Editor’s Note: Albert “Jim” Marckwardt co-leads the Americas program at the Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies and teaches at the Inter-American Defense College. He is a retired U.S. Army Lieutenant Colonel and served as Country Director for Colombia and Venezuela at the Pentagon.
Marian Vidaurri is a research associate at the Cornell University Brooks Center on Global Democracy and author of the forthcoming book, “Venezuelan Negotiations: From Deadlock to Collapse”
By Benjamin Gedan, Senior Fellow and Director, Latin America Program
Maximum Pressure, The Sequel
There is a new maximum pressure campaign targeting Venezuela. The original version, during the first Trump administration, involved primarily the use of diplomatic and economic tools designed to topple the Venezuelan strongman. That included the recognition of opposition leader Juan Guaidó as Venezuela’s president by more than 60 countries, and U.S. sanctions on the oil sector and targeting Venezuelan officials and their family members. At the time, however, Trump only hinted at the possibility of military action, warning that “all options are on the table” — a threat supported by a photo of his National Security Adviser’s yellow legal pad that revealed hand-written notes about deploying troops to Colombia.
This time around, Trump is less shy about using the military to increase pressure. In late August, he began operations in the Caribbean, with the stated aim of reducing drug shipments. He has deployed a far bigger military force than ever before for this kind of mission: three destroyers; a cruiser; amphibious assault ships; a littoral combat ship; and the special-operations mothership MV Ocean Trader. An aircraft carrier strike group recently arrived in the Caribbean. In Puerto Rico, the United States placed 10 Marine Corps F-35Bs, MQ-9 Reaper drones, and P-8 Poseidon spy planes at José Aponte de la Torre, where the Secretary of Defense announced, “this isn’t training.”
Indeed, U.S. forces have already struck 19 small boats, primarily near Venezuela’s coastline, killing 76 people and counting. The White House claims the targets were so-called narco-terrorists — an approach drawing questions about whether the president is complying with the War Powers Act and international law. In protest, the United Kingdom and Colombia have both halted intelligence sharing on narcotrafficking. But the deployment has also sparked another debate: Will the administration stop at targeting drug cartels or escalate its efforts to drive Maduro from power?
The prospect of a U.S. war in South America has led to comparisons with previous U.S. invasions in the region, including Grenada in 1983 and Panama in 1989. Some reminisce about the ease with which the U.S. military succeeded in Panama. Such nostalgia should be treated warily. After all, the population of Panama at the time was roughly 2.4 million, compared to 28.5 million in Venezuela today. Moreover, Panama is roughly the size of South Carolina, while Venezuela is twice the size of California. Finally, Panama already had U.S. troops stationed in the country, at bases near the Panama Canal.
Despite Panama’s size, the U.S. invasion required several weeks and involved 26,000 U.S. troops, including 22,000 from the Army, 3,400 from the Air Force, 900 Marines, and 700 Navy personnel. It began with the 82nd Airborne, 75th Ranger Regiment, and Special Operations forces assaulting key airfields and other military assets, aided by F-117 stealth strikes as a diversion and the deployment of M551 Sheridan light tanks. Later, the United States stabilization force arrived, and the war ended in early January, following a successful manhunt for Panama’s military ruler, Manuel Noriega.
So far, the U.S. military has at its immediate disposal about 15,000 troops in and around the Caribbean. The Pentagon could rapidly increase those numbers by an additional 15,000 troops, which would roughly match the forces deployed in Panama. An all-out invasion similar to Panama would likely require a larger force, though its deployment would occur in phases — beginning with shaping operations, such as establishing air superiority, followed by the landing of rapidly deployable units, with reinforcements arriving in waves. Given the short distance from the United States, this would be very much within the capability of the U.S military, though U.S. forces would encounter challenging terrain, including a range of combat-ready actors beyond the Russian-armed military, such as a government-armed militia, drug cartels and criminal gangs, and Colombian guerillas.
Short of an invasion, the military could opt for a Libya-style intervention centered on an air campaign, supplemented by limited special operations forces to support a hoped-for armed uprising on the ground. Already, the president has authorized the CIA to conduct covert operations in Venezuela — support that could underpin a strategy principally reliant upon air and naval power.
