The January 3 US military operation in Venezuela seizing President Nicolás Maduro and his wife, Cilia Adela Flores de Maduro, was in equal measure audacious and illegal under international law.
It’s even more breathtaking that the Trump administration now says it “will run” Venezuela on an interim basis. The US will also seek to control the country’s vast oil interests.
Irrespective of its contested domestic politics and the chequered record of the Maduro regime, Venezuela remains a recognised sovereign state under international law. This includes permanent sovereignty over its natural resources. Any US seizure of Venezuelan oil would be a further violation of international law.
But the US hasn’t tried to justify its strikes with international law. Instead, the Trump administration is using domestic laws to ignore global rules entirely. It’s a new strategy, but one with no international legal basis, regardless of how you slice it.
Making the international domestic
Both the first and second Trump administrations have shown animosity towards the Maduro regime.
The US government has consistently raised two key issues: the role Venezuela has played in illegal Latin American migrants entering the US, and support for the flow of drugs into the US.
Both were major issues during the 2024 US presidential election campaign and are key planks of the Trump MAGA movement.
The legitimacy of the Maduro regime has also been called into question. There were disputed election outcomes in 2018 and 2024.
However, the legitimacy or otherwise of the Maduro regime is not a legal basis for a military intervention.
Rather, the Trump administration is relying on US domestic laws to justify its actions in Venezuela. A 2020 US grand jury indictment of Maduro and his wife for drug trafficking underpins the legal argument.
That Maduro has been paraded before television cameras in New York like any other detained prisoner further emphasises the importance of US domestic law in this matter. It’s unprecedented for a foreign head of state to be arrested in their presidential compound, detained and legally processed in the US within the space of 24 hours.
Maduro and his wife will eventually face trial on various criminal charges. That Nicolás Maduro is the Venezuelan president and therefore entitled to head of state immunity from criminal prosecution before a US court will presumably be set aside as the Trump administration does not recognise the legitimacy of his presidency.
Likewise, US courts will probably not bother themselves too much with the manner of Maduro’s arrest via US extra-territorial law enforcement in a foreign state.
In the normal course of events, once the US grand jury indictment had been released, Maduro’s extradition could have been sought via a US arrest warrant.
The Trump administration likely assumed any such extradition request would have been ignored. So, instead, it used the US military to enter Maduro’s Caracas compound to facilitate his arrest by Department of Justice officials.
Law enforcement or law breaking?
At the core of how the Trump administration has advanced its legal campaign against Venezuela and the Maduro regime has been its reliance on US law.
The US justified these, in part, on the basis of extra-territorial enforcement of US laws against known cartels shipping drugs throughout the Caribbean to American entry points.
In December, the US Coast Guard began to pursue and seize oil tankers subject to US sanctions. This conduct was also justified on the basis of US law, with the sanctioned tankers being stopped and seized in waters off the Venezuelan coast on the high seas.
US law enforcement has now been extended to the seizure, arrest and detention of the Maduros.
By relying on the argument that the US is enforcing its own laws, the Trump administration provides itself with a domestic legal basis for its actions, no matter what international law may have to say.
This is a clear case of US exceptionalism towards international law, of which there is a long history. It reflects a US view that its own laws prevail over all other law. According to the US, international law should not unduly limit its ability to advance its national interests.
It’s also based on an assumption that any international opprobium it may encounter can be managed or safely ignored.
The 3 things to watch
There are three immediate regional and global lessons from these events.
First, the Trump administration has shown a vast capacity to sanction whomever it chooses based on domestic political whims. Individuals, entities and corporations have all been targeted through presidential executive orders, laws and force. Many will be on high alert.
Second, while the cumulative US actions against Venezuela violate the United Nations Charter, the UN will be virtually powerless to constrain the US. This is due to the veto powers held by the permanent members of its Security Council, not to mention Trump’s disdain for the UN generally.
Third, US allies and partners need to be very aware of the ramifications of this exceptional US law enforcement practice.
If, down the line, the US military encounters a more robust response than it did in Venezuela, it could trigger NATO treaty obligations for European countries and Canada, and ANZUS treaty obligations for Australia.
So, if the US continues down this road, there’s every chance the consequences of its interventionism could be felt by many around the world.
Donald Rothwell receives funding from Australian Research Council.
After US special forces swooped into Caracas to seize Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro and topple his government, US President Donald Trump said the United States will now “run” Venezuela, including its abundant oil resources.
US companies were poised to invest billions to upgrade Venezuela’s crumbling oil infrastructure, he said, and “start making money for the country”. Venezuela has the world’s largest oil reserves – outpacing Saudi Arabia with 303 billion barrels, or about 20% of global reserves.
If this does eventuate – and that’s a very big “if” – it would mark the end of an adversarial relationship that began nearly 30 years ago.
Yes, the Trump administration’s military action in Venezuela was in many ways unprecedented. But it was not surprising given Venezuela’s vast oil wealth and the historic relations between the US and Venezuela under former President Hugo Chávez and Maduro.
A long history of US investment
Venezuela is a republic of around 30 million people on the northern coast of South America, about twice the size of California. During much of the early 20th century, it was considered the wealthiest country in South America due to its oil reserves.
Venezuela’s location in South America. Wikimedia Commons
Foreign companies, including those from the US, invested heavily in the growth of Venezuelan oil and played a heavy hand in its politics. In the face of US opposition, however, Venezuelan leaders began asserting more control over their main export resource. Venezuela was a key figure in the formation of the Organisation of Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC) in 1960, and it nationalised much of its oil industry in 1976.
This negatively impacted US companies like ExxonMobil and has fuelled the recent claims by the Trump administration that Venezuela “stole” US oil.
Economic prosperity, however, did not follow for most Venezuelans. The mismanagement of the oil industry led to a debt crisis and International Monetary Fund (IMF) intervention in 1988. Caracas erupted in protests in February 1989 and the government sent the military to crush the uprising. An estimated 300 people were killed, according to official totals, but the real figure could be 10 times higher.
In the aftermath, Venezuelan society became further split between the wealthy, who wanted to work with the US, and the working class, who sought autonomy from the US. This division has defined Venezuelan politics ever since.
Then, after the 1989 riots, Chávez’s recruitment efforts increased dramatically and he began planning the overthrow of Venezuela’s government. In February 1992, he staged a failed coup against the pro-US president, Carlos Andrés Pérez. While he was imprisoned, his group staged another coup attempt later in the year that also failed. Chavez was jailed for two years, but emerged as the leading presidential candidate in 1998 on a socialist revolutionary platform.
Chávez became a giant of both Venezuelan and Latin American politics. His revolution evoked the memory of Simón Bolívar, the great liberator of South America from Spanish colonialism. Not only was Chávez broadly popular in Venezuela for his use of oil revenue to subsidise government programs for food, health and education, he was well-regarded in like-minded regimes in the region due to his generosity.
