On a recent Thursday in the Caribbean Sea, the United States military carried out its 17th lethal strike on a suspected drug-smuggling vessel, killing all three men aboard. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth announced the operation overnight on X, formerly Twitter, underscoring the Trump administration’s ongoing campaign against what it calls "narco-terrorists." Since September 2, 2025, at least 70 people have died in similar strikes—a number that has raised both applause and alarm across the region.
"As we’ve said before, vessel strikes on narco-terrorists will continue until their poisoning of the American people stops," Hegseth declared, stressing the administration’s resolve. The vessel, according to Hegseth, was trafficking narcotics in international waters. No U.S. forces were harmed, he added, and all three men aboard the targeted boat were killed.
Just a day later, Colombian President Gustavo Petro announced a separate victory in the fight against drug trafficking: six individuals arrested and more than seven tons of cocaine seized in the Atlantic Ocean. Petro hailed it as "one of the largest seizure days in my government, with the collaboration of our public security forces and the French authorities." The joint operation, which spanned both land and sea, resulted in no fatalities. Petro did not specify the nationalities of those arrested, but he emphasized the importance of international cooperation in tackling the drug trade.
Yet, as the U.S. intensifies its military campaign—providing Senate Republicans with a secret target list and signaling plans for sustained operations—questions swirl about who is dying in these strikes and what justice, if any, is being served. According to the Associated Press, the identities of several of the deceased have begun to emerge, painting a picture far more complicated than the administration’s rhetoric of "narco-terrorists" and cartel kingpins.
Take Robert Sánchez, for example. A 42-year-old fisherman from Güiria, a small village on Venezuela’s Paria Peninsula, Sánchez was well-known for his skill navigating the treacherous local waters. According to friends and relatives interviewed by the AP, Sánchez had turned to drug smuggling not as a hardened criminal, but out of economic desperation. Earning just $100 a month fishing, he hoped to save enough to buy his own boat engine. When traffickers offered him $500 per trip—five times his monthly income—he agreed, despite the risks. Sánchez was killed in a U.S. missile strike in October. His youngest son, a third grader, reportedly struggled to accept his father’s death, asking adults if maybe, just maybe, his father had survived at sea.
The AP’s reporting details the lives of others killed in the strikes: a career criminal, a former military cadet, and a bus driver whose vehicle had broken down, leaving him unable to support his family. Most were first- or second-time crew members, not seasoned cartel operatives. For many, the lure of quick cash in a region beset by poverty and unemployment proved too strong to resist. "The U.S. government should have stopped them," one relative told the AP, lamenting the lack of due process. In the past, such boats would have been intercepted and the crew charged with federal crimes, given their day in court. Now, relatives say, they are left with rumors, cryptic social media posts, and silence from Venezuelan authorities.
The first strike, on September 2, 2025, killed Luis "Che" Martínez, a 60-year-old local crime boss who had long smuggled drugs and people across borders. Trump was quick to claim that the boat’s 11-man crew were members of the notorious Tren de Aragua gang. A video posted online showed a vessel exploding in flames. Martínez’s family, however, disputes the gang affiliation. They identified his body from a photo circulated on messaging apps, recognizing his distinctive watch on the wrist of a mutilated corpse that washed ashore in Trinidad.
Other victims include Dushak Milovcic, a 24-year-old former National Guard cadet drawn to smuggling by money and adrenaline, and Juan Carlos "El Guaramero" Fuentes, a bus driver who had never worked at sea before taking a job on a drug boat. Both were killed in U.S. strikes in October, according to friends and relatives. Villagers say experienced traffickers have been staying ashore to avoid U.S. missiles, leaving inexperienced, desperate locals to take their place on the risky runs.
The Trump administration has defended its actions by labeling drug cartels as "unlawful combatants" and declaring an "armed conflict" with them. Pentagon spokesman Sean Parnell told the AP, "Our intelligence did indeed confirm that the individuals involved in these drug operations were narco-terrorists, and we stand by that assessment." President Trump has claimed that every sunken boat saves 25,000 American lives—a figure he attributes to potential overdoses prevented. However, most of the boats appear to be carrying cocaine, not the synthetic opioids responsible for the majority of overdose deaths in the U.S.
The military campaign is unfolding against a backdrop of escalating U.S. pressure on Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro. The Justice Department recently doubled its reward for Maduro’s arrest to $50 million. Meanwhile, the U.S. military presence in the Caribbean and off Venezuela’s coast has grown, with heavy bombers flying along the country’s shoreline. The administration’s tough stance has drawn sharp criticism from Venezuelan officials, who have called the strikes "extrajudicial executions" and deny that drug traffickers operate in the country. Venezuela’s ambassador to the United Nations has condemned the attacks, and the government has not acknowledged that any of its citizens have been killed in the strikes.
For families on Venezuela’s northeastern coast, the consequences are painfully real. Many have learned of their loved ones’ deaths through word-of-mouth or coded social media messages. Some, like the relatives of Martínez, pieced together the truth from grisly photos shared online. Others, like Sánchez’s family, waited days before confirming the worst. Fear of reprisal from traffickers, the Venezuelan government, or even U.S. authorities keeps many from speaking publicly.
The strikes have also unsettled local communities, where the line between victim and perpetrator is often blurred by poverty, lack of opportunity, and the lure of the drug trade. While some residents resent the criminal elements that have flourished in their midst, others mourn the loss of neighbors, friends, and family members who saw few other options for survival. "I want an answer, but who can I ask?" one relative asked the AP. "I can’t say anything."
As the Trump administration signals its intent to continue the campaign, the debate over its legality, morality, and effectiveness is far from settled. With each new strike, more lives are lost at sea, and the ripple effects spread from the Caribbean’s turquoise waters to the homes and hearts of those left behind.