Beyond logistics, however, there remains a larger question about whether the administration has the legal authority to go to war in Venezuela. Already, its legal authorities for operations in the Caribbean and Pacific are coming under scrutiny; members of Congress have demanded that the Pentagon explain the legal basis for lethal boat strikes, and an effort in the Senate to apply the War Powers Act has twice narrowly failed. Under the War Powers Act, the president can deploy forces for up to 60 days, with a possible 30-day withdrawal period, without authorization from Congress. That clock started on September 1 and has since expired. It is possible an operation against Venezuela could be considered distinct from the attacks on alleged drug runners that the administration describes as a “non-international armed conflict.” In the case of Panama, President George H.W. Bush completed the mission before the 60-day clock was up.
There are other complications. Continued military escalation by the United States would likely enjoy support from the large Venezuelan diaspora and the domestic opposition, including María Corina Machado, the 2025 Nobel Peace Prize winner who successfully campaigned last July for the election of Edmundo González, only to see the regime throw out the official results. However, the United States lacks the broad regional backing it enjoyed for its diplomatic pressure campaign in the first Trump administration. Notably, Venezuela’s two largest neighbors, Colombia and Brazil, are led by governments openly critical of the U.S. president.
Regional Revolt
Nostalgia for the war against Panama is in some ways understandable; as wars go, that one went relatively smoothly, and ever since, Panama has been a reliable partner and strong democracy. However, like a charitable obituary for a controversial figure, reflections on the last war in Central America tend to downplay gloomier aspects of the invasion and, in doing so, make a war in South America more likely.
Three decades or so after Operation Just Cause removed Noriega from power, the war against Panama is generally remembered in Washington for its speed and success. The United States first targeted the Panamanian military headquarters on December 20, and by January 3, Noriega had surrendered. Panama has held seven orderly presidential elections since the invasion, a rarity in Central America. Importantly, however, the reaction to the invasion was hardly triumphal throughout Latin America. The region has built up strong antibodies to U.S. military interventions, and the war against Panama triggered a rapid and negative response.
On December 22, members of the Organization of American States voted, 20 to 1, to censure the United States. Washington was alone in opposing the resolution, and five countries abstained. Peru suspended security cooperation and flew the Panamanian flag at its presidential palace in protest. It was the first time in the history of the organization, with its headquarters down the street from the White House, that members formally criticized the United States. They did not mince words; the final resolution said governments “deeply deplore” the U.S. action and demanded the withdrawal of U.S. troops.
Noriega, a repressive ruler and a drug runner, had few friends in the region. Even so, Latin American governments saw the invasion as a return to the “gunboat diplomacy” that had characterized hemispheric relations under the 1823 Monroe Doctrine, including regular U.S. military interventions. That included military deployments in 1965 in the Dominican Republic and in 1983 in Grenada.
The reaction was similar at the United Nations, where even a representative of the Panamanian opposition conceded, “everyone is unhappy about the invasion.” A majority of the UN Security Council voted for a statement that “strongly deplores the intervention in Panama,” leading the United States, Britain, and France to veto the resolution. At the UN General Assembly, a similar statement passed easily. For the State Department, the experience echoed a diplomatic embarrassment in 1971, at a special Security Council meeting in Panama City, when the United States felt compelled to veto a resolution criticizing U.S. control of the Panama Canal. In Panama, reaction to the war was mixed. Even so, the government has designated December 20 as a day of national mourning in honor of individuals who died during the U.S. invasion.
There is no telling how Latin American leaders or regional public opinion would react this time around. Amid anxiety over U.S. sanctions and tariffs, the initial response to the U.S. military strikes in the Caribbean and Pacific was relatively quiet. Only Colombian President Gustavo Petro persistently objected, saying the United States “wants to isolate itself.” The Dominican Republic, by contrast, boasted about its role in one of the U.S. attacks, after recovering cocaine that a boat targeted by the United States had been transporting. For its part, Grenada said it was considering a U.S. request to install radar and other equipment on the island.
It helps that the United States says it deployed an armada in the Caribbean to fight drug trafficking, rather than bring about regime change in Venezuela. Organized crime is a scourge throughout the Americas, not only in traditional battlegrounds such as Mexico and Colombia, but also in countries like Ecuador and Costa Rica that had been off the beaten path for transnational gangsters. Maduro, moreover, is a helpful foil for the United States. He is widely disliked in the region, having alienated his counterparts through a decade of human rights abuses at home and misrule that led nearly 8 million Venezuelans to flee the country, most finding refuge elsewhere in Latin America and the Caribbean.
