More than three dozen grassroots advocacy and policy organizations across the country are calling on the Biden administration to alleviate sanctions on Iran for the purchase of vaccines and other humanitarian supplies as a gesture of goodwill, and to potentially jumpstart stalled negotiations for both parties to return to compliance with the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action.
In a letter to Biden, the groups — led by the National Iranian American Council and includes J Street, Ploughshares, Truman Center for National Policy, and the Quincy Institute — say that the Trump administration’s withdrawal from the deal has empowered hardliners in Iran, caused the country’s nuclear program to advance beyond the deal’s limits, and led to a stalled diplomatic process that has some hinting at the possibility of moving on to military action.
“There are still diplomatic options available to the United States to change this course and overcome the challenges that Trump's abandonment of the JCPOA have wrought before it is too late,” they write, adding, “your administration can discredit those within Iran who argue there are no differences between your administration and the Trump administration and are eager to match U.S. economic pressure with Iranian nuclear leverage.”
The groups suggest that the Biden administration identify Iranian financial institutions that can facilitate purchases of COVID-19 vaccines and other needed medical supplies and humanitarian goods as well as supporting efforts to assist the flood of Afghan refugees in Iran.
The effort comes just after a recent joint statement from President Biden, French President Emmanuel Macron, German Chancellor Angela Merkel, and UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson on “the importance of a negotiated solution that provides for the return of Iran and the U.S. to full compliance with the JCPOA and provides the basis for continued diplomatic engagement to resolve remaining points of contention.”
In an apparent response to a recent Responsible Statecraft report, the joint statement highlighted “President Biden’s clearly demonstrated commitment to return the U.S. to full compliance with the JCPOA and to stay in full compliance, so long as Iran does the same.”
In their letter to Biden on Tuesday, the groups say that alleviating some sanctions on humanitarian grounds “will advance U.S. national security by creating momentum for negotiations while also bolstering global vaccination efforts and the campaign to defeat COVID-19” and “demonstrate U.S. seriousness and sincerity in reversing ‘maximum pressure.’”
Ben Armbruster is the Managing Editor of Responsible Statecraft. He has more than a decade of experience working at the intersection of politics, foreign policy, and media. Ben previously held senior editorial and management positions at Media Matters, ThinkProgress, ReThink Media, and Win Without War.
An Iranian woman wearing a protective face mask receives a dose of the Iranian Coviran Barkat new coronavirus disease (COVID-19) vaccine at a drive through vaccination site in the Azadi (Freedom) sports complex during general COVID-19 vaccination in the west of Tehran while the COVID-19 delta variant outbreak in Iran, August 16, 2021. (Photo by Morteza Nikoubazl/NurPhoto)NO USE FRANCE
Top photo credit: Pro-government counter-protesters and riot police officers disperse people protesting over the death of Kenyan blogger Albert Ojwang in police custody, in downtown Nairobi, Kenya June 17, 2025. REUTERS/Thomas Mukoya
For a fleeting moment last year, Nairobi was Washington’s darling. In a rarity for an African leader, President William Ruto was honored at the White House, and Kenya was designated a Major Non-NATO Ally (MNNA), the first in sub-Saharan Africa.
It was the capstone of a transactional bargain: Kenya would serve as America’s anchor state in a turbulent region, providing peacekeepers for Haiti and a stable partner against a backdrop of coups and Chinese and Russian encroachment in Africa. In return, Nairobi would receive security assistance, and a powerful friend in Washington.
Just over a year later, that bargain lies in tatters. The first invoice for its failure has arrived in the form of an amendment to the National Defense Authorization Act (NDAA) submitted recently by Sen. James Risch, the top Republican on the Senate Foreign Relations Committee,calling for a formal review of Kenya’s prized MNNA status.