Chavez swept back into power just two days later, however, on the backs of legions of supporters filling the streets. And the Bush administration immediately faced intense scrutiny for its possible role in the aborted coup.
While the US denied involvement, questions lingered for years about whether the government had advance knowledge of the coup and tacitly backed his ouster. In 2004, newly classified documents showed the CIA was aware of the plot, but it was unclear how much advance warning US officials gave Chavez himself.
But Maduro is not Chávez. He did not have the same level of support among the working class, the military or across the region. Venezuela’s economic conditions worsened and inflation skyrocketed.
Now, Trump has successfully removed Maduro in a much more brazen operation, with no attempts at deniability. It remains to be seen how Venezuelans and other Latin American nations will respond to the US actions, but one thing is certain: US involvement in Venezuelan politics will continue, as long as it has financial stakes in the country.
James Trapani does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Like other developing countries, Indonesia is facing a familiar dilemma: how to feed a growing population while protecting its extraordinary biodiversity.
Food security has become a pressing concern amidst drought, pests and climate shifts. Scientists are turning to new technologies for answers. Biotechnology — specifically gene editing (GE) — emerges as a potential solution.
Yet many still have questions. Can GE truly support smallholder farmers and help Indonesia achieve food sovereignty? Or will it simply revive the old controversies surrounding genetically modified crops?
Our 2024 study involving Indonesian stakeholders highlights that technical fixes alone cannot solve food insecurity. For gene editing to succeed, it must address the social inequalities – such as unequal land access – that farmers face.
Gene editing vs genetic modification: what is the difference?
Both gene editing and genetic modification refer to organisms with genetic material altered by humans to introduce desirable traits, such as drought tolerance or disease resistance.
But critics warn that even with these new methods, the same old questions remain: who controls the technology? Who benefits? And who gets left behind?
Indonesia’s reliance on imports
Smallholder farmers dominate Indonesia’s agricultural landscape, where rice remains the main staple food crop.
Despite increases in rice production and several other agricultural yields, the country still needs to import key commodities like corn and soybeans from the United States to produce tempeh and tofu for daily consumption.
Similarly, livestock feed supplies still rely heavily on imports of genetically modified soybean meal from Argentina and Brazil.
Lessons from the past: old setbacks to new technologies
The first commercial cultivation of modified crops, Bt cotton, took place between 2001 and 2002. However, the project ultimately failed after the provider, Monsanto, withdrew in 2003, citing difficult regulatory hurdles and limited land for cultivation.
Between 2003 and 2021, no commercial genetically modified crops were grown, apart from sugarcane in limited government-owned areas.
Following these setbacks, the government has looked towards gene editing. Since 2021, corn, potato and sugarcane varieties have been approved for commercial cultivation. While domestic production remains limited, Indonesia is a major importer of gene-edited commodities, particularly soybeans and corn, for both human consumption and livestock feed.
Today, researchers at Indonesia’s National Research and Innovation Agency (BRIN) are developing gene-edited varieties including rice, cassava and sorghum. The government remains optimistic, presenting gene editing as a way to boost productivity and reduce reliance on food imports.
Yet, questions remain over how this technology will reach farmers – and on whose terms
Our study shows that many people still do not fully understand the technology. Between April and August 2024, we interviewed 11 stakeholders in Indonesia. This included farmer groups, government officials, researchers, NGOs and consumer associations.
Many participants from civil society and farmers’ unions pointed to the ‘problem of socialisation’. They refer to a lack of shared understanding about the role gene technologies should play in Indonesia’s agricultural future. They also emphasised the importance of prioritising smallholder farmers, who continue to dominate the sector.
A representative from a consumer association highlighted risks of ‘capital bias’. They noted that farmers could end up as company ‘employees’ rather than independent producers if they are pushed to adopt new technologies without transparent information.
Participants from the Indonesian Farmers Union also raised concerns about seed patents. They warned that local farm seeds could be recreated in a laboratory, reclassified and then patented for profit.
Innovation is often treated as the domain of scientists. Meanwhile, the social and ethical implications are left for others to handle afterwards. All participants agreed that public engagement is essential, yet none were ready to lead those efforts.
Gene editing could play an important role in Indonesia’s food future – but not if it follows a ‘technology first, consultation later’ approach. Genuine communication requires discussing innovations beyond the scientists’ bubble and meaningfully involving those who shape agricultural and food systems, especially women.
As providers, cooks and household decision-makers, women farmers are well-positioned to play a crucial role in engaging and mobilising their communities. Their resilience is a vital resource for regional progress. Policymakers and researchers need to invest not only in laboratories but also in building trust, fostering dialogue and developing genuine collaboration with farmers and local communities.
Biotechnology may offer powerful tools, but it is not a silver bullet. We need to understand the specific social and cultural landscape in each locale to determine if and where the technology can be truly useful.
Indonesia’s path forward will depend on recognising that scientific innovation and social inclusion must grow together. Only by bringing both into alignment can gene editing truly contribute to a fair, sustainable and culturally grounded food system.
Emily A. Buddle has received funding from the Department of Primary Industries and Regions South Australia, the Australian Research Council and Meat and Livestock Australia. She is currently an Innovation Fellow with the Australian Research Council Training Centre for Future Crops Development. She is also a farmer in South Australia’s mid north region
Gloria Fransisca Katharina Lawi worked as a research fellow at the Biotechnology Center of Gadjah Mada University for KONEKSI. It was funded by the governments of Australia and Indonesia to promote knowledge partnerships.
Joan Leach has received research funding from the Australian Research Council, the National Health and Medicine Research Council, the Kavli Foundation and the UN FAO. She is a chief investigator in the ARC International Training Center for Future Crops.
Source: The Conversation – USA – By Monica Duffy Toft, Professor of International Politics and Director of the Center for Strategic Studies, The Fletcher School, Tufts University
An image circulated over media the weekend of Jan. 3 and 4 was meant to convey dominance: Venezuela’s president, Nicolás Maduro, blindfolded and handcuffed aboard a U.S. naval vessel. Shortly after the operation that seized Maduro and his wife, Cilia Flores, President Donald Trump announced that the United States would now “run” Venezuela until a “safe, proper and judicious transition” could be arranged.
The Trump administration’s move is not an aberration; it reflects a broader trend in U.S. foreign policy I described here some six years ago as “America the Bully.”
Washington increasingly relies on coercion – military, economic and political – not only to deter adversaries but to compel compliance from weaker nations. This may deliver short-term obedience, but it is counterproductive as a strategy for building durable power, which depends on legitimacy and capacity. When coercion is applied to governance, it can harden resistance, narrow diplomatic options and transform local political failures into contests of national pride.
But removing a leader – even a brutal and incompetent one – is not the same as advancing a legitimate political order.