That said, the United States, so far, has been menacing Venezuela from international waters. Strikes on Venezuelan territory might strike a different chord in the Americas. Trump’s acknowledgement that he had authorized CIA activity in Venezuela is a further provocation.
Enter Ghosts
The U.S. military deployment and drone and missile strikes in the Caribbean and Pacific have awakened ghosts of the 20th century. In recent weeks, several of the region’s governments have begun forcefully criticizing the possibility of a U.S. intervention that they regard as an imperialist tactic by a superpower neighbor.
The Caribbean Community and Common Market (CARICOM), for example, published a nearly unanimous communique describing the Caribbean “as a zone of peace” and suggesting the United States should fight drug trafficking through regional cooperation. The leaders of the three largest democracies in the region — Brazil, Mexico, and Colombia — have now all expressed opposition to the U.S. airstrikes and Trump’s reported intentions to shape political outcomes in South America. President Luis Inacio Lula da Silva of Brazil rejected “foreign intervention” in the region, while Petro accused Trump of “murder” and “acts of tyranny.” For her part, Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum, during one of her daily Mañanera press conferences at the National Palace, said Mexico supports the “self-determination of peoples and no interference and invasion,” a policy known as the Estrada Doctrine that is almost as timeworn as the Monroe Doctrine used to justify U.S. regional interventions.
So far, the Organization of American States has been silent. Member states have not held any formal meetings on the subject, and the most recent Permanent Council resolution about Venezuela was approved more than a year ago. Not surprisingly, the new Secretary General is similarly reticent; the United States finances more than half of the organization’s budget.
That is not the case at CELAC, a regional body that excludes the United States and Canada and at the moment is led by Colombia. In its most recent summit — a high-level meeting with European Union officials in early November in Santa Marta, on Colombia’s Caribbean coast — the U.S. military actions were one of the main subjects of discussion, overshadowing the summit’s broader agenda. Without explicitly mentioning the United States or Venezuela, the summit’s joint statement noted that several CELAC member states had “emphasized their national positions regarding the situation in the Caribbean and the Pacific” and their “commitment to strengthening mechanisms for dialogue, coordination, and technical assistance to jointly address these challenges.”
Tensions over the U.S. airstrikes and reported regime change strategy are unfortunate, whatever the endgame. The debate is diverting political energy and attention from two problems in the Western Hemisphere that are of interest from Washington to Santiago: drugs and dictators. Indeed, the controversy has already led the Dominican Republic to cancel the Summit of the Americas, a meeting of leaders from throughout the hemisphere that was scheduled for December and takes place just once every three years.
Although U.S. military attacks are widely regarded as the wrong response to the region’s struggles to fight organized crime and protect democracy, regional leaders offer few alternatives. There is widespread condemnation of CIA activity in Latin America but little discussion of the extraterritorial activities of Venezuela’s SEBIN or Cuba’s G2 intelligence agency. Leaders rightly raise concerns about the human rights of the civilians targeted by the U.S. airstrikes, but they say far less about the human rights of Cubans, Nicaraguans, Salvadorans, and Venezuelans suffering government repression. Criticism of Trump is easier; according to a recent Pew study, favorable views of the United States have sharply decreased in several Latin American countries in recent months, including in Mexico, where support fell from 61% in 2024 to 29% today.
For that reason, it has been difficult for the region to use the threatened U.S. intervention as a springboard for a Latin America-led response to the prolonged Venezuela crisis — one that does not rely on a foreign military intervention but instead finds a path to a peaceful transition to democracy and the rule of law. The 2024 Venezuelan presidential election introduced the possibility of a peaceful path forward, but it did not dethrone Maduro. Negotiations over the past decade have also failed to solve the crisis. Most importantly, Latin American and Caribbean governments have not shown consistent political will to reverse rising authoritarianism in the hemisphere.
Only one dictatorship, Cuba, survived the 20th century in the Western Hemisphere; today, there are four. The pattern of dictatorship in Latin America is not new, but it need not be repeated. Old ghosts, old formulas, and nostalgia-driven policies of regime change are not the remedy for the region’s 21st-century problems.
