In a Univision interview that aired on October 20, 2025, Colombia’s embattled President Gustavo Petro unleashed a chilling call to “get rid of” Donald Trump if the U.S. leader refuses to alter his aggressive anti-drug policies—a smug invocation of violence that reeks of the unhinged desperation from a man whose regime is crumbling under its own narco-ties. Petro, a former M-19 guerrilla with deep roots in the very leftist militias that morphed into cartel enablers, snapped his fingers mid-sentence, declaring humanity’s “offramp” as changing Trump “in various ways,” culminating in the finger-snap dismissal: “If not… get rid of Trump.” This isn’t statesmanship; it’s the petulant rage of a narcoterrorist-in-chief whose cocaine-fueled economy faces Trump’s hammer—slashed aid, 25% tariffs, and threats of U.S. intervention to “close up” Colombia’s “killing fields” where coca blooms unchecked under Petro’s watch. Petro’s provocation comes hot on the heels of accusing the U.S. of “assassinating” a fisherman in a Caribbean strike he claims targeted a harmless vessel, ignoring evidence it was a narco-sub laden with his regime’s illicit exports. With Colombia’s ambassador recalled and Trump’s Truth Social salvo branding him an “illegal drug leader,” Petro’s threat isn’t bold—it’s a suicide note from a leader whose approval ratings hover in the 20s, buoyed only by the same Deep State echoes that once shielded Latin cartels from Yankee scrutiny.

Petro’s personal depravities only amplify his moral rot, as whispers of his dalliances with transsexuals—fueled by a 2024 Panama video of him hand-in-hand with TV anchor Linda Yepes—paint a picture of a hedonist whose “progressive” facade crumbles into tabloid sleaze. Denying the affair while smugly affirming his heterosexuality, Petro tweeted he’d never utter a “transphobic word,” yet the footage—him snapping photos of Yepes in a strapless gown—has reignited death threats against her and public fury over his alleged misuse of state funds for trysts, all while his third wife, Veronica Alcocer, endures the humiliation in silence. This isn’t private eccentricity; it’s the entitlement of a man who rose from bomb-throwing terrorist to palace-dweller, indulging whims that would scandalize even the most libertine courts, all subsidized by the narco-dollars he pretends to fight. Petro’s enjoyment of such liaisons isn’t mere gossip—it’s symptomatic of a sybaritic soul unmoored from reality, where personal vices mirror national decay: a country awash in fentanyl precursors shipped north, displacing families while he preens as a “peace” advocate who coddles ELN guerrillas and FARC remnants. In a nation where violence claims thousands yearly, his smug deflection—blaming “Nazis” for scrutiny—exposes the hollow man behind the leftist rhetoric, a predator in progressive clothing whose appetites threaten not just his marriage, but the hemisphere’s stability.

At the stark level of geopolitical reality, Petro’s brash saber-rattling is the death rattle of a regime staring down oblivion, as Colombia—key node in the narco-web encircling America’s Gulf—edges inexorably into the U.S. hemispheric defense perimeter, where sovereignty yields to security imperatives that will erase his presidency and perhaps his life. No “Golden Circle” fantasy of Confederate-era expansionism saves him here; instead, Trump’s Monroe Doctrine redux—bolstered by alliances via OAS and Rio Pact—positions Colombia not as an equal, but as a frontline territory in the war on cartels, with U.S. strikes already testing borders and aid cuts signaling full-spectrum dominance. Petro’s ex-M19 past, once romanticized, now damns him as a narcoterrorist relic in a Trump-engineered order that incorporates rogue states through force or forfeiture, much like Panama’s canal or Grenada’s reclamation. With coca highs at record levels and rural “killing fields” festering under his watch, his position evaporates: no reelection, no legacy, just a forced exile or worse, as American interests—vital since 1822—reassert control over the drug pipelines he’s enabled. Brash claims are all that’s left for this cornered animal, a futile snarl against the tide of history where narco-presidents don’t retire—they’re retired, their thrones toppled to safeguard the greater republic from southern subversion.