El presidente Gustavo Petro está enzarzado en una guerra de palabras con el presidente Donald Trump sobre el papel de Colombia en el tráfico mundial de drogas. El asunto es complicado.

The US Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service (APHIS) has authorized the entry of Colombian shell eggs destined for industrial processing, according to an announcement made by Diana Marcela Morales Rojas, Minister of Commerce, Industry and Tourism (MinCIT). This decision expands the export capacity for Colombia’s poultry sector by allowing the product to enter the US market without requiring additional import permits or sanitary certificates from the Colombian Government.

The authorization by APHIS follows technical and commercial discussions between US and Colombian regulatory bodies. Minister Morales Rojas stated that the outcome enables the poultry industry to expand its presence in international markets and integrate into higher-standard value chains.

The regulatory modification is the result of collaboration between the Government of Colombia, the Instituto Colombiano Agropecuario (ICA), the Ministry of Commerce, Industry and Tourism, the Embassy of Colombia in the United States, and the Federación Nacional de Avicultores (Fenavi), the trade association representing the poultry sector.

Six US facilities have been designated to receive the Colombian shell eggs for processing. These plants are situated in the states of New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Arkansas, and Georgia. The direct entry authorization for industrial use simplifies the logistics and required sanitary compliance for the export of the product.

Above photo: Colombia’s Minister of Commerce, Industry and Trade, Diana Marcela Morales (courtesy MinCIT)

Why such a massive U.S. military deployment off the coast of Venezuela, supposedly to combat the “Cartel of the Suns” and stop drug trafficking from Venezuela to the United States? After more than four months, the results amount to little more than a handful of small vessels destroyed – an extremely modest impact given the scale of the force deployed.

The reality is that the volume of drug trafficking transiting through Venezuela to the United States is relatively small. Venezuela is not a producer of cocaine, much less of fentanyl, most of which enters the United States via Mexico. If the real interest is not to halt drug trafficking, what then is the motivation for placing the Fourth Fleet on a war footing in the Caribbean Sea? Logic might lead one to think the U.S. interest is oil, since Venezuela holds the largest reserves in the world—but that is not it either. Today the United States is the world’s leading oil producer, at 13.4 million barrels per day, and it has proven reserves sufficient for approximately ten years, assuming no new discoveries and no improvements in recovery or technological advances—an impossible assumption.

So what, then, is the underlying issue if it is neither drugs, nor oil, nor other minerals in which Venezuela might have potential and that would be attractive to the United States?

The answer lies in a little-publicized document formally released by the White House on December 4, titled National Security Strategy 2025. While the document introduces substantial changes in relations with Europe and traditional adversaries, the most striking element is the new emphasis placed on Latin America. Of the document’s “roadmap to ensure that America remains the greatest and most successful nation in human history”, five sections are devoted exclusively to our region, positioning Latin America as a fundamental component of U.S. security – a very significant shift from earlier versions, which historically prioritized the Middle East or Asia. There is a new strategy, or if you will, a “New Monroe Doctrine,” a continuation of the 1823 Monroe Doctrine, reaffirming U.S. preeminence in the region.

“After years of neglect, the United States will once again apply and enforce the Monroe Doctrine to reestablish U.S. preeminence in the Western Hemisphere, and to protect our homeland and our access to key geographies throughout the region. We will deny non-Hemispheric competitors the ability to position forces or other threatening capabilities, or to own or control strategically vital assets, in our Hemisphere,” states the 29-page document.

Key elements of this new doctrine include: countering external influence by requiring Latin American governments to dismantle foreign military installations and divest strategic assets in exchange for aid or alliances; stopping illegal migration, including naval patrols in the Caribbean and the eastern Pacific, selective border deployments, and the use of incentives for governments to curb migratory flows; combating narco-terrorists and cartels; and sealing economic and political commitments with aligned governments in a win-win framework that would include procurement preferences and greater cooperation, among other measures, with a view to turning Latin America into a stable market for U.S. exports and a buffer against global rivals.

In recent years, China has achieved significant penetration in Latin America through its diplomacy and long-term strategy (the Belt and Road Initiative, or New Silk Road). For nearly all countries in the region, China has become the leading trading partner, displacing the United States; it is also an investor in major infrastructure projects and a lender of funds (in Venezuela’s case, a very large lender that negotiated debt repayment in oil at very low prices). In addition, China has become a major supplier of weapons and information technology.

