Just over ten years ago, it appeared that the era of U.S.-driven wars, covert operations, and military interventions in Latin America was fading into history. The Obama administration even publicly declared the Monroe Doctrine — a nearly 200-year-old policy asserting U.S. dominance in the Western Hemisphere — to be “dead.” For many in the region, this signaled a long-awaited shift toward mutual respect and sovereignty.

Now, that assumption is being tested. The Monroe Doctrine’s spirit seems to be making a forceful comeback, sparking renewed fears of U.S. military interference. This follows former President Donald Trump’s directive to the Pentagon to prepare military action against certain Latin American drug cartels, designated by his administration as terrorist organizations.

Latin America Reacts with Caution

Governments across the region are scrambling to interpret what this renewed military posture might mean in practice. Mexico and Venezuela, in particular, face heightened scrutiny, given that cartels within their borders have been specifically targeted by U.S. designations.

Yet beyond those two nations, the ripple effect is clear. Even the mere suggestion of reviving U.S. interventionist tactics threatens to stir widespread anti-American sentiment — a pattern deeply rooted in Latin America’s historical memory. The news of Trump’s order has already deepened skepticism in countries like Ecuador, which has faced its own violent drug wars in recent years.

“I’m a right-wing conservative, so I support strong security measures,” said Patricio Endara, a businessman from Quito. “But I do not want foreign soldiers in Ecuador.”

This wariness is not ideological alone — it’s shaped by decades of U.S. interventions, from covert operations to direct military action, that left political and social scars across the continent.

Lessons from the Past

Iván Cepeda, a Colombian senator, voiced a sentiment widely shared in the region: “These formulas have repeatedly proven their failure.” Others, like Guatemalan scholar Fernando González Davidson, note the long-standing tendency of such interventions to back regimes aligned with U.S. economic and strategic interests — often at the expense of democracy and stability.

One infamous example is the 1954 CIA-backed coup in Guatemala, which toppled a democratically elected government over concerns that a land reform initiative threatened the holdings of the United Fruit Company, a powerful U.S. corporation. The event became a rallying cry against U.S. Cold War policies, which were often viewed as prioritizing corporate and geopolitical interests over local sovereignty.

The Monroe Doctrine itself originated in 1823 under President James Monroe, aimed at deterring European colonial ambitions in the Americas. In its early decades, the U.S. lacked the military capacity to enforce it effectively, but that changed as the nation’s power grew. By the mid-19th century, the doctrine was invoked to justify territorial expansion — notably during the Mexican-American War, which cost Mexico vast swaths of territory, including present-day California, Arizona, and New Mexico.

The consequences of that war and later U.S. incursions in the early 20th century left Mexico with a strong nationalist identity, often defined in opposition to U.S. influence. Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum recently echoed this sentiment, firmly rejecting the possibility of U.S. military operations on Mexican soil and dismissing any talk of “invasion.”

Expansion of the Doctrine

By the late 19th and early 20th centuries, U.S. leaders expanded the Monroe Doctrine’s scope. The 1898 Spanish-American War transformed the U.S. into a global power, with new territories like Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines. Under President Theodore Roosevelt, the policy took an even more interventionist turn. His “Roosevelt Corollary” declared that the U.S. had the right to act as a “police power” in the Americas whenever it deemed wrongdoing to be “flagrant.”

This approach fueled a wave of interventions: U.S. troops occupied Cuba multiple times between 1906 and 1922, Haiti from 1915 to 1934, and the Dominican Republic from 1916 to 1924. In Central America, Honduras endured repeated landings, while Nicaragua was under U.S. military presence for over two decades.

During the Cold War, intervention strategies shifted but did not disappear. Coups in Guatemala, Brazil, and Chile ousted democratically elected leaders, often under the banner of combating communism. Military force was used in the Dominican Republic and Grenada, while U.S. policy continued to prioritize regional stability as defined in Washington.

This repeated pattern of interference helped forge a collective Latin American stance centered on sovereignty and nonintervention — a principle that remains politically potent today.

Modern Implications and New Flashpoints

Even after the Cold War, the U.S. continued to deploy military power in the region. In 1989, the invasion of Panama — dubbed “Operation Just Cause” — removed leader Manuel Noriega, wanted by U.S. authorities on drug trafficking charges. For Panamanians, the episode remains a somber chapter, remembered for civilian casualties and lasting resentment.

Now, some analysts see parallels between Panama and current tensions with Venezuela. The U.S. has offered a $50 million reward for information leading to the capture of Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro, accused by U.S. officials of ties to powerful criminal organizations, including Mexico’s Sinaloa Cartel. Maduro, in turn, accuses Washington of attempting to instigate wars, warning that any attack on Venezuela would have lasting consequences.

A direct U.S. military intervention in Venezuela — or in much larger Mexico — would mark a significant departure from precedent. Historically, Washington has favored smaller-scale operations in Central America and the Caribbean, wary of the complications involved in confronting larger states. Yet some Venezuelan opposition voices have openly called for such action, likening Maduro’s removal to Noriega’s ouster three decades ago.

“This is what we’ve been waiting for,” said a Venezuelan woman from Maracaibo, who withheld her name for safety reasons. “Either Maduro steps down, or the U.S. takes him away.”

The Enduring Debate

Christopher Sabatini, a Latin America specialist at Chatham House, argues that any renewed U.S. intervention risks striking a “historic and deeply felt popular nerve” in the region. Yet history also shows that certain political factions within Latin America have occasionally lobbied for U.S. involvement, often in hopes of removing adversaries or securing political change.

The renewed discussion around the Monroe Doctrine underscores a broader geopolitical reality: while the rhetoric of sovereignty and self-determination remains central to Latin American identity, the strategic calculations of both local and global powers continue to shape events. Whether Trump’s directive will result in actual military deployments remains uncertain, but the political and emotional resonance of intervention in Latin America ensures that the debate is far from over.