History has a way of reminding us that the world we live in is built on long sheets of precedent. As a writer who loves the layers beneath moment-to-moment headlines, I’ve been struck by a curious parallel: between the Venezuelan Crisis of 1902–1903 and the unfolding situation involving Venezuela and the United States in 2025–26.
In the winter of 1902, Venezuela found itself at the center of a dramatic international incident. The young republic, under President Cipriano Castro, had fallen behind on debts owed to European creditors and refused to compensate foreign citizens for damage suffered during internal unrest. In response, the navies of Britain, Germany and Italy imposed a naval blockade on Venezuelan ports — stopping ships, cutting trade, and threatening the country’s economic lifelines.
Venezuela expected support from the United States, invoking the still-new Monroe Doctrine — first articulated over eighty years earlier to warn European powers off further colonization in the Western Hemisphere. Yet President Theodore Roosevelt’s administration interpreted the doctrine more narrowly in 1902, and the U.S. initially remained neutral, refraining from outright intervention because European powers promised not to seize territory.
Yet the crisis didn’t merely end with cannon and compromise. The episode helped propel an evolution in U.S. thinking about its role in the region — leading directly to the Roosevelt Corollary. This addition to the Monroe Doctrine essentially said: if a neighboring country’s instability might invite European military action, the United States might step in first to “stabilize” things itself.
Fast-forward to today’s headlines: in late 2025 and early 2026, the U.S. has dramatically escalated its involvement with Venezuela. The Trump administration has imposed sweeping sanctions, declared a “total and complete blockade” of sanctioned Venezuelan oil tankers, and even seized tankers linked to Venezuela — moves that have drawn international controversy. In a stunning and unprecedented operation, Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro was captured by U.S. forces and taken to the United States to face charges.
Against this backdrop, U.S. officials and Trump himself have framed these actions as a modern invocation — or reinvention — of the Monroe Doctrine, arguing that they are necessary to prevent foreign adversaries and instability from gaining a foothold in the hemisphere.
When you trace these two moments side by side, a fascinating pattern emerges. In 1902–03, a bloc of European powers used naval power to enforce their will on Venezuela. The U.S. hesitated, then recalibrated its doctrine to justify future intervention. In 2025–26, the roles look almost like a mirror image: the U.S. itself is deploying naval power, sanctions, and direct action to shape Venezuela’s fate — and all under the banner of hemispheric influence that began with Monroe nearly two centuries ago.
For those of us steeped in the history of U.S.–Latin American relations, it’s a vivid reminder that doctrines and policies aren’t static. They evolve — sometimes dramatically — as the interests and capacities of nations change. What once began as a warning against European colonization has become, in different forms over time, a justification for American intervention in the hemisphere.
There’s a rich irony in this for writers of historical fiction, too. I’ve long been drawn to the era of James Monroe — a period when the notion of a uniquely American sphere of influence was just being sketched. Monroe himself lived at Oak Hill near Aldie in Loudoun County, close to the people and places that inspire much of my imagination in writing Masque of Honor and Bargains of Fate. It was a time when the young republic was still shaping its identity — not unlike the complex, contested role it plays in global affairs today.
History doesn’t repeat itself exactly. But it often rhymes, reminding us just how deep the echoes run.
