The Trump administration is transforming the decades-old metaphorical “war on drugs” into a literal one—and Venezuela and Colombia are on its front line. Since September, U.S. military aircraft have blown up 19 boats, killing 76 people in extrajudicial strikes. Administration officials claim the boats were transporting drugs from Venezuela and Colombia to the United States. The explosions—some of them visible from the Venezuelan coast—mark a startling escalation in America’s 54-year-old war on drugs.
U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio explained the strikes to reporters: “What will stop them is when you blow them up, when you get rid of them.” The secretary’s language was unusually blunt, but his logic was familiar to students of U.S. drug policy. Dating back to the 1980s “cocaine wars,” the U.S. military has played a major role in drug interdiction operations in the Caribbean. Its main target: la ruta blanca. But successive U.S. military and Coast Guard operations merely pushed drug traffickers from one smuggling corridor to another—first from the eastern to the western Caribbean, then into Central America’s coasts and jungles, and finally up the Isthmus of Panama into Mexico before heading back to the Caribbean.
The Trump administration is transforming the decades-old metaphorical “war on drugs” into a literal one—and Venezuela and Colombia are on its front line. Since September, U.S. military aircraft have blown up 19 boats, killing 76 people in extrajudicial strikes. Administration officials claim the boats were transporting drugs from Venezuela and Colombia to the United States. The explosions—some of them visible from the Venezuelan coast—mark a startling escalation in America’s 54-year-old war on drugs.
U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio explained the strikes to reporters: “What will stop them is when you blow them up, when you get rid of them.” The secretary’s language was unusually blunt, but his logic was familiar to students of U.S. drug policy. Dating back to the 1980s “cocaine wars,” the U.S. military has played a major role in drug interdiction operations in the Caribbean. Its main target: la ruta blanca. But successive U.S. military and Coast Guard operations merely pushed drug traffickers from one smuggling corridor to another—first from the eastern to the western Caribbean, then into Central America’s coasts and jungles, and finally up the Isthmus of Panama into Mexico before heading back to the Caribbean.
Popularly known as the balloon effect or cat-and-mouse game, such competitive adaptation between “narcs” and narcos illustrates how enforcement pressure in one zone pushes criminal activity to another, as traffickers adapt, expanding their operations and becoming harder to stop. For decades, most of the illicit drugs trafficked from South America to the United States have been cocaine, with cannabis a distant second. In recent years, the U.S. has been flooded with the powerful synthetic opioid fentanyl, which is the cause of most overdose deaths in America. However, most fentanyl comes from Mexico or China, not Colombia and Venezuela. Whatever the drug, from Ronald Reagan to Donald Trump, America’s militarized “supply-reduction” strategy has consistently failed to cut the flow of illegal narcotics to the United States.
Long at the center of the United States’ war on drugs has been the Joint Interagency Task Force South (JIATF-S). Operating across a vast 42-million-square-mile “transit zone,” it coordinates with partners across the Americas and Europe to detect, monitor, and support the interdiction of drug shipments. The supply-reduction logic is impeccable: Make it harder, and more expensive, for traffickers to move cocaine from Andean source countries to overseas markets. Drug prices will rise, and drug use will decline. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work. Not then, not now.
Successful interdiction disrupts smuggling routes, but only temporarily as traffickers adapt. Other supply-reduction initiatives—spraying coca fields, destroying drug labs, decapitating drug lords—have been no more successful. They often produce impressive-sounding policy outputs—hectares eradicated, kilos captured, kingpins killed—but the relevant policy outcome, the supply of cocaine to the United States and other drug markets, remains stubbornly persistent.
When major cartels are dismantled, they rarely disappear; instead, they fragment into smaller, more flexible groups that shift operations to new territories and deepen their ties to armed groups, local economies, and corrupt officials. The upshot is that cocaine in Colombia, Peru, Bolivia, and now Ecuador has been booming in recent years, part of the reason why Colombia and Venezuela now find themselves in the Trump administration’s crosshairs. The other is that they are led by leftist politicians—Gustavo Petro and Nicolás Maduro, respectively—who Trump and Rubio identify as political enemies. Indeed, the Trump administration has been signaling its desire for regime change in Venezuela for months. Colombia and Mexico are not likely to be targeted for such treatment, but they are clearly feeling the heat of the administration’s ramped-up military operations.
In replacing interdiction with destruction, the U.S. has abandoned supply-reduction’s traditional rationale. But the underlying logic remains the same. Kill drug traffickers to stop them dead in their tracks and deter others from making the same mistake. Yet this shift—from tracking and intercepting to bombing and killing—marks not just an operational escalation of an approach that doesn’t work, but also a legal rupture.
Under international law, drug traffickers, however violent, are not combatants. Their actions fall under criminal law enforcement, not armed conflict. Legal scholars such as Michael Schmitt warn that reclassifying criminal networks as terrorist or military targets erodes the distinction between law enforcement and war. Colin Clarke and Ben Connable add that once counterdrug efforts fall under national security authorities, due-process safeguards vanish. What begins as a policing challenge risks becoming an open-ended military campaign, unconstrained by law or accountability. Treating traffickers as enemy combatants normalizes lethal force wherever transnational crime persists, turning public security into a perpetual battlefield. Legitimacy becomes the first casualty.
This new aggression in the Caribbean did not emerge in a vacuum. Earlier this year, Congress introduced the bipartisan Caribbean Border Counternarcotics Strategy Act (S.548), expanding aerial and maritime surveillance from Puerto Rico to Colombia’s Guajira Peninsula. The proposal laid the groundwork for a Caribbean Command to oversee intensified maritime operations. Several months later, the Trump administration reaffirmed American support for Colombia’s air-interdiction program, calling narcotics trafficking an “extraordinary threat.”
The international fallout has been swift. Venezuela has already denounced the attacks as violations of its sovereignty. Meanwhile, the United Kingdom and Colombia have stopped sharing drug intelligence with Washington. British officials reportedly believe that the attacks violate international law, while Bogotá denounces the attacks as human rights violations and threats to its sovereignty. What was meant to project American resolve, and signal regime change in Venezuela, has led to a breach of trust—alienating allies who once viewed drug interdiction as a shared mission. By turning the drug war into a shooting war, Washington is isolating itself from the very partners it needs to stop the flow of drugs and sustain regional security.
A more sustainable path exists. Connable and Clarke propose strengthening multinational law-enforcement cooperation, enhancing partner capacity, and reserving military assets for advisory and intelligence roles, not direct combat. Working “by, with, and through” regional partners and prioritizing joint investigations, sanctions, and law-enforcement-led interdiction would be more lawful and more effective.
After five decades and billions of dollars, the pattern remains unchanged. Cocaine flows shift, networks adapt, and violence endures. Each surge in enforcement brings collateral damage, in the form of displacement, criminalization, and diplomatic strain. The airstrikes may project resolve, but they fail to alter the economics of the drug trade. The uncomfortable truth remains: You cannot bomb your way out of an illicit market.
If the United States wants results instead of headlines, it must pursue a balanced strategy. One aspect of that strategy is continuing the traditional drug interdiction efforts by JIATF-S, thereby stopping billions of lethal doses from reaching U.S. shores. But these efforts must be coupled with vigorous demand-reduction policies, including expanded access to treatment, harm-reduction programs like naloxone distribution, and genuine international cooperation. The hard work of law enforcement, public health, and diplomacy may lack the drama of airstrikes, but it is the only path that preserves U.S. legitimacy and reduces harm in the hemisphere.
