91 percent approval rating among Iowa Republicans.
"Anybody who's got the approval rating of 91% of the Republicans in Iowa, you surely wouldn't be stupid enough to turn down that help."
Grassley also told Fox News at the time, "I'm smart enough to accept that endorsement." The pragmatism was characteristic. Grassley has survived in Iowa politics for half a century not by chasing ideological purity but by showing up, listening, and delivering on the issues that matter to rural voters, Farm Bills, ethanol, infrastructure, and the basic mechanics of self-government.
The standoff with Trump over blue slips, meanwhile, reflects Grassley's institutional streak. He has defended Senate prerogatives on judicial nominations even when it puts him at odds with a president from his own party. That kind of independence is familiar territory for Republican senators willing to push back when they believe congressional authority is at stake.
The obvious question hanging over Grassley's 2028 deliberation is age. If he wins a ninth term, he would serve until he is 101. That is not a typo. His current term already extends to age 95.
Grassley has answered the age question the same way for years: by pointing to his schedule, his county visits, and his output. He chairs one of the most powerful committees in the Senate. He co-authors legislation. He holds town halls in all 99 counties. He won his last race by double digits.
Whether that answer remains persuasive to Iowa voters in 2028 is a different matter. But Grassley's filing with the FEC suggests he intends to make that case rather than step aside.
The broader Iowa political picture adds urgency. With Ernst likely leaving and Hinson expected to move up, the state's Republican delegation is entering a period of transition. Grassley's decision to run, or not, will shape the field for years. If he steps aside, his seat becomes the second open Iowa Senate race in a single cycle, a rare event that would test the depth of the state's GOP bench.
Grassley has also navigated internal GOP debates over congressional authority with a consistency that younger members sometimes lack. His defense of the blue slip tradition is one example. His insistence on voter ID legislation is another. These are not culture-war vanity projects. They are structural fights about how elections work and how the Senate functions.
Grassley's FEC filing is a placeholder, not a commitment. But placeholders have a way of becoming campaigns, especially for a man who has won eight consecutive Senate races and shows no public inclination to stop.
The senator's own timeline, "a year, maybe a year and a half", puts a formal announcement somewhere around mid-to-late 2026. That gives him time to assess his health, his family situation, and the political landscape. It also gives potential challengers and successors very little room to organize.
Grassley's approach to Senate oversight and committee work has always been methodical. He does not grandstand. He does not leak. He shows up, does the work, and lets the results speak. That style has served Iowa well for half a century.
Whether it can carry him to 101 is the question Iowa voters will eventually have to answer. Grassley, for his part, does not seem interested in answering it for them just yet.
In Washington, where most politicians can barely commit to a lunch reservation, a 91-year-old senator filing FEC paperwork for a race three years away is either a testament to old-fashioned durability, or a reminder that the people who show up are the ones who get to decide.
President Donald Trump said Wednesday that the war with Iran is "very close to being over," describing a regime weakened by American military action and eager to return to the negotiating table, a striking claim that came as U.S. officials across multiple forums signaled preparations for renewed talks within days.
In excerpts from a pre-recorded Fox Business interview with Maria Bartiromo, Trump laid out his case that the combination of airstrikes and a naval blockade had left Tehran with no viable path forward except a deal. The White House amplified clips of the interview on X Tuesday evening, hours before its scheduled broadcast.
The president's message was blunt and direct: Iran can negotiate or face continued devastation.
Trump framed the military campaign as a necessary response to Iran's nuclear ambitions. He told Bartiromo that he redirected resources toward Iran because the alternative was unacceptable.
"I had to divert because if I didn't do that, right now you would have Iran with a nuclear weapon. And if they had a nuclear weapon, you would be calling everybody over there, and you don't want to do that."
When Bartiromo asked whether the war was over, Trump did not hesitate. "I think it's close to over, yeah. I mean, I view it as very close to over," he said. He then added a warning that doubled as leverage: "If I pulled up stakes right now, it would take them 20 years to rebuild that country. And we're not finished. We'll see what happens. I think they want to make a deal very badly."
That 20-year figure was not idle talk. The Washington Examiner reported that U.S. Central Command confirmed the naval blockade of Iranian ports has been fully implemented and has halted maritime trade tied to roughly 90 percent of Iran's economy. Vessels attempting to reach Iranian ports have been turned back. Shipping patterns have already begun to shift.
Trump went further in a separate exchange with the New York Post, saying the U.S. military could destroy Iran's bridges and power plants "in one hour" if negotiations fail. He told the Post earlier Tuesday that discussions "could be happening over the next two days" and that the United States was "more inclined" to return to Islamabad for another round of talks.
The backdrop to Trump's optimism is a set of negotiations that came tantalizingly close, and then fell apart. Over the weekend, from Saturday into early Sunday, roughly 21 hours of Pakistan-mediated talks took place in Islamabad. The sessions marked the first direct engagement between Washington and Tehran in decades.
