America’s New War on Drugs: A War Without Limits

Bradley Olson

U.S. Naval Special Warfare operators observe a training exercise during PANAMAX-Alpha Phase I in Panama City, Panama, July 16, 2025. (Staff Sgt. Sadie Colbert, U.S. Air Force, Joint Task Force Bravo via DVIDS)

What used to be a clear line between law enforcement and warfare has turned blurry, as on October 3rd, U.S. Southern Command destroyed what officials called a “suspected drug vessel” off the coast of Venezuela. The strike was justified as part of a counter-narcotics mission, which should sound familiar to anyone aware of the language used during the “War on Drugs” of the 80s and 90s, the campaign that slowly transformed from a domestic crime issue into an international military crusade. What started with arrests and seizures ended with raids and special operations; now, decades later, we seem to be walking down that same path again.

The pattern is not new. As the United States expanded its anti-drug missions abroad in the early 1980s, the scope of these operations began to shift from pursuing individual traffickers to targeting entire regions. Military assets were brought in to patrol, interdict, and destroy because narcotics posed a threat to national security. However, when the military starts taking on the work of law enforcement, the difference between enforcing the law and waging war begins to disappear. The recent strike near Venezuela shows that this mindset hasn’t really ever gone away.

The parallels to Iraq and Afghanistan are hard to ignore. Both conflicts began with narrow goals and were described as limited missions. Then, as objectives expanded and oversight weakened, those missions grew into years of open-ended warfare. The same logic that once justified temporary deployments in the Middle East now justifies “limited” strikes in the Caribbean. History has shown where that logic leads, and it rarely ends with restraint.

The strike near Venezuela might seem small, but it reflects a much larger shift in how the United States uses power. There was no declaration of war, no consultation under the War Powers Resolution, and no real discussion in Congress. It was, in effect, an act of war carried out under the label of law enforcement. Once that becomes normal, the line between counterterrorism, counternarcotics, and undeclared warfare entirely disappears.

Supporters of these militaresque operations call them necessary actions against transnational crime, but even if this characterization is true, it does not necessarily make said actions constitutional. The U.S. military was never meant to act as some global police force, which is why the Constitution intentionally divides those roles. Law enforcement is supposed to rest on probable cause, and when we treat suspected criminals as combatants, we step outside the boundaries of law and into something far more dangerous: a state that treats legality as optional.

Even setting legality aside, it is worth asking if any of this actually works. The United States has spent more than half a century fighting drug trade with all facets of the military-industrial complex, yet narcotics production and trafficking remain as widespread as ever. According to the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC), estimated global illegal production of cocaine rose by around a third to a record of more than 3,708 tons.

Every success only appears to clear space for another new network to rise. When the Beltrán‐Leyva Organization was dismantled through years of U.S.-backed raids and arrests, the Jalisco New Generation Cartel quickly filled the void, growing into one of the most powerful criminal groups in the world. Corruption and demand are what keep this system alive, and those problems can’t be solved with U.S. missiles.

These kinds of operations also carry diplomatic risks. When U.S. forces strike in foreign waters without warning or coordination, it undermines regional trust and fuels anti-American sentiment. The Venezuelan ambassador to the United Nations, Samuel Moncada, condemned the airstrike, calling it “a series of assassinations," allowing the Maduro government to frame the strike as an abhorrent attack on its sovereignty, which helps strengthen its domestic position and weakens Washington’s diplomatic credibility.

The American public cannot afford to grow comfortable with this pattern. A democracy built on checks and balances should be uneasy with the idea that one branch can unilaterally wage undeclared warfare under the language of law enforcement. Law enforcement and warfare are supposed to serve different purposes. One relies on justice and evidence, the other on power. When those lines fade, so do the safeguards that protect both liberty and democracy. The strike near Venezuela may not turn into another long war, but it reveals the mindset of our policymakers that makes these wars possible. If the U.S. continues to blur these differences between fighting crime and fighting enemies, it risks repeating the very mistakes that history has already warned us against.