An image of Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro after his capture, posted by President Donald Trump and reposted by the White House. White House X.com account
Force doesn’t equal legitimacy
By declaring its intent to govern Venezuela, the United States is creating a governance trap of its own making – one in which external force is mistakenly treated as a substitute for domestic legitimacy.
The core finding of that research is straightforward: Force can topple rulers, but it cannot generate political authority.
When violence and what I have described elsewhere as “kinetic diplomacy” become a substitute for full spectrum action – which includes diplomacy, economics and what the late political scientist Joseph Nye called “soft power” – it tends to deepen instability rather than resolve it.
More force, less statecraft
The Venezuela episode reflects this broader shift in how the United States uses its power. My co-author Sidita Kushi and I document this by analyzing detailed data from the new Military Intervention Project. We show that since the end of the Cold War, the United States has sharply increased the frequency of military interventions while systematically underinvesting in diplomacy and other tools of statecraft.
One striking feature of the trends we uncover is that if Americans tended to justify excessive military intervention during the Cold War between 1945–1989 due to the perception that the Soviet Union was an existential threat, what we would expect is far fewer military interventions following the Soviet Union’s 1991 collapse. That has not happened.
Even more striking, the mission profile has changed. Interventions that once aimed at short-term stabilization now routinely expand into prolonged governance and security management, as they did in both Iraq after 2003 and Afghanistan after 2001.
This pattern is reinforced by institutional imbalance. In 2026, for every single dollar the United States invests in the diplomatic “scalpel” of the State Department to prevent conflict, it allocates US$28 to the military “hammer” of the Department of Defense, effectively ensuring that force becomes a first rather than last resort.
“Kinetic diplomacy” – in the Venezuela case, regime change by force – becomes the default not because it is more effective, but because it is the only tool of statecraft immediately available. On Jan. 4, Trump told the Atlantic magazine that if Delcy Rodríguez, the acting leader of Venezuela, “doesn’t do what’s right, she is going to pay a very big price, probably bigger than Maduro.”
Lessons from Afghanistan, Iraq and Libya
The consequences of this imbalance are visible across the past quarter-century.
In Afghanistan, the U.S.-led attempt to engineer authority built on external force alone proved brittle by its very nature. The U.S. had invaded Afghanistan in 2001 to topple the Taliban regime, deemed responsible for the 9/11 terrorist attacks. But the subsequent two decades of foreign-backed state-building collapsed almost instantly once U.S. forces withdrew in 2021. No amount of reconstruction spending could compensate for the absence of a political order rooted in domestic consent.
That plan, unlike the State Department’s, ignored key cultural, social and historical conditions. Instead, it proposed an approach that assumed a credible threat to use coercion, supplemented by private contractors, would prove sufficient to lead to a rapid and effective transition to a democratic Iraq. The United States became responsible not only for security, but also for electricity, water, jobs and political reconciliation – tasks no foreign power can perform without becoming, as the United States did, an object of resistance.
Libya demonstrated a different failure mode. There, intervention by a U.S.-backed NATO force in 2011 and removal of dictator Moammar Gadhafi and his regime were not followed by governance at all. The result was civil war, fragmentation, militia rule and a prolonged struggle over sovereignty and economic development that continues today.
The common thread across all three cases is hubris: the belief that American management – either limited or oppressive – could replace political legitimacy.
Venezuela’s infrastructure is already in ruins. If the United States assumes responsibility for governance, it will be blamed for every blackout, every food shortage and every bureaucratic failure. The liberator will quickly become the occupier.
Iraqi Sunni Muslim insurgents celebrate in front of a burning U.S. convoy they attacked earlier on April 8, 2004, on the outskirts of the flashpoint town of Fallujah. Karim Sahib, AFP/Getty Images
Costs of ‘running’ a country
Taking on governance in Venezuela would also carry broader strategic costs, even if those costs are not the primary reason the strategy would fail.
A military attack followed by foreign administration is a combination that undermines the principles of sovereignty and nonintervention that underpin the international order the United States claims to support. It complicates alliance diplomacy by forcing partners to reconcile U.S. actions with the very rules they are trying to defend elsewhere.
The United States has historically been strongest when it anchored an open sphere built on collaboration with allies, shared rules and voluntary alignment. Launching a military operation and then assuming responsibility for governance shifts Washington toward a closed, coercive model of power – one that relies on force to establish authority and is prohibitively costly to sustain over time.
These signals are read not only in Berlin, London and Paris. They are watched closely in Taipei, Tokyo and Seoul — and just as carefully in Beijing and Moscow.
When the United States attacks a sovereign state and then claims the right to administer it, it weakens its ability to contest rival arguments that force alone, rather than legitimacy, determines political authority.
Beijing needs only to point to U.S. behavior to argue that great powers rule as they please where they can – an argument that can justify the takeover of Taiwan. Moscow, likewise, can cite such precedent to justify the use of force in its near abroad and not just in Ukraine.
This matters in practice, not theory. The more the United States normalizes unilateral governance, the easier it becomes for rivals to dismiss American appeals to sovereignty as selective and self-serving, and the more difficult it becomes for allies to justify their ties to the U.S.
That erosion of credibility does not produce dramatic rupture, but it steadily narrows the space for cooperation over time and the advancement of U.S. interests and capabilities.
Force is fast. Legitimacy is slow. But legitimacy is the only currency that buys durable peace and stability – both of which remain enduring U.S. interests.
If Washington governs by force in Venezuela, it will repeat the failures of Afghanistan, Iraq and Libya: Power can topple regimes, but it cannot create political authority. Outside rule invites resistance, not stability.
Monica Duffy Toft does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
United States President Donald Trump has said the US will “run” Venezuela until a new government is installed, following the US military intervention in the country’s capital, Caracas.
American forces have seized Venezuela’s president, Nicolás Maduro, and his wife, and brought the pair to the US to face what Trump has described as a “narco-terrorism” trial.
This follows months of build-up of US military forces in the region.
The Russian Foreign Ministry has said the US attacks are:
an act of armed aggression against Venezuela. This is deeply concerning and condemnable. The pretexts used to justify such actions are unfounded.
All members shall refrain in their international relations from the threat or use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence of any state, or in any other manner inconsistent with the purposes of the United Nations.
Russia’s framing of the US’ Venezuela intervention as a condemnable “act of armed agression” is at least an affirmation of its own belief in the existence of international law.
Similarly, Russia appeals to international law when it claims, spuriously, that its own actions in Ukraine are justified under exceptions to the prohibition on armed aggression – or that they are mere “operations” within its own territory, and so for different legal reasons, lawful under international law.
Commentators have been quick to describe the US strikes in Venezuela as a breach of article 2(4) of the UN charter.
The US’ actions are only lawful if supported by a resolution from the UN Security Council; if the US was acting in self-defence; or – and this is often overlooked – if there was consent by the lawful government of Venezuela to the intervention.
