Once and for all, we are going to end them.
En los márgenes de un club de golf en Florida, Donald Trump convocó a líderes latinoamericanos para anunciar una alianza de diecisiete naciones contra los cárteles de la droga, invocando la fuerza militar como principio fundador. La iniciativa refleja una vieja ambición hemisférica: la de Washington como árbitro del orden en el continente. Pero la ausencia de México y Brasil —los actores más determinantes en el tráfico de narcóticos— recuerda que las alianzas construidas sobre afinidades ideológicas rara vez alcanzan la geografía del problema que pretenden resolver.
- Trump prometió usar fuerza militar letal para destruir los cárteles, describiendo misiles de precisión capaces de eliminar a sus líderes en sus propios hogares.
- La coalición reúne a gobiernos de derecha como los de Milei, Bukele y Noboa, pero excluye a México y Brasil, los países más implicados en las redes del narcotráfico continental.
- La ausencia de las dos mayores economías de América Latina deja un vacío estratégico que la diplomacia del Departamento de Estado intentó minimizar con promesas de expansión futura.
- Analistas advierten que la alianza carece de una agenda de desarrollo regional y descansa sobre apoyos gubernamentales frágiles, vulnerables al escepticismo histórico de las poblaciones latinoamericanas ante la intervención estadounidense.
- La violencia de los cárteles ha transformado países antes seguros como Ecuador y Chile, creando el clima político que hace posible —y en algunos sectores bienvenida— una respuesta militarizada.
Un sábado de principios de marzo, Donald Trump reunió a una docena de líderes latinoamericanos en su club de golf en Doral, Florida, para anunciar lo que describió como una alianza histórica: diecisiete naciones comprometidas a destruir los cárteles de la droga mediante el uso de fuerza militar letal. "De una vez por todas, vamos a acabar con ellos", declaró Trump, con la certeza de quien no contempla la posibilidad de ser desobedecido.
Entre los asistentes figuraban Javier Milei, Nayib Bukele y Daniel Noboa, junto a representantes de Bolivia, Costa Rica, Honduras, Panamá y otros países. Todos comparten con Trump una visión de seguridad como prioridad absoluta y, en varios casos, han recibido respaldo político o financiero de Washington. Milei, por ejemplo, obtuvo un swap cambiario de 20.000 millones de dólares de Estados Unidos en 2025. La composición de la alianza revelaba tanto sus ambiciones como sus límites.
México y Brasil brillaron por su ausencia. Trump calificó a México de "epicentro de la violencia de los cárteles" y lo descartó como socio confiable; Lula da Silva representa un proyecto ideológico incompatible con el suyo. Sin embargo, México es la principal ruta de tránsito de narcóticos hacia Estados Unidos, y las organizaciones criminales brasileñas controlan buena parte del flujo de cocaína hacia Europa. Una alianza antinarcóticos sin estos dos países es, por definición, incompleta.
El anuncio se inscribe en una estrategia hemisférica más amplia: la versión trumpiana de la Doctrina Monroe. En enero, fuerzas estadounidenses habían apoyado la captura de Nicolás Maduro en Venezuela; la administración había impuesto un embargo petrolero a Cuba. Cada movimiento refuerza el mismo mensaje: Washington está recuperando el control de su patio trasero.
Pero los analistas ven fragilidad bajo la superficie. Irene Mia, del Instituto Internacional de Estudios Estratégicos, señala que la coalición se construye sobre una agenda puramente negativa —frenar la migración, el crimen, las amenazas a la seguridad estadounidense— sin visión de desarrollo compartido ni lazos más profundos. Las poblaciones latinoamericanas guardan una desconfianza histórica hacia la intervención de Washington, y si la opinión pública o los gobiernos cambian, toda la estructura podría desmoronarse. Lo que sí es cierto es que la urgencia existe: Ecuador y Chile, antes considerados relativamente seguros, han visto cómo el crimen organizado transformó su realidad en pocos años. Esa violencia fue la que llevó al poder a los líderes hoy sentados en Doral. Si la fuerza militar puede desmantelar redes que ya están tejidas en el tejido de múltiples sociedades es, todavía, una pregunta sin respuesta.
On a Saturday in early March, Donald Trump gathered a dozen Latin American leaders at his golf club in Doral, Florida, to announce what he called a historic alliance. Seventeen nations would join forces, he declared, to destroy the drug cartels that now operate across the Western Hemisphere with near impunity. The commitment, Trump said, would rest on a single principle: the willingness to use lethal military force.
"The heart of our agreement is a commitment to use lethal military force to destroy these sinister cartels and terrorist networks," Trump told the assembled presidents. "Once and for all, we are going to end them." He spoke with the casual certainty of someone accustomed to being obeyed, describing precision missiles and their capacity to eliminate cartel leaders in their own homes. The rhetoric was blunt, almost theatrical—but the intent was unmistakable. Washington was preparing to intervene directly in the drug wars that have ravaged the region.