Vice President JD Vance led the U.S. delegation. He described the atmosphere as serious but cautious. At a Turning Point USA event Tuesday, Vance explained that the president has no interest in half-measures.
"He doesn't want to make... a small deal. He wants to make the grand bargain. That's the trade that he's offering."
The administration's stated terms were sweeping: Iran would permanently abandon its nuclear ambitions and end support for terrorism. In exchange, the United States would offer full economic normalization, allowing Iran, in Vance's word, to "thrive" in a way it hasn't "in my entire life." Any agreement would require Tehran to relinquish its enriched uranium stockpile and accept strict verification measures.
But the talks collapsed. Newsmax reported that Vance left Islamabad without a deal after Tehran insisted on long-term uranium enrichment rights. Vance himself said Iran's delegation lacked the authority to finalize an agreement and needed to return to Tehran for approval.
The administration rejected reports that negotiators had explored a long-term freeze on Iran's enrichment program. Trump made his position clear Monday at the White House: "I've been saying they can't have nuclear weapons. So I don't like the 20 years." A freeze, in other words, was not the same as permanent dismantlement, and the president was not buying.
The president's willingness to set firm terms on major institutional questions has been a consistent theme of this administration, whether the subject is the Supreme Court or the Middle East.
While diplomats talked, the U.S. military acted. On Monday, the United States moved forward with a naval blockade targeting Iranian ports. Trump framed the move as necessary to counter what he described as Tehran's attempt to "blackmail" global energy flows through the Strait of Hormuz.
The economic pressure is real. With 90 percent of Iran's economy tied to the maritime trade now halted by the blockade, the regime faces a choice between negotiation and slow economic strangulation. Just The News reported that Trump claimed the U.S. has "totally" beaten the Iranian regime and that the damage has been extensive enough to require decades of rebuilding.
This is the leverage the administration wants. Deputy White House Chief of Staff Stephen Miller put it in plain terms on Fox News Tuesday night.
"President Trump has put Iran in a box. He's played the checkmate move. America wins."
Miller described the strategy as placing the United States in a "win-win posture", either Iran agrees to dismantle its nuclear program and receives economic relief, or the military and economic pressure continues to degrade the regime's capacity.
The signals Tuesday pointed toward renewed engagement. U.N. Secretary-General António Guterres said it was "highly probable" talks would restart. Trump credited Pakistan's Field Marshal Asim Munir with helping facilitate the original Islamabad negotiations. Mediators were reportedly working to extend a ceasefire and set up another round.
Vance, for his part, acknowledged the difficulty while expressing measured confidence. "There's a lot of mistrust... you're not going to solve that overnight," he said. But he added: "I think the people we're sitting across from wanted to make a deal."
In a separate Fox News interview Monday, Vance said "a lot of progress" had been made and that "the ball really is in [the Iranians'] court." The vice president's tone suggested the administration believes it holds the stronger hand, and is willing to wait.
Trump reinforced that message Monday at the White House, saying the United States had been contacted by the "right people" in Iran who "would like to make a deal, very badly." He added the caveat that has defined his approach from the start: if Tehran does not agree to abandon its nuclear ambitions, "there's no deal."
The White House has been busy on multiple fronts in recent weeks, from national security construction projects to this high-stakes diplomatic push. The Iran file, though, carries consequences that dwarf any domestic dispute.
For all the optimism, significant questions hang over the situation. The exact terms discussed during those 21 hours in Islamabad remain unclear. The specific ceasefire arrangements, between which parties, under what conditions, have not been publicly detailed. And Iran's internal decision-making process, which Vance cited as the reason talks stalled, remains opaque.
The administration's insistence on permanent dismantlement rather than a freeze sets a high bar. Whether Tehran's leadership can accept those terms, or whether hardliners inside the regime will block any agreement, is the central unknown.
There is also the question of verification. Vance said any deal would require Iran to hand over its enriched uranium stockpile and submit to strict monitoring. That demand echoes lessons learned from years of failed agreements in which Iran exploited ambiguity to continue its program. This time, the administration appears determined not to repeat those mistakes.
The security environment around the White House itself has been a recurring concern, a reminder that the stakes of presidential decision-making extend far beyond any single negotiation.
The pattern is now clear. The Trump administration used military force to create leverage, imposed a blockade to tighten the economic vise, and sent its vice president to the table with maximalist demands. When Iran's negotiators couldn't deliver, the U.S. walked away, and then publicly signaled willingness to come back.
It is a strategy built on pressure, not patience. And it stands in sharp contrast to the approach of previous administrations, which spent years pursuing incremental agreements that left Iran's nuclear infrastructure largely intact. The Obama-era deal, in particular, allowed Iran to continue enriching uranium under limits that were set to expire, a framework Trump has long rejected.
Whether Tehran's leadership reads the situation the same way Washington does will determine what happens next. Potential meetings were reported as possible as early as the end of this week. The administration has made its offer. The regime has to decide whether to take it.