There was no UN Security Council authorisation for the US to intervene in Venezuela, nor has the US been the victim of an ongoing or imminent act of aggression by Venezuela.
A claim of consent by the lawful Venezuelan government might have more ostensible credit because evidence suggests the 2024 presidential election was stolen from Maduro’s opponent, Edmundo González.
However, because the identity of the lawful government is contested (some countries have recognised Maduro’s win in the 2024 election) and the opposition controls no Venezuelan territory, the US can only intervene on the legal ground of consent with a Security Council resolution.
So, if you define the US’ actions in Venezuela as an act of “force” within the meaning of article 2(4) UN Charter, then yes, the US has engaged in a prohibited act, since none of the justifications apply.
What if it was just a ‘law enforcement operation’?
For its part, the Trump administration appears to be arguing the strikes on Venezuela were not a “use of force” in the first place, but rather a law enforcement operation.
In a press conference following the strikes, US Secretary of State Marco Rubio described the Venezuelan president as “a fugitive of American justice”. (Given the US Congress was not notified before the Venezuela strikes, this framing comes across as an attempt to obfuscate the need for Congressional authority to use force under US domestic law).
What, then, if the intervention was not a “use of force” as defined by the UN charter, but merely a law enforcement operation?
In making this assessment, one has to take into account the operation’s scale, target, location and the broader context.
The intervention in Venezuela came from the highest US authority (the president), targeted Venezuela’s acting head of state, and was executed against a background of unfriendly relations between the two states.
In this context, it is hard to see how this can be anything other than a “use of force” within the meaning of article 2(4) of the UN Charter.
It does not, in my view, constitute a law enforcement operation.
International law isn’t dead
Few will mourn the removal of Maduro, widely considered an autocrat. Democracy might even be restored to Venezuela.
Nonetheless, the US intervention in Venezuela was as brazen and unlawful as its military strike on Iran in June last year. As such, it challenges international law.
But international law is not “dead” just because the most powerful no longer respect it.
Breaches of the law are normal in any legal system. Indeed, they are expected or there would not be a need for the rule.
International law is created by all states, not just the powerful few. This makes international community reactions to breaches particularly important.
So, to preserve the rules-based international order, all states need to call out breaches of the law when they occur, including in the current instance.
Sarah Heathcote does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Source: The Conversation – in French – By Robert Muggah, Richard von Weizsäcker Fellow na Bosch Academy e Co-fundador, Instituto Igarapé; Princeton University
Le flou règne sur l’avenir du Venezuela après la capture de son président par les États-Unis. Plusieurs voies sont envisageables, du maintien en place du régime chaviste à une prise de contrôle du pouvoir par Washington.
Que ce soit sous le prétexte de la lutte contre le trafic de drogue ou au nom d’un changement de régime, le message est clair : les États-Unis sont prêts à agir de manière unilatérale, avec force et, au besoin, de façon illégale. Les répercussions seront vastes pour le Venezuela, bien sûr, mais aussi pour l’ensemble de l’Amérique latine.
Les réactions à l’intervention états-unienne ont été immédiates. La Colombie, qui a dépêché des troupes à sa frontière, se préparant à l’arrivée potentielle de réfugiés, a dénoncé les frappes comme un affront à la souveraineté des pays de la région. Cuba s’est jointe à l’Iran, à la Russie et à d’autres adversaires de Washington pour condamner le raid devant les Nations unies. Quelques gouvernements, notamment celui de l’Argentine, ont en revanche apporté leur soutien sans réserve à cette opération.
Donald Trump a annoncé que les États-Unis allaient « diriger » le Venezuela jusqu’à ce qu’il y ait une « transition sûre, appropriée et judicieuse » du pouvoir, et assuré que son administration « n’avait pas peur d’envoyer des troupes sur le terrain ».
Jusqu’à présent, peu de détails concrets sur la suite des événements ont été fournis. Beaucoup dépendra des prochaines actions de Washington et de la réaction de la classe politique vénézuélienne, qui est très divisée. En tant qu’expert des relations entre les États-Unis et l’Amérique latine, j’estime que cinq scénarios principaux semblent plausibles.
1. Trump déclare avoir eu gain de cause et en reste là
Dans ce premier scénario, Trump proclame que la mission a été accomplie, présente la capture de Maduro comme un triomphe et réduit rapidement le rôle des États-Unis dans l’avenir immédiat du pays. Les institutions vénézuéliennes restent largement intactes. L’actuelle vice-présidente Delcy Rodriguez, le ministre de l’intérieur Remigio Ceballos Ichaso et le ministre de la défense Vladimir Padrino Lopez dirigent un gouvernement reconstitué qui poursuit la ligne de gauche développée par feu Hugo Chavez, même si ce système est désormais privé de sa dernière figure de proue en la personne de Maduro.
Un tel développement conviendrait aux généraux états-uniens désireux de limiter les risques pour leurs troupes, ainsi qu’aux puissances étrangères soucieuses d’éviter un vide du pouvoir. A contrario, l’opposition vénézuélienne et les pays voisins qui ont subi des années d’afflux de réfugiés feraient la grimace.
Surtout, cela réduirait à néant l’influence sur le pays que Washington vient d’acquérir au prix de nombreux efforts. Après avoir pris la décision extraordinaire d’enlever un chef d’État, revenir en arrière et se contenter d’un léger remaniement du chavisme apparaîtrait comme une reculade contraire aux normes des interventions étrangères des États-Unis.
2. Un soulèvement populaire renverse le chavisme
Deuxième possibilité : le choc provoqué par la destitution de Maduro brise l’aura d’inévitabilité du gouvernement et déclenche un soulèvement populaire qui balaye le chavisme. Au vu de la vacance de la présidence et de l’affaiblissement des forces de sécurité, démoralisées ou divisées, une large coalition de partis d’opposition, de groupes de la société civile et de chavistes mécontents fait pression pour la mise en place d’un conseil de transition, peut-être sous l’égide de l’Organisation des États américains ou des Nations unies.
Reste qu’une telle révolution, en particulier lorsqu’elle est soutenue par une ingérence extérieure, se déroule rarement sans heurts. Des années de répression politique, de crime organisé, de misère économique et d’émigration ont vidé la classe moyenne et les syndicats vénézuéliens de leur substance. Les colectivos armés – des groupes paramilitaires ayant un intérêt au maintien de l’ancien régime – opposeraient une résistance farouche. Il en résulterait peut-être non pas une avancée démocratique rapide, mais une transition instable : un gouvernement provisoire fragile, des violences sporadiques et d’intenses luttes intestines sur les questions relatives aux amnisties et au contrôle du secteur pétrolier.
