Carriers, Claims, and Crude: Why the Caribbean Is Becoming 2025’s Most Dangerous Flashpoint

In the windswept corridors of Latin American geopolitics, the tensions between the United States and Venezuela have quietly transformed into something far more consequential than a mere counternarcotics campaign. As of late 2025, the scale of U.S. military deployment in the Caribbean, centered around the gargantuan USS Gerald R. Ford carrier strike group, marks not just a show of force, but a deeply calculated exertion of power.   Beyond the stated mission of interdiction of drug trafficking, this posture suggests a layered strategy: pressuring Maduro, reasserting Washington’s influence in the region, and signaling to Latin American capitals that the era of passive U.S. tolerance may be drawing to a close.

From Caracas’s perspective, this is viewed not as a benign counternarcotics mission but as a direct existential threat. The Venezuelan leadership has responded by mobilizing broadly; ground, riverine, naval, aerial, missile, and militia forces have reportedly been readied for “maximum operational readiness.” Estimates suggest on the order of 200,000 troops could be involved, underscoring how deeply Maduro’s government perceives the risk. In public discourse, the Venezuelan regime frames this as defending sovereignty, not only against cartel-linked accusations but also against what it claims is a looming imperial design.

This confrontation cannot be fully understood, however, without examining Guyana and the long-running territorial dispute over the Essequibo region. Essequibo is no trivial piece of geography: historically claimed by Venezuela, it comprises more than two-thirds of Guyana’s land mass and borders rich offshore blocks. In recent years, ExxonMobil, Hess, CNOOC, and others have developed significant oil infrastructure just off Guyana’s coast, especially in the Stabroek Block.  

Tensions flared visibly in March 2025, when a Venezuelan coast guard vessel sailed deep into waters claimed by Guyana, radioed warnings to floating production storage and offloading (FPSO) platforms, and asserted those vessels were operating in “Venezuelan” maritime territory. Guyana’s foreign ministry publicly protested, noting that the incursion violated not only its sovereign economic zone, but also a 2023 International Court of Justice order that prohibited Venezuela from taking actions that might change the status quo. Guyana also emphasized that its exploration and production activities are lawful under international law, and referenced its rights under the 1899 arbitral award.  

From a strategic lens, Venezuela’s behavior in Essequibo aligns too neatly with its military mobilization against the U.S. The annexation drive, or at least the territorial claim, is not ideological romanticism, but realpolitik rooted in energy security. On multiple occasions, President Maduro has authorized Venezuelan companies, including PDVSA, to prepare for fossil fuel and mineral extraction in the disputed Essequibo territory. In Caracas’ calculus, asserting control over Essequibo could transform its geopolitical position: it reclaims a historical claim, undermines Guyana’s sovereignty, and potentially gives Venezuela leverage over lucrative offshore oil fields.

The U.S. is not blind to this. Washington’s backing of Guyana is deliberate and multilayered. Secretary of State Marco Rubio’s warnings to Maduro, at a joint press conference with Guyanese President Irfaan Ali, make clear that the U.S. considers any Venezuelan aggression against Guyana, especially against ExxonMobil-supported oil platforms, as a red line. For Guyana, which has very limited military capacity, the American presence is both a shield, and a bargaining chip; for the U.S., it’s a way to protect strategic investments, ensure energy flows, and project influence in a region increasingly contested by non-Western actors.

Yet, this is not a zero-sum game with only force on the table. Venezuela’s framing of U.S. activity as an imperial threat resonates powerfully with its domestic base, allowing Maduro to marshal nationalist sentiment and justify radical mobilization measures. The Bolivarian militias, riverine units, and civilian enlistment signal a willingness to wage not just conventional defense, but also hybrid and asymmetric warfare. The mobilization is as symbolic as it is practical.

At the same time, Guyana is investing in a diplomatic-legal offensive. The Guyanese government has formally protested Venezuelan naval incursions and made repeated appeals to the ICJ. International support for Guyana is gathering pace: the Organization of American States and other regional bodies have backed its territorial integrity. In parallel, Washington’s military buildup, dressed as counternarcotics, is likely calculated to saturate the region with deterrence against both terrorist/criminal maritime networks and more ambitious Venezuelan designs.

The risk now is of miscalculation. If Caracas underestimates Washington’s resolve, or if Guyana feels compelled to resist more aggressively, escalation could spiral. But equally, if the U.S. overplays its hand, moving from deterrence to coercion, it risks pushing Venezuela further into isolation or desperation, which could destabilize not only Caracas, but the broader region.

