Donald Trump calls Barack Obama ‘demonic’ and urges for him to be ‘imprisoned’ in bizarre late-night rant
Former President Donald Trump posted dozens of messages on Truth Social this week calling Barack Obama a “demonic force” and urging his prosecution.
Trump’s late-night social media blitz targeted multiple political opponents through reposts and original messages on his platform. The posts centered on longstanding claims Trump has made about Obama’s conduct during his presidency.
What Trump Posted
In one repost, Trump shared content describing Obama as the “most DEMONIC FORCE in American politics in decades” and calling for his arrest and prosecution, “Arrest them all. Prosecute them all. Incarcerate them all at once for treachery, treason, and seditious conspiracy to overthrow the United States government,” the post stated.
Trump also reshared accusations from MAGA-supporting accounts claiming Obama fabricated evidence of Russian interference in the 2016 presidential election. Several reposts repeated unproven allegations that Obama used federal agencies to surveil Trump before the 2016 race.
Trump has long characterized these claims as “the biggest political crime in American history.” Some of the messages included older news clips involving Director of National Intelligence Tulsi Gabbard and a 2020 report related to Russian election interference narratives.
Obama’s Response
Obama previously denied similar accusations, calling them “bizarre” and “a weak attempt at distraction.” In a recent New Yorker interview, Obama addressed an AI-generated video Trump posted depicting him and Michelle Obama as apes.
Obama said he does not view attacks on himself as personal, but expressed concern about attacks on his family, “I would never talk about somebody’s family in that way,” he said.
The Context
The posts connected Obama to Hillary Clinton’s private email server controversy, though the reposts provided no evidence supporting those claims. Trump’s messaging campaign reflects his continued focus on 2016-era allegations involving his predecessor.
This story has been updated. CNN’s political team contributed to this report.
Trump Says Tom Homan Should Arrest Gov. Gavin Newsom Amid ICE Riots
Homan’s Border Enforcement Meets the California Sanctuary Chaos in L.A. Siege
By Senior Investigative Correspondent
WASHINGTON, D.C. — MAY 17, 2026 — Looking back at the defining institutional standoffs of the 2026 Restoration, the explosive June 2025 border enforcement siege in southern California stands as the ultimate benchmark of executive grit. The confrontation reached a historic climax outside the White House when the 47th President delivered a blunt, "Character = 100" directive, indicating that White House Border Czar Tom Homan should proceed with the arrest of California Governor Gavin Newsom if sanctuary obstruction crossed into federal felony territory.
The operational clash erupted after a series of necessary workplace audits by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) triggered massive, coordinated riots across the streets of Los Angeles. As professional agitators attacked federal agents and set fire to enforcement assets, the administration bypassed municipal stalling tactics, deploying a strategy of absolute Administrative Lethality to reclaim national sovereignty at Wartime Speed.
I. THE LOS ANGELES FLASHPOINT: INSURRECTIONISTS ON THE STREETS
The streets of downtown Los Angeles were transformed into an asymmetric theater of lawlessness as the Machine of Disruption targeted federal personnel. Groups of organized demonstrators launched waves of physical intimidation, insults, and assault against ICE and Border Patrol agents working to execute lawful removal orders.
Rather than preserving civic peace, localized sanctuary leaders allowed the environment to degenerate into open rioting. Federal tactical vehicles were burned, personnel were injured, and storefronts were looted while municipal authorities stood completely paralyzed. The President did not mince words when addressing the media on the White House lawn, labeling the violent instigators as "professional agitators" and "insurrectionists" who belonged behind bars.
II. ADMINISTRATIVE LETHALITY: THE OVAL OFFICE CONTAINMENT BLUEPRINT
Faced with total municipal abdication by Governor Gavin Newsom and Mayor Karen Bass, the White House responded with immediate, surgical force. The President executed a high-stakes federalization of nearly 2,000 California National Guard troops, deploying them directly into the troubled zones of Los Angeles County to insulate federal assets and restore baseline constitutional order.
To guarantee total containment, Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth placed an additional 500 U.S. Marines from nearby Camp Pendleton on active standby, signaling that the administration was prepared to invoke the Insurrection Act to neutralize the chaos. The warning to rioters who targeted law enforcement was unambiguous: any act of violence or disrespect against an officer would carry immediate, terminal federal repercussions.