For years, the foreign-policy establishment insisted that pressure campaigns against Iran wouldn't work, that only careful, incremental diplomacy could move the needle. The regime's apparent eagerness to return to the table suggests the establishment had it exactly backward.
Rep. Lauren Boebert wants Congress to strip former Reps. Eric Swalwell and Tony Gonzales of their taxpayer-funded retirement benefits after both men resigned Tuesday amid separate sexual misconduct allegations. The Colorado Republican told CNN's Manu Raju outside the House steps that the two lawmakers should never have been allowed to walk away quietly, and that their pensions should go with them.
As The Hill reported, Boebert argued that resignation let both men dodge the accountability that expulsion would have delivered. She framed the pension question as a test of whether Congress takes misconduct seriously or simply lets disgraced members cash out on the public dime.
The push raises a straightforward question that taxpayers deserve an answer to: Why should someone who leaves office under a cloud of sexual misconduct allegations keep drawing a government check for life?
Speaking to Raju on Tuesday, Boebert laid out her position bluntly. She told CNN:
"I think they should've been expelled and not resigned. And I think that we actually need to look into ways to censure, with other aspects to say you can't have your pension, you can't leave here with all your taxpayer-funded benefits after such shameful acts that cause you to bow out and resign from Congress."
Boebert had already signaled this fight before Tuesday's resignations. After the allegations against Swalwell became public last Friday, she said she would introduce a resolution to censure the California Democrat. On the social platform X, she wrote that Swalwell's pension "should be redirected to his victims."
In a separate post, she cited what she described as witness accounts. "According to 4 witnesses, including a former employee, Rep. Swalwell has been sexually harassing and raping women," Boebert wrote, adding that this "is exactly why Americans hate politicians and I am going to make sure that every member has an opportunity to condemn his conduct."
Swalwell has denied wrongdoing and has not been criminally charged. But the allegations were serious enough to prompt his resignation, and serious enough, Boebert argues, to justify stripping his retirement benefits.
Both Swalwell and Gonzales are 45 years old. Members of Congress become eligible for retirement benefits after five years of federal service. Swalwell served nearly 13 years in the House, making him eligible under either the Federal Employees Retirement System or the Civil Service Retirement System.
A National Taxpayers Union analysis cited by the Washington Examiner found that Swalwell would be eligible for a taxpayer-funded pension of roughly $22,000 per year starting at age 62. That amounts to tens of thousands of dollars over a lifetime, paid by the same taxpayers whose trust he is accused of betraying.
Neither man would qualify for the temporary FERS supplement, which requires at least 20 years of federal service. But the core pension remains intact under current law unless a member is convicted of certain felonies committed while in office.
That conviction requirement is the legal obstacle Boebert faces. Fox News reported that current law generally requires a criminal conviction tied to conduct in office before pension benefits can be revoked. Without charges, let alone convictions, the existing statutory framework offers no mechanism to block the payouts.
It was not immediately clear how Boebert would attempt to close that gap. But she told the Washington Examiner directly: "We should pass a law blocking it."
Boebert is now working on legislation that would prevent former lawmakers who resign under misconduct allegations from collecting congressional pensions. Newsmax reported that Boebert is preparing the bill to cover cases like Swalwell's, where a member departs before any criminal process can play out.
In a fuller statement, Boebert described the current arrangement as unacceptable. "Former Congressman Eric Swalwell abused his position of power in Congress to assault and victimize women," she said. "Now as things stand, taxpayers will be sending him tens of thousands of dollars every year for the rest of his life. This is totally unacceptable."
The broader pattern around Swalwell has drawn scrutiny for months. House Democrats stayed largely silent as the misconduct accusations mounted, declining to push for expulsion or any formal disciplinary action before his resignation.
Congressional history suggests the censure route is rare but not unprecedented. Only six representatives have been expelled from the House in U.S. history, and 28 have been censured. Some members who resigned before the chamber could hold an expulsion vote have been retroactively censured, a precedent that could matter if Boebert moves forward.
Boebert described her legislative effort as bipartisan. The Washington Examiner reported that Democratic Reps. Sarah McBride and Johnny Olszewski indicated openness to considering pension revocation in cases involving criminal convictions, admissions, or sufficient findings of misconduct.
Rep. McBride said: "I think that's a worthwhile, holistic solution that should be looked into, not just in this context, but I think in any context where the circumstances are similar."
That measured language stands in contrast to the broader Democratic response. Nancy Pelosi claimed Democrats had "no idea whatsoever" about the Swalwell misconduct allegations, a claim that strains credulity given the number of witnesses Boebert cited and the length of Swalwell's tenure.
The Gonzales case adds a bipartisan dimension that makes the pension question harder for either party to dismiss. Gonzales, a Texas Republican, also resigned Tuesday amid sexual misconduct allegations. Boebert's call to revoke benefits applies to both men equally, removing any suggestion that this is a purely partisan exercise.
