When Admiral Alvin Holsey accepted command of the U.S. Southern Command (SOUTHCOM) in November 2024, many in Washington praised the decision as both strategic and symbolic. His appointment, according to political analyst Dr. David Horne, was connected to Holsey’s extensive experience in counterdrug missions and his early willingness to take what he described as a “more muscular approach” to dismantling drug cartels operating throughout the Caribbean and Latin America. For an administration determined to escalate counternarcotics pressure off the coast of Venezuela, Holsey seemed the ideal candidate.
Less than a year later, Holsey’s early departure in October 2025 would become one of the most significant breaks in the national security structure. According to officials familiar with the matter, Holsey clashed with Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth over the legality of a series of lethal strikes on suspected drug-smuggling vessels—operations that intensified through the summer and fall of 2025. What began as a mission framed as interdiction gradually shifted into a dispute over constitutional duty, the ethics of warfare, and the treatment of unidentified civilians at sea.
Legal Disputes and Bypassed Authority
Reports published in December 2025 describe a pivotal internal meeting in which Holsey refused an order from Hegseth to launch preemptive strikes on vessels analysts warned may have been civilian. Holsey, citing his oath to uphold the Constitution, reportedly told colleagues he could not carry out an order he believed to be illegal. The administration’s evolving approach—classifying alleged traffickers as “unlawful combatants” subject to direct military action—had already raised alarms within SOUTHCOM.
The tensions deepened as the Pentagon began issuing strike orders without routing them through Holsey’s command. Several late-2025 operations reportedly bypassed SOUTHCOM entirely, signaling a breakdown in the chain of command and suggesting a lack of confidence in Holsey’s willingness to approve borderline missions.
“The final straw,” according to defense officials, was the strike that killed survivors in the water near the Caribbean corridor—an action that immediately drew criticism from U.N. experts and triggered Congressional inquiries. Holsey viewed the follow-on attack as an unmistakable violation of international law.
Hegseth later denied giving any order resembling a “kill them all” directive regarding survivors.
A Phrase With a Long History
The infamous idea of eliminating all potential threats, regardless of combatant status, is not new. Its most widely cited origin traces back to Arnaud Amalric, the papal legate during the 1209 Massacre at Béziers. When Crusaders could not distinguish between Cathar heretics and Catholic townspeople, Amalric reportedly declared, “Caedite eos. Novit enim Dominus qui sunt eius”—“Kill them all; the Lord knows His own.” The phrase has echoed through centuries as shorthand for the abandonment of moral restraint.
Southern California resident Donald Mitchell, who lives in the Compton-Willowbrook area, says the concept resurfaced in the stories passed down by his grandfather, Donald Mitchell Sr., a World War II veteran who served in the Red Ball Express and later in the China-Burma-India theater. Mitchell Sr., who repaired diesel trucks after the war until his death four years ago, recounted attending a speech by General George S. Patton to Black Transportation Corps soldiers. Patton, known for his fiery rhetoric, warned drivers they would be moving so fast they would have “no time to take prisoners.”
Mitchell Sr. interpreted the message bluntly: if a German soldier surrendered and the convoy let him live, that same soldier might later kill American troops. While historical research indicates Patton never issued an explicit order to refuse prisoners—a violation of the laws of war—his speeches were frequently understood by soldiers as permission to engage in lethal shortcuts. Mitchell says his grandfather described “mass killings” of surrendering Germans, none of which were formally documented.
The Long Record of Killing Survivors at Sea
International law draws a firm line against harming shipwrecked survivors. Under the Hague and Geneva Conventions, individuals floating in the water after a vessel’s destruction are protected persons, no matter their nationality or affiliation. Yet, history is filled with moments when armed forces crossed this bright red line.
Among the most consequential cases:
• SS Torrington (1917): A German U-boat sank the British trawler and destroyed its lifeboats, leaving nearly all crewmen to drown.
• HMHS Llandovery Castle (1918): A marked Canadian hospital ship was torpedoed by a German U-boat, whose crew then machine-gunned survivors. Its commander was later convicted in a landmark 1921 war-crimes trial.
• SS Anglo-Saxon (1940): Survivors of the British freighter were fired on by the German raider Widder.
• USS Wahoo (1943): The American submarine fired on Japanese survivors from the Buyo Maru, a controversial incident that has fueled debate for decades.
• Battle of the Bismarck Sea (1943): Allied aircraft attacked Japanese soldiers floating in the sea.
• SS Tjisalak (1943): Survivors taken aboard the Japanese submarine I-8 were beaten to death.
• SS Peleus (1944): A German U-boat spent hours machine-gunning rafts to eliminate evidence of the sinking; its commander and two officers were executed after the war.
• Sri Lankan Navy incidents (1985, 1993): Tamil civilians were allegedly massacred at sea.
• 2025 Caribbean strikes: The U.S. operation that killed survivors has prompted active investigations.
At the West Los Angeles Veterans Hospital, a retired Coast Guard official—who requested anonymity but permitted his location to be cited—said the latest controversies reveal an old pattern. “The Geneva Convention laws do not apply to people of color,” he argued. He referenced recent allegations involving Russian crews killing Somali prisoners at sea, suggesting a global pattern of racialized dehumanization. “This is how the administration saw individuals from the Caribbean—no value. This is how the Venezuelans were viewed.”
Holsey’s Line in the Sand
Placed against this historical backdrop, Holsey’s objections become even more significant. Those close to him say he supported forceful interdiction operations but refused to allow SOUTHCOM to drift into territory historically recognized as criminal. His defenders contend Holsey stepped down not to undermine strategy but to prevent the United States from sliding toward the very abuses its own military once prosecuted in international courts.
The Trump administration maintains that the U.S. is engaged in an “armed conflict” with “narco-terrorist” organizations and therefore has broad authority under the rules of engagement. Critics say this argument stretches legal definitions beyond recognition. Drug trafficking, they note, is a criminal enterprise—not grounds for treating every unidentified boat as a battlefield target.
A Departure That Raises Difficult Questions
Holsey’s exit represents a rare rupture at the top of America’s military hierarchy, a moment when constitutional duty collided with political ambition. It also raises deeper questions about the boundaries between law enforcement and warfare and what the United States risks when it blurs those lines.
As congressional and international investigations continue, one fact remains clear: Admiral Alvin Holsey left SOUTHCOM not because he opposed the mission he was chosen to advance, but because he believed that mission had crossed a legal and moral threshold that commanders—and nations—ignore at their peril. The president is not releasing the second strike video of the shooting of survivors. Holsey officially steps down on Dec. 12, 2025.