The scale and nature of US military assets deployed to the Caribbean since August—and President Trump’s accompanying comments about Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro—can no longer be credibly linked to Washington’s stated goal of combating drug trafficking in the region.
Deploying the world’s largest aircraft carrier to the Southern Caribbean is the very definition of using a sledgehammer to kill a fly. Moreover, President Trump’s recent threats to bomb selected targets suggest that the anti-narcotics mission is merely a pretext for a different objective: regime change.
President Trump has publicly claimed that President Maduro has made overtures to seek a peaceful resolution, while Maduro himself has stated— pointedly, in English— that he does not want war. If that is so, what purpose does the US military build-up serve that cannot be achieved through diplomacy?
While it is true that Maduro’s economic policies have contributed to Venezuela’s economic collapse, US sanctions have also had a devastating impact on daily life—fuelling poverty, hardship, deprivation, and mass migration. As in the case of Cuba, sanctions have punished citizens but failed to bring about regime change.
Venezuela does not produce cocaine or fentanyl, the substances President Trump claims he is targeting. At most, the country serves as a transit route for cocaine produced in Colombia and Peru. In any case, most illicit drugs entering the US are transported over land, not by sea. Meanwhile, the automatic weapons used by criminals in Trinidad and Tobago originate not from Venezuela, but from the United States—entering our ports undetected under the guise of legitimate imports.
Prime Minister Kamla Persad-Bissessar recently reiterated her support for US actions destroying alleged drug-trafficking vessels, including fishing boats. Last week, the Commissioner of Police also sought to confirm that US military intervention at sea has disrupted drug supplies on Trinidad and Tobago’s streets.
Yet the continuing prevalence of gun-related murders, despite any reported drug shortages, undermines the narrative that crime is primarily driven by the narcotics trade. If, as police claim, key gang leaders are in custody, why then does violent crime remain rampant?
Any initiative that helps reduce crime in Trinidad and Tobago deserves support. However, this does not absolve the government of its duty to strengthen domestic crime-fighting capacity. Conflating local crime with external, drug-related causes allows US military activity in regional waters to create the illusion of action—while the deep-rooted social and administrative problems that sustain criminality remain unaddressed.
The scale of the current US deployment far exceeds what would be required for anti-narcotics operations, raising legitimate questions about the mission’s true intent. Modern warfare is asymmetric, and the show of force appears aimed as much at Venezuela’s government—and its Russian allies—as at any drug traffickers.
Beyond the moral and legal concerns surrounding extrajudicial killings, openly supporting US efforts at regime change risks placing both Prime Minister Persad-Bissessar and Trinidad and Tobago in a diplomatically compromising position. By contrast, Guyana—despite having far more at stake in the US–Venezuela standoff—has refrained from explicitly endorsing Washington’s military posture. Its official statements have instead emphasised “dialogue,” “cooperation,” and “regional security” rather than outright support for US intervention.
Trinidad and Tobago’s foreign policy has traditionally followed a path of non-alignment—neither siding with the US nor opposing Russia. The question now is whether Caricom’s more cautious, neutral approach is the wiser course.
How, after all, does supporting regime change in Venezuela advance Trinidad and Tobago’s national interest?
