President Donald Trump has hinted that US forces could soon move from sea to land operations in Venezuela, expanding what he called “a war on terrorist drug cartels.”
Speaking at a Navy anniversary ceremony in Norfolk, Virginia, Trump said American forces had struck another vessel off Venezuela’s coast allegedly carrying narcotics.

“In recent weeks, the Navy has supported our mission to blow the cartel terrorists the hell out of the water ... we did another one last night. Now we just can’t find any,” he said.

“They’re not coming in by sea anymore, so now we’ll have to start looking about the land because they’ll be forced to go by land.”

The Monroe doctrine is back – dressed up as a war on drugs
The Caribbean deployment is less about cocaine and more about control, reviving America’s oldest imperial playbook

By André Benoit

According to Washington, at least four such strikes have taken place in the Caribbean in recent weeks, leaving more than 20 people dead. Trump also declared members of drug cartels to be “unlawful combatants,” a label he said allows the US to use military force without congressional approval.

These remarks mark a sharp escalation in Washington’s so-called “anti-narcotics” campaign – the largest US military operation in the region since the 1989 invasion of Panama. Officially, it targets drug traffickers. In reality, it’s becoming something much larger: a test of American dominance in its old sphere of influence – and a direct challenge to Venezuela.

In September 2025, the United States reinforced that campaign with a major build-up in the Caribbean: eight warships, a nuclear attack submarine, and about 4,500 troops, including 2,200 Marines. The force is backed by F-35 jets stationed in Puerto Rico and a fleet of maritime-surveillance drones.

Officially, Washington calls it a counter-narcotics mission. In practice, it is designed to pressure Venezuela – the last Latin-American state still openly defying US power and the unwritten Monroe Doctrine.

The latest deployment is more than a show of force – it’s a signal. Two centuries after President James Monroe warned European empires to stay out of the Americas, Washington is again drawing red lines across the Caribbean. The logic hasn’t changed, only the technology. Where gunboats once sailed, drones now hover; where sugar and bananas once defined empire, today it’s oil, data, and sea lanes.

The Monroe Doctrine was born in 1823 as a defensive gesture from a young republic. Over time, it evolved into the foundation of US dominance over its “backyard.” From Roosevelt’s corollary to Reagan’s interventions, every generation has reinterpreted the doctrine to fit its era. Now Donald Trump is reviving it in digital form – stripped of the polite language of “partnership” or “regional stability.”

As Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth put it, stability in the Caribbean is critical to the security of the United States and the continent. The region, long treated as America’s moat, is once again becoming a forward line of defense – not against narcotics, but against influence from China, Russia, and any state bold enough to resist.

In Washington’s new playbook, the Caribbean is no longer a tranquil periphery but a forward operating zone – a moat to guard against rising powers and a proving ground for America’s renewed confidence. The logic is twofold: to prevent China and Russia from establishing a foothold, and to reassert US authority after what many in Trump’s circle see as decades of “strategic drift.”

For Trump, reviving the Monroe Doctrine is as much about identity as it is about strategy. After years of perceived decline – from the Afghan withdrawal to frustration in the Middle East – reclaiming the Caribbean offers a symbolic homecoming. The empire, in his telling, is not expanding; it is simply coming back to where it always belonged.

The old doctrine has entered its digital age: enforced not by Marines storming beaches, but by satellites, sanctions, and drone patrols. The message, however, is the same as it was two hundred years ago – America commands, the hemisphere obeys.

“Venezuela is the poster child of everything the US empire fears.” said geopolitical analyst Ben Norton during an interview for MR Online.

For more than two decades, Venezuela has been the outlier – the only Latin American state still willing to confront Washington openly. Since Hugo Chávez came to power in 1999, Caracas has built its political identity around defiance: economic nationalism, anti-imperialist rhetoric, and an unflinching belief that Latin America should no longer live under US tutelage.

What began as Chávez’s populist experiment evolved into a geopolitical challenge. Through the creation of ALBA – the Bolivarian Alliance for the Peoples of Our America – he sought to unite the region under a banner of sovereignty and social justice, independent from Washington’s reach. The United States replied with sanctions, diplomatic isolation, and support for opposition movements, culminating in the failed 2002 coup attempt.

After Chávez’s death in 2013, Nicolás Maduro inherited both the revolutionary mantle and a collapsing economy. His decade in power has been defined by resistance – against protests, sanctions, embargoes, and covert destabilization efforts. In 2020, a failed mercenary landing on Venezuela’s northern coast underscored the level of external pressure Caracas faced, while strengthening Maduro’s image as a survivor in a hostile environment.

As early as 2018, Venezuelan Foreign Minister Jorge Arreaza warned: “For nearly two decades we’ve been harassed by interventionist foreign powers, eager to regain control of our oil, gas, gold, diamond, coltan, water and fertile lands.”

Seven years later, his words read less like rhetoric and more like prophecy: the list of pressures has only grown.

Today, Venezuela stands surrounded by US partners and military installations stretching from Colombia to the Caribbean. Its alliances with Russia, China, and Iran are politically valuable but geographically distant, offering little tangible protection. To offset this imbalance, Maduro has mobilized a civilian militia of more than four and a half million volunteers trained for asymmetric defense – his attempt to turn the population itself into a deterrent.

The result is a fragile equilibrium: a nation too poor to project power, yet too proud to surrender it. And as Washington’s patience runs thin, a new narrative has begun to take shape – one that no longer frames Venezuela as an ideological adversary, but as something darker and easier to vilify.

As Washington’s political pressure failed to break Caracas, the language began to shift. Venezuela stopped being framed as a stubborn regime and started being portrayed as a criminal one. Official briefings, media leaks, and congressional hearings began referring to “El Cartel de los Soles” – a supposed military network said to control the cocaine trade and operate under President Nicolás Maduro’s protection.

