For decades, the United States has perfected a familiar political ritual: condemn Latin American governments for the flow of narcotics northward, demand crackdowns, and frame the crisis as something done to America rather than something America helps create. It is a narrative that travels well in press conferences and campaign rallies. It is also a distortion — one that obscures the central truth of the hemispheric drug trade: the U.S. market exists because Americans keep buying.
Yet Washington continues to treat Latin America as the culprit rather than the supplier responding to a demand created on U.S. soil. The result is a policy posture that is both ineffective and deeply hypocritical.
The U.S. government’s latest wave of criticism comes amid a renewed militarized approach to drug enforcement in the region. President Donald Trump has framed narcotics as “the number-one public enemy” and has escalated operations across the Caribbean and Pacific, including airstrikes on vessels suspected of trafficking drugs. These actions have been paired with sweeping rhetoric that casts Latin American nations as negligent or complicit — a framing that conveniently ignores the structural forces driving the trade.
But the evidence shows that supply is not the root of the crisis. Demand is.
U.S. consumption patterns have shifted dramatically over the past decade, with Americans turning increasingly to opioids, fentanyl, and methamphetamine. According to an analysis of the evolving drug trade, the U.S. opioid epidemic has been fueled by unprecedented levels of domestic consumption, with more than 72,000 overdose deaths recorded in 2017 alone. As demand for synthetic drugs surged, Mexican criminal groups adapted to meet the market — not because Mexico “wanted” to poison Americans, but because the U.S. market signaled what it was willing to buy.
This is not a moral absolution of cartels. It is a recognition of basic economics: if Americans were not consuming narcotics at such staggering levels, the trade would not exist at its current scale.
Yet U.S. political leaders continue to focus almost exclusively on supply-side enforcement. The United States has sharply increased military operations targeting alleged traffickers, launching strikes across the Caribbean and eastern Pacific. These actions have been condemned by regional governments and human rights groups, who argue they amount to extrajudicial killings and risk destabilizing already fragile areas.
Meanwhile, the structural drivers of American drug consumption — economic despair, untreated mental health conditions, lack of access to healthcare, and the pharmaceutical industry’s legacy of overprescribing — remain under-addressed. The U.S. government’s own data shows that the crisis is fueled by domestic vulnerabilities, not foreign malice. But acknowledging that would require political courage and policy investment. Blaming Latin America is easier.
This dynamic has played out for decades. Hardline security responses in Latin America have “not pacified the region’s cartels” and have in some cases “exacerbated violence,” according to Oxford Analytica’s assessment of anti-drug strategies. The United States continues to push these same strategies, even though they have repeatedly failed to produce lasting results.
Washington externalizes blame, militarizes the response, and avoids confronting the American demand that sustains the trade.
This approach is ineffective. It strains diplomatic relationships, fuels violence in Latin America, and distracts from the urgent need for domestic solutions. It also reinforces a paternalistic narrative in which the United States positions itself as a victim of foreign dysfunction rather than a co-architect of the crisis.
If the U.S. government is serious about reducing the flow of narcotics, it must start by looking inward. That means investing in addiction treatment, regulating pharmaceutical practices, addressing economic despair, and confronting the social conditions that make narcotics appealing in the first place. It means acknowledging that the drug trade is a hemispheric system — one in which the United States is not merely the endpoint, but the engine.
Until Washington is willing to confront the American appetite for narcotics, its criticism of Latin America will remain what it has long been: a convenient distraction from an uncomfortable truth.
Hugo Balta is the executive editor of the Fulcrum and the publisher of the Latino News Network




















Eric Trump, the newly appointed ALT5 board director of World Liberty Financial, walks outside of the NASDAQ in Times Square as they mark the $1.5- billion partnership between World Liberty Financial and ALT5 Sigma with the ringing of the NASDAQ opening bell, on Aug. 13, 2025, in New York City.
Why does the Trump family always get a pass?
