By John Q. Hosedrinker 
A five-month investigation has identified 13 previously unknown victims of US attacks on suspected drug boats in the Caribbean and eastern Pacific, bringing the total number of identified victims to 16. These attacks, which have resulted in nearly 200 deaths, are justified by the US as combating “narco-terrorists.” However, the investigation reveals that many of the identified victims came from impoverished communities and showed no clear indication of drug trafficking involvement. Critics argue these strikes have not disrupted the drug trade but have instead devastated vulnerable communities, questioning the legality and effectiveness of the operations.
Read the original article here
The recent identification of thirteen men killed by U.S. military boat strikes has brought a stark and uncomfortable reality to the forefront: these weren’t abstract targets, but “flesh-and-blood people.” This distinction, while seemingly obvious, feels surprisingly potent and highlights a concerning detachment in how such events are perceived. The notion that these individuals might have been involved in drug trafficking, a common justification offered, is met with the powerful counterpoint that even for such activities, death is not the prescribed penalty, especially when those killed are denied the chance to defend themselves. This lack of due process, this swift and fatal application of force, is deeply troubling, suggesting a system that bypasses fundamental legal and moral safeguards.
It’s difficult to comprehend how anyone could still attempt to defend these killings as justified. At this point, such arguments feel less like genuine belief and more like the automatic output of a program, or perhaps a profound lack of empathy that renders one indistinguishable from a machine. A significant segment of the American public seems to have passively accepted this as a standard practice, a grim consequence of foreign policy that goes largely unquestioned. Imagine, for a moment, the logistics of a massive corporation like Walmart. To get its goods from China to its shelves, the company doesn’t personally oversee every step. Instead, it relies on a complex network of hired labor, a vast supply chain where the loss of a single driver or truck is a manageable inconvenience. This analogy underscores a critical point: the targeting of individual boat operators, often from impoverished communities, has negligible impact on the large-scale drug trafficking organizations.
The reality is that raining missiles down on poor individuals operating boats accomplishes virtually nothing in terms of dismantling drug cartels. Instead, it actively breeds resentment and hatred towards the United States in the affected regions. If the objective were genuinely to neutralize cartel leaders living in opulent coastal villas, there might be broader international support. The fact that this isn’t the approach raises serious questions about the true aims and efficacy of these operations. It’s as if the assumption is being made that these individuals are somehow less than human, perhaps even automatons, thus justifying their elimination without trial. The hope for future legal recourse in such cases is quickly extinguished by the prevailing silence and acceptance of these actions.
There’s a pervasive sentiment that trials will never materialize, that this is simply how things operate now, both within the U.S. military context and more broadly in societal attitudes. Even before any violent act, this tendency towards dismissal and indifference exists. It becomes far more pronounced, however, when lives are extinguished without due process. The notion that these individuals might be robots is a darkly humorous, yet telling, hypothetical, reflecting a disbelief in the official narratives and the increasing reliance on abstract labels over concrete human lives. This cycle of violence is likely to continue because there’s a collective unwillingness to address the root issues. If the concern is genuinely about drug smuggling, the logical and humane approach would be apprehension, legal proceedings, and utilizing captured individuals to dismantle their organizations from within. The current method, however, resembles a grim form of extrajudicial homicide, a practice that seems to have gained an unsettling acceptance.
The phrase “flesh-and-blood people” should not be a surprising declaration, yet it often is. This indicates how readily distant deaths are abstracted into mere statistics or labels, devoid of their individual humanity. The idea of “Macho Trump killing innocents” or any leader orchestrating such acts is particularly galling, and those in positions of command within the military who are following what could be construed as criminal orders might find themselves in a precarious legal position, especially if the political winds shift. The stark reality is that political leaders and their supporters may ultimately disavow those who carry out such directives, leaving them exposed and vulnerable.
The suggestion to turn such matters over to an international court might be met with resistance, particularly when certain political factions seem intent on excusing or even celebrating such actions. A crucial, and often overlooked, question pertains to the fate of any supposed “survivors” mentioned in reports. Their unexplained absence from the narrative raises suspicions about the thoroughness and transparency of these operations, adding to the barbaric nature of the entire process. The fact that these boats are not apprehended, their illicit cargo displayed as evidence, is damning in itself, painting a picture of the U.S. as the aggressor in these scenarios.
There’s a disturbing lack of critical engagement from a large portion of the population, who seem content to celebrate rather than question these actions. The input highlights communities that have been forced to halt their fishing activities for fear of aerial bombardment, leading to hunger and economic devastation. This disruption to ordinary lives, the very real human cost, is starkly contrasted with the abstract justifications often provided. The idea that individuals might be mistaken for robots or some other non-human entity as a rationale for their destruction is a cynical interpretation of the lack of due diligence.
Past instances of civilian deaths through drone strikes in places like Afghanistan, where no criminal trials have occurred, suggest a bleak precedent. The legal frameworks that allow for such actions, often involving the designation of foreign groups as terrorist organizations, circumvent the need for traditional judicial processes. Without legislative intervention to curb governmental power, this pattern is unlikely to change. America, it seems, has a long history of operating on a foundation of violence, and the pretense of innocence is rapidly eroding.
The parallel drawn to the countless individuals killed by drone strikes during the war on terror, many of whom were likely from impoverished villages simply trying to make a living, is a valid one. The media’s past coverage of such events, while present, does not excuse the continuation of similar tactics. The tactic of releasing footage of strikes, perhaps intended as a show of force, might inadvertently contribute to public unease or, conversely, a desensitization to violence. The argument that past wrongdoings excuse current ones is flawed; the outrage over past bombings of innocents was genuine, and that sentiment should not be diminished now.
While some may attempt to shift blame and focus solely on criticizing the current administration, a responsible examination requires acknowledging the historical context of such questionable tactics. A truly insightful journalist would explore both. The notion that questioning those in power is inherently problematic is a dangerous one. Explaining the rationale behind an action is not the same as excusing it. The release of individuals who are supposedly involved in illicit activities, only for them to be later targeted, further erodes trust in the stated intentions behind these operations.
The idea that one might be a “bot” or experiencing a “moment” when questioning these actions reflects the polarized nature of the discourse. Examining the U.S. military’s history, including instances of friendly fire, suggests that human error and unintended consequences are always present, even in meticulously planned operations. The fear of normal Americans being labeled as “terrorists” is a growing concern, mirroring the erosion of civil liberties. The Nuremberg trials, often cited as a benchmark for justice, resulted in relatively few convictions despite immense atrocities, suggesting that accountability for widespread violence is an incredibly difficult and rare outcome.
The call for every individual in the military chain of command to be prosecuted for their role in extrajudicial executions is a strong one, aimed at preventing the military from being used as a tool for summary justice. However, the effectiveness of such a call is dependent on the political will and the legal structures in place, which currently seem insufficient. Senators, for instance, are legislators, not prosecutors, highlighting a misunderstanding of governmental roles.
The claim that designating a foreign group as a terrorist organization automatically allows for the use of military force is a critical point of contention. It is argued that such designations primarily permit sanctions, and that the lawful use of military force requires specific congressional authorization or a declaration of war, neither of which typically applies to drug traffickers. This suggests that these killings may be unlawful under both international and U.S. domestic law, essentially amounting to murder, and that U.S. officers are aware of this, evidenced by past resignations.