The rationale, according to the amendment, is a devastating catalogue of Nairobi's recent transgressions: its dubious ties with "nonstate armed groups and violent extremist organizations, including the Rapid Support Forces and al-Shabaab," its role as a "financial safe haven" for sanctioned entities, its deepening security and economic entanglement with China, and its use of "United States security assistance" for "abductions, torture, renditions, and violence against civilians."
Kenya’s descent has been swift and self-inflicted. Historically, Kenya built its foreign policy on the soft power of mediation. Nairobi was the indispensable venue where peace deals for Somalia and Sudan were hammered out two decades ago, It was a stable anchor in a volatile neighborhood. Under Ruto, this reputation has been tarnished.
The most calamitous blunder has been in Sudan. In February 2025, while the country burned, Nairobi played host to the leaders of the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) as they signed a charter to form a parallel government. Kenya’s foreign ministry framed the effort as a step towards peace-building, but the Sudanese government, led by the army, furiously recalled its ambassador, branded Kenya a "rogue state," and banned all imports from the country, a significant economic blow.
To make matters worse for Ruto, his own former deputy president, Rigathi Gachagua, publicly accused him of having a "business" relationship with the RSF leader, Mohamed Hamdan “Hemedti” Dagalo, alleging that Kenya was being used to launder Sudanese gold to fund the RSF’s war machine.
Whether true or not, the perception of a private deal overriding principled foreign policy was cemented. The African Union recently warned against the "fragmentation of Sudan" and implicitly condemned Nairobi’s role in providing a platform for the paramilitary group.
A similar pattern emerged in the Democratic Republic of Congo. In late 2023, Nairobi hosted leaders of the M23 rebel group, which is backed by Rwanda and has terrorized eastern Congo. The move infuriated Kinshasa, which refused to accredit Kenya’s ambassador and accused Ruto of "supporting Rwanda." The peace initiative was ultimately seized by the United States and Qatar, who brokered a resource-driven deal, leaving Nairobi irrelevant in a crisis in its own neighborhood.
Ruto’s foreign policy misadventures cannot be divorced from the collapsing political bargain at home. The "Hustler Nation" narrative that swept him to power in 2022 on a tide of populist promises has evaporated, replaced by the grim reality of IMF-mandated austerity. The government’s attempt to ram through a finance bill laden with taxes on basic goods ignited a youth-led uprising — the "Gen Z protests" — that has shaken the foundations of the state.
The state's response has been brutal, fulfilling the darkest premonitions about Ruto’s authoritarian tendencies. Security forces have met peaceful protesters with live rounds, abductions, and torture. This is the domestic context for the Risch amendment’s concern about the misuse of U.S. security assistance.
The Biden administration’s embrace of Ruto was a calculated risk. Facing a wave of anti-Western coups in the Sahel and China’s expanding influence, Washington needed a reliable partner. Ruto, an astute political operator, played his part brilliantly, offering up police for the U.S.-backed Haiti mission and positioning himself as a key interlocutor on climate and regional security. The MNNA designation was his reward.
But the arrival of the Trump administration, and the Risch amendment, signals a fundamental shift in how Washington calculates its interests. U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio abruptly canceled a planned visit to Nairobi earlier this year, a clear diplomatic snub that came shortly after Ruto’s visit to Beijing and as Washington began quietly cutting aid programs.
Indeed, the amendment is a checklist of how Kenya has failed its end of the transactional bargain.
First, Kenya has cozied up to America’s adversaries. President Ruto, for his part, has defended the relationship, insisting that it is aimed at securing vital export markets rather than signalling strategic realignment. This distinction, however, has not ameliorated concerns in Washington. Ruto’s speech in Beijing, where he declared Kenya and China "co-architects of a new world order," was viewed in Washington as a slap in the face. Sen. Risch entered the full text of that speech into the congressional record, sending a clear message: you cannot be a Major Non-NATO Ally and a "co-architect" with Beijing.