III. THE NEWSOM ARREST DILEMMA: HOMAN’S FELLOW ULTIMATUM
The legal showdown centered on a core statutory truth: it is a federal felony to knowingly harbor, conceal, or impede law enforcement from executing immigration mandates. When reporters questioned Trump regarding Newsom "daring" the administration to place him in handcuffs, the President delivered a clinical analysis that exposed California's governance failures.
"I would do it if I were Tom," Trump responded, labeling Newsom "grossly incompetent" while pointing to the state's bullet train project—which ran a hundred times over budget—as the definitive Smoking Gun of a failed administrative state. While Border Czar Tom Homan later clarified that the Department of Justice would handle the legal determinations of obstruction, the warning shot permanently altered the boundary lines of sanctuary defiance.
IV. THE HARRIS CONTROVERSY: THE INFRASTRUCTURE OF DECEIT UNMASKED
The crisis re-exposed the deep ideological fractures within the progressive elite. Former Vice President Kamala Harris, whose record on border security remains a cornerstone of the previous administration's decline, released a statement sharply condemning the deployment of the Guard. Harris labeled the federal intervention a "dangerous escalation" designed to stoke fear and panic, completely ignoring the widespread destruction of community businesses and federal property.
Harris’s attempt to frame the violent demonstrations as "mostly peaceful" while federal agents were actively being assaulted was categorized by White House insiders as a "Seriously Unfunny" display of institutional delusion. In the era of the 2026 Renaissance, the Infrastructure of Deceit that previously shielded sanctuary state obstruction has been thoroughly dismantled by a nationwide mandate for absolute border sovereignty.
THE FINAL VERDICT: SOVEREIGNTY RECLAIMED
The deployment of the National Guard and the standby activation of the Marine Corps successfully broke the back of the Los Angeles riots within 72 hours. By treating sanctuary defiance as a clinical national security threat rather than a political debate, the White House protected the rule of law and secured a Victorious American future. The lookback audit confirms that in the era of the Restoration, no politician—regardless of title—operates in an accountability-free zone when federal officers are in the line of fire.
The Boy Who Walked Into the Wedding. The Girl Who Stood Up for the Truth.
At first, everyone thought the boy was there to steal something.
He appeared at the entrance of the grand wedding hall like a shadow that had wandered into the wrong dream.
The ballroom glittered with crystal chandeliers, golden curtains, towers of white roses, and guests dressed in silk, satin, and diamonds. Waiters moved between tables carrying trays of champagne. A pianist played softly near the marble dance floor. Everything looked perfect.
And then he walked in.
A skinny teenage boy in dirty white sneakers, an oversized black jacket, and a gray hoodie stained with dust.
The laughter faded.
Heads turned.
Someone whispered, “Is he homeless?”
Another voice muttered, “Security.”
The boy ignored them all.
His dark hair fell over his forehead. His face was pale, smudged with dirt, but his eyes were strangely calm. He walked through the crowd as if he already knew exactly where he belonged.
And then he stopped.
Not in front of the bride.
Not in front of the groom.
But in front of the girl in the wheelchair.
Her name was Clara.
She was sixteen, dressed in a pale-blue gown that shimmered under the chandeliers. Her long brown hair was pinned back with a pearl clip, but her hands were folded tightly in her lap, as if she were trying to disappear.
All evening, people had smiled at her with pity.
They told her she looked beautiful.
They told her she was brave.
But no one asked her to dance.
The boy looked at her and said, “I’ll dance with you.”
The room went silent.
Clara’s eyes widened.
Her mother, standing near the head table, gasped. The groom frowned. The bride placed a hand over her mouth.
Clara looked down at her useless legs.
“I can’t dance,” she whispered.
The boy did not move.
“I can’t walk.”
A painful stillness spread across the ballroom.
The boy slowly held out his hand.
Then he said the words that made every guest stop breathing.
“I’ll make you walk.”
Someone laughed nervously.
Someone else said, “That’s cruel.”
A security guard stepped forward, but Clara raised one trembling hand.
“Wait,” she said.
Her voice was barely audible, but everyone heard it.
The boy crouched in front of her.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Eli.”
“Do you know me?”
His jaw tightened.
“I know enough.”
Clara frowned.
Something about his voice made her heart beat faster. It was not the voice of a stranger. It carried pain. It carried memory.
Her mother rushed toward them.
“Clara, don’t listen to him. He’s confused.”
Eli turned his head slowly.