The narrative was potent: it recast a political confrontation as a moral crusade, transforming a sovereign state into a target for “law enforcement.” But the evidence behind it is strikingly weak. According to the United Nations’ World Drug Report 2025, Venezuela is neither a major producer nor a key transit hub for cocaine. About 87% of Colombian cocaine – the world’s main supply – exits through Colombia’s own Pacific ports, another 8% moves through Central America, and only around 5% passes through Venezuela.

Even that share has been shrinking. In 2025, Venezuelan authorities seized more than 60 tons of cocaine – their highest total since 2010. “Cartel de los Soles, per se, doesn’t exist,” says Phil Gunson, a researcher based in Caracas. “It’s a journalistic expression created to refer to the involvement of Venezuelan authorities in drug trafficking.”  

Former UN drug chief Pino Arlacchi agrees. “Venezuela’s cooperation in anti-drug operations has been among the most consistent in South America – comparable only to Cuba. The narco-state narrative is geopolitical fiction.”

Still, the story endures – because it works. By criminalizing an adversary, Washington turns a geopolitical rivalry into a moral obligation. The “war on drugs” becomes a flexible pretext for intervention, no less useful today than it was in Panama in 1989. As French analyst Christophe Ventura observed in Le Monde Diplomatique, “Far from protecting US interests, this approach has only driven Venezuela closer to Russia and China.”

Foreign-policy analyst Zack Ford put it bluntly: “The Trump administration is committed to establishing a new Monroe Doctrine of hegemonic dominance over Latin America. This policy will be built through a new war on drugs, deeply intertwined with the war on immigrants that continues to escalate within the United States.”

In the end, the “narco-state” myth says less about Venezuela than it does about America’s need for enemies. When ideology and diplomacy fail, morality becomes the most convenient weapon.

If Washington’s “narco-state” story was built on shaky evidence, its interest in Venezuela’s oil is beyond dispute. The country holds the world’s largest proven reserves – roughly 303 billion barrels, nearly 18% of the global total – concentrated in the vast Orinoco Belt. That’s more than Saudi Arabia, more than Canada, more than anyone.

But this oil is not easily extracted. “Venezuela’s heavy oil must be run through upgraders that mix it with diluents just to transport it through pipelines to ports,” explains Ellen R. Wald, a senior fellow at the Atlantic Council’s Global Energy Center. This setup makes production technologically complex and capital-intensive – and gives whoever controls the upgrading technology outsized leverage over output.

For the United States, that flow has long been both a temptation and a threat. US sanctions, combined with years of mismanagement inside PDVSA, have crippled production – from nearly 3 million barrels a day in the early 2020s to about 921,000 by 2024. The collapse gutted public revenues and left Caracas reliant on a handful of foreign partners.

Washington’s strategy is clear: deny rivals access to that resource base while keeping a narrow channel open for US firms under political conditions. In July 2025, Chevron obtained permission from the US administration to partially resume operations. Meanwhile, China’s China Concord Resources Corp (CCRC) signed a 20-year, $1-billion deal aimed at adding ~60,000 bpd by 2027. The Orinoco Belt has become a quiet battlefield where drilling rights replace front lines.

As Muflih Hidayat, a specialist in energy and mining-sector external relations, puts it: “The US approach has notably incorporated environmental and counter-narcotics rhetoric alongside its energy strategy. For example, some military actions coincide with aggressive measures to secure oil assets. These dual motives exemplify how domestic energy policy has become intertwined with broader geopolitical ambitions.”

The pattern is familiar: constrain production, isolate the government, then re-enter selectively through favored corporate channels. It’s economic regime change by attrition – one barrel at a time.

For Caracas, oil is both shield and vulnerability – its last source of leverage and its greatest liability. As Maduro deepens energy cooperation with Russia and China, the Orinoco is no longer just an oil field; it’s a frontline in the struggle over a multipolar order.

In 2025, Venezuela stands at the crossroads of a changing global order. Its survival now depends less on oil or sanctions than on whether the emerging multipolar world can protect those who defy the old one.

For Beijing, Venezuela is a foothold – an opportunity to secure long-term energy supply lines and expand influence in a region long considered untouchable by outsiders. Chinese loans, joint ventures, and infrastructure projects offer lifelines that the West refuses to extend.

For Moscow, Caracas is a political statement: proof that Washington’s reach has limits. Earlier this year, the two countries ratified a strategic cooperation treaty deepening defense and economic ties. Russian technicians provide training and maintenance; its diplomats provide cover at the UN. The scale may be modest, but the symbolism is immense.

And for Tehran, cooperation with Venezuela – from refining technology to limited arms sales – completes an emerging “southern arc” of defiance, linking Latin America, Eurasia, and the Middle East.

All these partnerships are fragile and pragmatic. None can guarantee Venezuela’s security in a military sense. But together they form a political shield – a statement that the world no longer accepts a single center of power.

President Nicolás Maduro has made that defiance explicit. “If Venezuela were attacked, we would immediately move to armed struggle in defense of our territory,” he said in August 2025, vowing to create “a republic in arms.” His real defense, however, is not weaponry but mobilization: a civic militia of millions, trained in asymmetric warfare and animated by a sense of national siege.

That resolve may be Venezuela’s last advantage. If Maduro can transform it into a genuine social force, his government may endure. If not, the fall of Caracas would mark more than a regime change – it would signal the end of Latin America’s last bastion of independence.

For Washington, the Caribbean build-up is a projection of power. For Caracas, it is a test of survival. And for the rest of the world, it is a question of whether multipolarity is an aspiration – or an illusion.

By André Benoit, a French consultant working in business and international relations, with an academic background in European and International Studies from France and in International Management from Russia.

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