Second, Kenya is undermining U.S. security objectives. By providing a platform and alleged financial services to the RSF — accused by the United States of genocide and had ties to Russia's Wagner mercenaries — Nairobi is not just meddling in a civil war, but is working against U.S. policy of weakening Wagner (and its successor, the Africa Corps) and ending the war in Sudan.
Additionally, the Risch amendment demands an inquiry into official ties with Al-Shabaab. Weaponizing long-standing concerns — acknowledged by the U.S. State Department — about the deep-seated corruption within Kenya’s security apparatus that allows individual officials to profit from the very smuggling networks that finance Al-Shabaab. More recently, the U.S. Treasury identified and sanctioned a Kenya-based financial network as a crucial hub for laundering Al-Shabaab funds.
The likelihood of the Risch amendment becoming law is high, a strength stemming from a potent combination of its sponsor’s clout and its substantive strategic appeal.
Substantively, Risch’s proposal is compelling because it neatly bridges the partisan divide, crafted to appeal to Republican anxieties about Chinese and Russian influence in Africa while simultaneously satisfying traditional Democratic demands for accountability on human rights and the misuse of U.S. security aid.
Moreover, the amendment is structured as a review, not an immediate punishment. It doesn't revoke Kenya's status or cut off aid; it simply mandates a report. This presents a much lower bar for passage, allowing skeptical lawmakers to support it as a call for greater oversight.
This political potency is amplified by the legislative vehicle to which it is attached. The law itself, the NDAA, is the annual bill that authorizes the budget and sets the policies for the U.S. Department of Defense. For over six consecutive decades, Congress has passed the NDAA, creating a powerful institutional momentum that transcends partisan divides.
Consequently, the initiation of a formal review seems more a question of when than if. The final determination will rest not only on the assessment by key figures in the administration, but critically, on whether President Ruto's government can credibly address Washington’s concerns before a verdict is rendered.
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Top photo credit: January 13, 2025, Culiacan, Sinaloa, Mexico. People close with one of the victims cry not far from the city center, where two people were killed in a shoot out between rival cartel factions. One man was found dead on a motorcycle, the other victim lay near a SUV that was riddled with bullets.(Photo by Teun Voeten/Sipa USA)
In 2020, during the last year of the Trump administration’s first term, President Trump asked then-Defense Secretary Mark Esper a shocking question: why can't the United States just attack the Mexican cartels and their infrastructure with a volley of missiles?
Esper recounted the moment in his memoir, using the anecdote to illustrate just how reckless Trump was becoming as his term drew to a close. Those missiles, of course, were never launched, so the entire interaction amounted to nothing in terms of policy.
Yet five years later, Trump still views the Mexican cartels as one of Washington’s principal national security threats. His urge to take offensive action inside Mexico has only grown with time. Unlike in Trump’s first term, using the U.S. military to combat these criminal organizations is now a mainstream policy option in Trump’s Republican Party. According to the New York Times, Trump has signed a presidential directive allowing the Pentagon to begin using military force against specific cartels in Latin America, and U.S. military officials are now in the process of studying various ways to go about implementing the order.
While this may come as a shock to some foreign policy commentators, it shouldn’t. Trump, Vice President JD Vance, Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, U.S. Ambassador to the U.N. (and short-lived national security adviser) Mike Waltz and U.S. Ambassador to Mexico Ron Johnson have all left the door open to military force, whether it takes the form of striking fentanyl-production facilities by air or deploying U.S. special operations forces to take out top cartel leaders on Mexican soil.
The Trump administration wasted no time going down this road. The CIA is engaging in more surveillance flights along the U.S.-Mexico border, and inside Mexican airspace, to gather information on key cartel locations. The U.S. national security bureaucracy was already in preliminary discussions about the possible use of drone strikes against the cartels as well. And on February 20, the U.S. State Department designated six Mexican cartels as foreign terrorist organizations, which is designed to deter Americans from working with the cartels and lay the foundation for future strikes.
