This morning the Supreme Court will hear Trump v. Cook, a case that began with an unprecedented move: President Trump fired Federal Reserve Governor Lisa Cook. As usual, lower courts blocked him.

The press is framing this as a fight about “central bank independence” and even inflation fears. But that deliberately misses the real question at stake:

Do we still have a Constitution, or do we have a permanent ruling class — credentialed, insulated, and effectively unfireable — running the country while elections serve as a ceremonial change of figureheads?

Trump v. Cook is not an isolated dispute. It is the Federal Reserve chapter in the same story the Court already confronted last month in Trump v. Slaughter, the FTC case that squarely asks the Supreme Court to admit what has been obvious since 1935: Humphrey’s Executor was a constitutional disaster.

Simply put, today’s argument is about whether the Supreme Court will continue to bless an unconstitutional fourth branch of government, run by “experts,” insulated from the voters, and wielding coercive power without democratic accountability.

Or to put that another way, does the Constitution’s Article 2, Section 1 have any meaning?

Donald Trump’s determination to bring Greenland under American control has been widely mocked as eccentric or theatrical.

That reaction misses the point.

Beneath the blunt language and headline-grabbing delivery lies a strategic argument rooted in geography, military physics, alliance realities, and the accelerating competition among global powers in the Arctic.

Trump’s fixation on Greenland is not a whim. It is the product of a long-running belief that the island represents one of the most valuable pieces of territory on Earth for American security.

Failing to secure it would amount to a historic act of negligence.

Trump’s public interest in Greenland first emerged in August 2019, when reports revealed that he had privately asked advisers about purchasing the island from Denmark.

He confirmed the interest himself, describing Greenland as strategically interesting and emphasizing the close alliance between the United States and Denmark.

At the time, he framed the idea as exploratory rather than urgent, noting that it was not the top priority on his agenda.

Yet even then, the logic was clear. The United States already provided extensive military protection to Denmark. Meanwhile, Greenland sat at the crossroads of American, European, and Arctic security.

The Tides Foundation rarely appears prominently in public debate, yet it occupies a critical position in modern American civic life.

It is not a political party, a campaign committee, or a government agency. It does not pass laws, issue rulings, or command police forces.

And yet, through its structure, it exerts influence over how laws are enforced, how public norms are shaped, and how activism is sustained.

This essay is not an accusation of illegality. It is an examination of architecture, the legal and institutional design that allows power to be exercised without visibility, responsibility, or direct democratic consent.

The name Tides itself was chosen deliberately.

It reflects a view of social change not as something achieved through elections, legislation, or singular moments, but as something that advances through cumulative, distributed pressure over time.

A tide is slow. It is not dramatic. It does not announce itself as an act of will.

It reshapes the shoreline through persistence, not force, and it is difficult to attribute any specific change to a single wave or actor.

That metaphor captures the organization’s founding philosophy: Durable change emerges from many aligned actions, operating across institutions, advancing steadily, and appearing natural even when driven by distant causes.

The  Chagos giveaway is coming to its reckoning. At last.

What Sir Keir Starmer once presented as a neat diplomatic housekeeping exercise has turned into a rolling crisis of strategy, law, and political competence.

The Prime Minister’s decision to surrender the British Indian Ocean Territory to Mauritius, while leasing back Diego Garcia, now collides with parliamentary upheaval, American anger, and a growing sense that the government has blundered into a trap of its own making.

Against this misjudgment, a small but determined resistance took shape.

The Great British PAC, chaired by Advance UK’s leader Ben Habib, recognised early that the issue went far beyond post-colonial symbolism.

It treated the proposed transfer as a question of national security and democratic legitimacy.

The PAC funded legal challenges on behalf of Chagossians who had been shut out of negotiations, mobilised public pressure, and forced MPs and peers to examine a deal the government hoped to slide through unchallenged.

Most significantly, the PAC was instrumental in helping organise the formation of a Chagossian government-in-exile, giving displaced islanders a coherent political voice for the first time.

What began as an obscure territorial adjustment became a cause with human faces and constitutional consequences.

The House of Lords proved more awake to those consequences than Downing Street expected.

With the U.S. capture of Venezuelan strongman Nicolás Maduro in a bold Jan. 3 military raid and a large naval force still prowling the southern Caribbean to ensure that Maduro’s successors cooperate with the Trump administration, other subtle, but key, developments in the region can be overlooked.

Among under-the-wire events is a December 2025 agreement between the United States and Venezuela’s neighbor, Guyana.

That agreement could have profound implications, not only in the immediate context of unfolding events in Venezuela, but also for the long-term execution of the Trump Corollary to the Monroe Doctrine, unveiled in November 2025 by U.S. President Donald Trump.

A U.S. delegation led by senior Pentagon adviser Patrick Weaver and Acting Deputy Assistant Secretary of War Joseph Humire met with Guyanese President Irfaan Ali in the nation’s capital, Georgetown, on Dec. 9.

Ali told Guyanese media outlets that the nations had signed a statement of intent to “expand joint military cooperation,” a process that will be “evolving ... in the coming months.” He stated that there “will be greater discussions on more levels of cooperation and the integration of [the two countries’] work.”

The statement of intent is not a formal mutual defense treaty, he said, calling it a “reinforcement” of long-term training and collaboration between the United States and Guyana.

But such a pact could be on the table, Ali hinted, referring to the U.S. military effort dubbed Operation Southern Spear.