In this context, what Washington appears to be seeking is indeed a regime change in Venezuela to counter the influence of China and Russia, but without openly announcing it in order to avoid a direct diplomatic confrontation. Trump has segmented the region into friendly regimes (Argentina, El Salvador, Ecuador, Honduras, and Guatemala), enemy regimes (Venezuela, Cuba, and Nicaragua), and regimes in limbo (Colombia and Brazil).

For Venezuela, regime change appears imminent, which would profoundly benefit Colombia, because, as Miguel Uribe Turbay said before he was assassinated, “as long as there is no freedom in Venezuela, there will be no peace in Colombia.” On the other hand, a change of government in Colombia is also approaching, and the country will have to decide which of these groups it wants to belong to—whether it repairs its relations with its traditional partner and ally, or definitively joins the group of pariah states in the region. Let us hope it is the former.

About the author: Luis Guillermo Plata served as Minister of Trade, Industry of Commerce during the government of President Álvaro Uribe Vélez, and in 2021, appointed by President Iván Duque, Ambassador of Colombia to Spain.

For a literary festival, silence can be more revealing than speech. The decision by three writers to withdraw from the 2026 Hay Festival in Cartagena over the presence of María Corina Machado, this year’s Nobel Peace Prize laureate and the most prominent figure in Venezuela’s democratic opposition, has exposed a paradox at the heart of contemporary literary culture: a professed devotion to free expression that falters when confronted with an inconvenient voice.

Hay Festival Cartagena, now in its 21st edition, is scheduled to take place from 29 January to 1 February 2026, with parallel events in Barranquilla, Medellín and a special edition in Jericó, Antioquia. Founded three decades ago in Wales and once described by Bill Clinton as “the Woodstock of the mind,” Hay has built its global reputation on the premise that literature flourishes in the presence of disagreement. Its stages have hosted figures as diverse – and divisive – as Salman Rushdie, Jonathan Safran Foer and David Goodhart, writers whose ideas have unsettled orthodoxies across continents.

Yet in Cartagena, dialogue has been recast as contamination.

The Colombian novelist Laura Restrepo, the Barranquilla-born writer Giuseppe Caputo and the Dominican activist Mikaelah Drullard announced they would not attend in protest at Machado’s invitation. Restrepo, winner of the 2004 Alfaguara Prize, had been scheduled to participate in several events, including a conversation with Indian novelist Pankaj Mishra and a session devoted to her most recent book, I Am the Dagger and I Am the Wound. In a public letter addressed to festival director Cristina de la Fuente, Restrepo described Machado’s presence as “a line” crossed.

“I must cancel my attendance at Hay Festival Cartagena 2026,” Restrepo wrote. “The reason is the participation of María Corina Machado, an active supporter of United States military intervention in Latin America.” Granting her a platform, Restrepo argued, amounted to facilitating positions hostile to regional autonomy.

Caputo echoed his reasoning on social media, announcing that “in the current context of escalating imperial violence, it is better to withdraw from a festival taking place opposite the bombarded waters of the Caribbean Sea.” Drullard, five days earlier, said she could not attend an event that “supports pro-genocide and interventionist positions through the mobilisation of those who promote them,” citing Machado’s proximity to the administration of US President Donald Trump.

What remains striking, however, is not merely the severity of these accusations but their selectivity. None of the boycott statements devotes comparable moral energy to denouncing the documented human rights abuses of Nicolás Maduro’s regime: arbitrary detentions, enforced disappearances, torture of political prisoners, or the systematic dismantling of democratic institutions. One is left to ask whether the authors’ moral outrage extends to the lived realities of Venezuelans themselves, or whether it finds expression only when filtered through the optics of geopolitics.

The irony is sharpened by the fact that the same US administration helped secure Machado’s escape from Venezuela on December 8, enabling her to arrive in Oslo hours after her daughter Ana Corina Sosa received the Nobel Peace Prize on her behalf. “When the history of our time is written, it won’t be the names of the authoritarian rulers that stand out – but the names of those who dared resist,” noted the Nobel Foundation. 

The arguments from Machado’s detractors  warrant scrutiny – and above all, debate. What they do not justify is refusal from Latin America’s self-entitled literati. A boycott replaces argument with absence, moral reasoning with pantomime. It is a gesture that confers ethical purity upon the boycotter while foreclosing the very exchange that literature has traditionally claimed to defend. This is the “line” that cannot be crossed.

The Hay Festival’s response has been characteristically diplomatic In a statement following the cancellations, organisers reaffirmed their commitment to pluralism: “We reaffirm our conviction that open, plural and constructive dialogue remains an essential tool for addressing complex realities and for defending the free exchange of ideas and freedom of expression.” They stressed that Hay “does not align itself with or endorse the opinions, positions or statements of those who participate in its activities,” while respecting the decisions of those who chose not to attend.

