U.S. Strikes in the Caribbean: When Power Mistakes Impunity for Authority

Lethal U.S. strikes on small boats in the Caribbean Sea have been hailed in Washington as decisive blows against “narco-terrorists.” But international law scholars who spoke to BBC Verify say the legal foundations are paper-thin. When footage replaces facts, and secrecy replaces scrutiny, even a superpower can confuse impunity for authority.

The Law of the Sea Isn’t a Blank Check

Start with what the law actually says. Though the United States never ratified the U.N. Convention on the Law of the Sea, its own naval lawyers have long advised acting as if it had. On the high seas, ships are protected from interference except in narrow cases—piracy, slavery, statelessness, or “hot pursuit” that begins inside a coastal state’s waters. Even then, the emphasis is on law enforcement, not warfare.

“Force can be used to stop a boat, but generally this should be non-lethal measures,” said Prof. Luke Moffett of Queen’s University Belfast, in an interview with the BBC. Lethal force, he added, must be “reasonable and necessary in self-defence where there is an immediate threat of serious injury or loss of life.“

By that standard, blowing up small boats on open water based on undisclosed intelligence looks less like self-defence and more like retribution. When the identities and flags of the crews are disputed—Colombia’s president insisted one vessel was “Colombian with Colombian citizens inside,” an account the White House denied—the law tilts toward restraint, not destruction.

Supporters argue that hesitation cedes the sea to traffickers, that fast boats can dump cargo or open fire in seconds. But international law was written for murky moments like these; it requires evidence, not instinct. “No credible facts or legal principles have come to light to justify these attacks,” said Prof. Mary Ellen O’Connell to the BBC.

Transparency, not secrecy, keeps power legitimate. Yet Washington has refused to release the legal advice behind the strikes. Grainy video clips of explosions have filled the vacuum—proof of precision perhaps, but not of legality. Credibility, like a ship, needs ballast. Without it, policy drifts toward the rocks.

Self-Defence or Semantic Sleight of Hand?

The White House’s other argument rests on self-defense under the U.N. Charter, which permits the use of force to repel or prevent an armed attack. The Trump administration labeled Tren de Aragua, a Venezuelan-born crime syndicate, a Foreign Terrorist Organization, calling its smuggling operations “irregular warfare” against the United States.

From there, the logic leaps: if cartel members are terrorists, their boats are enemy combatants. “That stretches the definition to the breaking point,” said Prof. Michael Becker, speaking to the BBC. Labels don’t transform criminals into combatants or police actions into wars.

“Calling everyone a terrorist does not make them a lawful target,” warned Prof. Moffett. The key test is whether an armed attack justifying cross-border force has actually occurred—or is truly imminent—and whether the response is proportionate to the threat. If the U.S. isn’t at war with Venezuela or the cartel, and if boarding or seizure was feasible, then missile strikes are not a necessity but a convenience.

Pentagon officials insist that at sea, split-second threats compress judgment. A small craft can ram a cutter or fire in seconds. “Each case involves classified indicators of imminent threat,” one defence official told the BBC. But if the facts are classified forever, “imminence” becomes a shield for any act, however pre-emptive.

Self-defence is meant to be a narrow exception, not a blank warrant. Without public scrutiny, it becomes a magic word—abracadabra for accountability.

At Home, Elastic Laws and Expanding Powers

Even if the international case were airtight, the domestic one remains contested. The U.S. Constitution divides power: Congress declares war, the president commands it. Since 9/11, presidents of both parties have relied on the 2001 Authorization for Use of Military Force (AUMF) to strike far beyond the battlefield that spawned it.

“It’s not immediately obvious that drug cartels like Tren de Aragua fall under the AUMF,” said Rumen Cholakov to the BBC, noting that branding traffickers as “narco-terrorists” looks like an attempt to shoehorn new wars into old authorizations.

The administration has privately told lawmakers it views the U.S. as engaged in a “non-international armed conflict” with cartels. This legal novelty elevates criminal syndicates to the level of wartime opponents and grants the president wartime powers. Meanwhile, the War Powers Resolution requires consultation “in every possible instance” before hostilities.

Congress balked at a measure demanding advance authorization for further attacks—but rejection of restraint is not the same as consent. Every time presidents stretch old statutes to fit new enemies, the public’s role in the decision to kill shrinks to an after-action press release.

Supporters counter that the commander-in-chief must act quickly, that Congress has ample opportunities to limit force, and rarely does. But history shows what happens when urgency becomes a habit: presidents learn to act first and explain later. Expediency becomes precedent, and precedent becomes a powerful force.

The Region, the Risks, and a Lawful Alternative

Beyond Washington, the sea itself is watching. The Caribbean is not a battlefield; it’s a shared neighborhood ringed by nations already wary of the United States’ reach. Claiming the right to sink boats on secret evidence invites others to mimic the rationale—against dissidents, exiles, or rivals—on oceans everyone depends on.

The political blowback is visible: anger in Bogotá and Caracas, unease in Bridgetown, and a broader sense that Washington is repeating the lesson it once preached—that rules matter most when they bind the powerful.

There’s a practical cost, too. Destroyed boats mean destroyed evidence. Trials that could expose trafficking networks end before they start. Every explosion erases testimony that might dismantle the cartels Washington claims to be fighting.

A lawful alternative exists. It may look less cinematic, but it works better: cooperative patrols with Caribbean and Latin American partners; clear agreements for “hot pursuit” that begin in territorial waters; non-lethal interdictions whenever possible; and, most crucially, prosecutions that end in courtrooms, not craters.

“If the president is committed to using all means to stop drugs from reaching the U.S., the first means should be the law,” a senior White House adviser told the BBC. But law isn’t just a means—it’s the mission.

Senator Lindsey Graham told the BBC that these strikes show “a new sheriff in town.” The Caribbean, though, doesn’t need a sheriff. It requires a coast guard that enforces the rules it expects others to obey.

Also Read: Venezuelan Children Deserve Classrooms, Not Sidewalks, in Trinidad and Tobago

On balance, the scholars’ verdict is blunt: the legal case for these attacks is thinner than the rhetoric defending them. The U.S. can be relentless against cartels without abandoning rigor. In fact, it must be. Because when lethal force drifts beyond the map of law, the target isn’t just a smuggler’s skiff—it’s the very line that separates order from arbitrary power.