What is unfolding right now in California—with hundreds of Marines deployed domestically; thousands of National Guard troops federalized; and military weapons, tactics and equipment on full display—is intended to intimidate, distract and discourage us from pulling back the curtain on the reality of the self-serving corruption, grift, graft, overreach and abuse that have become synonymous with his Administration.

Don’t be distracted. Don’t be intimidated. Don’t be sidelined by the spectacle of a police state.

This is yet another manufactured crisis fomented by the Deep State.

When Trump issues a call to “BRING IN THE TROOPS!!!” explaining to reporters that he wants to have them “everywhere,” we should all be alarmed.

This is martial law without a formal declaration of war.

This heavy-handed, chest-thumping, politicized, militarized response to what is clearly a matter for local government is yet another example of Trump’s disregard for the Constitution and the limits of his power.

Political protests are protected by the First Amendment until they cross the line from non-violent to violent. Even when protests turn violent, constitutional protocols remain in place to safeguard communities: law and order must flow through local and state chains of command, not from federal muscle.

By breaking that chain of command, Trump is breaking the Constitution.

Deploying the military to deal with domestic matters that can—and should—be handled by civilian police, despite the objections of local and state leaders, crosses the line into authoritarianism.

When someone shows you who they are, believe them.

In the span of a single week, the Trump administration is providing the clearest glimpse yet of its unapologetic, uncompromising, corrupt allegiance to the authoritarian Deep State.

These two events—the federalization of the National Guard deployed to California in response to protests and the president’s lavish, taxpayer-funded military parade in the nation’s capital—bookend the administration’s unmistakable message: dissent will be crushed, and power will be performed.

Trump governs by force (military deployment), fear (ICE raids, militarized policing), and spectacle (the parade).

This is the spectacle of a police state. One side of the coin is militarized suppression. The other is theatrical dominance. Together, they constitute the language of force and authoritarian control.

Yet this is more than political theater; it is a constitutional crisis in motion.

As we have warned before, this tactic is a familiar one.

In times of political unrest, authoritarian regimes often invoke national emergencies as a pretext to impose military solutions. The result? The Constitution is suspended, civilian control is overrun, and the machinery of the state turns against its own people.

This is precisely what the Founders feared when they warned against standing armies on American soil: that one day, the military might be used not to defend the people, but to control them.

It is a textbook play from the authoritarian handbook, deployed with increasing frequency under Trump. The optics are meant to intimidate, broadcast control, and discourage resistance before it even begins.

Thus, deploying the National Guard in this manner is not just a political maneuver—it is a strategic act of fear-based governance designed to instill terror, particularly among vulnerable communities, and ensure compliance.

America is being transformed into a battlefield before our eyes.

Militarized police. Riot squads. Black uniforms. Armored vehicles. Pepper spray. Tear gas. Stun grenades. Crowd control and intimidation tactics.

This is not the language of freedom. This is not even the language of law and order.

This is the language of force.

This transformation is not accidental—it’s strategic. The government now sees the public not as constituents to be served but as potential combatants to be surveilled, managed, and subdued. In this new paradigm, dissent is treated as insurrection, and constitutional rights are treated as threats to national security.

What we are witnessing today is also part of a broader setup: an excuse to use civil unrest as a pretext for militarized overreach.

We saw signs of this strategy in Charlottesville, Virginia, where police failed to de-escalate and at times exacerbated tensions during protests that should have remained peaceful. The resulting chaos gave authorities cover to crack down—not to protect the public, but to reframe protest as provocation and dissent as disorder.

Then and now, the objective wasn’t to preserve peace and protect the public. It was to delegitimize dissent and cast protest as provocation.

It’s all part of an elaborate setup by the architects of the Deep State. The government wants a reason to crack down, lock down, and bring in its biggest guns.

This is how it begins.

Trump’s use of the military against civilians violates the spirit—if not the letter—of the Posse Comitatus Act, which is meant to bar federal military involvement in domestic affairs. It also raises severe constitutional questions about the infringement of First Amendment rights to protest and Fourth Amendment protections against warrantless search and seizure.

Modern tools of repression compound the threat. AI-driven surveillance, predictive policing software, biometric databases, and fusion centers have made mass control seamless and silent. The state doesn’t just respond to dissent anymore; it predicts and preempts it.

While boots are on the ground in California, preparations are underway for a military spectacle in Washington, D.C.

At first glance, a military procession might seem like a patriotic display. But in this context, it is not a celebration of service; it is a declaration of supremacy. It is not about honoring troops; it is about reminding the populace who holds the power and who wields the guns.

This is how authoritarian regimes govern—through spectacle.

By sandwiching a military crackdown between a domestic troop deployment and a showy parade, Trump is sending a unified message: This is about raw, unchecked, theatrical power. And whether we, the people, will accept a government that rules not by consent, but by coercion.

