By any reasonable democratic standard, Nicolás Maduro is not a legitimate president. His continued grip on power is the result of manipulated elections, systematic repression, and the hollowing out of Venezuela’s institutions. Over the years, his regime has evolved into something far more corrosive than an authoritarian government: a criminalized power structure intertwined with drug trafficking, armed groups, and transnational illicit networks that destabilize the wider region.
For many in the Caribbean, including here in Curaçao, this reality is neither abstract nor distant. We have lived with the consequences—illegal migration, organized crime, human trafficking, and the erosion of regional security. Whether people say it out loud or not, there is a broad, quiet understanding that doing nothing about Maduro is no longer an option.
That is why the current actions of the United States—economic pressure, maritime enforcement, and a visible military posture—are widely seen as necessary, even if controversial. Washington has placed enormous political and strategic capital on the table. Roughly 15 percent of U.S. global naval capacity, according to defense analysts, is now concentrated in and around the Caribbean basin. This is not symbolic pressure. It is real, measurable, and costly.
And that is precisely where the concern lies.
The Risk of Half-Measures
If, after all this pressure, Maduro remains firmly in power, the consequences will extend far beyond Venezuela. It would represent a strategic failure with global implications. Not because regime change is an end in itself, but because of the signal it sends.
To Russia, China, and Iran, the message would be unmistakable: the United States can mobilize overwhelming force, enforce sanctions, dominate sea lanes—and still fail to dislodge a regime it openly labels illegitimate. That is not deterrence. That is erosion.
In a world already drifting toward multipolar instability, credibility matters. If pressure is applied at this scale and produces no decisive outcome, adversaries will draw their own conclusions about where American red lines truly lie.
Curaçao’s Stake Is Not Ideological—It’s Practical
Curaçao knows better than most what it means to live next to a failed state. For decades, the island depended heavily on Venezuela—through oil refining, trade, and movement of people. When the border closed, Curaçao was forced to adapt. Painfully at first, but successfully.
The island diversified. Tourism expanded. New markets were found. Curaçao proved it could survive—and even grow—without Venezuelan dependence.
Yet it would be naïve to suggest that Curaçao would not be better served by a stable, cooperative Venezuela.
A post-Maduro Venezuela—one that respects international norms, cooperates on security, and rebuilds economic ties—would be a net positive for Curaçao, Aruba, Bonaire, and the wider Caribbean. Not because of nostalgia, but because regional stability benefits everyone.
As part of the Kingdom of the Netherlands, and as a close partner of the United States, Curaçao’s strategic alignment is clear. A Venezuela that is hostile to Washington and intertwined with transnational criminal networks is not just a Venezuelan problem—it is a Caribbean problem.
The Moment Demands Clarity
This is not an argument for reckless intervention. Nor is it a call for war. It is a call for strategic coherence.
If the United States is willing to escalate pressure to unprecedented levels, then it must also be prepared for the political consequences of failure. Half-measures, prolonged standoffs, and symbolic shows of force that leave the status quo intact are the worst possible outcome.
For Curaçao, the hope is simple: that this moment leads to real change, not another chapter of frozen conflict and regional instability. Because if Maduro survives this, it will not only embolden him—it will embolden every authoritarian regime watching closely from afar.
And that is a price the region, and the world, can ill afford.