Latin America in the face of U.S. interventionism: a wound that has never healed.

 

By Armando García Álvarez

To talk about Latin America without mentioning the invasions and interventions of the United States is to speak of an incomplete history. From the nineteenth to the twenty-first centuries, U.S. foreign policy has treated the region not as a collection of sovereign nations, but as a space subordinated to its strategic, economic, and ideological interests. The result has been a historic wound that, far from healing, continues to mark the present, as has been seen in the early hours of January 3 in Venezuela.

The U.S. media commented that the intervention in Venezuela has a lot of similarity when in December 1989, the United States invaded Panama, to apprehend President Manuel Noriega, accused of drug trafficking.

From its origins as a continental power, the United States assumed that its expansion was a natural or divine right. Under the idea of "manifest destiny," the war against Mexico was normalized in the nineteenth century, an invasion that not only snatched territories, but also left a lasting lesson: military force could prevail over Latin American sovereignty without major consequences. That precedent became a foreign policy pattern.

With the passage of time, the intervention ceased to be openly justified as a territorial conquest and adopted new disguises: protection of investments, regional stability, the fight against communism, the defense of democracy or the fight against drug trafficking. But the bottom line was the same: the political and economic control of countries considered part of its sphere of influence.

The twentieth century was particularly devastating. Military occupations in the Caribbean and Central America, open invasions and support for dictatorships left millions of victims. Democratically elected governments were overthrown for daring to touch business interests or for trying their own economic paths. In exchange, authoritarian regimes were imposed that ruled with repression, torture and disappearances, always under the shadow of external support.

During the Cold War, Latin America was treated as an ideological battleground. It did not matter how many civilians were killed, how many communities were destroyed or how many generations grew up in fear: the essential thing was to prevent any political project that departed from the model imposed from the north. Anti-communism became a license for horror. The consequences are still felt in societies marked by inequality, institutional distrust and structural violence.

With the arrival of the twenty-first century, some believed that this stage was over. However, what changed was not the logic, but the forms. Military invasions gave way to economic sanctions, financial blockades, media operations and diplomatic pressure. Today, entire economies are suffocated in the name of democracy, while the human impact of these policies is deliberately ignored: poverty, forced migration and the collapse of basic services.

The moralistic discourse that accompanies these actions is especially cynical. Human rights are talked about while supporting allied governments with questionable records. Freedom is invoked, but people are punished when they choose non-aligned political paths. Migration is condemned, but historical responsibilities are omitted in destroying the conditions that force millions to leave their countries.

None of this has been accidental. Interventionism has served to guarantee access to natural resources, captive markets and strategic geopolitical positions. Latin America has paid that price with blood, instability and dependence. And when the consequences return in the form of migration crises or transnational violence, they respond with walls, militarization and discourses of criminalization.

This history should not be understood as a simple account of the past. It is a warning about the present. Every time a collective sanction, an "institutional" coup or a "humanitarian" interference is normalized, old practices that have already demonstrated their moral and political failure are reactivated. The region does not need tutelage or punishment; it needs respect for its self-determination.

Latin America has resisted. Despite invasions, dictatorships and external pressures, its peoples continue to demand sovereignty, social justice and dignity. That resistance is proof that history is not closed. But it is also an uncomfortable reminder for those in power who insist on repeating the same mistakes.

Acknowledging U.S. interventionism is not an act of resentment, but of memory. Without memory there is no justice, and without justice there is no future. As long as this historic responsibility is not assumed, the relationship between the United States and Latin America will continue to be marked by mistrust, inequality and an open wound that spans centuries.