The Constitution was not written to accommodate authoritarian pageantry. It was written to restrain it. It was never meant to sanctify conquest as a form of governance.

We are at a crossroads.

Governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed. Strip away that consent, and all that remains is conquest through force, spectacle, and fear.

As I point out in my book Battlefield America: The War on the American People and in its fictional counterpart The Erik Blair Diaries, if we allow the language of fear, the spectacle of dominance, and the machinery of militarized governance to become normalized, then we are no longer citizens of a republic—we are subjects of a police state.

This content originally appeared on Dissident Voice and was authored by John W. Whitehead and Nisha Whitehead.

Image by Jon Tyson.

It can happen here. “Here” being any country in which capitalism rules. When does a bourgeois formal democracy tip over into fascism? That is a question that needs an answer in many places, certainly not excepting the United States, which has already experienced a self-coup attempt with unmistakable fascist overtones.

We’re referencing Donald Trump’s attempt at a self-coup, to use the Latin American phrase, in January 2021. Many people, even on the Left, laugh at that day’s events, pointing out that the would-be putsch had no chance of success. It did have no chance of success. That does not mean it should be cavalierly dismissed; on the contrary, it should be taken with utmost seriousness. Hitler’s beer hall putsch of 1923 had no chance of success, either, and his violent movement remained on the lunatic fringe for several more years. But we know how German history would turn out.

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The post When Does a Formal Democracy Degenerate into Fascism? appeared first on CounterPunch.org.

This content originally appeared on CounterPunch.org and was authored by Pete Dolack.

Disabled people are not yet formally recognized by the U.N. as a vulnerable population, despite extensive evidence of the outsize impact of climate change on them. What Gurung and other disability activists are pushing for is called “constituency” status — the U.N.’s recognition of advocacy groups that organize around a specific focal point, who are then invited to bring that perspective to intergovernmental negotiations. Several constituencies have been recognized since the United Nations held its first climate COP, or conference of the parties, in 1992, including one for business and industry groups, one for environmental groups, and one for farmers and agriculture groups. Indigenous people’s organizations gained constituency status in 2001, and in 2011, groups focused on women and gender and youth non-governmental organizations became full constituencies too.

Disabled people’s groups argue that they, too, deserve this status because of the distinctive challenges people with disabilities face as the climate warms. Due to barriers to accessing warning systems and transportation, as well as generally poorer health, health care access, and housing, people with disabilities have a mortality rate up to four times higher than that of nondisabled people in natural disasters. Natural disasters also disrupt delivery of medicine and treatments — like insulin, oxygen, and physical therapy — on which many people’s lives depend. And the World Bank estimates that 20 percent of the world’s poorest people have a disability, which means that they have fewer resources for protecting themselves against the dangers of a warming planet. According to the U.N. Development Programme, of the estimated 1 billion disabled people worldwide, 80 percent live in developing countries.

“When we talk about climate justice, it needs to be inclusive,” Gurung said. “And if you hold multiple marginalized identities, you are more vulnerable, on the frontlines.” 

At COP27, disability groups held a series of at least nine panels and discussions — more than at any previous COP — to raise awareness of disabled people’s unique vulnerabilities to climate change. They were asking for support as they prepare to apply to the U.N. for a disability constituency, which will involve putting together a “terms of reference”: a plan for the constituency’s objectives and who will chair it. If approved, the secretariat will recognize the constituency on a probationary two-year basis as a “caucus,” which Sébastien Jodoin, a professor at McGill University’s law school and founding director of the Disability-Inclusive Climate Action Research Programme, describes as “an intermediate step towards getting a constituency.” 

“If you have a disability constituency, you will get a seat around the table,” said Elham Youssefian, senior advisor of inclusive humanitarian action and disaster risk reduction at the advocacy coalition International Disability Alliance, who tallied the ways that she was denied a seat at COP27. She is blind, and found it difficult to read draft documents that emerged from negotiations and to navigate the venues. Last year, at COP26 in Glasgow, Scotland, Israel’s energy minister was unable to enter the conference because it was not wheelchair accessible. 

“When you can’t reach the meeting room, how can you participate?” Youssefian said, calling the accessibility barriers at COP a “metaphor” for disability participation in climate action.

Amanda Bowie-Edwards, who represented the Disability-Inclusive Climate Action Research Programme at COP27, agreed, noting that language is very important during climate negotiations. If there were a disability constituency, she said, the disabled perspective would be included more frequently in discussions and the texts they produce — but currently, disability is rarely mentioned.For example, she attended roundtable sessions at COP27 meant to assess collective progress under the Paris Agreement. At her table, no one mentioned persons with disabilities, even though they frequently mentioned women, Indigenous peoples, and young people. “A big success would be if people with disabilities were named alongside those groups consistently,” Bowie-Edwards said.

