A Protest Note | From Caracas to Kavaratti

What is unfolding between the United States and Venezuela is not merely a bilateral dispute—it is a familiar global script of power asserting itself over sovereignty. Economic sanctions, political interference, and the deliberate choking of a nation’s economy are presented under the language of “democracy” and “human rights,” while ordinary people are pushed into poverty, instability, and silence.

Venezuela’s struggle reminds the world of an old truth: when a country refuses to bend to imperial interests, it is punished—not with bombs alone, but with hunger, inflation, and international isolation. This is not diplomacy; it is domination wearing a diplomatic mask.

And this is where Lakshadweep enters the conversation.

Lakshadweep may be a small group of islands in the Arabian Sea, but it is not isolated from these global power dynamics. What happens to Venezuela today reflects, in a quieter but deeply troubling way, what island communities like Lakshadweep experience—decisions taken far away, imposed without consent, justified in the name of “development,” “national interest,” or “security.”

Just as Venezuela’s people are denied agency over their resources and political future, Lakshadweep’s people increasingly feel decisions being drafted over their heads—on land use, environment, culture, livelihood, and even democratic processes. When power is centralized and dissent is painted as disloyalty, geography becomes irrelevant. Whether it is a South American nation rich in oil or a fragile coral archipelago rich in culture, the logic remains the same: control first, consent later.

Sanctions on Venezuela and administrative overreach in Lakshadweep stem from the same mindset—the belief that people can be managed, reshaped, or sacrificed for larger geopolitical or economic goals.

This protest is not only against U.S. intervention in Venezuela.
It is against every form of imposed silence.
Against every policy that treats people as obstacles.
Against every empire—global or domestic—that forgets humanity in its hunger for control.

From Caracas to Kavaratti, the message must be clear:
Sovereignty is not a favor.
Democracy is not selective.
And small nations, small islands, and ordinary people are not expendable.

The world must listen—not just to the loud voices of power, but to the quiet resistance of those who refuse to disappear.