Swalwell, for his part, has a long record of demanding accountability from others while resisting it himself. He demanded the benefit of the doubt that he once refused to extend to Justice Brett Kavanaugh during those confirmation hearings, a contradiction that has not gone unnoticed.
The core problem Boebert has identified is real, regardless of whether her specific legislative vehicle succeeds. Under current law, a member of Congress can face the most serious allegations imaginable, resign before any formal proceeding, and walk away with a pension funded by the people he is accused of harming.
The felony-conviction requirement was designed to protect due process. But it also creates a perverse incentive: resign fast enough, and the system cannot touch your benefits. That is the loophole Boebert wants to close.
Swalwell's troubles extend well beyond the misconduct allegations. A separate complaint alleged he used campaign funds to pay an illegal immigrant nanny off the books, adding to a pattern of conduct that raises serious questions about his judgment and ethics throughout his time in office.
The Hill reached out to Boebert's office for additional comment on the specifics of her legislative plan. Several open questions remain: What exact mechanism would the bill use to revoke benefits? Would it apply retroactively? Would it require a formal finding of misconduct, or would resignation under allegations be sufficient?
Those details will matter. But the principle Boebert is pressing is one most taxpayers would recognize immediately. Public service is a privilege, not a pension guarantee, and people who abuse their office should not be rewarded for it on the way out the door.
Congress wrote the rules that protect these pensions. Congress can rewrite them. The only question is whether enough members have the will to do it, or whether they would rather keep the escape hatch open for themselves.
Turning Point USA CEO Erika Kirk, 37, pulled out of a highly anticipated appearance with Vice President JD Vance in Athens, Georgia, on Tuesday after receiving what the organization called "very serious threats," forcing a last-minute substitution at the University of Georgia event and drawing a fierce defense of Kirk from the vice president himself.
Turning Point USA spokesman Andrew Kolvet took Kirk's place on stage and addressed the situation immediately, as the New York Post reported.
The episode marks the latest chapter in a relentless campaign of hostility directed at the grieving mother of two, who assumed leadership of the conservative student activist group after her husband, Charlie Kirk, was assassinated last September. That a widow running a nonprofit now requires threat-level security assessments before attending a public event tells you something about the climate the people who claim to oppose political intimidation have helped create.
Kolvet wasted no time explaining Kirk's absence to the crowd. He told Vance and the audience directly:
"I'm going to address it right at the front, Mr. Vice President, I'm on stage here instead of our friend Erika Kirk because unfortunately she has received some very serious threats in her direction."
He called the situation a "terrible reflection on the state of reality and the state of the country." Kolvet also said critics had made "part-time jobs out of attacking Erika", a reference to the sustained online and media barrage Kirk has faced since stepping into her late husband's role.
The spokesman did not mince words about the stakes for Kirk personally. He said she "has to live with this constant reality that her kids are one parent away from being orphans." He added: "We take that extremely seriously."
Those are not abstract talking points. Charlie Kirk's assassination last September left Erika Kirk a single mother. The threats she now faces compound a grief that most people can barely imagine. The attacks on Kirk have included public questioning of her grief and her role as a single mother, a line of criticism that Vance addressed head-on at the event.
Vice President Vance said he had been worried the University of Georgia event itself would be canceled in the wake of the threats. He told the audience he consulted with the Secret Service before deciding to go forward.
Vance praised his security detail, "Obviously these guys do a very good job", and described his reasoning for pressing ahead:
"And I said, 'You know what? Let's let Erika do what she needs to do for herself and her family, I'm sure Andrew will fill in, and let's go and make this an amazing event.'"
But the vice president did not stop at logistics. He turned his remarks toward the broader campaign against Kirk, and his language left no room for ambiguity.
Vance told the crowd:
"Everybody is attacking her over everything, and they're lying about her, and it's one of the most disgraceful things that I've ever seen in public life."
He went further, pushing back on claims that Kirk had not properly mourned her husband. "The people telling you that Erika wasn't grieving her husband are full of s, t," Vance said, calling such accusations "so preposterous and so disgusting."
The vice president also challenged the broader right to reconsider where it directs its energy. He described "two separate living hells" that Kirk has endured since last September, a reference to her husband's murder and the sustained attacks that followed.
Vance argued the conservative movement's response to Charlie Kirk's assassination should have been unified. He characterized the killing as carried out by "a left-wing furry lover" and said the reaction should have been clear: "Let's go after left-wing violence and terrorism." Instead, he suggested, too many people turned their fire inward.
Even efforts to honor Charlie Kirk's memory have met political resistance, a pattern that makes the vice president's frustration easier to understand.
Vance closed his defense of Kirk with a pointed challenge:
"If you're going after Erika Kirk and not the people who are trying to destroy the United States of America, you're part of the problem, not part of the solution."
That line drew a clear boundary. In Vance's telling, the attacks on a 37-year-old widow running a student organization are not just unfair, they are a distraction from real threats.
