Blackwater Successor Hunting Immigrants, Washington's Narco Connection, The Radical Act of Deep Listening
January 13, 2026

A military contractor with a lineage going back to the notorious mercenary firm Blackwater will help U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement track down a list of 1.5 million targeted immigrants across the country. ICE inked a deal with Constellis Holdings to provide “skip tracing” services, tasking the company with hunting immigrants down and relaying their locations to ICE’s Enforcement and Removal Operations wing for apprehension. Contractors will receive monetary bounties in exchange for turning over the whereabouts of specified immigrants as quickly as possible, using whatever physical and digital surveillance tools they see fit. Constellis was formed in 2014 through the merger of Academi, previously known as Blackwater, and Triple Canopy, a rival mercenary contractor. The combined companies and their subsidiaries have reaped billions from contracts for guarding foreign military installations, embassies, and domestic properties, along with work for the Department of Homeland Security and U.S. spy agencies. In 2007, Blackwater mercenaries massacred 14 civilians in Baghdad; several of its contractors serving prison sentences for the killings were pardoned by President Donald Trump in 2020. The government has so far paid Constellis $1.5 million, with the potential for the total to grow to more than $113 million by the contract’s end in 2027. Constellis ... secured a $250 million construction contract at the U.S. military base at Guantánamo Bay, Cuba, earlier this year.

CIA and DEA ... drug operations were intimately tied to the Latin American anticommunist brigades funded by Western capital throughout the Cold War, and the brutal liquidation of the Left these narco-terrorists often carried out. Venezuelan president Nicolás Maduro is being held in a Brooklyn jail charged with smuggling cocaine into the United States. But even the Drug Enforcement Agency estimates that less than 10 percent of cocaine shipments to the U.S come through Venezuela. The vast majority of cocaine shipments originate in Colombia and move through the Pacific route and Mexico. There are no shortages of Latin American leaders and military chiefs who are heavily involved in drug trafficking but who are considered close allies of the United States. One of them, former Honduran president Juan Orlando Hernández, was pardoned by Donald Trump last month, after he was sentenced to 45 years in prison for conspiring to distribute over 400 tons of cocaine in the U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio, who is also Trump’s national security advisor, comes out of the rightwing Cuban exile community in Miami, one that has for decades engaged in drug trafficking and a dirty war against those it condemns, like Maduro, of being communists. These anti-communist Cubans, including Rubio’s inner circle, have [close ties] with the drug trade and [support] Ecuadorean President Daniel Noboa, whose family fruit business is accused of trafficking 700 kilos of cocaine.

In 1993, 60 Minutes aired a report detailing how the CIA recruited Venezuelan military officer Gen. Ramón Guillén Dávila, enabling the shipment of roughly 22 tons of cocaine into U.S. cities under the guise of an intelligence operation. Once the so-called “Cartel of the Suns” outlived its usefulness to U.S. intelligence, it quietly vanished—only to be revived years later by the U.S. government as a political weapon in its campaign against Venezuela. The Trump administration has accused Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro of leading the long-defunct “Cartel of the Suns.” But as journalist Diego Sequera explains, the cartel’s origins trace back to the early 1990s, when the CIA allegedly directed one of its top Venezuelan military assets to facilitate the shipment of tons of cocaine into U.S. cities. The “Cartel of the Suns” functions less as a criminal organization than as a political fiction—one born from a U.S. intelligence operation, buried when it became inconvenient, and resurrected decades later to justify coercive measures against a government Washington seeks to remove. What remains consistent is not the evidence, but the utility of the accusation. And in the end, the “Cartel of the Suns” tells us far less about Venezuela than it does about U.S. power: how an intelligence-linked drug operation can be erased from history when it implicates Washington, then revived as propaganda when regime change again becomes the goal. The cartel never needed to exist—only the narrative did.

In prisons and jails across the US, people are routinely fed unhealthy, tasteless or inedible meals. Many are left hungry and malnourished, with devastating long-term health consequences. The hidden crisis affecting millions of incarcerated people is the subject of Eating Behind Bars, a new book offering a disturbing account of how correctional institutions punish their residents through the food they provide and withhold. The book by Leslie Soble ... describes roaches and rats in prison kitchens, rotten meat and guard dogs who are fed better meals than incarcerated people. It is a compelling, and at times nauseating, indictment of the criminal justice system. Soble manages the Food in Prison Project at Impact Justice, a national non-profit that advocates for reforms and supports incarcerated people. The prison food crisis [is] a public health crisis, with estimates suggesting each year behind bars reduces life expectancy by two years. It’s a labor rights issue, as incarcerated people earn pennies per hour running the kitchens, barely enough to buy canteen snacks to supplement their meager diets. And there are environmental ramifications: US correctional facilities create an estimated 300,000 tons of food waste annually as residents reject unpalatable offerings. A typical prison diet is very high in ultra-processed foods, highly refined carbohydrates, sugar and salt, and very low in fresh fruits and vegetables, quality protein, whole grains.

