OPINION: Sovereignty We Can’t Defend Isn’t Sovereignty at All by Brent Simon

Opinion: Sovereignty We Can’t Defend Isn’t Sovereignty at All by Brent Simon

When a U.S. president can openly say his country will “run” another nation until it produces an acceptable political outcome, the argument about sovereignty is finished. Not debated. Finished.

That statement doesn’t just strip Venezuela of autonomy — it exposes how fragile sovereignty already is for small states, especially in the Caribbean.

We know this fragility intimately.

We feel it when we are pressured over who can staff our hospitals. Cuban doctors are not an ideological symbol in the Caribbean; they are care. They have filled a gap in our system that has saved many lives and  brought knowledge that has improved our archaic medical infrastructure. Yet we have been told, directly and indirectly, to disengage from them — not because our people are better off without them, but because geopolitics demands compliance. When external powers can decide what healthcare partnerships are acceptable, sovereignty is already compromised.

We feel it in money. Aid, grants, security assistance, and “technical support” arrive with expectations that are never written but always understood. Step too far out of line and funding slows, projects stall, relationships cool. No threats are needed. The dependency does the work.

We feel it in global forums. Caribbean states speak, vote, attend — and then watch decisions get made elsewhere. Our influence is marginal. We are not shapers of international outcomes; we are recipients of them. Mostly, we are spectators pretending participation equals power.

And we feel it most clearly at borders.

The United States itself operates one of the world’s most powerful citizenship-adjacent investment schemes: the EB-5 Immigrant Investor Program. Through EB-5, wealthy foreign nationals purchase permanent residency — and eventually U.S. citizenship — by investing large sums of money and creating jobs. This is not theoretical. It is codified in law, openly marketed, and aggressively defended as an economic development tool. The difference is not substance but branding. When the U.S. sells access, it is called “investment-led immigration.” When small Caribbean states do it, it becomes a “security threat.”

The hypocrisy is structural. An EB-5 investor gains access to the same global mobility, financial systems, and political protections that Caribbean CIP holders are accused of exploiting — except the U.S. faces no visa retaliation, no blacklists, no moral lectures. Power shields the practice. Caribbean programmes are pressured not because they are uniquely dangerous, but because they allow small states to convert sovereignty into leverage. And leverage, when held by the weak, makes the powerful uncomfortable. That is the real issue. Not passports — but who is allowed to profit from sovereignty without permission.

Visa restrictions and travel rules are not administrative details. They are tools of discipline. Citizenship by Investment programmes have come under sustained pressure not because they are uniquely reckless, but because they represent economic autonomy. When leverage is applied, it is framed as “security.” The message is simple: align your policies or absorb the consequences.

This is the reality behind the talk of partnership.

So when Venezuela’s sovereignty is overridden openly — not even disguised as assistance, but described as administration — Caribbean leaders should not be surprised. They should recognize the logic immediately. Small states are not invaded first. They are conditioned. Managed. Warned.

And before anyone claims moral high ground, the Caribbean should also confront its own failure.

We failed Haiti.

As a region, we watched state collapse unfold next door and responded with sympathy instead of strategy, statements instead of solutions. We outsourced responsibility to international actors and then acted shocked when those interventions deepened the crisis. Haiti is the clearest warning of what happens when sovereignty erodes gradually and nobody intervenes early or collectively.

Venezuela is not Haiti — but the lesson is the same.

Defending sovereignty is not about endorsing governments. It is about defending the right of people to resolve their own political futures without trusteeship imposed from outside. Once that right is lost, reform becomes irrelevant. Power decides outcomes.

There is also a political reality that should not be ignored: war has always been a reliable distraction. When leaders face mounting domestic scrutiny, foreign crises have a habit of accelerating. The Epstein files — and the unresolved questions around power, protection, and elite accountability — sit uncomfortably close to the current moment. History shows that external conflict can reset news cycles, polarize public attention, and reframe leadership as decisive rather than defensive. Whether intentional or opportunistic, the effect is the same: uncomfortable questions fade while flags are waved. Caribbean governments would be naïve to assume timing is irrelevant. Distraction, like sovereignty, is a tool of power — and it is rarely deployed by accident..

So let’s be clear.

If we cannot say no to medical partnerships, no to economic pressure, no to visa leverage, and no to selective enforcement of international norms, then sovereignty is not something we possess. It is something we are temporarily allowed.

Flags don’t defend that. Neutral statements don’t either.

Only leverage does — economic resilience, regional unity, and the willingness to defend principles even when the beneficiary is inconvenient.

Because sovereignty that cannot be defended is not sovereignty.

It is permission.

And permission, as history keeps reminding small states, can be withdrawn without notice.

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