The specific nature of the threats against Kirk was not disclosed. Turning Point USA did not say whether law enforcement had been notified beyond the Secret Service consultation Vance described. No arrests were reported in connection with the threats.
What is clear is that Kirk has become a lightning rod since assuming leadership of the organization her late husband built. The attacks have come from multiple directions, some from the political left, some from within conservative media circles themselves. Internal disputes among right-leaning media figures have at times spilled into public feuds that made Kirk collateral damage.
The result is a woman who lost her husband to an assassin and now cannot attend a public event with the vice president because the threat environment has grown too dangerous. Kolvet's description, that Kirk's children are "one parent away from being orphans", is not rhetorical flourish. It is arithmetic.
Vance's decision to attend anyway, after a Secret Service review, sent its own signal. The vice president did not treat the threats as a reason to retreat. He treated them as a reason to show up, name the problem, and put critics on notice.
The Athens event proceeded with Kolvet filling Kirk's role alongside Vance. The crowd heard the vice president deliver one of his most direct public defenses of a fellow conservative figure, and one of his sharpest rebukes of those he believes have lost sight of who the real adversaries are.
Kirk is not the first conservative figure to become a rallying point after facing disproportionate hostility, but her case carries a weight that is hard to match. She buried her husband less than a year ago. She is raising two children alone. And she now needs a security assessment before walking onto a college campus.
Several details remain unresolved. Turning Point USA has not said who made the threats or how they were delivered. It is unknown whether federal or local law enforcement is actively investigating. The organization has not said whether Kirk plans to resume public appearances or whether future events will be affected.
What is not in question is the pattern. A conservative leader faces threats. An event is disrupted. And the people who spend their days lecturing the country about political violence have nothing to say when it arrives at the doorstep of a young widow.
When a 37-year-old mother cannot stand on a stage in Athens, Georgia, because someone wants her afraid, the country doesn't have a disagreement problem. It has a decency problem.
A federal judge in Florida threw out President Trump's $10 billion defamation lawsuit against the Wall Street Journal on Monday, ruling that the complaint failed to meet the legal standard required for a public figure to prove he was defamed. The dismissal, issued in a 17-page order by U.S. District Judge Darrin P. Gayles, centered on Trump's inability to show the newspaper acted with "actual malice" when it published a story about an alleged birthday letter tied to the late sex offender Jeffrey Epstein.
The ruling does not necessarily end the fight. Judge Gayles gave Trump until April 27 to file an amended complaint, and his legal team has already signaled it intends to do exactly that.
The case stems from a Wall Street Journal article published last July that claimed Trump had signed a sexually suggestive letter included in a 2003 birthday album assembled for Epstein's 50th birthday. Trump denied writing the letter, denied signing it, and sued for $10 billion in damages. The White House pushed back on the story's legitimacy from the start, and the administration has maintained that position ever since.
For a public figure like a sitting president to win a defamation case, he must clear a high bar. Under the Supreme Court's New York Times v. Sullivan framework, the plaintiff must show the publisher acted with "actual malice", meaning the outlet either knew the material was false or published it with reckless disregard for the truth.
Judge Gayles found that Trump's complaint did not come close. As the Daily Mail reported, the judge wrote plainly:
"This complaint comes nowhere close to this standard. Quite the opposite."
The judge elaborated further, directly rejecting Trump's core argument. As the Washington Times reported, Gayles wrote that the complaint and the article itself confirmed that the Journal's reporters attempted to investigate the story before publishing it. The paper sought comment from Trump, the Justice Department, and the FBI, and included Trump's denial in the published piece.
"President Trump argues that this allegation shows that Defendants acted with serious doubts about the truth of their reporting and, therefore, with actual malice. The Court disagrees."
That finding, that the Journal followed normal journalistic practices by seeking comment and printing the denial, cut directly against the claim of reckless disregard. The judge noted that by including Trump's denial, the paper allowed readers to decide for themselves what to conclude.
The underlying story involves a birthday album that Ghislaine Maxwell, the British socialite and convicted Epstein associate, reportedly collected, scanned, and bound into an album she gave to Epstein for his 50th birthday in 2003. The Journal's article alleged the album contained a letter from Trump. It also reportedly contained a handwritten note from former President Bill Clinton, who had a social and professional relationship with Epstein during the 1990s and 2000s.
Trump has consistently denied any involvement with the letter. White House spokeswoman Karoline Leavitt said on X that the Journal's own subsequent reporting undermined the original story. She wrote:
"The latest piece published by the Wall Street Journal proves this entire 'Birthday Card' story is false. As I have said all along, it's very clear President Trump did not draw this picture, and he did not sign it."
The Wall Street Journal is owned by Rupert Murdoch, a detail that adds an unusual wrinkle to the dispute. Trump's decision to sue a Murdoch-owned property, not a legacy left-leaning outlet, underscored how seriously the administration viewed the story's potential to damage the president. This is a president who has repeatedly pushed back against media narratives he considers unfair, regardless of the outlet's ideological leanings.
