COLUMN: Trump on the High Seas: When the Law of the Strong Replaces International Law

When Interceptions Become “Seizures”

The operations carried out by the United States in the Caribbean and beyond bear a striking resemblance to state-sponsored piracy. The Pentagon refers to “seizures,” but under international law, a ship on the high seas may only be boarded in very specific cases: drug trafficking, slavery, or an immediate threat to security. Yet the oil tankers targeted by Trump are accused of “defying sanctions,” not of committing crimes. Worse still, these sanctions themselves are contested by a large part of the international community, which views them as a violation of the right to trade and an interference in the internal affairs of states. Yet the United States acts as if its word were law. It tracks down, intercepts, and confiscates. And it films the whole thing to use as propaganda showcasing its “firmness.” A firmness that, without a UN mandate or international agreement, looks a lot like arbitrariness.

I remember history classes, stories about piracy, those buccaneers who plundered the seas in the name of their own law. Today, it’s a state doing the same thing. With helicopters, drones, and aircraft carriers. With official statements and high-definition videos. But at its core, it’s the same logic: that of the strongest taking what it wants, imposing its rules, and punishing those who dare to resist. Except that back then, we called it piracy. Today, we call it “foreign policy.” And that should send a chill down our spines. Because when a country starts acting like an outlaw—but with the impunity that its power affords it—then nothing can stop it. No more borders. No more limits. Just the law of the jungle, 21st-century style.

Sanctions Are Expanding, Tensions Are Rising

Iran and Russia are the other major targets of this crackdown on oil tankers. In early February 2026, Washington announced new sanctions against 14 vessels linked to the “illicit trade in Iranian oil,” as part of its “maximum pressure campaign.” These measures aim to stifle Iranian exports—which have already been severely curtailed—and to economically isolate Tehran. For its part, Moscow is seeing its own oil tankers targeted, such as the vessel seized in January in the North Atlantic. This escalation only fuels tensions in the Persian Gulf, where Iran’s Revolutionary Guards have already intercepted foreign ships in retaliation. Every U.S. seizure risks triggering a retaliation, and every blockade risks setting off a vicious cycle. And in this game of bluffing poker, it is the global oil markets—and consumers—who pay the price.

We’re told that these sanctions are necessary to “protect national security.” But what kind of security are we talking about, when every measure taken by Washington only stokes the embers of a broader conflict? When every seized oil tanker pushes Iran or Russia to tighten the screws in turn? When every U.S. “victory” comes at the cost of heightened tensions, the risk of retaliation, and instability for millions of people? The truth is that this policy has nothing to do with security. It has everything to do with domination. With the idea that the United States alone can decide who has the right to sell their oil and who must be brought to their knees. And when you play that game, you never win. You’re just setting the stage for the next crisis. The next war.

From Maduro to “Reconstruction” Under U.S. Control

Venezuela has become a testing ground for a Trump-era doctrine: that of “reconstruction under control.” After overthrowing Maduro in January 2026, the United States promised to “rebuild Venezuela’s oil industry” and “revive its economy.” In reality, this means U.S. control over the country’s oil reserves—the largest in the world. Major U.S. oil companies—Exxon Mobil, ConocoPhillips, Chevron—are set to play a central role, under the protection of the military. A “total blockade” has been imposed, and any attempt to circumvent the sanctions is brutally suppressed. Yet, despite Maduro’s downfall, resistance persists. Oil tankers continue to flee, and clandestine networks are reforming. And every seizure only fuels the anger of a population already bled dry.

I look at what’s happening in Venezuela, and I see a plundered country. A country whose resources are being confiscated in the name of so-called “reconstruction.” A country whose people, already crushed by years of crisis, are now being deprived of their last remaining wealth. We hear talk of “economic recovery,” but for whom? For the American oil majors, no doubt. For Trump’s generals, probably. But for the Venezuelans? Nothing. Just the promise of a future where their oil will flow in abundance… toward American ports. That’s the “Trump doctrine”: take what doesn’t belong to you, rename it “reconstruction,” and wait for the world to applaud. But the world isn’t applauding. It’s watching. It’s seeing. And one day, it will judge.

The UN and Maritime Law: Notably Absent

In the face of this escalation, the international community remains strangely silent. Neither the UN nor the International Maritime Organization (IMO) has condemned these seizures, even though they clearly violate the law of the sea. Some countries, such as China and Russia, denounce this as “state-sponsored piracy,” but have taken no action. A divided Europe is content with timid statements. As for human rights organizations, they are warning of the risks of increasing militarization of the seas, but are struggling to make their voices heard. The result: the United States acts with complete impunity, turning the oceans into lawless zones where its word is law. And with each passing day, this new norm becomes a little more entrenched—one in which the strongest does whatever it wants, wherever it wants, however it wants.