3. Les États-Unis installent à Caracas un pouvoir allié
Dans ce scénario, Washington tire parti de la nouvelle donne pour faire pression en faveur d’un changement complet de régime. Cela pourrait se traduire par un durcissement des sanctions à l’encontre des personnalités encore au pouvoir, par l’intensification des frappes contre les installations de sécurité et les milices, par un soutien secret aux factions insurgées et par l’utilisation du procès de Maduro comme d’une tribune mondiale pour délégitimer une fois pour toutes le chavisme.
Une personnalité reconnue en tant que leader de l’opposition serait portée au pouvoir à la suite d’une forme d’élection contrôlée, d’un conseil de transition ou d’une passation de pouvoir négociée – potentiellement, quelqu’un comme Maria Corina Machado, lauréate du prix Nobel de la paix 2025. Les États-Unis et leurs alliés proposeraient une restructuration de la dette et un financement de la reconstruction du pays en échange de réformes économiques libérales et d’un alignement géopolitique sur Washington.
Cette option est très risquée. Une transition ouvertement orchestrée par les États-Unis entacherait la légitimité du nouveau leadership vénézuélien, tant au niveau national qu’international. Elle aggraverait la polarisation du pays, renforcerait la dénonciation de l’impérialisme (ce qui est depuis longtemps un argument central du chavisme) et inciterait la Chine, Cuba, l’Iran et la Russie à s’ingérer également dans les affaires du pays. Un mouvement chaviste meurtri mais non brisé pourrait se transformer en résistance armée, faisant du Venezuela un nouveau théâtre d’insurrection de faible intensité.
4. Supervision par Washington et transition contrôlée
Une transition contrôlée : c’est l’option que Trump a ouvertement envisagée. Washington exercerait provisoirement sa tutelle sur le Venezuela. Les premières priorités seraient d’imposer une chaîne de commandement et de restaurer les capacités administratives du pays, de stabiliser la monnaie et le système de paiement, et de mettre en place des réformes progressives afin d’éviter l’effondrement de l’État pendant la transition.
Le calendrier politique serait alors une dimension essentielle. Washington exercerait une forte influence sur les dispositions provisoires en matière de gouvernance, les règles électorales et le calendrier des élections présidentielles et législatives, y compris la reconstitution des autorités électorales et la définition des conditions minimales pour la campagne électorale et l’accès aux médias. Les États-Unis n’auraient pas nécessairement besoin d’occuper le pays, mais ils pourraient avoir besoin de déployer des forces sur le terrain pour dissuader les fauteurs de troubles.
La logique économique de cette option reposerait sur le rétablissement rapide de la production pétrolière et des services de base grâce au soutien technique des États-Unis, à l’implication de leurs entreprises privées et à un allègement sélectif des sanctions. Des entreprises telles que Chevron, la seule grande compagnie pétrolière états-unienne encore implantée au Venezuela, ou des prestataires de services pétroliers comme Halliburton seraient probablement les premiers bénéficiaires.
Là aussi, les risques sont considérables. Comme dans le cas, présenté plus haut, de l’arrivée au pouvoir d’une équipe ouvertement alignée sur Washington, une tutelle états-unienne pourrait attiser les sentiments nationalistes et valider le discours anti-impérialiste propre au chavisme. La menace implicite de l’utilisation de la force pourrait dissuader les groupes criminels, mais elle pourrait également approfondir le ressentiment et durcir la résistance des groupes armés, des partisans de Maduro ou de toute autre personne opposée à l’occupation.
5. Conflit hybride et instabilité contrôlée
Finalement, le plus probable est que tous les scénarios ci-dessus seront en quelque sorte mélangés : on assisterait alors à une lutte prolongée dans laquelle aucun acteur ne l’emporterait complètement. La destitution de Maduro pourrait affaiblir le chavisme, sans totalement détruire ses réseaux dans l’armée, l’administration et les quartiers défavorisés. L’opposition pourrait être revigorée mais demeurerait divisée. Sous Trump, les États-Unis seront puissants sur le plan militaire, mais limités dans leur marge de manœuvre par la lassitude de leur population à l’égard des guerres étrangères, la perspective des élections de mi-mandat à venir et les doutes quant à la légalité de leurs méthodes.
Dans ce cas de figure, le Venezuela pourrait sombrer dans plusieurs années d’instabilité contrôlée. Le pouvoir pourrait de facto être partagé entre une élite chaviste affaiblie, des figures de l’opposition cooptées dans le cadre d’un accord transitoire et des acteurs sécuritaires contrôlant des fiefs locaux. Les frappes sporadiques et les opérations secrètes des États-Unis pourraient se poursuivre, en étant calibrées pour punir les fauteurs de troubles et protéger les partenaires privilégiés de Washington, sans aller jusqu’à une occupation de grande échelle.
Une doctrine Monroe 2.0 ?
Quel que soit l’avenir, ce qui semble clair pour l’instant, c’est que l’opération anti-Maduro peut être considérée, tant par ses partisans que par ses détracteurs, comme l’application d’une sorte de Doctrine Monroe 2.0. Cette version, qui fait suite à la doctrine originale du XIXe siècle dans laquelle Washington mettait en garde les puissances européennes contre toute ingérence dans sa sphère d’influence, est une affirmation plus musclée selon laquelle les rivaux lointains des États-Unis et leurs clients locaux ne seront pas autorisés à avoir leur mot à dire sur le continent américain.
Ce message agressif ne se limite pas à Caracas. Cuba et le Nicaragua, déjà soumis à de lourdes sanctions américaines et de plus en plus dépendants du soutien russe et chinois, verront le raid vénézuélien comme un avertissement indiquant que même les gouvernements bien établis ne sont pas à l’abri si leur politique n’est pas suffisamment alignée sur celle de Trump. La Colombie, théoriquement alliée des États-Unis mais actuellement dirigée par un gouvernement de gauche qui a vivement critiqué la politique vénézuélienne de Washington, se retrouve prise en étau.
Les États petits et moyens, et pas seulement ceux d’Amérique latine, ne peuvent qu’être inquiets. Le Panama, dont le canal est essentiel au commerce mondial et à la mobilité navale des États-Unis, pourrait faire l’objet d’une pression renouvelée, Washington souhaitant contrôler pouvoir compter dans ce pays sur un pouvoir local qui sera proche de lui et bloquera les avancées chinoises dans les ports et les télécommunications. Le Canada et le Danemark auront également regardé cet épisode de très près, l’administration Trump ayant récemment rappelé avec force qu’elle convoite le Groenland.
Robert Muggah est cofondateur de l’Institut Igarapé, un groupe de réflexion brésilien indépendant qui bénéficie du soutien financier des gouvernements du Royaume-Uni, de la Banque interaméricaine de développement et de divers donateurs locaux au Brésil. Robert Muggah est également cofondateur de SecDev, un cabinet de conseil en cybersécurité et risques géopolitiques, et chercheur à l’université de Princeton. De plus amples informations sur ses affiliations sont disponibles sur les sites web des deux institutions.
