The Narco War No One Believes

Trump’s so-called Narco War isn’t about stopping drugs; it’s about feeding his addiction to conflict, control, and cameras. When the facts go missing, he just bombs harder.

Guest article by Michael Cohen. Follow him on Substack for more by clicking here.

Anyone who’s lost someone to addiction wants the scourge of drugs to end. No parent should bury a child because of fentanyl. No town should be hollowed out by opioids. But here’s the question we never seem to ask when America starts flexing its military muscles in the name of “the war on drugs”: is this really about ending addiction, or about feeding it?

Donald Trump’s latest masterpiece of militarized theater — the so-called “Narco War” — is playing out like a bad sequel to Reagan’s Contra-era action flick. The USS Gerald R. Ford, the largest warship on Earth, now floats in the Caribbean like a billionaire’s overcompensation complex, brimming with 90 aircraft and righteous fury. Ten airstrikes in, forty-three people dead, and not a single gram of cocaine or fentanyl off American streets.

But sure, let’s call it “progress.”

Trump claims Venezuela’s Nicolás Maduro runs a “drug-trafficking empire.” Maduro, never one to shy away from paranoia, calls it what it looks like: a “fabricated war.” For once, Maduro’s not entirely wrong. Because Venezuela, experts agree, plays a minor role in the regional drug trade. Colombia and Mexico remain the main arteries. So why Venezuela? Why now?

It’s simple: Trump loves a villain he can bomb.

And Maduro is tailor-made for that role — a socialist strongman with a lousy election record, oil reserves America wants, and the kind of face that looks good on Fox News graphics under the words “Threat to Freedom.”

The Pentagon insists this is about “disrupting narcotics trafficking” and “degrading criminal organizations.” But that’s like sending a SWAT team to chase pickpockets; it’s overkill. You don’t need a $13 billion floating airbase to intercept drug boats. You need competent law enforcement, regional cooperation, and actual addiction policy — three things Trump wouldn’t recognize if they stormed Mar-a-Lago wearing MAGA hats.

Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth — because of course it’s Pete Hegseth — boasted that “six male narco-terrorists” were killed in a recent strike. Great. Six guys in a boat, probably armed with more bravado than weaponry, vaporized by the full might of the United States Navy. You can almost hear Trump bragging: “Nobody’s killed drug dealers better than me.” “We made them dead.”

But let’s not kid ourselves. This isn’t a war on drugs; it’s a war on optics. Trump’s trying to look strong, disciplined, and in control while his administration quietly bleeds credibility. So far, no credible evidence has been shown to the American people that any of these so-called “narco-terrorist” strikes actually hit vessels carrying drugs, or even capable of making it anywhere close to America’s shores. All we have is Pete Hegseth’s word for it — and Trump’s — and let’s be honest, neither carries much credibility anymore. It’s less national security than stagecraft, designed to sell strength where there’s only showmanship.

And the American public, numbed by years of lies and fear, is supposed to cheer.

The reality is uglier. These strikes have killed dozens — some likely innocent — and Congress is asleep at the wheel. Democrats wrote letters, Republicans tweeted concern, and Trump just shrugged. “We’re allowed to do that,” he said, as if international law were just another NDA to be ignored. Senator Rand Paul called it unconstitutional, but when the rest of the GOP treats Trump like he’s God’s co-pilot, the Constitution doesn’t stand a chance.

Brian Finucane, a former State Department lawyer, called it what it is: a constitutional crisis. But the only crisis Trump recognizes is the one that helps him dominate a news cycle.

Meanwhile, addiction continues to ravage American families — quietly, painfully, without aircraft carriers or headlines. Because you can’t bomb fentanyl. You can’t drone-strike despair. Addiction isn’t an enemy that lives on a map; it lives in our neighborhoods, our kids, our pain.

But that doesn’t make for great television.

Trump’s Narco War is a spectacle — war porn for the politically addicted. It’s a hit of adrenaline for the base, a distraction from economic turmoil and legal headaches. It’s his way of saying, “Look, I’m doing something,” while doing the exact thing America’s been doing for fifty years: militarizing misery.

Every time we escalate, we feed the cycle. More violence breeds more instability. More instability breeds more trafficking. The U.S. has spent trillions fighting drugs, and what do we have to show for it? Dead civilians abroad, overdoses at home, and a president who treats the Caribbean like a campaign backdrop.

Anyone who’s buried a loved one because of drugs knows the desperation to see something change. I myself have buried several of my oldest and closest friends. But launching missiles at Venezuela isn’t a solution; it’s an alibi. A distraction from the hard work we refuse to do: treatment, regulation, education, accountability.

Trump’s Narco War isn’t about saving lives. It’s about saving face.

And as history keeps proving, every time America goes looking for a quick military fix, it ends up creating a longer, deadlier problem. The question isn’t whether Maduro’s guilty; it’s whether Trump’s pretending to fight drugs to justify another forever war.

Because if you listen closely, beneath the roar of fighter jets and flag-wrapped speeches, you’ll hear it — the sound of a nation addicted not to narcotics, but to conflict itself.

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