The writer is an economist, anchor, and geopolitical analyst
and the President of All Pakistan Private Schools’ Federation
president@Pakistanprivateschools.com
In the shadowed waters of the southern Caribbean Sea, a quiet storm is gathering—one that evokes the ghosts of past American interventions and raises profound questions about the boundaries of power, sovereignty, and international law. As of August 2025, the United States, under President Donald Trump’s second administration, has initiated a significant naval buildup just beyond Venezuela’s territorial waters. This escalation, coupled with increasingly belligerent rhetoric, has ignited speculation: Is this merely a robust campaign against drug trafficking, or the prelude to a broader military confrontation aimed at regime change in Caracas? The answer remains elusive, but the implications for hemispheric stability are as grave as they are uncertain. The roots of this tension trace back to a directive signed by President Trump last month, a classified order instructing the Pentagon to deploy military force against select Latin American drug cartels designated as “terrorist” organisations. This move marks a departure from traditional law enforcement approaches, empowering the armed forces to engage in interdictions that could blur the lines between policing and warfare. U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio has been vocal in justifying the preparations, citing a litany of grievances against Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro: rigged elections that the United States refuses to recognize, the burgeoning influence of Russia and Iran in the region, Iran’s establishment of drone factories on Venezuelan soil, and allegations that Maduro’s government has issued illegal passports to members of Hezbollah. These claims, while unverified in public evidence linking Maduro directly to narcotics trafficking, paint a portrait of Venezuela as a rogue state harbouring threats to American security. The administration’s actions extend beyond words. The U.S. and Venezuela severed diplomatic ties in 2019 during Trump’s first term, and since then, Washington has refused to recognise Maduro’s government. The relationship only worsened as U.S. courts and the State Department accused Maduro of running the Cartel de Los Soles, a criminal network linked to the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC). Reuters reports the cartel worked with the FARC for more than two decades, trafficking cocaine by sea and air while bribing Venezuelan officials for access to ports and radar data. In response to those findings, the U.S. increased its reward for Maduro’s capture to $25 million. The reward was recently upped again to $50 million. Earlier this year, the Venezuelan-based Tren de Aragua gang was also designated a foreign terrorist organisation by the State Department. Washington accused Maduro of masterminding the Cartel de los Soles—a shadowy network allegedly intertwined with Colombia’s Revolutionary Armed Forces (FARC) for over two decades, facilitating cocaine shipments via sea and air while corrupting Venezuelan ports and radar systems. Reuters investigations have illuminated this cartel’s operations, but the U.S. has yet to furnish concrete proof tying Maduro personally to these crimes. Concurrently, new sanctions have been imposed on Maduro’s regime and the cartel, while the State Department has branded a Venezuelan criminal syndicate a terrorist entity, with Maduro at its helm. The White House has echoed this narrative, declaring the Maduro government “not legitimate” but rather a “narco-terror cartel.” In response, the Pentagon has mobilised a formidable array of naval assets. Up to three Arleigh Burke-class guided-missile destroyers—the USS Jason Dunham, USS Gravely, and potentially the USS Sampson—are steaming toward the region. These behemoths, battle-tested against Houthi militias in the Red Sea, boast over 90 missiles each, including Tomahawk land-attack variants capable of striking deep inland targets. They are not alone: The Iwo Jima Amphibious Ready Group, comprising the USS Iwo Jima, USS San Antonio, and USS Fort Lauderdale, carries some 4,500 sailors. Accompanying them is the 22nd Marine Expeditionary Unit, with 2,200 Marines, delayed briefly by Hurricane Erin but now en route from Norfolk, Virginia. Surveillance is enhanced by P-8 Poseidon aircraft and an attack submarine, positioning the U.S. for intelligence dominance and direct interdictions— a shift from the Navy’s customary support role to the Coast Guard. By sending three Arleigh Burke destroyers off the coast of Venezuela, President Trump is bringing serious land-attack capability via Tomahawk missiles, sophisticated intelligence gathering, six advanced helicopters, a thousand sailors, and sophisticated command and control to run counter-narcotic operations at sea. The destroyers lack the amphibious assault capabilities for a full-scale invasion, suggesting their primary role may be as platforms for smaller interdiction craft, intelligence hubs, and symbols of resolve. Pentagon spokesman Sean Parnell has affirmed that the Defence Department will play a pivotal role in dismantling cartels that “have engaged in historic violence and terror throughout our hemisphere,” flooding the U.S. with “deadly drugs, violent criminals, and vicious gangs.