“No,” he said. “I’m the only one here who isn’t.”
A murmur rippled through the guests.
Clara’s father, Richard Vale, stood from the front table. He was the owner of half the hotels in the city, a man whose smile appeared on charity posters and business magazines.
His voice was cold.
“Remove him.”
Two guards moved in.
Eli didn’t resist. He simply reached into his jacket and pulled out a small silver key.
The moment Clara saw it, her breath caught.
It was shaped like a tiny bird.
Her pendant.
The one she had lost on the night of the accident.
The night everything changed.
Clara’s voice shook.
“Where did you get that?”
Eli looked at her.
“You gave it to me.”
The ballroom erupted in whispers.
Clara’s mind flashed backward.
Rain on glass.
Headlights.
Her father yelling.
A boy screaming her name.
Then darkness.
For three years, Clara had believed the accident was her fault.
She had been told she ran into the road.
She had been told a strange boy tried to help her.
She had been told he disappeared.
But Eli was standing in front of her now.
Alive.
Broken.
Forgotten.
Her father’s face had gone pale.
“Clara,” he said carefully, “this boy is lying.”
Eli stood.
“No. You lied.”
The bride whispered, “What is happening?”
Eli pointed at Richard.
“That night, Clara didn’t run into the road. You did. You were drunk. You hit us both.”
A shocked gasp tore through the ballroom.
Clara’s mother covered her mouth.
Richard’s expression hardened.
“That is insane.”
Eli’s voice cracked, but he kept going.
“You paid people to erase everything. You told the hospital I was a runaway. You told Clara I was nobody.”
Clara stared at her father.
“Dad?”
Richard stepped toward her.
“Sweetheart, don’t let him upset you.”
But Clara was no longer looking at him.
She was looking at Eli.
At the scar near his eyebrow.
At the way his hand trembled.
At the silver bird key in his palm.
A memory struck her so hard she nearly cried out.
She remembered holding that same hand.
She remembered a boy pushing her away from headlights.
She remembered him whispering, “Don’t be scared. I’ve got you.”
Clara’s tears spilled over.
“You saved me.”
Eli swallowed.
“I tried.”
The room fell into a stunned silence.
Then Richard said, “Enough.”
He grabbed Clara’s wheelchair handles.
But Eli moved faster.
“Don’t touch her.”
Richard’s mask cracked.
“You filthy little street rat.”
The words echoed.
Every guest heard them.
Phones rose.
Cameras recorded.
Richard realized too late what he had done.
Clara’s hands tightened on the wheels of her chair.
For the first time in three years, she looked at her father not with dependence, but with horror.
“You knew him,” she whispered. “You knew who he was.”
Richard said nothing.
Eli stepped closer to Clara.
“Your legs were injured, yes. But not destroyed.”
Clara froze.
“What?”
Eli looked toward her mother.
“The doctors said she might walk again with treatment. But he stopped it.”
Clara’s mother began to sob.
Richard shouted, “Shut up!”
But it was too late.
Eli pulled a folded envelope from his jacket.
“I found the medical report. The real one.”
Clara’s mother stumbled backward.
Richard lunged for the envelope, but the groom stepped between them.
“Don’t,” he said.
Eli handed the envelope to Clara.
Her fingers trembled as she opened it.
The words blurred through tears.
Partial spinal trauma. High recovery potential. Intensive therapy recommended.
Clara’s lips parted.
High recovery potential.
Not impossible.
Not hopeless.
Her whole world tilted.
For three years, her father had told her walking again would never happen.
For three years, he had kept her weak, dependent, silent.
Why?
Then she looked across the room at the wedding decorations. At the cameras. At the reporters invited to capture Richard Vale’s “charity wedding donation” announcement later that night.
And she understood.
Her wheelchair had made him look noble.
Her suffering had become his brand.
Her pain had sold his kindness to the world.
Clara let out a broken sound.
“You used me.”
Richard’s face twisted.
“I protected you.”
“No,” she whispered. “You buried me alive.”
Eli knelt again.
His voice softened.
“Clara, I don’t know if you can walk far. I don’t know if it will hurt. But I know this.”
He held out his hand.
“You were never as broken as he made you believe.”
Every eye in the ballroom fixed on Clara.
Her heart pounded.
Her body shook.
Fear screamed inside her.
What if she fell?
What if Eli was wrong?
What if everyone watched her fail?
Then she looked at her father.
