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An interesting segment on MSNBC’s Last Word dug into what it described as a familiar pattern in U.S. military history: deny wrongdoing first, then slowly acknowledge pieces of the truth once outside evidence becomes impossible to dismiss. Lawrence O’Donnell used the current controversy surrounding Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth’s alleged “boat strikes” in the Caribbean as his launching point, arguing that the initial denials and evasions coming from the Pentagon echo earlier moments when U.S. officials misled the public about military actions that later proved indefensible. O’Donnell’s implication was unmistakable—that when the dust settles, investigators may conclude not only that the strikes were unlawful, but that Hegseth or those operating under his authority initially misrepresented what happened.
O’Donnell’s framing draws on a long and painful history. From the My Lai massacre in Vietnam, to the Pentagon’s early false account of Pat Tillman’s death, to the denials surrounding the Kunduz hospital airstrike in Afghanistan, the United States military has repeatedly issued confident, categorical explanations that later unraveled. The pattern is not merely that the military gets things wrong; it is that it often knows its initial explanations are incomplete or misleading. In the Kunduz case, commanders first claimed that the deadly strike on the Doctors Without Borders hospital was an accident caused by bad intelligence. Later investigations revealed systematic procedural violations and inconsistencies in the official story. In other incidents, the military has been accused of cleaning up sites, withholding footage, or pressuring witnesses—all in the name of preserving institutional credibility. These reversals feed the larger concern O’Donnell was highlighting: when allegations of war crimes arise, the public’s first encounter with them is often a narrative shaped to minimize responsibility.
That context matters in the current debate over the so-called “double tap” strikes. The term refers to a practice—widely condemned by human rights groups—where an initial strike is followed minutes later by a second one timed to hit rescuers rushing to help the wounded. International law experts have long argued that the tactic constitutes a war crime because it intentionally targets medics, civilians, or anyone giving aid. According to MSNBC’s reporting, the controversy swirling around Hegseth includes allegations that at least some of the Caribbean boat strikes may have followed this pattern. Early statements from Defense Department officials reportedly downplayed or denied this, but as often happens, additional footage and testimony have begun to contradict the earliest claims. O’Donnell suggested that even Hegseth’s own language has shifted—initially presenting the strikes as precise, justified, and unambiguous, while later remarks seem more cautious, as if acknowledging that the official story may not hold under scrutiny. Critics note that this rhetorical drift mirrors earlier cases where U.S. officials’ first instinct was to shield themselves rather than openly confront what occurred.
The pressure is not only coming from television pundits. MSNBC has also reported that the family of a Colombian fisherman killed in one of the “narco-terrorist” drone strikes has filed a formal complaint with a Washington, D.C.–based human rights organization. The filing seeks monetary compensation but also demands an end to the drone campaign altogether. More significantly, it accuses Secretary Hegseth of authorizing extrajudicial killing—an allegation that, if taken up by international bodies, could draw the attention of the International Criminal Court or other tribunals. While the ICC rarely targets officials from powerful nations, a complaint of this nature can still generate diplomatic headaches, congressional scrutiny, and sustained media investigation.
What stands out even more is that, despite the deep polarization in Washington, these boat strikes have triggered bipartisan unease. Lawmakers in both parties have struggled to accept the administration’s rationale that small vessels thousands of miles from U.S. shores pose such a grave and imminent threat that the only viable response is to blow them out of the water. Even some Republicans—normally inclined to defend a Republican administration reflexively—are questioning whether the intelligence behind the strikes is as airtight as officials claim. The complaint filed by the fisherman’s family underscores the fragility of the administration’s narrative; if one case unravels, others may follow, and with them the assertion that all strikes have been lawful counter-narco operations rather than disproportionate uses of force.
The open question is whether Secretary Hegseth will adjust course. Will he dial back the strike policy to accommodate bipartisan concerns, or will he press forward under the belief that forceful action now will be vindicated later? The political calculus is complicated by the reality that former President Trump, as a former head of state, will almost certainly remain shielded from any serious war-crimes prosecution; the ICC has historically avoided pursuing former U.S. presidents, and legal scholars widely agree it is unlikely to break that precedent. Hegseth, however, does not enjoy the same protective aura. Officials below the level of head of state have faced international legal jeopardy before, and those in the Trump administration who assume they are untouchable may discover that this confidence is misplaced.
Whether the unfolding controversy becomes another entry in the long ledger of U.S. military denials followed by partial admissions—or something more legally consequential—remains to be seen. But as O’Donnell’s segment underscored, history has taught observers to pay close attention not only to what officials say at the beginning of these crises, but how their stories change once the evidence emerges and the truth becomes harder to hide.