Operation Absolute Resolve was some months in the planning, as the Pentagon acknowledged in its briefing on Jan. 3. My presumption is that from the beginning of the U.S. military buildup in the Caribbean and the establishment of Joint Task Force Southern Spear in the fall, military planners were developing options for the president to capture or eliminate Maduro and other key Chavista leadership, should coercive efforts at persuading a change in the Venezuelan situation fail.
An image of a captured Nicolás Maduro released by President Donald Trump on social media. Truth Social
Prior to Southern Spear, U.S. military activities in the region were directly overseen by Southern Command – the part of the Department of Defense responsible for Central America, South America and most of the Caribbean. But establishing a dedicated joint task force in October 2025 helped facilitate the coordination of a large operation, like the one conducted to seize Maduro.
Planning for the Jan. 3 operation likely became more detailed and realistic as the administration settled on a concrete set of options. U.S. forces practiced the raid on a replica of the presidential compound. “They actually built a house which was identical to the one they went into with all the same, all that steel all over the place,” President Donald Trump told “Fox & Friends Weekend.”
Why did the US choose to act now?
The buildup had been going on for months, and the arrival of the USS Gerald R. Ford in November was a key milestone. That gave the U.S. the capability to launch a high volume of attacks against land targets and added to the already huge array of American military hardware stationed in the Caribbean.
It joined an Iwo Jima Amphibious Ready Group, which included a helicopter dock ship and two landing platform vessels. An additional six destroyers and two cruisers were stationed in the region with the capability of launching hundreds of missiles for both land attack and air defense, as well as a special operations mother ship.
Trump’s authorization of CIA operations in Venezuela was probably also a key factor. It is likely that individuals inside Venezuela played invaluable roles not only in obtaining intelligence, but also in cooperating with key people in Maduro’s military and government to make sure they did – or did not do – certain things at key moments during the Jan. 3 operation.
With the complex array of plans and preparations in place by December, the U.S. military was likely ready to execute, but it had to wait for opportune conditions to maximize the probability of success.
What constitutes the opportune moment?
There are arguably three things needed for the opportune moment: good intelligence, the establishment of reliable cooperation arrangements on the ground, and favorable tactical conditions.
Intel would have been crucial. Trump acknowledged his authorization of covert CIA operations in Venezuela in October, and evidently, by the end of the year, analysts had gathered the information needed to make this operation go smoothly. The intelligence would have had to include knowing exactly where Maduro would be at the time of the operation, and the situation around him.
Over the past few months, according to media reporting, the intelligence community had agents on the ground in Venezuela, likely having conversations with people in the military, the Chavista leadership and beyond, who had crucial information or whose behavior was relevant to different parts of the operation – such as perhaps shutting down a system, standing down a military unit or being absent from a post at a key moment. A report from The New York Times indicates that the U.S. had a human source close to Maduro who was able to provide details of his day-to-day life, down to what he ate.
The more tactical conditions that were needed for the opportune moment involved things like the weather – you didn’t want storms or high winds or cloud cover that would put U.S. aircraft in danger as they flew in some very treacherous low-level routes through the mountains that separate Fort Tiun – the military compound in Caracas where Maduro was captured – from the coast.
How did the operation unfold?
Gen. Dan Caine, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, has given some details about how the plan was executed.
We know the U.S. launched aircraft from multiple sites – the operation involved at least 20 different launch sites for 150 planes and helicopters. These would have involved aircraft for jamming operations, some surveillance, fighter jets to strike targets, and some to provide an escort for the helicopters bringing in a special forces unit and members of the FBI.
Smoke is seen billowing above the Port of La Guaira on Jan. 3, 2026, in Venezuela. Jesus Vargas/Getty Images
As an integral part of the operation, the U.S. carried out a series of cyber activities that may have played a role in undermining not only Venezuela’s defense systems, but also its understanding of what was going on. Although the nature of U.S. cyber activities is only speculation here, a coherent, alerted Venezuelan command and control system could have cost the lives of U.S. force members and given Maduro time to seal himself in his safe room, creating a problem – albeit not an insurmountable one – for U.S. forces.
There was also, according to Trump, a U.S.-generated interruption to some part of the power grid. In addition, it appears that there may have been diversionary strikes in other parts of the country to give a false impression to the Venezuelan military that U.S. military activity was directed toward some other, lesser land target, as had recently been the case.
As U.S. rotary wing and other assets converged on the target in Caracas – with cover from some of the most capable fighters in the U.S. inventory, including F-35s and F-22s, as well as F-18s – other U.S. assets decimated the air defense and other threats in the area.
It would be logical if elite members of the U.S. 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment were used in the approach to the compound in Caracas. Their skills would have been required if, as I presume, they came in via the canyon route that separates Caracas from the coast. I have driven the road through those mountains, and it is treacherous – especially for an aircraft at low altitude.
Once the team landed, it would have have taken a matter of minutes to infiltrate the compound where Maduro was.
Any luck involved?
According to Trump, the U.S. team grabbed Maduro just as he was trying to get into his steel vault safe room.
“He didn’t get that space closed. He was trying to get into it, but he got bum-rushed right so fast that he didn’t get into that,” the U.S. president told Fox & Friends Weekend.
Although the U.S. was reportedly fully prepared for that eventuality, with high-power torches to cut him out, that delay could have cost time and possibly lives.
It was thus critical to the U.S. mission that forces were able to enter the facility, reach and secure Maduro and his wife in a minimal amount of time.
The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not represent the Department of Defense or the US government.
Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Juan Zahir Naranjo Cáceres, PhD Candidate, Political Science, International Relations and Constitutional Law, University of the Sunshine Coast
In the early hours of Saturday morning, US special forces captured Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro from his home in Caracas and flew him out of the country. US President Donald Trump announced that Maduro and his wife, Cilia Flores, would face federal narco-terrorism charges in New York.
For anyone familiar with the history of US interventions in Latin America and the Caribbean, the basic pattern is grimly familiar: a small state in Washington’s “backyard”, a leader deemed unacceptable, military force applied with overwhelming effect, and a government removed overnight.
Yet what makes Venezuela’s case different – and profoundly alarming – is the brazen nature of the months-long US military operations against the country based on shifting and shaky justifications, with little evidence.
A long tradition of removing ‘unacceptable’ leaders
Venezuela is not the first country in the region to see its leader overthrown or seized with direct US involvement or acquiescence.
In 1953, the British government suspended the constitution of its colony British Guiana (now Guyana) and removed the democratically elected government of Cheddi Jagan after just 133 days. The British believed Jagan’s social and economic reforms would threaten its business interests.
A decade later, the CIA conducted a sustained covert operation to destabilise Jagan’s later administration, culminating in rigged 1964 elections that ensured his rival, Forbes Burnham, would win.