That insistence on neutrality, however, also reveals a deeper unease. If a literary festival must repeatedly assert its impartiality, it may be because neutrality itself has become suspect. Increasingly, festivals are asked to function as courts of moral arbitration, conferring legitimacy on some voices while quietly disqualifying others. The result is not a more just cultural sphere, but a narrower one—policed less by argument than by consensus.

The controversy has unfolded at a particularly volatile moment for Venezuela’s eight-million diaspora. Machado’s invitation coincides with a renewed escalation in US pressure in the Caribbean Sea. On Tuesday, President Trump ordered a “total and complete blockade” of all sanctioned oil tankers entering or leaving the country, targeting Caracas’s principal source of revenue. His administration also designated Maduro’s government a Foreign Terrorist Organization, accusing it of using “stolen US assets” to finance terrorism, drug trafficking and organised crime.

“Venezuela is completely surrounded by the largest armada ever assembled in the history of South America,” Trump wrote on Truth Social. “It will only get bigger, and the shock to them will be like nothing they have ever seen before – until such time as they return to the United States all of the oil, land and other assets they previously stole from us.”

Against this backdrop, Machado’s high-profile presence at Hay has acquired a symbolic weight that far exceeds literary stages. Yet it is precisely at such moments that intellectual forums are tested. Fiction, after all, teaches empathy, complexity and the capacity to hold contradiction without retreat. To boycott rather than engage is to abandon that lesson – and, with it, democratical ideals.

The reputational cost to Hay Festival Cartagena may prove lasting – not because Machado was invited, but because the limits of reason and tolerance have been publicly exposed. A gathering that once prided itself on hosting difficult conversations now finds itself unsettled by the very principle on which it was founded.

And there is a final inflection. If Hay’s commitment to dialogue is grounded in a leftist agenda – if certain voices render discussion impossible – then Machado herself should reasonably question the value of her remote participation at the festival on January 30, for a scheduled conversation with Venezuelan journalist and former minister Moisés Naím.

In Cartagena, it is not Machado’s words that should concern audiences, but the intellectual impoverishment by those who chose not to speak to her at all.

As the USS Gerald R. Ford navigates uncomfortably close to the Venezuelan coastline and some 15,000 U.S. Marines remain stationed across Caribbean waters, Venezuela’s political crisis has entered a volatile new phase. In Caracas, Nicolás Maduro is publicly calling for peace and dialogue — even quoting John Lennon’s “Imagine” and delivering rally slogans in English — while the country’s most prominent opposition figure, Nobel Peace Prize laureate María Corina Machado, has issued an expansive “Freedom Manifesto” envisioning a democratic rebirth after the collapse of Maduro’s rule.

Both gestures — Maduro’s unusually soft-spoken overtures and Machado’s sweeping declaration of national principles — arrive just days before a major U.S. decision that could redefine Washington’s policy toward Venezuela. On November 24, the State Department is expected to designate the Cartel de los Soles, a Venezuelan military-linked drug trafficking network allegedly headed by Maduro, as a Foreign Terrorist Organization (FTO).

Secretary of State Marco Rubio reiterated that the group “has corrupted the institutions of government in Venezuela and is responsible for terrorist violence conducted by and with other designated FTOs, as well as for trafficking drugs into the United States and Europe.”

Yet even as Washington prepares its most severe sanction to date, President Donald Trump has said he is open to speaking directly with Maduro. “I would probably talk to him, yeah,” Trump said. “I talk to everybody.”

That combination — tightening pressure paired with a sudden willingness to talk — has created what regional observers describe as an unprecedented moment of strategic ambiguity. Across Latin America, many now wonder whether the United States has a coherent plan for Venezuela or whether it is improvising amid escalating military preparations.

Maduro appears intent on exploiting that ambiguity. In recent public appearances, he has addressed the U.S. public directly, shifting between Spanish and English, at one point even singing. Over the weekend, he declared he wanted a “face-to-face” with Trump, urging: “Dialogue, call, yes; peace, yes; war, no — never, never war.”

In a televised address Monday, he warned that any U.S. military intervention would mark the “political end” of Trump’s leadership, accusing advisers around the U.S. president of “provoking” an armed conflict for political gain.

But even while denouncing Washington’s “hawks,” Maduro simultaneously extended yet another olive branch: he was willing to speak, he said, “with anyone in the Trump administration who wants to talk to Venezuela.”

