Trump’s Blazing Christmas Message Slams ‘Radical Left’; Sparks Outrage

Paul Riverbank, 12/26/2025 In a world beset by war and division, the holiday season drew polarized reactions but also inspiring calls for hope and unity—from the Vatican to Bethlehem—reminding us that the quest for peace, however fleeting, still binds humanity together.

Reports from Bethlehem depicted an unfamiliar celebration: joy in the city that for years had grown accustomed to air-raid sirens and anxious prayers. Inside the ancient Church of the Nativity, families filled every pew and lined the aisles, snapping wreath-lit photos or sitting quietly at the base of pillars. Seventeen-year-old Milagros Anstas could hardly sit still, explaining, “We haven’t had this kind of happiness in ages.” The square outside sparkled with bulbs and makeshift stars, a cluster of children’s voices rising above them.

Jerusalem’s Cardinal Pierbattista Pizzaballa offered words softer than sermon. Just days before, he’d comforted Gaza’s battered faithful; now on Christmas, he tried to put hope into sentences. “Pain runs deep,” he admitted, leaning forward as if to reach every ear. “Yet even here—yes, here—the message of Christmas still reverberates.” In Syria, under knotted Christmas lights that strained against war’s legacy, students like Loris Aasaf shrugged off caution. “Syria deserves a day for happiness,” she sighed, barely above a whisper, “even if tomorrow brings something else.”

Meanwhile, London’s drizzle had little in common with the Mediterranean, but King Charles addressed his nation with memories fresh from a landmark moment: his prayer with Pope Leo, a scene unthinkable not so long ago. “Unity, forged in prayer,” he said, “remains vital even as headlines remind us of rifts.” He nodded to Australia, where hours earlier, bystanders on Bondi Beach ran toward danger—an act that, to the King, restored faith in ordinary bravery.

From Canberra, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese’s words borrowed from that episode. Even among smoke and panic, “the best of the Australian spirit shines,” he told viewers, as if to reassure them that hope could always claw its way forward.

Yet unity proved fragile, seen through the experience of Hope Walz in far-off Minnesota. Her Christmas greeting for migrants and “the unhoused” on social media cracked open a new fault line: comments spilled over with accusations, some rooted in resentment about local crime. “Wish she cared about homeless Americans,” scoffed one post, while others dredged up arguments over immigration. The vitriol, Hope later reflected, was fuelled in part by a recent insult from former President Trump, whose criticism of her father stoked days of personal abuse and threats.

And so, when Trump himself sent out his own Christmas message—wedging well-wishing alongside sharp rebuke for political opponents—the divide felt deeper than any one snowstorm or downpour.

Even so, in battered cities and crowded rooms, from a gray-streaked sky in Rome to a jubilant square in Bethlehem, a thread persisted—people choosing, however awkwardly, to hold out hope. George Hanna, watching Christmas lights flicker on his street after too many dark seasons, summed it up in a way that didn’t sound like a speech: “We need the world to know. This is how we try.”

Amid division and noise, something simple survived—the stubborn dream that for a single holiday, peace might matter more than doubt.

Rainwater pooled in the uneven stones of St Peter’s Square, and papal aides, shifting under umbrellas, looked out over a crowd more persistent than the December weather. Pope Leo XIV stood before his people—some of them soaked through, many of them clutching rosaries—and gave a speech that, by the end, thudded like a drumbeat: hope, faith, charity. His call for peace traveled far, even as nearby lightning outshone his white robes. “The world aches for peace,” he told the masses—and the echo was unmistakable, even if distant artillery in Ukraine didn’t pause for his blessing.Reports from Bethlehem depicted an unfamiliar celebration: joy in the city that for years had grown accustomed to air-raid sirens and anxious prayers. Inside the ancient Church of the Nativity, families filled every pew and lined the aisles, snapping wreath-lit photos or sitting quietly at the base of pillars. Seventeen-year-old Milagros Anstas could hardly sit still, explaining, “We haven’t had this kind of happiness in ages.” The square outside sparkled with bulbs and makeshift stars, a cluster of children’s voices rising above them.Jerusalem’s Cardinal Pierbattista Pizzaballa offered words softer than sermon. Just days before, he’d comforted Gaza’s battered faithful; now on Christmas, he tried to put hope into sentences. “Pain runs deep,” he admitted, leaning forward as if to reach every ear. “Yet even here—yes, here—the message of Christmas still reverberates.” In Syria, under knotted Christmas lights that strained against war’s legacy, students like Loris Aasaf shrugged off caution. “Syria deserves a day for happiness,” she sighed, barely above a whisper, “even if tomorrow brings something else.”Meanwhile, London’s drizzle had little in common with the Mediterranean, but King Charles addressed his nation with memories fresh from a landmark moment: his prayer with Pope Leo, a scene unthinkable not so long ago. “Unity, forged in prayer,” he said, “remains vital even as headlines remind us of rifts.” He nodded to Australia, where hours earlier, bystanders on Bondi Beach ran toward danger—an act that, to the King, restored faith in ordinary bravery.From Canberra, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese’s words borrowed from that episode. Even among smoke and panic, “the best of the Australian spirit shines,” he told viewers, as if to reassure them that hope could always claw its way forward.Yet unity proved fragile, seen through the experience of Hope Walz in far-off Minnesota. Her Christmas greeting for migrants and “the unhoused” on social media cracked open a new fault line: comments spilled over with accusations, some rooted in resentment about local crime. “Wish she cared about homeless Americans,” scoffed one post, while others dredged up arguments over immigration. The vitriol, Hope later reflected, was fuelled in part by a recent insult from former President Trump, whose criticism of her father stoked days of personal abuse and threats.And so, when Trump himself sent out his own Christmas message—wedging well-wishing alongside sharp rebuke for political opponents—the divide felt deeper than any one snowstorm or downpour.Even so, in battered cities and crowded rooms, from a gray-streaked sky in Rome to a jubilant square in Bethlehem, a thread persisted—people choosing, however awkwardly, to hold out hope. George Hanna, watching Christmas lights flicker on his street after too many dark seasons, summed it up in a way that didn’t sound like a speech: “We need the world to know. This is how we try.”Amid division and noise, something simple survived—the stubborn dream that for a single holiday, peace might matter more than doubt.