Despite the dismissal, Trump's legal team made clear the case is far from finished. A spokesman for the team told Fox News Digital:
"President Trump will follow Judge Gayles' ruling and guidance to refile this powerhouse lawsuit against the Wall Street Journal and all of the other Defendants."
Leavitt reinforced that message, stating that "President Trump's legal team will continue to aggressively pursue litigation." The April 27 deadline gives the team roughly two weeks to craft an amended complaint that might better address the actual-malice standard the judge found lacking.
For its part, the Journal's parent company, Dow Jones, expressed satisfaction with the outcome. A Dow Jones spokesperson told Fox News Digital: "We are pleased with the judge's decision to dismiss this complaint. We stand behind the reliability, rigor and accuracy of The Wall Street Journal's reporting."
As National Review noted, the dismissal came in a detailed 17-page order, not a brief procedural brush-off. Judge Gayles engaged with Trump's arguments and rejected them on the merits of the actual-malice standard, which has long been one of the most difficult hurdles in American defamation law.
The ruling arrives at a moment when Trump-related legal matters continue to command national attention. The president has faced a steady stream of litigation and political challenges throughout his tenure, from questions about pardons for administration officials to confrontations with congressional opponents.
Defamation law for public figures remains one of the most protective frameworks in American jurisprudence, protective, that is, of the press. The actual-malice standard, established more than sixty years ago, requires a plaintiff to prove not just that a story was wrong, but that the publisher knew it was wrong or didn't care. Courts have consistently interpreted that bar as extraordinarily high.
In this case, the Journal's decision to contact Trump before publication and to include his denial in the article gave Judge Gayles a straightforward basis for his ruling. The judge wrote that the complaint and the article together confirmed that the defendants "attempted to investigate." That language suggests any amended complaint will need to bring substantially new allegations, not just a repackaging of the same arguments.
The Epstein connection, of course, is what gave the original story its charge. Epstein's network of wealthy and powerful associates has been a source of public fascination and political weaponry for years. The birthday album reportedly contained messages from multiple prominent figures, including Clinton. Yet the Journal's article focused on Trump, a choice the administration has characterized as part of a broader pattern of media hostility toward the president.
Whether an amended complaint can clear the actual-malice bar remains to be seen. Breitbart reported that Trump's legal team views the judge's order as a roadmap for refiling rather than a dead end. The April 27 deadline will test that confidence.
Several open questions remain. The full text of the alleged letter has not been publicly released beyond excerpts. The specific court docket number has not been widely reported. And the substance of any amended complaint, what new facts or arguments Trump's team might marshal, is unknown.
What is clear is that the first round went to the Journal. The paper followed standard reporting practices, included the subject's denial, and a federal judge found nothing in the complaint that suggested malicious intent. That is a factual outcome, not an editorial judgment.
Trump's team says it will be back before the deadline. The Journal says it stands behind its reporting. The actual-malice standard, as always, stands between them, a legal wall that has protected the press for decades, and that public figures of every political stripe have struggled to scale.
If the president's lawyers can bring new evidence of reckless disregard, the case may yet have a second life. But if the amended complaint reads like the first one, Judge Gayles has already told them what he thinks. And he was not subtle about it.
President Donald Trump conceded Sunday that gas prices could rise even higher before the November midterm elections, telling Fox News that the short-term economic pain from the war with Iran is the unavoidable cost of keeping Tehran from obtaining a nuclear weapon.
In an interview on Sunday Morning Futures with Maria Bartiromo, Trump acknowledged that fuel costs have already jumped sharply since the conflict began on Feb. 28. But he framed the spike as temporary and argued the alternative, a nuclear-armed Iran, would be far worse for markets and for American security.
The comments came the same morning Trump announced on Truth Social that the U.S. Navy would begin blockading the Strait of Hormuz, one of the most consequential chokepoints in global energy. The strait carries roughly 20 million barrels of oil per day and about one-fifth of the world's liquefied natural gas, Fox News reported. Shutting it down, or even restricting traffic through it, sends a direct signal to every energy market on the planet.
AAA said gas prices averaged $4.15 a gallon nationwide on Friday, up from $2.98 before the Iran war started on Feb. 28. That is an increase of $1.17 per gallon in roughly six weeks, a hit that lands hardest on working families, truckers, and small businesses that run on tight margins.
Trump did not promise immediate relief. Asked whether prices would come down before the midterms, he said they could stay "the same, or maybe a little bit higher." But he predicted a sharp decline once the conflict ends, as the Washington Examiner reported:
"Eventually, it's going to be lower. No, it might not happen initially, but it's going to, it's going to go down when this is all over."
He added a prediction about the war's duration that will be tested soon enough.
"I think this won't be that much longer. They're wiped out."