This silence terrifies me. This silence that, day after day, legitimizes the unacceptable. That turns the exception into the rule, the violation into a precedent. Where are the safeguards? Where are those who should be crying foul, who should be demanding accountability, who should be reminding us that international law is not an option, but an obligation? They remain silent. They look the other way. They let it happen. And every time they close their eyes, they become accomplices. Accomplices in a world where the law of the strongest replaces that of nations. Accomplices in a world where the sea no longer belongs to anyone, except those who have the weapons to control it. So today, I am speaking out. Because if no one else does, then we will all have failed.

Oil, Markets, Consumers: Who Pays the Price?

The seizure of oil tankers comes at a cost, and it’s not the United States that’s footing the bill. Every ship confiscated, every barrel blocked, every shipping route disrupted drives up oil prices. Markets panic, insurance companies refuse to cover ships under sanctions, and shipping costs skyrocket. The result: at the pump, consumers around the world foot the bill. Yet the Trump administration fully accepts this “collateral damage.” For the administration, the end justifies the means: strangling Venezuela, Iran, and Russia, even if it means causing suffering for millions of people. It’s a ruthless logic, where the victims are always the same: those who lack the means to defend themselves.

I think of those families who, tomorrow, will pay a little more for their gas. Of those businesses that will see their costs skyrocket. Of those developing countries that, already on their knees, will have to choose between heating their homes and putting food on the table. And I wonder: who gave Trump the right to decide who must suffer and who must prosper? Who gave him the power to turn lives into adjustment variables, economies into collateral damage? No one. No one, except himself. Because in his world, there is no room for the weak. There’s only room for the winners. Those with weapons, dollars, and power. The rest? They’d better just grit their teeth. Or die in silence.

When Ships Disappear from Radar

In response to U.S. surveillance, a “ghost fleet” of 800 ships has emerged. These oil tankers, often flying flags of convenience, turn off their tracking systems, change their names, and alter their appearance to evade radar. It’s a high-stakes chase on the high seas, where captains compete in ingenuity to deliver their cargo. Some see this as proof of the determination of sanctioned countries to circumvent the embargo. Others, such as the Pentagon, view it as a threat that must be “eradicated.” Yet this resistance demonstrates one thing: even in the face of American omnipotence, there remain men and women willing to risk their freedom to defend their right to trade—a right that Trump, for his part, has decided to deny them.

These ghost ships, these captains who defy the bans, these crews sailing in the shadows… They are not criminals. They are resisters. Resisters against an order that is no longer just, no longer legitimate. Against a power that decides, on its own, who has the right to live and who must perish. So yes, they cheat. Yes, they lie. Yes, they hide. But what else is left for them? When you’re denied even the right to sell what belongs to you, when you’re hunted down like game, then cunning becomes a weapon. And the shadows, a refuge. And I admire them. Because they refuse to submit. Because they refuse to give in. Because they remind the world that freedom must be defended. Even on the high seas.

When the Oceans Become Battlefields

With these operations, the United States is opening a Pandora’s box: that of the permanent militarization of the seas. Already, Iran’s Revolutionary Guards are responding to U.S. seizures with their own interceptions. China, for its part, is bolstering its naval presence in the South China Sea. And Russia, whose oil tankers are being tracked, is threatening retaliation. Every action begets another; every provocation spawns a new one. The risk? That the oceans—these spaces of freedom and trade—will become zones of permanent conflict, where every ship is a target and every cargo a mark. A prospect that, if it comes to pass, will turn the high seas into the new Wild West. A Wild West where, this time, the law will truly be that of the strongest.

I look at these maps, these fleets, these zones of tension spreading like an oil slick. And I think to myself: we are in the process of losing something irreplaceable. Something that transcends borders, ideologies, and interests. We are losing the sea as a space of peace. As a place of encounter, exchange, and freedom. And in its place, we are building a world where every wave carries a threat, where every horizon hides a danger. A world where war knows no borders, where peace is nothing more than a memory. So today, I cry out. I cry out against this madness. Against this race toward the abyss. Against those who, in the name of some kind of security—I don’t know what kind—or some kind of domination—I don’t know what kind—are ready to turn our oceans into fields of ruins. Because if we let this happen, then we will all have lost. Not just a battle. But our humanity.

The Choice That Defines Us

The Aquila II case is not an isolated incident. It is a symptom of a world where the rules are rewritten by the most powerful, where international law becomes an empty shell, where the sea is no longer a common good but a battleground for conquest. Faced with this, we have a choice. We can remain silent, let it happen, and look the other way. Or to say: Enough. Enough of illegal seizures. Enough of unilateral blockades. Enough of this logic where the strongest decides for everyone. Because the sea is like freedom: either it belongs to everyone, or it belongs to no one. And today, it is being stolen from us.

I’ll end this article with a thought for those sailors, those captains, those peoples who, despite everything, refuse to submit. For those voices that, despite the noise of helicopters and press releases, continue to say no. Because the future depends on them. Not on generals. Not on presidents. But on us. On our ability to be outraged. To resist. To remember that the sea, like justice, like freedom, cannot be shared. It must be defended. So today, I choose to fight. Not with weapons. Not with laws. But with words. Because sometimes, words are the last line of defense against barbarism. And you, which side will you be on?

Signed, Jacques Provost