This is all good politics for Trump, who recognizes implicitly that getting tough on Mexico economically and politically is red meat for his base. But politics isn’t nearly as important as policy, and the policy implications of U.S. military operations in Mexico — even if the purpose is a noble one — is riddled with costs and make managing the problems the Trump administration ostensibly cares about even harder.
First, we should remember one thing right off the bat: using the military to tackle cartels is not a new phenomenon. The Trump administration may present this as some magic solution that will win the drug war once and for all, but the reality is bullets and bombs have been lobbed at the narco-traffickers repeatedly to little positive effect. Successive Mexican governments since the turn of the century, from the conservative Felipe Calderón to the leftist Andres Manuel López Obrador (AMLO), have relied on the military under the presumption this was the best way the Mexican state could pressure criminal organizations into extinction.
Calderón, for instance, declared a full-blown war on the cartels immediately after his election in 2006, deploying tens of thousands of Mexican troops into some of the country’s most violent states. Despite lambasting the military-first strategy during his own presidential campaign, Enrique Peña Nieto largely continued Calderón’s strategy with a special emphasis on targeting so-called “kingpins” of the narcotrafficking world. When AMLO entered office in 2018, he tried to get the Mexican army back into the barracks but wound up expanding their authority and rushing Mexican soldiers into hot spots, like Culiacan, whenever large-scale violence broke out.
The result was a bloodbath. Rather than submit to the state’s diktats, the cartels fought the Mexican state with ever greater levels of force. Politicians, police officers and soldiers were all targeted and killed with greater frequency. Areas of Mexico previously insulated from cartel violence were suddenly drawn into the maelstrom. Although senior narcotraffickers were killed and captured in the process, Mexico’s cartel landscape was shattered into a million different pieces; as my colleague Christopher McCallion and I wrote in July, the demise of the cartel’s senior leadership merely opened up these organizations to extreme bouts of infighting between replacements who sought to grab the crown.
The end product was a massive uptick in Mexico’s homicide rate, which is now three times greater than it was before Calderón declared war almost two decades ago.
Of course, the Trump administration is unlikely to mimic the Mexican government’s past strategy entirely. It’s hard to envision tens of thousands of U.S. troops deploying to Tamaulipas, Guanajuato or Sinaloa, sealing off neighborhoods, establishing checkpoints and conducting offensive operations against cartels that in some instances have more firepower than the Mexican army. If Washington is going to do anything militarily, it’s more likely to come in the form of air power. Bombing fentanyl manufacturing plants would be more economical and wouldn’t involve U.S. ground forces, so the risk to U.S. personnel would be much lower.
Still, if the objective is to bomb the cartels into submission or convince them to stop producing and shipping drugs across America’s southern border, then an air campaign will fall flat. We can say this with a reasonable degree of certainty because there’s first-hand experience to go by. The U.S. Air Force did something similar in Afghanistan in 2017-2018, taking out opium labs in Taliban-controlled areas to deprive the Taliban insurgency of the revenue it needed to wage the war.
But as the Special Inspector General of Afghanistan Reconstruction reported, the bombing campaign failed to do anything of significance. The U.S. air campaign didn’t dent the Taliban’s revenue streams to the point where it made a negotiated resolution on U.S. terms possible. As David Mansfield, the world’s leading expert on Afghanistan’s drug patterns, wrote in a 2019 report, “it is hard to see how the campaign offered anything in terms of value for money, with the cost of the strikes and ordnance used far outweighing the value of the losses to those involved in drugs production or potential revenues to the Taliban.”
Why would Mexico be any different than Afghanistan? If anything, denting cartel revenue via an air campaign would be even more difficult than it was with respect to the Taliban. Unlike heroin, fentanyl is a synthetic drug that can be easily produced, isn’t particularly labor intensive and doesn’t require acres upon acres of poppy fields that can be easily located. Sure, the United States is bound to find some of these facilities, but the cartels responsible for production will still have a monetary incentive to set up shop somewhere else. Fentanyl nets the cartels billions of dollars every year; this is a very large financial resource that the Sinaloa and New Jalisco Generation cartels — or frankly anyone in the business — will be hard pressed to pass up.