In 1965, US President Lyndon Johnson sent more than 22,000 US troops to the Dominican Republic to prevent the return of former President Juan Bosch, overthrown in a 1963 coup, and another communist regime forming in the region.
Following the violent overthrow and execution of Prime Minister Maurice Bishop of Grenada in 1983, President Ronald Reagan ordered an invasion. His administration justified the action by citing the need to protect US medical students and prevent the island from becoming a “Soviet-Cuban colony”.
In December 1989, President George H.W. Bush launched a full-scale invasion of Panama involving about 24,000 US troops to remove General Manuel Noriega, who had been indicted on drug-trafficking charges (like Maduro). He was subsequently flown to the United States, tried and imprisoned.
And in 2004, Haitian President Jean-Bertrand Aristide was removed from power and flown to Africa in what he described as a US-orchestrated coup and “kidnapping”. In 2022, French and Haitian officials told The New York Times that France and the US had collaborated to remove him.
Why Maduro’s case is different
In all of these cases, Washington asserted control over what it has long considered its sphere of influence, intervening when governments threatened its interests through ideology, alliances or defiance.
But Venezuela in 2026 is not Grenada in 1983 or Panama in 1989. It is a much larger country with some 30 million people and significant armed forces, which has spent years preparing for a possible US invasion. More importantly, the operation unfolded in an entirely different global context.
During the Cold War, US interventions were often condemned but rarely threatened the legitimacy of the international order itself.
Today, by contrast, the Maduro operation has been met with swift and sharp condemnation from across the political spectrum.
Colombian President Gustavo Petro called the strikes an “assault on the sovereignty” of Latin America, while Brazilian President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva said the attack “crossed an unacceptable line” and set an “extremely dangerous precedent”. Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum said the strikes were in “clear violation” of the UN Charter.
Even traditional US allies expressed discomfort. France’s foreign minister said the operation contravened the “principle of non-use of force that underpins international law” and that lasting political solutions cannot be “imposed by the outside”.
And a statement from UN Secretary-General Antonio Guterres said he was “deeply alarmed” about the “dangerous precedent” the United States was setting and the rules of international law not being respected.
The UN Charter prohibits the use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence of any state under Article 2(4).
For years, scholars have warned that repeated violations of the UN Charter by the United States were steadily eroding the basic rules governing the use of force.
Venezuela may represent the moment that erosion becomes collapse. When a permanent Security Council member not only bombs another state but abducts its head of state, the precedent is indeed profound.
The immediate consequences for Latin America are already being felt. Colombia has moved troops to its border with Venezuela, while neighbouring Guyana has activated its own security plans.
It’s unclear at this point if further US military operations are planned. Trump has said the US will “run” Venezuela until a “safe transition” is complete, but analysts question whether Washington has the appetite for such an open-ended commitment. Venezuela’s defence minister has also pledged to continue to fight against what he called “criminal aggression”.
The operation has also deepened divisions that already existed in Latin America over Venezuela. After Maduro’s 2024 election, the results were immediately contested: Maduro’s government claimed victory, while the opposition said it won based on voting tallies it published online.
Regional governments split over which narrative to accept, with some recognising Maduro’s government and others backing the opposition. These fault lines have made a coordinated regional response to the Trump administration’s actions impossible.
The broader risk is that Venezuela becomes a precedent not only for great powers, but for regional actors. If Washington can seize a head of state without legal sanction, what stops others from doing the same?
A dangerous new normal
Maduro’s removal may or may not bring the political change Trump desires. But the manner of his removal – brazen, unilateral, defended in the language of US exceptionalism – has already done serious damage to the fragile architecture of international law.
If sovereignty can be set aside when inconvenient, heads of state can be abducted without UN approval, and the most powerful decide which governments may exist, then we have returned to a world governed by force – not the law. And in that world, no state can consider itself truly secure.
Juan Zahir Naranjo Cáceres does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
L’année 2025 a notamment été marquée par le débat sur la taxe Zucman, rejetée par les députés mais plébiscitée par une très large majorité de Français. Cette décision révèle, de façon spectaculaire, la déconnexion entre les décisions politiques et l’opinion des citoyens. Ce phénomène, étudié par la science politique, est au cœur de la crise démocratique. Comment y remédier ?
Les sondages sont sans appel : une large majorité de Français, 86 % selon une enquête Ifop, se déclare en faveur d’une taxation des plus riches. Pourtant, l’Assemblée nationale a rejeté en octobre la taxe Zucman : 228 députés ont voté contre l’amendement visant à taxer les patrimoines supérieurs à 100 millions d’euros, tandis que 172 députés ont voté pour. La déconnexion entre opinion publique et décision politique n’est pas nouvelle. D’autres exemples illustrent ce phénomène, comme la réforme des retraites, rejetée par une majorité de Français, ou l’interdiction de la corrida, soutenue par la population mais rejetée par les députés. Comment expliquer que des mesures massivement soutenue par la population puissent être rejetées par leurs représentants ?
Quand les politiques écoutent (ou pas) l’opinion publique
La connexion entre opinion publique et décision politique a fait l’objet de nombreux travaux en science politique. Ces recherches, qui étudient la capacité du système représentatif à répondre aux intérêts et préférences des citoyens, montrent que si l’opinion publique peut influencer les décisions politiques, ce n’est pas toujours le cas. Pour de nombreux enjeux, il existe une déconnexion entre la volonté populaire et les décisions prises par les gouvernants, qu’ils soient de gauche ou de droite.
Les déterminants des inégalités de représentation politique
Trois facteurs principaux expliquent ces inégalités de représentation. Le premier est le profil socio-économique des élus : ils sont massivement issus des classes sociales supérieures. À l’Assemblée nationale, 67 % des députés sont issues des catégories cadres et professions intellectuelles supérieures, contre 11 % dans la population française. Ces élus partagent avec les citoyens les plus riches des valeurs et intérêts communs, ce qui les rend plus sensibles à leurs besoins. C’est ce que j’ai montré dans une étude menée sur les parlementaires suisses : les perceptions de l’opinion publique des députés issus de milieux favorisés s’alignent plus fortement avec les préférences des citoyens les plus riches.
Ces inégalités se reflètent aussi au niveau des groupes d’intérêts exerçant des activités de lobbying : les groupes représentant des intérêts privés et sectoriels (entreprises, associations professionnelles) disposent de plus de ressources que les associations citoyennes ou les ONG pour influencer les décisions politiques. Concernant la taxe Zucman, il est évident que les lobbies patronaux (Medef et Afep) ont mobilisé leurs réseaux pour orienter le débat public et la décision parlementaire. Les liens personnels entre responsables politiques (dont le premier ministre Sébastien Lecornu) et grands patrons, facilitent aussi cette influence, offrant à ces derniers un accès direct pour défendre leurs intérêts.