Deputy Attorney General Todd Blanche joined ABC’s “This Week” on Sunday to defend or explain a lot of controversies for the Trump administration: the Epstein files release, the events in Minneapolis, etc. He was also asked about possible conflicts of interest between President Trump’s family business and his job. Specifically, Blanche was asked about a very sketchy deal Trump’s son Eric signed with the UAE’s national security adviser, Sheikh Tahnoon.
Shortly before Trump was inaugurated in early 2025, Tahnoon invested $500 million in the Trump-owned World Liberty, a then newly launched cryptocurrency outfit. A few months later, UAE was granted permission to purchase sensitive American AI chips. According to the Wall Street Journal, which broke the story, “the deal marks something unprecedented in American politics: a foreign government official taking a major ownership stake in an incoming U.S. president’s company.”
“How do you respond to those who say this is a serious conflict of interest?” ABC host George Stephanopoulos asked.
“I love it when these papers talk about something being unprecedented or never happening before,” Blanche replied, “as if the Biden family and the Biden administration didn’t do exactly the same thing, and they were just in office.”
Blanche went on to boast about how the president is utterly transparent regarding his questionable business practices: “I don’t have a comment on it beyond Trump has been completely transparent when his family travels for business reasons. They don’t do so in secret. We don’t learn about it when we find a laptop a few years later. We learn about it when it’s happening.”
Sadly, Stephanopoulos didn’t offer the obvious response, which may have gone something like this: “OK, but the president and countless leading Republicans insisted that President Biden was the head of what they dubbed ‘the Biden Crime family’ and insisted his business dealings were corrupt, and indeed that his corruption merited impeachment. So how is being ‘transparent’ about similar corruption a defense?”
Now, I should be clear that I do think the Biden family’s business dealings were corrupt, whether or not laws were broken. Others disagree. I also think Trump’s business dealings appear to be worse in many ways than even what Biden was alleged to have done. But none of that is relevant. The standard set by Trump and Republicans is the relevant political standard, and by the deputy attorney general’s own account, the Trump administration is doing “exactly the same thing,” just more openly.
Since when is being more transparent about wrongdoing a defense? Try telling a cop or judge, “Yes, I robbed that bank. I’ve been completely transparent about that. So, what’s the big deal?”
This is just a small example of the broader dysfunction in the way we talk about politics.
Americans have a special hatred for hypocrisy. I think it goes back to the founding era. As Alexis de Tocqueville observed in “Democracy In America,” the old world had a different way of dealing with the moral shortcomings of leaders. Rank had its privileges. Nobles, never mind kings, were entitled to behave in ways that were forbidden to the little people.
In America, titles of nobility were banned in the Constitution and in our democratic culture. In a society built on notions of equality (the obvious exceptions of Black people, women, Native Americans notwithstanding) no one has access to special carve-outs or exemptions as to what is right and wrong. Claiming them, particularly in secret, feels like a betrayal against the whole idea of equality.
The problem in the modern era is that elites — of all ideological stripes — have violated that bargain. The result isn’t that we’ve abandoned any notion of right and wrong. Instead, by elevating hypocrisy to the greatest of sins, we end up weaponizing the principles, using them as a cudgel against the other side but not against our own.
Pick an issue: violent rhetoric by politicians, sexual misconduct, corruption and so on. With every revelation, almost immediately the debate becomes a riot of whataboutism. Team A says that Team B has no right to criticize because they did the same thing. Team B points out that Team A has switched positions. Everyone has a point. And everyone is missing the point.
Sure, hypocrisy is a moral failing, and partisan inconsistency is an intellectual one. But neither changes the objective facts. This is something you’re supposed to learn as a child: It doesn’t matter what everyone else is doing or saying, wrong is wrong. It’s also something lawyers like Mr. Blanche are supposed to know. Telling a judge that the hypocrisy of the prosecutor — or your client’s transparency — means your client did nothing wrong would earn you nothing but a laugh.
Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.