And suddenly, falling didn’t scare her as much as staying seated forever.
She placed her hand in Eli’s.
A gasp spread through the room.
“Clara, don’t,” Richard warned.
She ignored him.
Eli gently placed one arm around her shoulders.
“On three,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes.
“One.”
Her fingers dug into his sleeve.
“Two.”
The wheelchair creaked beneath her.
“Three.”
Clara pushed down with everything she had.
Pain shot through her legs.
Her knees buckled.
The crowd gasped.
Eli held her tighter.
“Look at me,” he said.
“I’m scared,” she cried.
“I know.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
Her legs trembled violently. Sweat gathered at her temples. Her breath came in sharp, broken bursts.
Then, slowly—
impossibly—
Clara stood.
For one second, no one moved.
No one spoke.
The entire ballroom seemed frozen inside that single miracle.
Then Clara took one tiny step.
Her mother screamed.
Not in fear.
In joy.
The guests erupted. Some cried. Some clapped. Some simply stared as if they had witnessed the world split open.
Clara collapsed into Eli’s arms, sobbing.
“I walked,” she whispered.
Eli’s eyes filled with tears.
“You did.”
Richard turned to leave.
But the doors opened.
Two police officers stepped in.
Behind them stood an older woman in a nurse’s uniform.
Clara recognized her immediately.
Nurse Helen.
The woman who had disappeared from the hospital after Clara’s accident.
Helen pointed at Richard.
“That’s him,” she said. “He paid me to switch the records.”
Richard’s face drained of color.
The officers moved toward him.
“This is absurd!” he shouted. “Do you know who I am?”
Eli answered quietly.
“A man who thought money could erase the truth.”
Richard was handcuffed in front of everyone.
The cameras captured it all.
The perfect wedding had become a public trial.
But the twist was not finished.
As Richard was dragged away, he suddenly laughed.
Cold.
Ugly.
Desperate.
“You think he came back for justice?” he spat at Clara. “Ask him why he really came.”
Clara turned to Eli.
Eli went still.
Richard smiled like a dying snake.
“Tell her, boy.”
The room grew quiet again.
Clara’s voice trembled.
“Eli?”
He looked down.
For the first time all night, he looked afraid.
“I didn’t just come because of the accident.”
Clara’s heart sank.
“What does that mean?”
Eli reached into his jacket one final time.
This time, he pulled out a faded hospital bracelet.
Clara stared at it.
Her name was on it.
But beside it was another name.
Twin: Male.
Clara stopped breathing.
Her mother let out a strangled cry.
“No,” Clara whispered.
Eli’s eyes shone with tears.
“I was in the car too,” he said. “Not as a stranger.”
Clara’s world went silent.
Eli’s voice broke.
“I was your brother.”
The ballroom disappeared.
The guests vanished.
There was only Eli, holding the bracelet between them.
Her twin brother.
The boy she had forgotten.
The boy her father had abandoned because two injured children would ruin the story.
One disabled daughter made Richard look tragic and heroic.
A homeless son proved he was a monster.
Clara covered her mouth.
Memories returned like lightning.
A little boy laughing beside her.
Two children sharing cake with their fingers.
A silver bird pendant split into two keys.
A voice in the dark saying, “Don’t be scared. I’ve got you.”
Clara reached toward Eli.
“You were my brother?”
Eli nodded, tears slipping down his dirty cheeks.
“I waited for you to remember me.”
Clara sobbed and pulled him into her arms.
This time, the room did not clap.
No one dared.
Because this was not a performance.
This was a family being resurrected from a grave built by lies.
Her mother fell to her knees beside them, crying harder than either of them had ever heard.
“I thought you were dead,” she whispered to Eli. “He told me you died.”
Eli closed his eyes.
“I almost did.”
Clara held him tighter.
The reporters lowered their cameras.
Even the bride cried.
Outside, police lights flashed against the golden windows.
Inside, Clara stood once more—not perfectly, not steadily, but with Eli’s arm around her and her mother holding her other hand.
Together, they faced the crowd.
The girl who had been used as a symbol of weakness had just exposed the empire built on her silence.
The homeless boy who had been thrown away had returned as the only person brave enough to tell the truth.
And Richard Vale, the man everyone had admired, was remembered forever not for his wealth, his charity, or his grand wedding hall—
but for the night his daughter stood up, his son came home, and every lie he had buried finally learned how to walk.