Roderick Gadson, an Alabama prison guard, was questioned under oath about an incident in which he and other officers used such devastating force against a prisoner that the man had to be airlifted to hospital to treat his injuries. Gadson was shown a photograph of the man, Steven Davis. He was lying in an ICU bed breathing through a tube, his cadaverous face bruised and covered with blood, his eyes black and sunken. Gadson was asked whether he felt that the amount of force used had been appropriate, given the way Davis looked. He replied: “I don’t feel like nothing. I just did my job.” On 4 October 2019, Gadson and five other officers were called to respond to a security breach inside Donaldson correctional facility. Davis ... was lying prone and unresistant on the ground. Gadson took the lead. One of the witnesses said the officer hit Davis “with his metal stick in the head, picked him up, throwed him down. He stomped the dude with his size 15 boot. The guy’s head bounced like a basketball.” David died the following day. The cause of death was officially recorded as homicide caused by “blunt force injuries of head sustained in an assault”. Despite evidence of a physical assault by Gadson and the other officers, they were all cleared after an internal investigation. Six months later, Gadson was promoted ... to sergeant. Then, in July 2021, he [was] promoted a second time, 21 months after a prisoner in his care had been beaten to death. Now he holds the exalted status of lieutenant.

Jeffrey Collins has watched 14 men draw their final breaths. Over 25 years at the Associated Press, the South Carolina-based journalist has repeatedly served as an observer inside the state’s execution chamber, watching from feet away as prison officials kill men who were sentenced to capital punishment. South Carolina has recently kept him unusually busy, with seven back-to-back executions in 14 months. The state revived the death penalty last September after a 13-year pause caused by the decision of pharmaceutical makers to stop selling lethal injection drugs to the state. Officials acquired pentobarbital, a sedative, only after legislators passed a law shielding the identities of suppliers. That secrecy surrounding the execution process means the role of observers has never been more vital. Executions aren’t filmed, making journalists’ accounts the only impartial record of state-sponsored killings, their words often cited by lawyers and courts. "I don’t think executions should be publicly broadcast, but I think they need to be videotaped," [said Collins]. "We don’t get to see everything. With lethal injections, there could be problems if the needle isn’t put in the vein correctly or the drugs are bad, but we don’t get any look into either of those things. With firing squads ... the target could get placed poorly. But when the curtain opens, the target has already been placed, so we don’t get to witness that either. The secrecy prevents the entire story from being told."

Thousands of surveillance reports compiled by undercover police officers who spied on political campaigners were routinely passed to MI5, documents obtained by the spycops inquiry have revealed. Police sent undercover officers on long-term deployments to infiltrate mainly leftwing protest groups and gather enormous quantities of information about their political and personal activities. It can now be revealed that most of those clandestine reports were sent to MI5, helping the Security Service to build up large files on peaceful protesters who were engaged in democratic protests for an array of causes. MI5 still retains these surveillance reports in its files today. Officers have been criticised for spying on thousands of political organisations such as campaigns against racism and nuclear weapons, the Socialist Workers party, justice campaigns and trade unions. Their reports logged personal information about protesters, including their marriages, sexuality, holiday plans and bank accounts, as well as their plans for political action such as demonstrations. Stamped on the surveillance reports are a tell-tale sign – Box 500, a nickname for MI5 ... which confirms that they were sent to the Security Service by the police spies. Working in tandem, senior police officers running the undercover spies and MI5 met regularly to discuss the political groups they wanted to infiltrate. On several occasions, MI5 warned that particular police spies were in danger of being rumbled by activists.

The retired judge Sir John Mitting has been leading a public inquiry examining the conduct of undercover police officers who spied on more than 1,000 political groups between 1968 and at least 2010. At least 139 undercover officers in deployments typically lasting four years were sent to infiltrate mainly leftwing and progressive groups. Undercover officers regularly deceived women into long-term sexual relationships. At least four of the undercover officers are known or alleged to have fathered children with women they met during their deployments. So far, between the mid-1970s and 2010 at least 20 police spies are known to have formed sexual relationships with women without disclosing their true identities. Many of these undercover officers were unmasked by the women themselves after long investigations. The undercover officers joined political groups and pretended to be activists. However, their real job was to collect information about the campaigners and their protests and send secret reports back to their bosses. Another issue under the microscope is how activists were allegedly unjustly convicted for offences connected to protests because key evidence gathered by the undercover officers was concealed. Are undercover police still infiltrating political groups? It is difficult to know. Mitting told police he wanted to know if undercover officers were currently been used to spy on political groups. No answer has been given in public so far.

