Colombian Petro Faces Trump Storm as Sovereignty Becomes Election Currency

A year of insults, tariffs, and sanctions has brought Colombia and the United States to the brink. Gustavo Petro calls for rallies defending sovereignty; Donald Trump hints at a Caracas-style strike. A single phone call cools tensions, for now, but distrust lingers.

A Threat Script Written in Two Capitals

It is a familiar scenario in Latin America: a left-wing leader gathers supporters to defend sovereignty, while the U.S. president accuses him of fueling American drug crises. Sanctions follow, insults rise, and military action is discussed. This sequence resembles the events leading up to the Jan. 3 special forces raid in Caracas that resulted in the capture of Nicolás Maduro and Cilia Flores, who were brought to New York to face criminal charges. A similar pattern is emerging in Colombia, as Donald Trump targets President Gustavo Petro, the nation’s first left-wing leader.

Sandra Borda of the University of the Andes argues that Trump has treated Petro as he did Maduro: blaming one leader for drug trafficking, personalising the blame and punishing the symbol. In Bogotá, however, that targeting hits a country with deeper ties to Washington than most in the region.

That is why the stakes feel both familiar and different. Petro is no Maduro, and Colombia is not Venezuela. Maduro is widely believed to have stolen last year’s election from the opposition; Petro’s 2022 victory has never been questioned. Maduro was indicted in a U.S. federal court; Petro faces no such charges. And the institutional ties binding Colombia to U.S. military and police forces are unrivalled in Latin America—a dense mesh of training, intelligence, and shared doctrine that doesn’t dissolve because presidents dislike each other.

The relationship grew even more volatile this week when Trump threatened Colombia with action similar to that in Caracas, describing Petro as “a sick man who likes making cocaine and selling it to the United States.” Petro, a former guerrilla who often uses confrontation as a political tool, responded, “I swore not to touch a weapon again … but for the homeland I will.” He called supporters to rally on Wednesday. Shortly before addressing the crowd, Petro received a call from Trump, and the two spoke for an hour. According to the Colombian foreign ministry, the meeting was “a good meeting.” Trump later said it was an “honour” to speak with Petro and invited him to the White House.

Diplomats on both sides intervened before the relationship deteriorated further. Cynthia Arnson of Johns Hopkins University, an expert on Colombia–U.S. relations, noted that it has taken “herculean efforts” to maintain the relationship. The call may have de-escalated tensions, but issues remain.

From Deportation Flights to Decertification

To see why a single call can’t fix what’s broken, rewind to Trump’s second administration. In January 2025, Petro refused to accept U.S. planes deporting Colombians unless they were treated with “dignity and respect.” Trump responded with a 25% tariff on Colombian goods and revoked visas for some officials. After a later agreement, the U.S. dropped tariffs—but the tone was set: respect is negotiated by threats.

By September, the pressure tightened. The United States “decertified” Colombia for not doing enough to combat illegal drug production and trafficking. The U.S. cited rising cocaine production and blamed “the failures and incompetence of Gustavo Petro and his inner circle.” Even then, the bond did not snap. A waiver allowed U.S. aid to keep flowing. The message was contradictory but revealing: punish rhetorically, maintain strategically.

A week later at the UN General Assembly, Petro addressed a pro-Palestine rally in New York with a megaphone, urging American soldiers to disobey illegal orders. The United States revoked his visa. In October, sanctions targeted Petro, his wife, son, and interior minister Armando Benedetti, citing alleged involvement in the global illicit drug trade.

Here, the difference between narrative and evidence matters. Colombia is the world’s largest producer of cocaine, but the report notes there is no evidence that Petro, elected in 2022, is involved in the business. The trade is largely controlled by illegal armed groups—the Gulf Clan, the National Liberation Army (ELN), and dissident factions of the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC), most of whose members demobilised after the 2016 peace deal. In other words, the cocaine economy survives presidents. It is a hydra with local roots and international arteries, fed by money, weapons, and the demand of foreign markets that rarely admit their own role.

Petro’s government points to seizures as proof of effort: 836.8 tonnes between January and October 2025, described as unprecedented. But those successes have been eclipsed by the scale of production. The United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC) reportedly estimated potential production at 3,000 tonnes in 2024, though official figures had not yet been released. In the political arena, seizures feel like sandbags against a flood—useful, visible, and still not enough.

When U.S. forces began bombing suspected drug boats in the Caribbean and the Pacific, Petro accused American officials of having “committed murder and violated our sovereignty in territorial waters.” Drug trafficking was reportedly central in the Petro–Trump call. According to Benedetti, Petro asked for cooperation against ELN fighters who often cross into Venezuela when attacked inside Colombia. Even amid insults, both sides return to the same reality: Colombia’s conflict and Colombia’s cocaine are not neatly separable.

Campaign Season Under a Foreign Shadow

The tension also feeds Petro’s political style. He thrives on conflict, posting long social-media rants and delivering lengthy, sometimes rambling speeches. “The more I am attacked, the more support I get,” he once told a reporter. That instinct makes him catnip to Trump. It is combustible inside a region where leaders often learn that outrage travels faster than policy.

Other left-leaning presidents—Claudia Sheinbaum in Mexico, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva in Brazil—have clashed with Trump. Adam Isacson of the Washington Office on Latin America says Petro is “in his own category,” a leader who comments on Trump almost daily with unusually strong language. The two men are locked in a performative duel: one sells dominance; the other sells defiance. Both gamble that their domestic audiences will reward the posture.

Petro’s rebellious identity is not just branding. He joined the M-19 urban guerrilla group at 17, later moving into its political wing. He served as an ombudsman in 1981 while still a covert member, and in 1985 he was detained by the army for possessing weapons—he said they were planted—and subjected to four days of torture. The M-19 demobilised in 1990; after helping draft a new constitution, Petro won a seat in Congress and, in 2002, drew the most votes of any representative. From that platform, he presented evidence of collusion between politicians and right-wing paramilitary leaders implicating allies of then-president Álvaro Uribe; many were eventually convicted. He became mayor of Bogotá in 2011 for a turbulent term and, after failed presidential bids, won the presidency in 2022. It is a biography built for confrontation—one that treats the state not as sacred, but as contested ground.

But confrontation has a cost, especially now. Borda warns that if Petro insists on provoking Trump, it could become more costly domestically. Colombia faces legislative elections in March and the first round of a presidential vote in May. Petro’s term ends Aug. 7, and he is constitutionally barred from seeking reelection. In other words, the country is entering a season when every foreign threat becomes internal ammunition.

Isacson argues a belligerent U.S. stance could boost the left-wing candidate Iván Cepeda, because a “new aggressive United States” is perfect fuel for the left. Meanwhile, right-wing candidate Paloma Valencia of the Democratic Centre tried to fence off the Venezuelan comparison: Colombia’s legal and political reality is different, she wrote, and the right would beat Petro and his heirs at the ballot box “without intervention from anyone.” Underneath both claims lies the same fear: that Colombia could be dragged into a regional nightmare in which sovereignty becomes negotiable.

One hour on the phone does not resolve these concerns. Maduro spoke with Trump less than two months before his capture, highlighting that diplomacy and escalation can coexist until conditions change. Borda described the recent conversation and planned Washington meeting as “a step in the right direction.” In Bogotá, this is seen as progress rather than resolution. In Latin America, challenges recur—the direction simply shifts.

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