The situation may draw in global actors like Russia, China, and Iran, further complicating the conflict and its resolution. The Trump administration’s silence only amplifies the echoes of history’s missteps. In an era of global interdependence, true security demands not just might, but wisdom—lest the pursuit of justice sow the seeds of greater conflict
Venezuela, for its part, has not stood idle. In a televised address on Monday, President Maduro pledged to activate a “special plan” mobilizing over 4.5 million militiamen—members of a paramilitary force instituted by his predecessor, Hugo Chávez, ostensibly numbering five million but likely fewer, given Venezuela’s population of about 30 million. Denouncing Washington’s “extravagant, bizarre, and outlandish threats,” Maduro vowed to “defend our seas, our skies, and our lands” from any incursions. This mobilisation, while symbolic of national resolve, highlights the asymmetry: Venezuela’s militia, though vast on paper, pales against the technological and professional might of U.S. forces. This buildup unfolds against a backdrop of severed diplomatic ties since 2019, when the U.S. first refused to acknowledge Maduro’s electoral victories. The relationship has since deteriorated further, exacerbated by accusations of state-sponsored criminality, including ties to the Tren de Aragua gang—designated a foreign terrorist organisation earlier this year. In March, Trump invoked the Alien Enemies Act, a dormant 18th-century law, to expedite deportations of suspected gang members to Salvadoran prisons without due process. However, U.S. intelligence assessments, including a declassified May memo, contradict the administration’s portrayal of Tren de Aragua as a Maduro-directed arm, revealing no evidence of direct government control. The opacity surrounding the administration’s intentions is striking. Officials have been tight-lipped, even within the executive branch, about rules of engagement or operational thresholds. This secrecy invites disquieting historical parallels. One cannot help but recall the Gulf of Tonkin incident of 1964, where U.S. naval provocations off North Vietnam precipitated a congressional resolution that escalated America’s quagmire in Southeast Asia. Closer to home, the 1989 invasion of Panama—Operation Just Cause—saw President George H.W. Bush dispatch over 20,000 troops to oust Manuel Noriega, indicted on U.S. drug charges, in a swift but controversial operation that resulted in civilian casualties and lingering resentment. If the U.S. goes out of its way to pick the fight, that’s not self-defence. The administration’s goals appear contradictory: combating cartels and ousting Maduro clash with efforts to repatriate Venezuelan migrants, many fleeing the very chaos his rule has wrought. Rubio’s assertion that terrorist designations unlock “other elements of American power”—including military targeting—misstates the law; such labels enable sanctions but not unilateral wartime actions without legislative backing. Compounding these concerns is the expansion of surveillance tools. A national security court approved broadening the NSA’s Section 702 program to encompass drug-related intelligence, previously limited to foreign governments, counterterrorism, and weapons proliferation. It is not clear how the US administration is interpreting domestic and international law regarding the scope and limits of its ability to use force against suspected cartel members. One question is whether it wants the military to use wartime rules even though Congress has not authorised any armed conflict, or just to add more muscle to operations that still fall under law enforcement rules. Troops on a battlefield may kill enemy combatants even if they pose no threat in the moment. But police instead arrest criminals who pose no threat; it would be homicide to summarily kill them. The recent deployment of three Arleigh Burke destroyers off the coast of Venezuela by President Trump has raised eyebrows and sparked concerns about the legality of such actions under international law. With the administration’s operational intentions closely held, questions linger about the criteria for using armed force and the rules of engagement. Historical parallels to the Gulf of Tonkin incident and the invasion of Panama in 1989 come to mind, highlighting the need for congressional authorisation for military force against Venezuela. The US deployment may be perceived as an act of aggression, potentially violating Venezuela’s sovereignty and territorial integrity. The ambiguity surrounding the administration’s rules of engagement raises questions about the potential for escalation and the protection of civilians. The Trump administration’s objectives in Venezuela appear conflicting, with desires to combat drug cartels and oust Maduro contradicting efforts to secure cooperation on deported migrants. Military buildup and potential conflict could lead to significant humanitarian crises, displacement, and destabilisation in the region. The administration’s interpretation of domestic law, particularly regarding the use of the Alien Enemies Act, has sparked debate and court challenges. It is crucial to consider the potential consequences of military action and the need for a clear, lawful, and internationally sanctioned approach to resolving the situation in Venezuela. This warrants scrutiny: In a democracy, the fusion of national security and law enforcement must not erode civil liberties or international norms. As destroyers cut through Caribbean waves and militiamen drill on Venezuelan soil, one ponders the fragile calculus of power. Is this a necessary bulwark against narco-terrorism, or a provocative gambit risking escalation? The situation may draw in global actors like Russia, China, and Iran, further complicating the conflict and its resolution. The Trump administration’s silence only amplifies the echoes of history’s missteps. In an era of global interdependence, true security demands not just might, but wisdom—lest the pursuit of justice sow the seeds of greater conflict.
