Have you ever wondered what it takes to fight in a place where the air itself feels like a wet blanket and every step could be your last? Deep in the heart of Central America, something long dormant is stirring again. For the first time in over two decades, American ground troops are back in Panama, slashing through jungle undergrowth, learning to survive and dominate in one of the planet’s most unforgiving terrains.
It’s not just a training exercise. It’s a signal. A quiet but unmistakable flex of military intent in a region that’s been simmering with tension. And while official voices insist this is routine preparation, the timing raises eyebrows. Let’s unpack what’s really happening beneath the canopy.
A Return to the Green Hell
The course was once infamous among Marines and soldiers alike. They called it Green Hell—a brutal three-week gauntlet designed to mirror the nightmare of Vietnam-era jungle combat. Shut down in 1999 when the United States handed over the Panama Canal, the training ground at what used to be Fort Sherman has sat silent for years. Until now.
Today, that base—now renamed Base Aeronaval Cristóbal Colón—hosts a new generation of fighters. Soldiers and Marines move in small units, practicing navigation without GPS, ambushes in zero visibility, and survival with nothing but what the jungle provides. The humidity is relentless. Insects swarm. The terrain punishes every misstep. But that’s exactly the point.
Jungle warfare isn’t about strength—it’s about patience, adaptation, and outthinking both the enemy and the environment itself.
– Senior military instructor
Why Panama? Why Now?
Panama isn’t randomly chosen. Its jungles are dense, its rainfall punishing, its wildlife dangerous—perfect for stress-testing troops. But geography tells only part of the story. The country sits at a global chokepoint: the Panama Canal. Controlling training access here isn’t just about combat readiness. It’s about presence.
Earlier this year, high-level discussions floated the idea of reasserting influence over the canal. While those remarks were walked back publicly, a new agreement was quietly signed. It allows American forces to rotate through Panamanian bases for “joint exercises.” Convenient timing, wouldn’t you say?
And then there’s the broader picture. The Caribbean has seen a steady increase in U.S. military assets—ships, aircraft, special operations teams. Official statements frame it as counter-narcotics and disaster response preparedness. But military planners rarely move pieces on the board without a larger game in mind.
The Venezuela Shadow
Let’s not dance around it. Across the border lies Venezuela—a nation rich in oil, deep in crisis, and increasingly aligned with powers unfriendly to Washington. Its jungles stretch vast and largely unmapped. Its government has been vocal about preparing for invasion. And recent arms deliveries from abroad include advanced air defense systems.
Military officials deny any direct link between the Panama training and Venezuela. “This is about maintaining core competencies,” one told reporters. Fair enough. But competencies don’t exist in a vacuum. When you train to seize airfields in dense terrain, or secure maritime infrastructure under fire, you’re preparing for something specific.
Reports suggest contingency plans have been briefed at the highest levels. Options include rapid strikes to capture key ports, oil facilities, or runways. Not a full invasion—yet—but enough to cripple command and control. Jungle-trained units would be essential for holding ground in the chaotic early phases.
- Seize and defend remote airfields deep inland
- Secure coastal oil terminals against counterattack
- Disrupt supply lines through rugged, forested regions
- Conduct prolonged operations with minimal resupply
These aren’t hypothetical skills. They’re the exact capabilities being honed right now in Panama.
Echoes of 1989
History has a way of rhyming. Back in 1989, the U.S. launched Operation Just Cause—invading Panama to remove a former ally turned adversary. At the time, American bases dotted the country. Troops knew every road, every barrio. The operation was swift, decisive, and enabled by decades of on-the-ground familiarity.
Today? No such luxury. Any action in Venezuela would begin from scratch—no established footholds, no local infrastructure under control. That’s where Panama comes in. It’s the closest analog: similar climate, terrain, even urban-jungle interfaces. Training here isn’t just practice. It’s reconnaissance by proxy.
The jungle doesn’t care about your politics. It will kill you just as happily whether you’re liberator or invader.