Emily Kasriel, the author of “Deep Listening” (HarperCollins, 2025), believes that really listening to each other can help us repair the social fabric that has frayed. Kasriel emphasized that Deep Listening is not just about changing personal habits but also about confronting a broader societal turning point. She shared, “I believe we’re at an inflection point where we must choose between further fragmentation or renewed connection. The practice of Deep Listening isn’t just a nice communication skill — it’s a necessary foundation for addressing complex challenges, in a business or society, from climate change to adapting to AI.” Kasriel hopes that by creating a comprehensive guide “to equip readers with practical tools to bridge divides in their personal lives, professional settings, and communities,” she will ultimately contribute to a less polarized, more connected world. Kasriel [said], “In my mediating, I witnessed how transformative it can be when people who see each other as enemies have the experience of being genuinely heard by the ‘other side.’ In these settings, I refined techniques for creating safety and holding space during difficult conversations-skills that directly informed several of the eight steps in my methodology.” Given her extensive experience, Kasriel realized that listening is not a passive act but a deliberate practice. Through listening differently, you transform what your speaker shares or even thinks.

In Montana, a focus on restorative justice is reducing juvenile recidivism through a nonprofit program that engages them, rather than punishes them. The nonprofit believes that it’s actually far more challenging for juvenile offenders to look their victims in the eye and explain why they behaved antisocially than it is to simply serve a suspension from school, where they’re distanced from friends and mentors, and often fall behind in their education. The Center for Restorative Youth Justice (CRYJ), is not a new organization, but their influence in Montana is growing. CRYJ receives referrals from Youth Court probation officers, school administrators, or school resource officers made on behalf of a juvenile offender who’s broken the law. CRYJ then has a conference with the youth and their parent or guardian, and creates a tailormade program of restorative justice. This can involve peer group discussion, victim-offender meetings, and other situations where the youth is given the forum to reestablish a relationship with the community, rather than something like a school suspension. CRYJ believes that by limiting the overuse of exclusionary discipline and emphasizing a community-driven approach, it can help at-risk youth avoid falling behind in school. We spend a lot of time separating people after there’s been harm, but often the deepest healing and learning and moving forward can happen ... when we can actually come together and talk about what happened and how to make things right.

John Seigel-Boettner ... has been coordinating the local chapter of Cycling Without Age (CWA) since 2019. Effortlessly charming and still ferociously fit at 70-years-old, he gives rides at least twice a week. Though the people who ride upfront don’t pedal, he doesn’t call them “passengers” but “riding partners” to emphasize the program’s spirit of companionship. “Cycling Without Age is about connection,” Seigel-Boettner says. “It’s about the conversations between pilot and partner, and the connection with everyone we meet along the way.” While anybody can ride for free, CWA prioritizes riders with limited mobility. Seigel-Boettner’s youngest rider was a five-year-old boy on a feeding tube who wanted to ride to school with his friends. “We provided that,” he says, “and it made him very happy.” Sometimes, his riders have lost their ability to speak at all. When Seigel-Boettner rides with someone experiencing memory loss, the words might fade away, but not the emotional resonance. The vibrations, the breeze, watching the passing world together become their shared language. “They see a flower, or the ocean, or a bird, and suddenly a memory surfaces,” Seigel-Boettner says. CWA is much more than a lovely idea. A 2020 study found that participants experienced measurable improvements in mood and well-being after rides. The trishaw excursion is a chance to be seen again, not as a diagnosis but a person, not a burden but a being alive in the world.

On Dutch ‘care farms,' aging folks tend to livestock, harvest vegetables and make their own decisions. Boerderij Op Aarde is one of hundreds of Dutch “care farms” operated by people facing an array of illnesses or challenges, either physical or mental. Today, there are roughly 1,350 care farms in the Netherlands. They provide meaningful work in agricultural settings with a simple philosophy: rather than design care around what people are no longer able to do, design it to leverage and emphasize what they can accomplish. Studies in Norway and the Netherlands found that people with dementia at care farms tended to move more and participate in higher-intensity activities than those in traditional care, which can help with mobility in daily life and have a positive impact on cognition. Dementia is often linked to social isolation, and care farms were found to boost social involvement. In traditional dementia care settings ... the focus tends to be on preventing risk. There’s often a fixed schedule of simple activities, like games or movies, and the only choice attendees are given is whether to participate or not. In the course of his research, [Jan] Hassink has spoken to countless people with dementia. Common to many of them is a desire to not only participate in society, but contribute to it. “We don’t focus on what’s missing, but what is still left,” says Arjan Monteny, cofounder of Boerderij Op Aarde, “what is still possible to develop in everybody."

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