Enfin, l’idéologie compte : les élus de droite représentent davantage les préférences des citoyens les plus riches et surestiment leur poids dans la population, comme je l’ai montré dans une étude portant sur les parlementaires de quatre pays européens. Cependant, si les élus de gauche ont des positions moins biaisées, des inégalités persistent. Pourquoi ? D’abord parce que l’origine sociale joue à gauche comme à droite : la majorité des parlementaires de gauche viennent aussi des catégories supérieures, ce qui les rend plus sensibles aux intérêts des citoyens privilégiés. Ensuite, même lorsqu’ils sont idéologiquement proches des citoyens défavorisés, les élus de gauche au pouvoir se heurtent à des contraintes structures (mondialisation, règles européennes) qui réduisent leur marge de manœuvre.
Inégalités de représentation : comment répondre au problème ?
Les citoyens les moins bien représentés font moins confiance aux institutions représentatives. Le problème n’est pas qu’une politique publique isolée diverge de l’opinion publique : c’est la récurrence du phénomène qui pose question et le biais systématique envers une partie de la population qui pose question. Lorsque, sur plusieurs politiques publiques, le système représentatif n’est pas sensible à l’opinion et qu’une partie de l’électorat voit systématiquement ses préférences ignorées, la légitimité du système représentatif pourrait s’en trouver fragilisée.
The US dramatically escalated its confrontation with Venezuela on January 3, moving from sanctions and targeted strikes on alleged drug-trafficking vessels to direct military action. In a pre-dawn operation, US forces captured the Venezuelan president, Nicolás Maduro, and his wife, Cilia Flores, and removed them from the country.
The operation has prompted historical comparisons with the US invasion of Panama in late 1989. Although separated by more than three decades and unfolding in different international contexts, the two episodes reveal a continuity in how the US approaches intervention, sovereignty and legality in the western hemisphere.
The US invasion of Panama was justified at the time through a now-familiar set of claims. US officials argued they were protecting American citizens, restoring democracy following contested elections, combating drug trafficking and upholding treaty obligations linked to the Panama canal.
However, none of these arguments provided a solid legal basis for the use of force under the UN charter. Panama had not attacked the US, there was no imminent armed threat and the operation was not authorised by the UN security council. The invasion prompted international condemnation and was denounced by the UN general assembly as a violation of international law.
Yet concern over the legality of the operation mattered far less to the US than its political outcome. The Panamanian leader, Manuel Noriega, was removed from power and transferred to the US where he was tried on criminal charges. The US achieved its strategic objectives quickly and international condemnation produced no lasting consequences.
Panama thus established a powerful precedent: a smaller state could be reshaped forcibly without multilateral approval, provided the intervention was framed persuasively and executed decisively.
Central to that framing was what I call the criminalisation of sovereignty. Noriega was portrayed by US politicians not simply as an authoritarian ruler, but as a criminal figure. This mattered because it blurred the line between war and law enforcement, enabling regime change to be recast simply as an arrest.
Panama’s sovereignty, in turn, appeared less like a legal right and more like a shield open to abuse by criminals. While legal issues remained, the framing reduced political resistance, particularly within the US. This logic has reemerged in US discourse surrounding Venezuela.
Venezuela’s authorities have long been portrayed by Washington as criminal, corrupt and illegitimate. The US has designated drug networks linked to Venezuela, such as the so-called Cartel de los Soles, as terrorist organisations. It has also issued indictments against Maduro and other government officials on narco-terrorism and drug-trafficking charges.
As was the case in Panama, this framing shifts the debate away from inter-state relations and towards enforcement against individuals. This weakens the perceived legitimacy of Venezuelan sovereignty and helps normalise coercive external action.
It may also hint at Maduro’s eventual fate. The US state department did not recognise Noriega as Panama’s head of state, which made his later prosecution easier because it was argued he was not entitled to immunity.
Maduro, in a similar way, has been described by the state department as the “de facto but illegitimate ruler of Venezuela”. This purported lack of democratic legitimacy could mean the two men ultimately face a similar outcome in court.
Democracy plays a rhetorical role in both cases. The invasion of Panama was presented as a response to cancelled elections and democratic breakdown. In Venezuela, claims of democratic illegitimacy, contested elections and authoritarian governance have been also used to justify sustained external pressure and, now, direct intervention.
In neither case does democracy function as a legal basis for the use of force. International law does not permit military action to restore or impose democracy, nor does it allow states to determine the legitimacy of other governments unilaterally. Democracy in these contexts operates as a moral narrative rather than a lawful justification.
Pattern of intervention
There are, of course, differences between the two cases. The operation in Panama saw tens of thousands of US troops deployed on the ground. The US intervention in Venezuela was more targeted, relying on a mix of economic sanctions, diplomatic isolation and the selective use of force.
But rather than signalling a transformation in strategic intent, this reflects changes in military technology, media scrutiny and political risk.
Unlike in 1989, modern interventions unfold under real-time global media coverage and social media scrutiny, sharply increasing reputational costs. Greater domestic sensitivity to foreign entanglements also raises the political risk of overt military action.
However, notwithstanding these changes, the objective in both cases remains the same: rapid political disruption designed to weaken or remove an unfriendly regime while avoiding the costs of prolonged occupation.
The international environment has also changed. Panama took place at the end of the cold war, when US dominance in the western hemisphere was largely uncontested. Venezuela unfolds in a more fragmented global order, where regional and global players are more willing to challenge US actions.
Yet this difference cuts both ways. While global opposition may be louder, the enforcement capacity of international law remains limited. As Panama demonstrated, condemnation without consequence does little to deter future interventions.
What ultimately unites the two cases is the principle of selective sovereignty. In both Panama and Venezuela, sovereignty has been treated not as a universal legal protection but as a conditional status. States governed by leaders that have been labelled as criminal, illegitimate or destabilising are seen as having forfeited their rights.
This is not how sovereignty functions in international law, but it is how power often operates in practice. Each time this logic is applied, it weakens the credibility of the rules-based international order and reinforces the idea that legality bends to strength.
Panama’s significance lies precisely in this normalisation, showing that intervention could succeed politically even when it failed legally. Venezuela suggests that this lesson has not only been learned, but refined. Where Panama involved overt illegality, Venezuela reflects a more diffused form of coercion, spread across legal, economic and military domains.
Recent events in Venezuela thus do not represent a dramatic break from past practice. They represent continuity. Panama was not an aberration of the late cold war but a formative moment in post-war US interventionism. Venezuela is its modern-day echo.
The language has evolved and the methods have adapted, but the underlying assumption remains stable: that when powerful states deem it necessary, sovereignty can be suspended, legality reinterpreted and intervention justified after the fact.
That is the real significance of the comparison. Panama then and Venezuela now show a durable pattern in how intervention is imagined, defended and repeated.
Adriana Marin does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