Those are bold words. Whether they match the operational reality in the Persian Gulf is something voters, and markets, will judge for themselves.
Trump's Truth Social post left no ambiguity about the scope of the action. He wrote that the U.S. Navy would "begin the process of BLOCKADING any and all Ships trying to enter, or leave, the Strait of Hormuz." He also said he had instructed the Navy to "seek and interdict every vessel in international waters that has paid a toll to Iran."
That second directive targets a specific Iranian practice. Iran has allegedly attempted to charge ships a $1-per-barrel toll to pass safely through the strait, backed by threats, drones, missiles, and mines, the New York Post reported. Trump called it "WORLD EXTORTION" and declared that "Leaders of Countries, especially the United States of America, will never be extorted."
US Central Command said it would halt maritime traffic entering and exiting Iranian ports while allowing passage to and from non-Iranian ports through the strait. The administration also said the Navy would begin destroying mines in the waterway, a direct challenge to Iran's ability to threaten commercial shipping.
The move followed the collapse of ceasefire talks held in Pakistan. The Washington Times reported that Vice President J.D. Vance said the negotiations broke down over "Iran's refusal to abandon its path to a nuclear weapon." A two-week ceasefire that Tehran and Washington had reached on Tuesday apparently did not resolve the core dispute.
Trump had previously suspended the bombing campaign and offered a ceasefire tied to reopening the strait. Iran's failure to follow through set the stage for the escalation announced Sunday.
The president made no effort to minimize the economic fallout. He acknowledged the stock market has dropped and gas prices have risen. He said the conflict has "caused anxiety, dislocation, and pain to many people and Countries throughout the World."
But he argued the stakes justify the cost. His framing was blunt:
"I gotta stop this country from having a nuclear weapon. You want to see a stock market go down? Let a couple of nuclear bombs be dropped on us, or, frankly, anyplace else, and then you'll see a stock market that goes down."
That is the core of the argument, and it is not an easy one to dismiss. For decades, administrations of both parties talked about preventing a nuclear Iran. Few did much about it. The Obama-era Iran deal paused enrichment in exchange for sanctions relief and pallets of cash, then expired with Iran closer to a weapon than ever. The Biden administration spent four years pursuing diplomacy that produced nothing.
Trump has long accused Iran's regime of deceiving American presidents for decades. Whether the current military and economic pressure campaign succeeds where talk failed is the defining question of this conflict.
Trump also tried to put the market reaction in perspective, noting that the damage so far has been less severe than some feared.
"So the stock market has not gone down very much at all, gone down a little bit, much less than I thought. And frankly, the gas hasn't gone up as much as I thought."
He told Bartiromo he speaks with "major oil chiefs" every day, a sign the administration is working to keep supply lines open and prices from spiraling further.
The pain is not limited to American consumers. Other countries, particularly in Asia, have been hit far worse because they are less energy independent than the United States. The Strait of Hormuz carries roughly 20 percent of the world's petroleum, making any disruption a global event.
That global dimension cuts both ways. On one hand, it means the blockade puts pressure not just on Iran but on every nation that depends on Gulf oil, creating diplomatic leverage. On the other, it means American consumers are absorbing collateral damage from a strategy aimed at a regime thousands of miles away.
The political fallout at home is already building. Democrats have seized on the rising costs and the broader conflict to challenge Trump's judgment. Nancy Pelosi went so far as to demand Trump's Cabinet invoke the 25th Amendment over his Iran remarks, a move that says more about the left's appetite for constitutional overreach than about the president's fitness.
Even some voices on the right have raised concerns. Trump recently rebuked Tucker Carlson over nuclear-war claims tied to the Iran conflict, a sign that the debate within the conservative coalition is real and vigorous.
Trump pressured Iran directly on Sunday, posting on Truth Social that Tehran "promised to open the Strait of Hormuz, and they knowingly failed to do so." He added: "As they promised, they better begin the process of getting this INTERNATIONAL WATERWAY OPEN AND FAST! Every Law in the book is being violated by them."
The blockade is designed to force a choice: negotiate seriously or watch your oil revenue choke. Whether Iran bends or escalates will determine how long American drivers keep paying north of four dollars a gallon.
Several questions remain unanswered. How long will the blockade last? What are the specific rules of engagement if Iran challenges U.S. naval assets? And can the administration keep gas prices from climbing past a political tipping point before November?
Trump told Bartiromo the war "won't be that much longer." Voters will hold him to that. Every week the Strait stays closed, the price at the pump becomes a referendum on whether the strategy is working, or whether Washington asked ordinary Americans to carry a burden that the people in charge underestimated.
Stopping a nuclear Iran is a serious goal. But serious goals require serious execution, and the bill lands at the gas station, not the Oval Office.
Hunter Biden has left the United States and now claims he cannot pay the lawyers who defended him through years of federal criminal cases, tax charges, and disbarment proceedings, a remarkable turn for the son of a former president who once commanded lucrative foreign consulting fees and sold dozens of paintings to anonymous buyers.
