The Caribbean is accustomed to storms, but not all storms rise from the sea. Some build quietly on distant horizons, gathering force in the manoeuvers of powerful nations. What is happening today off the coast of Venezuela is one such storm, and though it rumbles far to our south, its winds may yet reach the shores of St. Lucia and the wider Eastern Caribbean. In recent months the United States has positioned an extraordinary concentration of military power near Venezuelan waters—aircraft carriers, destroyers, submarines, amphibious assault ships and intelligence platforms—amounting, by several assessments, to nearly ten percent of the entire U.S. Navy. Washington insists the operation is aimed at dismantling Venezuelan-linked narcotics networks. But the sheer scale and character of the deployment, its precision assets and the posture of readiness, suggest a far more consequential confrontation taking shape. Increasingly, analysts warn that limited strikes on Venezuelan territory are not only possible but perhaps imminent.
For the Eastern Caribbean, this is no remote dispute. Our region has always been vulnerable to the ambitions of larger nations, and whenever the great powers push and pull, the smaller islands feel the tremors. The standoff between Washington and Caracas is rooted in a long and bitter history—decades of ideological divergence, accusations of corruption and human-rights abuses, shifting alliances, sanctions, countersanctions, and the slow economic collapse of Venezuela. With Caracas now turning increasingly toward Russia, Iran and China for support, and with the United States hardening its posture, the southern Caribbean has become the latest chessboard in a struggle for influence and strategic control. And while the official language coming out of Washington focuses on counter-narcotics, few believe that this level of force is required to intercept drug shipments. Its presence hints instead at a form of coercive diplomacy, a tightening ring meant to pressure or potentially destabilize the Maduro government. Venezuela possesses the world’s largest oil reserves—a resource that has long drawn the interest of global powers. In moments of geopolitical tension, those reserves often become bargaining chips, pressure points, or pretexts for intervention.
The danger for us In the Eastern Caribbean lies not only in the clash itself but in the way conflict distorts perception across the world. Tourism is our lifeblood, our oxygen, the most fragile sector of our economic existence. It depends less on geography than on confidence. A single headline about missiles striking coastal targets in Venezuela, even if hundreds of miles away from St. Lucia, could paint the entire Caribbean as unstable in the eyes of would-be visitors. Cruise lines are famously risk-averse and will reroute at the slightest threat. Airlines may reduce service if they sense uncertainty. Rising fuel prices triggered by turmoil in the region would strain hotels, restaurants and transport operators already operating on tight margins. And should Venezuela become further destabilized, refugee flows across the southern Caribbean could grow, placing additional pressure on islands with limited resources and delicate social balances.
None of this is speculation. The Caribbean has lived versions of this story before. From the Cuban Missile Crisis to the U.S. invasion of Grenada, our region has learned that global tensions do not bypass small islands—they wash up on our shores in the form of economic shock, travel disruptions, diplomatic fallout and, at times, human displacement. Today, as
U.S. warships gather like steel silhouettes on Venezuela’s horizon, we must accept that our sea, beautiful as it is, is more than a postcard backdrop. It is a strategic corridor, a space large powers are willing to use to project influence. And whenever those powers flex their muscles, it is the small nations that must brace for the vibrations.
The task before St. Lucia and our OECS neighbours is not to take sides but to protect our stability. Our leaders must engage carefully and quietly with both Washington and Caracas, urging de-escalation while preparing contingency plans should tourism falter. We must coordinate with CARICOM on regional security, humanitarian readiness and diplomatic messaging. Above all, we must ensure that the Caribbean’s voice is not lost amid the roar of larger nations preparing for conflict. The world must be reminded that this sea does not belong exclusively to the powerful; it is home to millions who depend on its calm for their survival.
The beauty of the Caribbean has always been a refuge, but today we face the uncomfortable truth that our calm can be disrupted not by nature but by decisions made in distant capitals. As the U.S.–Venezuela standoff intensifies, the Eastern Caribbean cannot afford complacency. Our economies, our security, and our identity as a peaceful region are tied to what happens next. And so, with vigilance and sobriety, we must watch the horizon where warships gather and hope that wisdom prevails before the storm breaks.