A War in Venezuela Would Not Solve Latin America’s Drug and Dictator Problems
By Marian Vidaurri • Jim Marckwardt • Benjamin N. Gedan
Grand Strategy
Editor’s Note: Albert “Jim” Marckwardt co-leads the Americas program at the Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies and teaches at the Inter-American Defense College. He is a retired U.S. Army Lieutenant Colonel and served as Country Director for Colombia and Venezuela at the Pentagon.
Marian Vidaurri is a research associate at the Cornell University Brooks Center on Global Democracy and author of the forthcoming book, “Venezuelan Negotiations: From Deadlock to Collapse”
By Benjamin Gedan, Senior Fellow and Director, Latin America Program
Maximum Pressure, The Sequel
There is a new maximum pressure campaign targeting Venezuela. The original version, during the first Trump administration, involved primarily the use of diplomatic and economic tools designed to topple the Venezuelan strongman. That included the recognition of opposition leader Juan Guaidó as Venezuela’s president by more than 60 countries, and U.S. sanctions on the oil sector and targeting Venezuelan officials and their family members. At the time, however, Trump only hinted at the possibility of military action, warning that “all options are on the table” — a threat supported by a photo of his National Security Adviser’s yellow legal pad that revealed hand-written notes about deploying troops to Colombia.
This time around, Trump is less shy about using the military to increase pressure. In late August, he began operations in the Caribbean, with the stated aim of reducing drug shipments. He has deployed a far bigger military force than ever before for this kind of mission: three destroyers; a cruiser; amphibious assault ships; a littoral combat ship; and the special-operations mothership MV Ocean Trader. An aircraft carrier strike group recently arrived in the Caribbean. In Puerto Rico, the United States placed 10 Marine Corps F-35Bs, MQ-9 Reaper drones, and P-8 Poseidon spy planes at José Aponte de la Torre, where the Secretary of Defense announced, “this isn’t training.”
Indeed, U.S. forces have already struck 19 small boats, primarily near Venezuela’s coastline, killing 76 people and counting. The White House claims the targets were so-called narco-terrorists — an approach drawing questions about whether the president is complying with the War Powers Act and international law. In protest, the United Kingdom and Colombia have both halted intelligence sharing on narcotrafficking. But the deployment has also sparked another debate: Will the administration stop at targeting drug cartels or escalate its efforts to drive Maduro from power?
The prospect of a U.S. war in South America has led to comparisons with previous U.S. invasions in the region, including Grenada in 1983 and Panama in 1989. Some reminisce about the ease with which the U.S. military succeeded in Panama. Such nostalgia should be treated warily. After all, the population of Panama at the time was roughly 2.4 million, compared to 28.5 million in Venezuela today. Moreover, Panama is roughly the size of South Carolina, while Venezuela is twice the size of California. Finally, Panama already had U.S. troops stationed in the country, at bases near the Panama Canal.
Despite Panama’s size, the U.S. invasion required several weeks and involved 26,000 U.S. troops, including 22,000 from the Army, 3,400 from the Air Force, 900 Marines, and 700 Navy personnel. It began with the 82nd Airborne, 75th Ranger Regiment, and Special Operations forces assaulting key airfields and other military assets, aided by F-117 stealth strikes as a diversion and the deployment of M551 Sheridan light tanks. Later, the United States stabilization force arrived, and the war ended in early January, following a successful manhunt for Panama’s military ruler, Manuel Noriega.
So far, the U.S. military has at its immediate disposal about 15,000 troops in and around the Caribbean. The Pentagon could rapidly increase those numbers by an additional 15,000 troops, which would roughly match the forces deployed in Panama. An all-out invasion similar to Panama would likely require a larger force, though its deployment would occur in phases — beginning with shaping operations, such as establishing air superiority, followed by the landing of rapidly deployable units, with reinforcements arriving in waves. Given the short distance from the United States, this would be very much within the capability of the U.S military, though U.S. forces would encounter challenging terrain, including a range of combat-ready actors beyond the Russian-armed military, such as a government-armed militia, drug cartels and criminal gangs, and Colombian guerillas.
Short of an invasion, the military could opt for a Libya-style intervention centered on an air campaign, supplemented by limited special operations forces to support a hoped-for armed uprising on the ground. Already, the president has authorized the CIA to conduct covert operations in Venezuela — support that could underpin a strategy principally reliant upon air and naval power.