In the broader sweep of history, this crisis may well mark a turning point. Venezuela’s push into Guyana is not just about land; it’s about energy, influence, and the assertion of sovereignty in a global order where resources still drive power. For the U.S., the operation may begin as counternarcotics, but the strategic subtext is unmistakable: protecting American economic interests, reestablishing hemispheric primacy, and shaping the future of Latin America in an era of renewed geopolitical competition.

At Rowanwood, we often say that old maps matter: not just for their lines, but for what those lines mean when power shifts. Here, in the tropical currents of the Caribbean and the oil-laden jungles of Essequibo, the maps are being redrawn – quietly, dangerously, and with very real stakes for the future.

The Essequibo Equation: Venezuela’s Bid, Guyana’s Boom

The morning sun hangs low over the Atlantic, glinting off the towers rising in Georgetown, Guyana’s modest, but fast-transforming capital. A decade ago, few would have imagined this small South American nation, wedged between Brazil, Venezuela, and Suriname, would be at the center of a geopolitical and environmental drama with global stakes. Guyana is flush with oil – Black Gold. The kind that redraws maps, tilts economies, and ignites old rivalries. For Venezuela, long mired in economic freefall and domestic strife, it is an irresistible provocation.

Let’s be clear, what’s happening in Guyana is one of the most remarkable economic stories in the Western Hemisphere. Since ExxonMobil discovered vast offshore reserves in 2015, production has accelerated with almost reckless speed. By next year, output is projected to hit 900,000 barrels a day, and it could top 1.3 million before the end of the decade. For a country of under 800,000 people, that is transformative wealth, and unlike its oil-rich neighbours, some of whom squandered such windfalls, Guyana is making a bold promise; to become a net-zero emitter of greenhouse gases by 2050, even as it becomes a fossil fuel giant.

On the surface, this seems contradictory. How can you drill for oil while committing to climate leadership? Guyana’s government argues that its forest cover, nearly 85% of the national territory, is a massive carbon sink. It also claims that the revenues from oil will fund sustainable development, clean energy projects, and climate resilience. Whether this can be done without falling into the corruption, debt, and inequality traps that have cursed so many petro-states remains to be seen. So far, international financial institutions are cautiously optimistic. The government is under intense scrutiny, and the pressure to deliver transparency and social equity is mounting.

Guyana’s newfound wealth has stirred a long-simmering conflict with its neighbor to the west – Venezuela. The heart of the matter is the Essequibo region, a vast, resource-rich area that makes up nearly two-thirds of Guyana’s landmass. Venezuela has claimed it ever since the 1899 arbitration award, backed by the United States and Britain, granted the territory to what was then British Guiana. For over a century, the dispute remained largely symbolic, flaring up occasionally, but never seriously threatening borders.

Now, the stakes are very real. In 2023, Venezuela’s President Nicolás Maduro ramped up the rhetoric, holding a referendum in which voters overwhelmingly backed a proposal to annex Essequibo. Caracas argues that the arbitration was flawed and that the entire region was unlawfully taken. The timing, of course, is not coincidental. As Guyana’s oil fields, many lying off the Essequibo coastline, begin to pump billions into government coffers, Venezuela sees an opportunity to redirect domestic attention from its own failures, and tap into a nationalist cause with broad appeal.

Guyana, for its part, has responded not with sabre-rattling, but with legal precision. It brought the case before the International Court of Justice, which ruled in 2023 that it had jurisdiction. Earlier this year, in May 2025, the ICJ went further, ordering Venezuela to halt its plans to conduct elections in the disputed territory, a direct rebuke to Maduro’s annexation agenda. Venezuela has ignored the court, as it has ignored much of international law in recent years, and tensions are rising on the ground.

This is no longer a war of words. Just this month, Guyanese soldiers patrolling the border were attacked multiple times in under 24 hours. These were not large-scale military incursions, but they are warnings, probing gestures, testing the resolve of a much smaller neighbor. Guyana has responded by strengthening its military posture and drawing closer to its Western allies, including the United States and Brazil. The regional implications are grave: any escalation could destabilize the northern tier of South America, drag in other powers, and endanger vital shipping routes and energy flows.

As someone who has watched the ebb and flow of South American politics for decades, I see in this moment both peril and possibility. Guyana stands on a razor’s edge: it could become a model of how a small nation leverages its natural wealth responsibly, or it could descend into conflict, corruption, and dependence. Venezuela’s claim is, in essence a gamble, hoping that the world is too distracted to enforce international norms, and that might still makes right. Yet Guyana is not alone, and the legal, diplomatic, and moral momentum is on its side.

Whether that will be enough is another question entirely. Oil has always been more than a commodity in this region of the world. It is a force that reshapes nations and, sometimes, breaks them. For Guyana, the challenge now is not only to survive Venezuela’s ambitions, but to thrive in spite of them, and perhaps, just perhaps, to chart a new course for oil-rich states in the 21st century.