For decades, the United States and Colombia have fostered one of the warmest and most cooperative relationships in the Western Hemisphere. Their alliance, a rare model of consistency in a region where U.S. partnerships often fluctuated between tension and rapprochement, was founded on trust, shared strategic objectives, and mutual benefits. It served as a cornerstone of Washington’s influence in Latin America. To fully grasp the significance of the recent cooling between the two countries, it is essential to recall the depth of that warmth and the substantial gains both nations reaped from it.
The relationship’s roots go back to the Cold War, when Colombia was viewed as a bulwark against the spread of leftist insurgencies. Washington provided military aid and training programs, and Bogotá became an early recipient of development assistance through initiatives such as President Kennedy’s Alliance for Progress. The United States viewed Colombia as a partner willing to cooperate on internal security and rural development. In turn, Colombia relied on U.S. support to maintain stability against growing guerrilla movements, such as the FARC and ELN. These formative decades laid the groundwork for the habit of collaboration that would come to define the modern U.S.-Colombian relationship.
The partnership deepened dramatically in the late twentieth century as the “war on drugs” became central to U.S. foreign policy. By the 1980s and 1990s, Colombia’s role as the epicenter of global cocaine production had made it a focus of U.S. concern. The cartels that emerged in Medellín and Cali were not just criminal enterprises but political and social forces that threatened to overwhelm the state itself. In this context, the United States saw Colombia as both a problem and a partner, a country that needed to be stabilized to protect regional and American interests.
The turning point came with the creation of Plan Colombia at the turn of the millennium. Crafted under the administrations of Presidents Andrés Pastrana and Bill Clinton, the plan represented one of the most ambitious foreign aid packages the United States had ever directed toward Latin America. Over twenty years, Washington poured billions of dollars into Colombia, funding military modernization, police training, aerial eradication of coca crops, and social and judicial reform projects. It was both a counter-narcotics program and a counterinsurgency strategy, aimed at restoring state authority in rural zones long dominated by guerrillas and drug traffickers.
The results were mixed but consequential. By the late 2000s, the Colombian state had regained control over much of its territory. Homicide and kidnapping rates fell sharply. The FARC’s influence waned, and for a time it seemed possible that Colombia might finally emerge from decades of internal war. In Washington, these developments were hailed as proof that sustained U.S. engagement could work. The partnership became a talking point for advocates of foreign aid and a counterexample to the failures of intervention elsewhere.
Economic and diplomatic ties expanded in tandem with military cooperation. In 2012, the U.S.–Colombia Free Trade Agreement came into force, cementing economic integration and making Colombia one of Washington’s most important trading partners in the hemisphere. American investment in mining, agriculture, and energy grew rapidly. U.S. and Colombian diplomats worked closely on regional issues ranging from the Venezuelan refugee crisis to environmental protection and migration management. For successive administrations in Bogotá, from Pastrana to Uribe to Santos, alignment with the United States was seen not only as a strategic necessity but as a symbol of Colombia’s emergence as a stable democracy.
That long-standing sense of partnership began to shift with the election of President Gustavo Petro in 2022. A former guerrilla himself, Petro came to office with a vision that diverged sharply from Washington’s. His agenda centered on ending Colombia’s decades-long war through negotiation rather than force, prioritizing environmental sustainability, and reducing what he saw as Colombia’s overreliance on U.S. military and financial influence. Petro has argued that the global drug war, which the United States has long championed, has failed to curb addiction or violence and has only devastated rural Colombian communities. His approach to peace, drugs, and diplomacy reflects both leftist ideology and widespread public fatigue with a conflict that many Colombians believe was prolonged by U.S. policy.
From Washington’s perspective, Petro’s independence has often appeared to be defiance. The Biden administration has criticized Colombia for increasing coca production and for what it sees as a lack of commitment to traditional counter-narcotics measures. The U.S. decision to decertify Colombia as a fully cooperative partner in the drug war marked a dramatic rupture with decades of policy continuity. Bogotá responded by halting arms purchases from the United States and accusing Washington of hypocrisy. Petro’s government also delayed or suspended extraditions of rebel leaders wanted in U.S. courts, citing the need to preserve fragile peace talks at home.
Tensions have spread beyond security cooperation. The two countries clashed over deportation flights of Colombian migrants from the United States, with Petro demanding more humane procedures and refusing to accept what he viewed as the degrading treatment of deportees. His outspoken criticism of U.S. foreign policy, including his condemnation of the Israeli government and sympathy for the Palestinian cause, further alienated officials in Washington. U.S. diplomats have publicly rebuked Petro, and reports of visa revocations and trade threats have added to the sense that a once-reliable alliance is slipping into distrust.
For the United States, this cooling carries profound implications. Colombia has long been its anchor in Latin America, a partner that could be counted on to align with U.S. interests in a region often skeptical of American power. The intelligence cooperation, military training, and joint law enforcement operations that grew out of Plan Colombia were integral to U.S. efforts to combat transnational crime and narcotics trafficking. If Colombia becomes a less willing partner, the U.S. risks losing a key foothold in a strategic corridor linking the Andes, the Caribbean, and Central America. The flow of drugs northward could become harder to monitor, and intelligence-sharing networks may weaken just as criminal groups adapt to new global markets. This potential loss of influence should be a cause for concern and a call to action for policymakers.
There are broader risks as well. A strained relationship with Bogotá could prompt Colombia to increase its engagement with other powers, such as China, which has already expanded its presence in South America through investments in infrastructure and technology. For Washington, that would represent not only a diplomatic setback but a challenge to its long-standing regional dominance. Economically, deterioration in trade and investment ties could harm U.S. companies operating in Colombia, while instability there could fuel additional migration northward. These potential consequences should serve as a cautionary tale, urging policymakers to consider the broader implications of a strained relationship.
The deeper danger is symbolic. The U.S.–Colombia partnership was once held up as evidence that American engagement could promote democracy, prosperity, and security abroad. It was used to justify foreign aid programs and served as a counterpoint to the perception that the U.S. neglected Latin America. If that narrative collapses, it undermines Washington’s credibility not just in Bogotá but across the region. Other governments may take Colombia’s assertiveness as a sign that the era of deference to U.S. leadership is over, and that new alignments are both possible and advantageous.
Colombia’s shift is not necessarily permanent, but it reflects a generational change in Latin American politics. Petro’s rhetoric about sovereignty, inequality, and environmental justice resonates with a broader regional sentiment that the U.S. model of cooperation has been too focused on militarization and too indifferent to social realities. For policymakers in Washington, the challenge is to adapt without reverting to coercion or moralizing. The United States must decide whether it values influence built on respect and partnership or dominance enforced through conditionality and punishment.
The warmth of the past, forged through shared struggles against insurgency and narcotics, was not inevitable and not without flaws. Yet it sustained both nations through decades of turmoil. The present cooling, by contrast, carries uncertainty for both sides. For Colombia, asserting independence may satisfy domestic pride but risks losing crucial resources and global support. For the United States, alienating its most stable ally in Latin America threatens to unravel years of strategic investment. In the end, the relationship that once symbolized cooperation between North and South now stands as a test of whether the United States can maintain friendship in an era where even its closest partners seek a new kind of autonomy.
Add comment
Comments