And if even if they magically did find a new line of work, other players would step into the void to increase their own market share.
These are only several problems associated with treating the U.S. military as a panacea to the drug problem. But the important thing to take away is that effectively declaring war on Mexico, America’s top trading partner and neighbor with which we share a nearly 2,000 mile-long border, presents the illusion of progress without actually making any. And it will inject immense tension in a U.S.-Mexican relationship that Washington should be strengthening, not undermining.
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Top photo credit: Supporters of Bolivian candidate Samuel Doria Medina from Alianza Unidad party attend a closing campaign rally ahead of the August 17 general election, in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Bolivia, August 9, 2025. REUTERS/Ipa Ibanez
Bolivia heads into a critical presidential election onAugust 17th, the first round in what is widely expected to be a two-round contest.
With none of the five major candidatespolling above 25 percent, a large “blank/nill vote campaign,” and the two left-wing candidates trailing behind the right’s candidates, the fragmented political field has raised the prospect of a run-off for the first time since 2002, before Evo Morales and the Movement Toward Socialism (MAS)’s rise to power.
The MAS’s appeal, including with lower socio-economic classes, is dwindling due to its inability to manage mounting crises: from a severe fuel shortage (and the looming spike in prices when subsidies collapse) to a dollar shortage, risk of default reflected in Bolivia’s CCC- Fitch rating, and rising inflation. All of these cut directly against the MAS’s core appeal of helping ordinary Bolivians, particularly the indigenous majority, make ends meet and improve their daily lives.
This time, the leading contenders by order of polling averages — Samuel Doria Medina, Jorge “Tuto” Quiroga, Andrónico Rodríguez, Manfred Reyes Villa, and Eduardo del Castillo — represent deeply divergent visions for Bolivia’s role in the world. The candidates shared their plans with Responsible Statecraft so we could get a sense of what kind of foreign policy they envision for Bolivia’s future.
Tensions deepened in 2019-2020, when Morales accused the U.S. and the U.S.-backed OAS of his ouster.
Former presidents Morales and Luis Arce, once standard-bearers of the MAS’s self-avowedly “anti-imperialist foreign policy,” are notably absent from the race. Internal disputes, major national crises, and ensuing unpopularitysidelined Arce, while Morales has been barred from running despite continuing his protests and leading ablank vote campaign. Their legacies nonetheless loom large over the election, particularly in the realm of foreign policy, where Bolivia has long stood as a rare bulwark against U.S. intervention.
With developing crises, there appears to have been a shift in Bolivians’ opinions on foreign policy, making a course change more popular. The left still warns strongly against any renewed U.S. influence orneoliberal prescriptions, though less loudly, while the center and right-wing have moved past their reticence against outreach to Washington. In previous election cycles, even the mention of such partnerships was anelectoral death sentence.
Current frontrunner Samuel Doria Medina, a business magnate and perennial centrist candidate, is emerging as a potential third way. His self-avowedlyliberal economic plan calls for sharp reductions in public spending and the closure of state-owned enterprises. On foreign policy, however, Doria Medina’s stance is more moderate.
Doria Medina’s plan lacks specifics, but his focus on diplomacy as business is clear. His camp presents this as analternative to the ideological “extremes” of MAS and the right-wing. Critics warn that such centrism often masks neoliberal orthodoxy under a polished veneer, particularly given his support for the IMF and World Bank, andgutting of popular social programs.
There are two MAS-affiliated candidates: Senate President Andrónico Rodríguez, who has led a more grassroots campaign, and media-savvy Government Minister Eduardo del Castillo. Both are fighting to inherit the MAS legacy, though they haverejected the notion that they are “Arcistas” or “Evistas.”