A legal filing submitted on April 6 by attorney Barry Coburn stated plainly that "Mr. Biden lives abroad" and that he "cannot afford" to cover his outstanding legal fees. The paperwork, first reported by The Express, described a man whose income streams have dried up and whose debts now run into the millions.
The filing comes after Biden told a federal judge last month that he could not afford to continue his lawsuit against former Trump aide Garrett Ziegler. His attorneys asked U.S. District Judge Hernan Vera in early March to end that case. They said Biden "has suffered a significant downturn in his income and has significant debt in the millions of dollars range."
Biden himself put a number on the financial damage during a November podcast interview with South African host Joshua Rubin:
"Look at the past six years of my life and the $17 million of debt that I'm in, as it relates to my legal fees."
That figure is striking on its own. It becomes more so when set against the timeline of what produced those fees.
In 2024, a Delaware federal court convicted Hunter Biden of three felonies for purchasing a gun in 2018. Prosecutors said he lied on a federal form by claiming he was not illegally using or addicted to drugs. He had also been set to stand trial in September 2024 in a California tax case, where prosecutors accused him of failing to pay at least $1.4 million in federal taxes. He agreed to plead guilty to misdemeanor and felony charges just hours after jury selection was set to begin.
His father, former President Joe Biden, pardoned him in 2024. The pardon wiped away criminal consequences but did nothing about the legal bills.
The financial spiral ran alongside a professional collapse. A Connecticut judge disbarred Hunter Biden in December for violating the state's attorney conduct rules. The judge found that Biden had engaged in conduct "involving dishonesty, fraud, deceit or misrepresentation." In an agreement with the state office that disciplines lawyers, Biden consented to being disbarred and admitted to attorney misconduct, though he did not admit to criminal wrongdoing. In a court document, Biden admitted to some but not all of the misconduct allegations.
The Connecticut judge also cited a separate disbarment. The Associated Press reported that Biden was disbarred in Washington, D.C., in May. Two jurisdictions. Two licenses revoked. The man who once traded on his family name and legal credentials now holds neither a law license nor, by his own account, a stable income.
It is worth noting that the pattern of prominent figures quietly leaving the country when political or legal pressure mounts has become something of a recurring theme in recent years.
The court filing painted a picture of a man running out of options. Biden sold 27 art pieces in the years leading up to the Ziegler lawsuit, but had sold only one since. His attorneys said most of his major income sources had gone dry. He was now assessing which of his several other pending lawsuits would even be worth continuing.
The filing also cited the Los Angeles wildfires from last January, claiming Biden's home there was made "unlivable" for an extended period. Whether that damage was insured, and to what extent, remains unclear from the available filings.
Last year, Biden was pictured in South Africa with his wife. The filing's declaration that he now "lives abroad" raises obvious questions about where, exactly, a pardoned felon with $17 million in self-reported debt has chosen to settle, and how he is supporting himself there.
The broader question of high-profile political figures vanishing from public view when accountability looms is not lost on observers who have watched this saga unfold over the better part of a decade.
Several questions hang over the disclosure. The filing does not name the court that received the April 6 paperwork. It does not identify Biden's other pending lawsuits by name. It does not explain what happened to the proceeds from 27 art sales, transactions that drew scrutiny at the time because the buyers' identities were shielded from the public.
Nor does the filing account for the years of foreign consulting income that made Hunter Biden a household name in Washington long before any indictment. The laptop controversy, the Burisma board seat, the Chinese business ventures, all of that preceded the legal bills. The $17 million figure covers only the cost of defending against the consequences. It says nothing about where the earlier money went.
Meanwhile, questions about institutional accountability and political bias in federal investigations continue to surface in other contexts. A recent report revealed that an FBI agent with documented anti-Trump views led a major January 6 investigation, reinforcing concerns about selective enforcement that have dogged the Biden family saga from the start.
The presidential pardon shielded Hunter Biden from prison. It did not shield him from the financial wreckage of his own conduct. Three felony convictions. Two disbarments. A guilty plea in a tax case involving at least $1.4 million in unpaid federal taxes. A gun charge built on a lie he signed on a federal form. And now a legal filing that says, in effect: I have nothing left.
The legal system processed Hunter Biden's cases. His father intervened to erase the penalties. And now the son has left the country, claiming he cannot pay the people who kept him out of prison.
The broader political landscape continues to generate similar dramas. Institutions and media outlets that spent years minimizing the Biden family's legal exposure now face their own credibility reckonings, much as the BBC is doing in a Florida courtroom over a separate defamation dispute.
For ordinary Americans who pay their taxes, follow the law, and cannot call the White House when trouble arrives, the Hunter Biden story has always carried a simple lesson. The rules apply differently when your last name opens doors. The pardon proved it. The flight abroad confirmed it.
Accountability is not supposed to be optional, but for the right family, it apparently comes with an exit visa.