On the sun-drenched shores of Venezuela’s Paria Peninsula, life has long been a study in contrasts. The Caribbean coastline here is breathtaking, yet the communities that dot its edges have been battered by a decade of economic collapse. Once, fishing was the backbone of local prosperity, offering steady jobs and a sense of dignity. Today, the industry is a shadow of its former self, and the people who remain have been forced to adapt in ways that reveal both their resilience and desperation.
But this September, an event offshore delivered a new blow to these already struggling communities. According to reporting from the Associated Press, a U.S. military strike on September 2, 2025, targeted a fishing boat—known locally as a “peñero”—off the coast of the Paria Peninsula. The Trump administration claimed the vessel was carrying drugs and 11 members of the notorious Tren de Aragua gang. The attack, which followed a buildup of U.S. naval forces in the Caribbean, marked a significant escalation in Washington’s efforts to stem drug trafficking in the region.
The strike left a profound mark on the peninsula’s fishing communities. Residents of Güiria and neighboring towns say it’s an open secret that some boats departing from their ports carry more than just fish. In recent years, as Venezuela’s economy unraveled, fishing boats have been repurposed to smuggle migrants, traffic humans, wildlife, and fuel. These illicit activities, though dangerous, have become a lifeline for many who find that “living off fishing alone in Venezuela today is to accept a life of poverty,” as one local fisherman told AP.
Alberto Díaz, a retiree walking through the Güiria neighborhood of one of the victims, put it bluntly: “There is no revolution here. What there is here is hunger, sacrifice, pure pain.” Díaz’s words echo the disillusionment felt by many who once believed in the socialist movement launched by Hugo Chávez in 1999. The fishing industry, which once offered jobs with living wages and a path to happiness, has withered under the weight of overfishing, failed restoration efforts, and relentless economic crisis.
The deadly September 2 strike has only deepened the hardship. Fishermen like Junior González, who was repairing a boat along the shore of Guaca, pointed out that the vessel targeted by the U.S. was no ordinary peñero. It was a 12-meter-long boat with four powerful engines, each estimated at 200 horsepower—five times more powerful than the typical engines used by local fishermen. “Fishing doesn’t pay enough to buy a motor like that,” González said, explaining that his own motors cost between $4,000 and $5,000, while those capable of reaching Trinidad and Tobago—the suspected destination of the targeted boat—sell for $15,000 to $20,000 each.
Speculation about the strike still swirls across the peninsula. Some residents wonder who died in the attack and whether their deaths are part of a broader plan to topple President Nicolás Maduro. Others question the government’s assertions that a video of the strike released by then-President Trump was generated with artificial intelligence, or that a boat of that size could not venture into the high seas. But among fishermen, there’s little doubt about the boat’s origins or its purpose.
Several fishermen and a local leader, who spoke to AP on condition of anonymity for fear of retaliation, confirmed that the boat departed from San Juan de Unare, a fishing community on the northern coast of the peninsula. The men aboard hailed from that town as well as Güiria. While some supplement their income with drug trafficking out of necessity, outside experts caution against exaggerating the scale of their operations. Christopher Sabatini, a research fellow at Chatham House in London, told AP that the Trump administration “has completely exaggerated” the threat posed by these small-scale traffickers. “If you look at (the boats), these could never make the journey all the way up the Caribbean to the United States. These are small-scale fishermen—and now small-scale drug traffickers—that don’t represent the crux of the issue.”
Still, the lure of “easy money” is undeniable. New restrictions on sardine fishing mean that some crews now make less than $100 a month—barely enough to cover a week’s groceries in Venezuela’s battered economy. By contrast, a successful drug run can yield thousands of dollars in a single trip. Kira Torres, whose husband’s fishing crew returned to El Morro de Puerto Santo last week without any sardines, explained the harsh reality: “Many make the mistake because they are in dire need. Need forces them to do anything, and since the government doesn’t come here to help, what is one supposed to do?”
The impact of the illegal trade is visible in the rhythms of local commerce. When a drug run succeeds, businesses see a sudden influx of crisp U.S. dollar and euro bills. People splurge at convenience stores, treat themselves to burgers and fries, and even get their hair and nails done. But since the U.S. strike, that flow has dried up. Jean Carlos Sucre, who owns a restaurant and bakery in Güiria, has seen his sales plummet. “Those who are working illegally aren’t setting sail for fear of being caught by the gringos, I imagine,” Sucre said. “Everyone here knows what happened, but very few talk. This week I sold 10 hamburgers out of the 90 I was selling (before the strike).”
The September 2 strike was not an isolated incident. Less than two weeks later, on September 15, the U.S. military killed three more people in a second strike on another vessel allegedly carrying drugs from Venezuela. According to AP reports, the Trump administration has yet to explain how the military assessed the cargo and determined the passengers’ alleged gang affiliation before launching the attacks. National security officials told Congress that the first boat was fired on multiple times after it changed course.
Venezuelan officials, including Interior Minister Diosdado Cabello and President Maduro, have insisted that Venezuela is not a key player in global drug trafficking. They say investigations into the strike are ongoing, but have provided few details. Meanwhile, in the fishing villages along the Paria Peninsula, daily life grows ever more precarious. The loss of the fishing industry as a reliable source of income, compounded by the chilling effect of the U.S. strikes on illicit trade, has left families with dwindling options and little hope for relief.
As the world’s attention shifts from one crisis to the next, the people of the Paria Peninsula continue to endure. Their story is one of survival in the face of mounting adversity—where hunger, sacrifice, and pain have become the currency of daily life.