America’s foreign policy playbook is being rewritten in real time, and the world is watching with a mix of alarm, skepticism, and anticipation. As of late October 2025, the United States has dramatically ramped up its military presence in the Caribbean, positioning 10 F-35 fighter jets in Puerto Rico, deploying three MQ-9 Reaper drones, and stationing more than 4,500 Marines and sailors at US Southern Command in Miami, Florida. The buildup, unseen in decades, is more than mere saber-rattling—it’s a signal that the Trump administration is reviving a muscular, interventionist approach to Latin America, reminiscent of the Roosevelt Corollary to the Monroe Doctrine.
Last week, President Trump publicly announced that he had authorized CIA covert operations in Venezuela, a move that stunned both allies and adversaries alike. Around the same time, B-52 bombers flew near Venezuela’s coast, and US forces intercepted and destroyed more than five suspected drug ships, some originating from Venezuela. While Trump has justified these actions as a crackdown on drug trafficking and unauthorized migration, critics and analysts argue that the motives reach far deeper—and potentially more destabilizing—levels.
According to UnHerd, Trump’s foreign policy is rooted in an old doctrine with a new twist. The Roosevelt Corollary, first articulated by President Theodore Roosevelt in 1904, asserted America’s right to police the Western Hemisphere and intervene in neighboring countries if US interests were threatened. For much of the 20th century, this policy underpinned US interventions in Cuba, the Dominican Republic, Nicaragua, Guatemala, and beyond. But after the Cold War, such hard power tactics fell out of favor, replaced by a more cautious, internationalist stance. Now, as UnHerd reports, Trump’s administration is signaling that the era of “salutary neglect” is over. The “Neo-Monroe Doctrine” is back.
“What is the point of being a superpower if you can’t stop your neighbors from sneaking deadly drugs and unapproved migrants across your borders?” Trump has reportedly asked, encapsulating his administration’s view that security starts at home and extends to the “near-abroad.” In this framework, weak or corrupt leaders who threaten US stability must either change their behavior or be replaced—by force, if necessary.
The immediate focus of this revived doctrine is Venezuela, a country described by UnHerd as “a shambles by every possible metric.” Once the wealthiest nation in Latin America, Venezuela’s economy is projected to contract by 3% this year, with inflation soaring at 682%. Oil exports—the backbone of its economy—have plummeted by two-thirds since 2012. Nearly 30% of Venezuelans have fled the country over the past decade, seeking refuge in neighboring Colombia and the United States.
Despite this exodus and a deteriorating economy, President Nicolás Maduro remains firmly in power, thanks largely to a loyal military apparatus. In the 2024 election, Maduro reportedly received fewer votes than opposition candidate Edmundo González, but declared victory and began a third term. Opposition leader María Corina Machado, whose exit polling efforts exposed the alleged election rigging, was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for her fight against the regime. Yet, as UnHerd notes, “military loyalty is the single most important requisite for regime security in the region,” and Maduro has solidified his grip by rewarding loyalists with patronage jobs and payoffs from drug traffickers. Those who dissent are exiled or imprisoned.
The situation on the ground is even more complex. Large swathes of Venezuelan territory are no longer under government control, instead dominated by Colombian drug-running and human-trafficking organizations like the National Liberation Army, as well as notorious criminal gangs such as Tren de Aragua. These groups have taken over mining operations and other extractive industries, further hollowing out the state’s capacity. Maduro’s military, numbering about 125,000, is a mix of regulars and hastily recruited civilians—so many of whom are older than standard military age that the British press has dubbed it a “Dad’s Army.”
Against this backdrop, Trump’s administration has not hesitated to use both carrot and stick. Argentine President Javier Milei, a US ally facing financial turmoil, recently secured a $40 billion loan package and a potential beef purchase deal from Washington—moves that have ruffled feathers among American cattle ranchers. Conversely, Colombia, under socialist President Gustavo Petro, saw its $14 billion in US aid (received since 2000) cut off due to continued drug trafficking issues.
But the US’s aggressive posture has drawn sharp rebukes from across the hemisphere. On October 23, 2025, political leaders from Latin America and the Caribbean issued a joint condemnation of the US military buildup, warning of the “imminent threat” of armed intervention in Venezuela. The communiqué, published by the Progressive International, decried the campaign as a direct danger to the region’s status as a “Zone of Peace”—a designation established by the Community of Latin American and Caribbean States (CELAC) in 2014 to promote dialogue over violence. The leaders called on all nations in the region to unite in defense of sovereignty, security, and lasting peace.
“The Trump administration is escalating a dangerous military buildup off the coast of Venezuela, deploying naval forces in the Caribbean in preparation for a potential armed intervention,” the statement read. The letter further argued that the US’s focus on drug smuggling boats was a “pretext” for regime change in Venezuela, and warned, “If we do not stand for peace now, we risk a new wave of armed interventions across the region, unleashing a humanitarian crisis of unimaginable scale in all of our home countries.”
International organizations have echoed these concerns. United Nations experts urged the Trump administration to halt “unlawful attacks and threats” in the Caribbean, warning that the use of lethal force “amounts to extrajudicial executions” and violates international maritime law. Colombia’s Foreign Ministry condemned the US destruction of a vessel off its coast and called for diplomatic solutions to regional drug trafficking challenges.
Meanwhile, the World Anti-Imperialist Platform, meeting in Caracas, accused the US of escalating “imperialist aggression” under the guise of anti-drug operations, with the ultimate aim of seizing Venezuela’s natural resources and undermining its sovereignty. “Strengthening the popular government around Venezuela’s Communes constitutes the most powerful driving force and the strongest bulwark to defeat imperialism and fascism,” read the summit’s final declaration.
On the streets, opposition to US actions has been palpable. Colombian social movements marched to the US Embassy in Bogotá, denouncing Trump’s interference and expressing solidarity with both the Palestinian and Venezuelan peoples. In Cuba, over 50,000 people marched alongside President Miguel Díaz-Canel in a show of support for Venezuela.
Yet for Trump and his advisors, the high-stakes gamble continues. The administration appears convinced that pressure—military, economic, and psychological—will fracture Maduro’s inner circle and embolden opposition forces. The hope, as UnHerd suggests, is that regime change can be sparked from within, avoiding the chaos of direct US intervention. But with the CIA reportedly shifting its focus from China to Latin America, and with real-time intelligence being funneled to US forces, the risk of escalation remains ever-present.
Venezuela’s fate now hangs in the balance, caught between an emboldened US determined to reassert its dominance in the hemisphere and a region wary of returning to the era of gunboat diplomacy. The outcome will reverberate far beyond Caracas, shaping the future of American power—and resistance to it—across Latin America for years to come.