The Caribbean We Refuse to Lose

Every sailor knows that charts can lie. The reef drawn as a hazard is often the safest anchorage. The “danger zone” marked in red can hide the calmest lagoon. And sometimes, the loudest warnings come not from the sea, but from those who want to keep you away.

For years, Venezuela has been painted as a place to avoid. Stories of chaos, of danger, of shadows on the horizon. But ask anyone who has truly sailed here, and they’ll tell you something different: our waters are calm, our people welcoming, our islands untouched. The real story is not one of crime or cartels — it is of oil, the black gold beneath our soil, the largest reserves in the world, and the contested Esequibo territory that holds even more. That truth is harder to print, so the world is told another tale.

Nations have always fought to redraw the map in their favor. Yesterday it was Iraq and Libya; today it is Venezuela and the Esequibo. The tools are always the same: sanctions, headlines, speeches about freedom. Yet while governments argue, sailors see what endures — turquoise seas, coral anchors, fishermen who serve lobster on the sand. Out here, there is no “failed state,” only a sanctuary of blues and whites more vivid than any flag.

Even those who shout the loudest cannot hide the truth forever. The same hands that sign sanctions also sign oil contracts. Chevron’s renewed license is proof enough: what they want is not our downfall, but our resources.

This is why we sail, why we write, why we keep a logbook. To remember what is real, and to share it with those who only know the headlines. The Caribbean we love is not a battlefield. It is a sanctuary — one we refuse to lose.