The Human Element
Step away from strategy for a moment. Think about the troops. These aren’t drones or avatars—they’re young men and women thrust into an environment that tests body and mind. Sleep deprivation, constant moisture, the psychological weight of isolation. I’ve spoken with veterans of past jungle courses; they describe it as transformative.
One former Marine put it bluntly: “You learn who you are when the map fails and the radio dies.” The course strips away reliance on technology. No drones, no satellites—just compass, machete, and instinct. Units that complete it emerge tighter, more adaptable. And in irregular warfare, adaptability is everything.
What the Training Reveals
Look closer at the curriculum. It’s not your grandfather’s boot camp. Modules now include:
- Countering advanced air defenses with ground maneuvers
- Operating in denied communications environments
- Integrating with local forces (or simulating hostile populations)
- Long-range infiltration using rivers and canopy cover
These aren’t generic skills. They’re tailored responses to known capabilities in the region. And the rotation schedule? It’s accelerating. More units, more frequently, with increasing complexity. This isn’t a one-off. It’s institutionalizing a capability that had atrophied.
The Resistance Factor
Any planner worth their salt knows terrain is only half the battle. The other half is the people. Venezuela’s leadership claims millions in a pro-government militia—armed, trained, and ideologically committed. Russia has provided not just equipment but advisors. China watches closely, with economic stakes tied to stability.
Jungle warfare favors the defender. Ambushes, booby traps, intimate knowledge of the land—these turn invaders into targets. American doctrine emphasizes speed and precision, but speed requires air superiority. And with modern air defenses in play, that equation gets complicated fast.
In my view, the most interesting aspect isn’t the training itself—it’s the message. Reviving jungle warfare capacity after decades of desert and urban focus says something profound about where military thinkers believe the next conflict may erupt. It’s a pivot. A quiet one, but unmistakable.
Broader Implications
This isn’t just about one country or one crisis. Jungle warfare expertise has applications worldwide—Southeast Asia, the Amazon, Central Africa. Climate change is opening new Arctic routes but also intensifying tropical conflicts over resources. The ability to operate in dense, hot, wet environments is becoming a premium skill.
Moreover, the Panama agreement sets a precedent. Other nations in the region may be next—Colombia, Honduras, Guatemala—all with challenging terrain and strategic value. A network of training hubs could emerge, projecting power without permanent bases. Smart, flexible, and harder to oppose politically.
The View from Panama
Local reaction has been muted. The canal generates massive revenue; stability is priority one. But memories of 1989 linger. For many Panamanians, U.S. troops evoke mixed feelings—security, yes, but also sovereignty. The government frames the exercises as mutual benefit: shared knowledge, disaster response training, economic activity from visiting forces.
Yet beneath the surface, questions simmer. How long until “training” becomes prepositioning? What happens if regional conflict draws Panama in unwillingly? The canal is neutral by treaty, but neutrality is only as strong as the power enforcing it.
Looking Ahead
The jungle course runs three weeks, but its effects will last years. Units certified here will rotate through commands, bringing expertise to planning cells, special operations, even conventional brigades. Doctrine will evolve. Equipment will be tested—new boots, lighter loads, better comms for wet environments.
And the signal keeps transmitting: The United States is preparing for contingencies it hopes never to use. But preparation itself shapes outcomes. Deterrence works both ways. A credible jungle warfare capability may prevent conflict by making its cost too high. Or it may accelerate escalation by removing perceived barriers.
Either way, the Green Hell is open for business again. And in the dense, dripping heart of Panama, the next chapter of great power competition is being written—one machete swing at a time.
Sometimes, the most important movements in global affairs aren’t announced with fanfare. They happen quietly, in the sweat and strain of soldiers pushing through underbrush, learning to fight where maps fail and technology falters. Panama’s jungles are teaching lessons today that may echo far into tomorrow. The question is: are we ready for where those lessons lead?