Beyond logistics, however, there remains a larger question about whether the administration has the legal authority to go to war in Venezuela. Already, its legal authorities for operations in the Caribbean and Pacific are coming under scrutiny; members of Congress have demanded that the Pentagon explain the legal basis for lethal boat strikes, and an effort in the Senate to apply the War Powers Act has twice narrowly failed. Under the War Powers Act, the president can deploy forces for up to 60 days, with a possible 30-day withdrawal period, without authorization from Congress. That clock started on September 1 and has since expired. It is possible an operation against Venezuela could be considered distinct from the attacks on alleged drug runners that the administration describes as a “non-international armed conflict.” In the case of Panama, President George H.W. Bush completed the mission before the 60-day clock was up.
There are other complications. Continued military escalation by the United States would likely enjoy support from the large Venezuelan diaspora and the domestic opposition, including María Corina Machado, the 2025 Nobel Peace Prize winner who successfully campaigned last July for the election of Edmundo González, only to see the regime throw out the official results. However, the United States lacks the broad regional backing it enjoyed for its diplomatic pressure campaign in the first Trump administration. Notably, Venezuela’s two largest neighbors, Colombia and Brazil, are led by governments openly critical of the U.S. president.
Regional Revolt
Nostalgia for the war against Panama is in some ways understandable; as wars go, that one went relatively smoothly, and ever since, Panama has been a reliable partner and strong democracy. However, like a charitable obituary for a controversial figure, reflections on the last war in Central America tend to downplay gloomier aspects of the invasion and, in doing so, make a war in South America more likely.
Three decades or so after Operation Just Cause removed Noriega from power, the war against Panama is generally remembered in Washington for its speed and success. The United States first targeted the Panamanian military headquarters on December 20, and by January 3, Noriega had surrendered. Panama has held seven orderly presidential elections since the invasion, a rarity in Central America. Importantly, however, the reaction to the invasion was hardly triumphal throughout Latin America. The region has built up strong antibodies to U.S. military interventions, and the war against Panama triggered a rapid and negative response.
On December 22, members of the Organization of American States voted, 20 to 1, to censure the United States. Washington was alone in opposing the resolution, and five countries abstained. Peru suspended security cooperation and flew the Panamanian flag at its presidential palace in protest. It was the first time in the history of the organization, with its headquarters down the street from the White House, that members formally criticized the United States. They did not mince words; the final resolution said governments “deeply deplore” the U.S. action and demanded the withdrawal of U.S. troops.
Noriega, a repressive ruler and a drug runner, had few friends in the region. Even so, Latin American governments saw the invasion as a return to the “gunboat diplomacy” that had characterized hemispheric relations under the 1823 Monroe Doctrine, including regular U.S. military interventions. That included military deployments in 1965 in the Dominican Republic and in 1983 in Grenada.
The reaction was similar at the United Nations, where even a representative of the Panamanian opposition conceded, “everyone is unhappy about the invasion.” A majority of the UN Security Council voted for a statement that “strongly deplores the intervention in Panama,” leading the United States, Britain, and France to veto the resolution. At the UN General Assembly, a similar statement passed easily. For the State Department, the experience echoed a diplomatic embarrassment in 1971, at a special Security Council meeting in Panama City, when the United States felt compelled to veto a resolution criticizing U.S. control of the Panama Canal. In Panama, reaction to the war was mixed. Even so, the government has designated December 20 as a day of national mourning in honor of individuals who died during the U.S. invasion.
There is no telling how Latin American leaders or regional public opinion would react this time around. Amid anxiety over U.S. sanctions and tariffs, the initial response to the U.S. military strikes in the Caribbean and Pacific was relatively quiet. Only Colombian President Gustavo Petro persistently objected, saying the United States “wants to isolate itself.” The Dominican Republic, by contrast, boasted about its role in one of the U.S. attacks, after recovering cocaine that a boat targeted by the United States had been transporting. For its part, Grenada said it was considering a U.S. request to install radar and other equipment on the island.
It helps that the United States says it deployed an armada in the Caribbean to fight drug trafficking, rather than bring about regime change in Venezuela. Organized crime is a scourge throughout the Americas, not only in traditional battlegrounds such as Mexico and Colombia, but also in countries like Ecuador and Costa Rica that had been off the beaten path for transnational gangsters. Maduro, moreover, is a helpful foil for the United States. He is widely disliked in the region, having alienated his counterparts through a decade of human rights abuses at home and misrule that led nearly 8 million Venezuelans to flee the country, most finding refuge elsewhere in Latin America and the Caribbean.