This duality – hostility mixed with conspicuous calls for peace – reflects the delicate position Caracas faces as U.S. firepower mounts offshore and covert options reportedly expand.

According to a report published Tuesday by The New York Times, Trump has authorized the CIA to prepare potential covert operations inside Venezuela, part of a broader pressure campaign to weaken Maduro’s government. The same report said the White House has quietly reopened back-channel communications with Caracas, during which Maduro suggested he might consider stepping aside after a negotiated transition.

The State Department has also fueled speculation by delaying the FTO designation until November 24 — a move some analysts view as an ultimatum: enter negotiations or face an escalation that could sever what remains of Venezuela’s diplomatic and economic links to the outside world.

Vision for “The New Venezuela”

While Maduro navigates the diplomatic minefield, María Corina Machado is attempting to position herself — and the opposition — for a post-Maduro future. On Tuesday, Machado released her “Freedom Manifesto,” a sweeping philosophical and political declaration, that lays out a roadmap for what she calls “a Venezuela reborn from the ashes.”

The document is sharply moral in tone. It presents Venezuelans as having endured “chains of tyranny” and calls for the restoration of dignity, property rights, free markets, unrestricted speech, secure voting, institutional reform, environmental protection, and the return of nine million exiles forced abroad.

“We stand at the edge of a new era – one where our natural rights will prevail,” Machado writes. She envisions a country with a revitalized energy sector, a diversified high-tech economy, demilitarized institutions, and a reinvigorated place in the “international community of democracies.”

Her manifesto is both a political program and a counterpoint to the perception  prevalent in several Latin American capitals – that Washington’s next steps, not Venezuela’s internal politics, may determine the timing and nature of Maduro’s exit.

Even before the FTO designation, the United States had already escalated its military posture. Since early September, U.S. forces have carried out 21 strikes on boats in the Caribbean Sea and eastern Pacific, killing 83 people, in what the administration describes as anti-narcotics operations. Trump has hinted that known trafficking sites within Venezuela are potential targets.

The prospect of further strikes has unsettled the region’s leftist governments, most notably Colombia, under Gustavo Petro. While Washington is willing to keep the door to dialogue open with Maduro, it remains water-tight shut to a democratically-elected president described by President Turmp as an “illegitimate drug leader”.

For Maduro, calling for dialogue may be a defensive tactic — an effort to avoid isolation at a moment when Washington appears to be tightening multiple pressure channels at once. For Machado, the combination of international pressure and internal exhaustion presents a rare opportunity to present the blueprint for a new Constitution.

Yet the central question remains whether the United States has a clear strategy for a peaceful transition to democracy. A show of overwhelming force without a defined political horizon could embolden Maduro’s close allies – including Russia and Colombia’s Petro – to argue that Washington lacks staying power in the hemisphere. Should the military arsenal in the Caribbean fail to deliver tangible results – from regime transition to a negotiated exile for Maduro – the Chavista leadership will feel emboldened to stay the course.

The next ten days, leading to the November 24 FTO designation, will prove decisive. Either Maduro exits quietly – triggering the removal of the U.S. government’s $50 million bounty for his arrest – or the United States crosses a legal and diplomatic threshold that could redefine the region for decades to come.

Apple has begun shipping American-made artificial intelligence servers from a newly built factory in Houston, beating its 2026 target.


The servers designed for Apple's Private Cloud Compute system have started shipping from the 250,000-square-foot Houston site months earlier than planned. Apple Chief Operating Officer Sabih Khan confirmed the acceleration in a statement provided to Fox Business:

We are thrilled to be shipping American-made advanced servers from our Houston facility. As part of our $600 billion commitment to the United States, these servers will be installed in our data centers and play a key role in powering Apple Intelligence with Private Cloud Compute. Our teams have done an incredible job accelerating work to get the new Houston factory up and running ahead of schedule, and we plan to continue expanding the facility to increase production next year.

Private Cloud Compute is the architecture Apple uses to offload certain Apple Intelligence computations from devices to the cloud, while preserving the on-device privacy model that Apple says is core to its AI system. Apple CEO Tim Cook also posted on X about the news:



Apple is reportedly partnering with local contractors and recruiting from Houston City College to staff the facility. The Houston facility is part of a $600 billion U.S. investment commitment Apple made earlier this year, which includes capital for domestic manufacturing, silicon engineering, R&D, and workforce training initiatives.
This article, "Apple Starts Shipping Made-in-America AI Servers Early" first appeared on MacRumors.com

Discuss this article in our forums