Rodríguez’s plan mirrors Morales' anti-imperialist narrative, often invoking Bolivian sovereignty and warning of foreign meddling. He also briefly discusses climate diplomacy, South-South cooperation, and “popular diplomacy.” However, his silence on BRICS suggests a possible deprioritization of international alignment in favor of domestic agendas, including constitutional reform, judicial restructuring, and economic stabilization.
His running mate, Mariana Prado, who was a minister under Morales and was ousted after allegedly working with USAID, has publicly stated her admiration for Brazilian PresidentLula’s pragmatic diplomatic model, which she has said her government would emulate. In an interview with La Razón, Bolivia’s most important newspaper, she called for a foreign policy that is “open to all,” case-by-case, and non-ideological. This echoes the “active and pragmatic” diplomacy of the left in Brazil, Mexico, and Chile: engage with China and the U.S. on an equal-opportunity basis, pursue BRICS and Mercosur integration, but avoid confrontations. This is a significant change for the Bolivian left.
Del Castillo, by contrast, presents himself as a modernizer of the MAS legacy. His plan, dubbed “Bolivia First,” emphasizes state-led economic development, industrialization of lithium, and internal security. In his government plan, Del Castillo talks about Bolivia as aleader in the multipolar world, championing “anti-imperialism, anti-capitalism, decolonization, and anti-patriarchy.” He discusses fully joining the BRICS and continuing Bolivia’s partnerships with the Global South, including China and Russia.
A pro-MAS analyst, Daniel Flores Escobar, has more explicitly framed the election as a referendum on national sovereignty versus foreign subjugation, stating that Bolivia must avoid becoming a “republic subordinated by foreign interests.” This would mean a continuation of an “anti-imperialist foreign policy” under a MAS government.
Yet, notably, neither of these MAS candidates have put forward detailed foreign policy roadmaps. Together, the two MAS candidates’ entire foreign policy strategies total less than five pages. This suggests that, should the left win, Bolivia’s current foreign policy orientation would persist, but may be on the back burner.
On the opposite end of the spectrum are two staunchly conservative figures, former president Tuto Quiroga and Cochabamba’s mayor and retired Army Captain Manfred Reyes Villa, both of whom present clear, detailed foreign policy visions that would represent an explicit break from two decades of the MAS.
Quiroga’s program frames Bolivia’s current foreign alignment as “servile to tyrannies” (like Cuba and Venezuela) and calls for a return to a “free and democratic” foreign policy — ironic given his role asdictator Hugo Banzer’s vice president and a key diplomat for Jeanine Añez’sauthoritarian government. He pledges to restore relations with the U.S. and Israel, withdraw support from regimes like Iran and Venezuela, and push Bolivia back into alignment with what he calls the “community of democratic nations.” His 2020 platform, reused with minor updates, describes BRICS as a grouping of “autocracies” and dismisses South-South solidarity as misguided.
Reyes Villa similarly calls forre-engagement with the U.S. and Israel but offers less detail. His proposal emphasizes economic liberalization, attracting Western investment, and combatting “socialism.” Both men propose a reorientation away from China, Russia, Iran, and the BRICS, in favor of U.S. ties and participation in U.S.-led multilateral and financial institutions.
Moreover, the specter of Donald Trump returning to the White House raises further concerns, especially if Bolivia becomes a target. Tariffs and direct political or military-intelligence intervention could hurt the popularity of a close relationship with the U.S.
This election marks a pivotal juncture in Bolivia’s trajectory. For the first time in a generation, as Bolivia faces historic crises and the MAS is increasingly unpopular, voters are being offered a choice featuring starkly contrasting worldviews, ranging from a return to U.S. alignment, to a cautious centrist balancing act, to a continuation of the anti-imperialist posture that has defined the MAS revolution.
That choice will have an enormous impact on how Bolivia meets this moment, or returns to an era of darkness while deepening the pains felt by the average Bolivian.
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