That said, the United States, so far, has been menacing Venezuela from international waters. Strikes on Venezuelan territory might strike a different chord in the Americas. Trump’s acknowledgement that he had authorized CIA activity in Venezuela is a further provocation.
Enter Ghosts
The U.S. military deployment and drone and missile strikes in the Caribbean and Pacific have awakened ghosts of the 20th century. In recent weeks, several of the region’s governments have begun forcefully criticizing the possibility of a U.S. intervention that they regard as an imperialist tactic by a superpower neighbor.
The Caribbean Community and Common Market (CARICOM), for example, published a nearly unanimous communique describing the Caribbean “as a zone of peace” and suggesting the United States should fight drug trafficking through regional cooperation. The leaders of the three largest democracies in the region — Brazil, Mexico, and Colombia — have now all expressed opposition to the U.S. airstrikes and Trump’s reported intentions to shape political outcomes in South America. President Luis Inacio Lula da Silva of Brazil rejected “foreign intervention” in the region, while Petro accused Trump of “murder” and “acts of tyranny.” For her part, Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum, during one of her daily Mañanera press conferences at the National Palace, said Mexico supports the “self-determination of peoples and no interference and invasion,” a policy known as the Estrada Doctrine that is almost as timeworn as the Monroe Doctrine used to justify U.S. regional interventions.
So far, the Organization of American States has been silent. Member states have not held any formal meetings on the subject, and the most recent Permanent Council resolution about Venezuela was approved more than a year ago. Not surprisingly, the new Secretary General is similarly reticent; the United States finances more than half of the organization’s budget.
That is not the case at CELAC, a regional body that excludes the United States and Canada and at the moment is led by Colombia. In its most recent summit — a high-level meeting with European Union officials in early November in Santa Marta, on Colombia’s Caribbean coast — the U.S. military actions were one of the main subjects of discussion, overshadowing the summit’s broader agenda. Without explicitly mentioning the United States or Venezuela, the summit’s joint statement noted that several CELAC member states had “emphasized their national positions regarding the situation in the Caribbean and the Pacific” and their “commitment to strengthening mechanisms for dialogue, coordination, and technical assistance to jointly address these challenges.”
Tensions over the U.S. airstrikes and reported regime change strategy are unfortunate, whatever the endgame. The debate is diverting political energy and attention from two problems in the Western Hemisphere that are of interest from Washington to Santiago: drugs and dictators. Indeed, the controversy has already led the Dominican Republic to cancel the Summit of the Americas, a meeting of leaders from throughout the hemisphere that was scheduled for December and takes place just once every three years.
Although U.S. military attacks are widely regarded as the wrong response to the region’s struggles to fight organized crime and protect democracy, regional leaders offer few alternatives. There is widespread condemnation of CIA activity in Latin America but little discussion of the extraterritorial activities of Venezuela’s SEBIN or Cuba’s G2 intelligence agency. Leaders rightly raise concerns about the human rights of the civilians targeted by the U.S. airstrikes, but they say far less about the human rights of Cubans, Nicaraguans, Salvadorans, and Venezuelans suffering government repression. Criticism of Trump is easier; according to a recent Pew study, favorable views of the United States have sharply decreased in several Latin American countries in recent months, including in Mexico, where support fell from 61% in 2024 to 29% today.
For that reason, it has been difficult for the region to use the threatened U.S. intervention as a springboard for a Latin America-led response to the prolonged Venezuela crisis — one that does not rely on a foreign military intervention but instead finds a path to a peaceful transition to democracy and the rule of law. The 2024 Venezuelan presidential election introduced the possibility of a peaceful path forward, but it did not dethrone Maduro. Negotiations over the past decade have also failed to solve the crisis. Most importantly, Latin American and Caribbean governments have not shown consistent political will to reverse rising authoritarianism in the hemisphere.
Only one dictatorship, Cuba, survived the 20th century in the Western Hemisphere; today, there are four. The pattern of dictatorship in Latin America is not new, but it need not be repeated. Old ghosts, old formulas, and nostalgia-driven policies of regime change are not the remedy for the region’s 21st-century problems.
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