The attendees represented a particular slice of Latin American politics. Argentina's Javier Milei, El Salvador's Nayib Bukele, and Ecuador's Daniel Noboa sat among the invitees—all right-leaning figures who have aligned themselves with Trump's worldview and his vision of American dominance in the hemisphere. Bolivia, Costa Rica, the Dominican Republic, Honduras, Panama, Paraguay, Guyana, and Trinidad and Tobago sent representatives. Chile's president-elect, José Antonio Kast, also attended. These were governments that shared Trump's alarm about cartel violence and, in many cases, had benefited from his political support or financial backing. Milei, for instance, had received a $20 billion currency swap from the United States in 2025. Honduras's Nasry Asfura had won Trump's backing in recent elections.
But the alliance's composition revealed as much about its limitations as its ambitions. Mexico and Brazil—the two nations most central to the continental drug trade—were absent. Mexico, Trump said bluntly, was the "epicenter of cartel violence" and could not be trusted as a partner. Brazil's leftist president, Lula da Silva, represented a different ideological camp entirely. The exclusion was significant. Mexico serves as the primary transit route for narcotics flowing north to the United States. Brazil's criminal organizations control much of the cocaine pipeline to Europe. An anti-cartel alliance without these two countries was, by definition, incomplete.
The State Department moved quickly to soften the sting. Natalia Molano, a Spanish-language spokeswoman, insisted that Mexico was not excluded—merely not yet included. There would be opportunities to expand the coalition, she suggested, once initial results could be demonstrated. The language was diplomatic, but the reality was plain: the Trump administration had chosen to work with ideological allies rather than with the governments most capable of disrupting the drug trade.
The timing of the announcement reflected Trump's broader strategy for the hemisphere. This was his version of the Monroe Doctrine—a declaration that the Western Hemisphere belonged within America's sphere of influence and that Washington would act to protect its interests there. In January, U.S. forces had supported the overthrow and capture of Venezuelan president Nicolás Maduro. The administration had imposed an oil embargo on Cuba. Now came the anti-cartel alliance. Each move reinforced the same message: the United States was reasserting control over its backyard.
Yet analysts who study Latin America saw fragility beneath the surface. Irene Mia, an expert at the International Institute for Strategic Studies, noted that the coalition rested on a purely negative agenda—stopping migration, stopping crime, stopping threats to American security. There was no vision for regional development, no economic partnership, no shared prosperity. The alliance was built on fear and aligned interests, not on deeper bonds. Moreover, the support from these Latin American governments, while real, remained precarious. Populations in the region harbored deep historical suspicions of American intervention. Whether citizens would endorse Trump's militarized approach remained an open question. The balance was delicate, Mia warned—fragile enough that a shift in public opinion or a change in government could unravel the entire structure.
What was certain was that the cartel problem had become urgent. Ecuador, once considered one of South America's safest nations, had descended into violence in recent years as criminal organizations fought for control of cocaine trafficking routes. Chile, similarly, had experienced a dramatic surge in organized crime. These transformations had helped propel right-wing candidates to power across the region—leaders who saw security as the paramount issue and who were willing to consider military solutions. Trump's intervention, in this context, did not face the resistance it might have encountered in an earlier era. But whether military force alone could dismantle networks that had become woven into the fabric of multiple societies remained to be seen.
Citações Notáveis
The heart of our agreement is a commitment to use lethal military force to destroy these sinister cartels and terrorist networks.— Donald Trump, at the Doral summit
During too long, the mafias believed America was their territory. That time has ended for them.— Daniel Noboa, Ecuador's president, on social media
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why did Trump exclude Mexico and Brazil from this alliance if they're the actual centers of the drug trade?
Because they're governed by leftists—Sheinbaum and Lula—who won't align with his vision. Trump chose ideological partners over practical ones. It's a political coalition dressed up as a security strategy.
So this is more about hemisphere control than actually stopping cartels?
It's both. Trump sees the drug trade as a threat to American security, but he's also reasserting what he calls the Monroe Doctrine—the idea that the Western Hemisphere is America's sphere. The cartel problem gives him cover for that larger ambition.
Will these seventeen countries actually commit military forces, or is this mostly theater?
That's the real question. Some of these leaders, like Bukele and Noboa, have already shown willingness to use force. But the support is fragile. It depends on public opinion staying with them, on elections not shifting the balance, on the strategy actually producing results.
What happens if it doesn't work?
The coalition falls apart, probably quietly. These governments will drift back toward pragmatism. And the cartels, which have survived decades of American pressure, will adapt and continue.
Is there any chance Mexico and Brazil eventually join?
The State Department says yes, eventually, once results are shown. But that requires either a change in government or a dramatic shift in those countries' calculations. Neither seems likely soon.