Gaining constituency status is a long process; Indigenous people’s groups fought for recognition for nearly 10 years. But the disabled people’s movement, Bowie-Edwards said, is “gaining momentum.” 

At one of the disability discussions at COP27, Gurung and other panelists discussed the importance of building relationships with other constituencies and emphasizing intersectionality in global climate negotiations.

“When we work from one perspective, it is not enough,” she said, explaining that her perspective as an Indigenous woman who is also disabled informs her experience on the frontline of climate change — and her ideas for how to adapt and fight back. In Nepal, for example, melting glaciers have an outsize impact on Indigenous and disabled populations, altering water resources and landscapes, and disrupting traditional practices and access to care. 

The hope is that support from, and solidarity with, other constituencies will help disability groups apply and gain status. But for now, people with disabilities are still trying to convince climate activists and policymakers that their rights need to be included in climate action.

“We’re still just trying to get on the agenda,” Gurung said.

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline How people with disabilities fought for formal recognition at COP27 on Nov 22, 2022.

This content originally appeared on Grist and was authored by Isabel Ruehl.

Irangabiye is a commentator and debate program host on Radio Igicaniro, a Rwanda-based outlet that publishes critical commentary and debate on Burundian politics and culture, according to Radio Igicaniro editor Arsène Bitabuzi, who spoke to CPJ via messaging app, a report on Facebook by exiled Burundian station Radio Publique Africaine (RPA), and CPJ’s review of Radio Igicaniro’s content published on YouTube, SoundCloud, Facebook, and distributed via WhatsApp.

In mid-August, Irangabiye traveled from Rwanda, where she has lived since 2009, to visit family in Burundi, according to a person familiar with her case who spoke to CPJ on condition of anonymity for fear of retaliation. On August 30, intelligence personnel in the capital Bujumbura stopped a vehicle in which Irangabiye was traveling and took her into custody, the person and Bitabuzi said. Irangabiye remains detained but has not been formally charged with any crime, the person, Bitabuzi, media reports, and Radio Igicaniro said.

“After two months, the authorities’ failure to credibly charge Floriane Irangabiye with any crime is evidence that this case is in retaliation for her commentary and critical opinions,” said Muthoki Mumo, CPJ’s sub-Saharan Africa representative. “Floriane Irangabiye should be released immediately and allowed to continue her life and work without further interference. Burundi’s government should also hold accountable officials responsible for her arbitrary detention and ill-treatment behind bars.”

Irangabiye was initially detained at the intelligence headquarters in Bujumbura, where she was denied access to family and legal counsel, and was interrogated about her work with Radio Igicaniro, which officers said supported opposition groups, the person familiar with her case said. Officials also accused Irangabiye of working with armed opposition groups and espionage, according to a VOA report and human rights organization ACAT-Burundi. The person familiar with her case said at least one intelligence officer sexually assaulted Irangabiye while she was detained at the intelligence headquarters, by groping her buttocks and breasts. 

In a statement sent via messaging app in response to CPJ’s questions about the sexual assault and whether the government would investigate, Burundi’s prosecutor general Sylvestre Nyandwi called the sexual abuse allegation “unfounded” and an “extension of (Irangabiye’s) harmful acts towards the State of Burundi to tarnish its image.”

On September 8, Irangabiye appeared in court in Bujumbura, where officials accused her of attacking the integrity of the state, but did not file formal charges, RPA and the person familiar with her case said. Irangabiye was then transferred to Mpimba prison in central Burundi. In late September, she was transferred to Muyinga prison in northern Burundi, where she is allowed family visitation, Radio Igicaniro and the person said.

During an October 28 court appearance in Muyinga, Irangabiye was again accused of anti-state crimes against Burundi but also was accused of operating without a journalist’s accreditation, according to the person familiar with her case and Radio Igicaniro. Prosecutors requested more time to gather evidence, and did not formally charge her, the person said.

Prosecutor general Nyandwi said that Irangabiye’s ongoing pre-trial detention was in accordance with Burundi’s criminal procedure code, had been sanctioned by a judge, and that authorities were waiting for a court to settle the matter following the pre-trial stage of the case.

Radio Igicaniro’s programming is stridently critical of Burundi’s government, according to CPJ’s review of its content. In some Radio Igicaniro programming that CPJ reviewed, Irangabiye participated as a debate moderator, host, or commentator, and criticized poor governance and human rights violations by Burundi’s government and called for reform in the country.

Pierre Nkurikiye, spokesperson of Burundi’s interior and public security ministry, did not answer calls from CPJ or queries sent via text message and messaging app.

This content originally appeared on Committee to Protect Journalists and was authored by Committee to Protect Journalists.

This content originally appeared on openDemocracy RSS and was authored by Jenna Corderoy.