Venezuela, Sovereignty And The Use of Power: Law, Oil And the Question Of Global Order

On 3 January 2026, the international order crossed a dangerous threshold it had long approached but never quite stepped over. United States’ forces conducted a military operation inside the territory of the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela, resulting in the capture of President Nicolás Maduro and his transfer to American custody.

President Donald J. Trump subsequently announced that the United States would “run” Venezuela temporarily, citing the need for stability, transition and the protection of “strategic”interests.

Whatever view one takes of Maduro’s domestic record, the episode marks a grave moment for international law and for the already fragile norms governing the use of force. It also reveals, with unusual clarity, how power, oil and monetary dominance continue to shape the conduct of states in the twenty-first century.

This is not merely a Latin American crisis. It is a test of whether sovereignty remains meaningful in an era of hegemonic anxiety and great-power rivalry or not.

According to press reports, American military struck targeted installations in and around Caracas, disrupting infrastructure and communications. Special operations units apprehended President Maduro and his wife, who were then transported to the United States to face criminal indictments. President Trump publicly stated that Washington would administer Venezuela on an interim basis while a new political order was put in place and the country’s oil sector stabilised.

International reactions have been sharply divided. Several states in the Global South, along with China and regional Latin American actors have condemned the operation as a violation of sovereignty. Others have welcomed Maduro’s removal while remaining silent about the means employed.

The significance of these events lies not only in what was done, but in how openly it was done and how blatantly justified!  Modern international law rests on a simple yet demanding premise: states should NOT use force against one another except in narrowly defined circumstances. Article 2(4) of the United Nations Charter obliges binds all members to refrain from the threat or use of threat and/or force against the territorial integrity or political independence of any state.

There are only two recognised exceptions. The first is self-defence, triggered by an armed attack. The second is authorisation by the UN Security Council.

On the facts available, neither exception appears to apply. Venezuela did not launch an armed attack against the United States, nor was there any Security Council mandate permitting the use of force. The invocation of drug-trafficking allegations, however serious, does not in itself supply a lawful basis for military intervention on foreign soil.

Forcibly apprehending a sitting head of state within his own territory raises additional legal concerns. While personal immunity does not shield leaders from accountability before international tribunals, it remains a cornerstone of inter-state relations that such accountability is not enforced unilaterally by armed force. Domestic criminal jurisdiction simply cannot legitimise the unlawful use of force!

From the standpoint of international law, therefore, the operation is widely viewed as incompatible with the UN Charter framework. It is precisely this framework that was constructed after 1945 to prevent powerful states from imposing outcomes by military means.

International law being ignored at moments of geopolitical stress is not new. What is striking here is the candour with which strategic and economic considerations have been acknowledged. Venezuela possesses the largest proven oil reserves in the world! For decades, those reserves have been entangled in domestic political struggle, nationalisation policies and international sanctions. Yet oil is only part of the story. The deeper issue is the structure of global economic power.

In 1974, the United States and Saudi Arabia reached a pivotal agreement: oil would be sold exclusively in US dollars, and in return the United States would provide security guarantees. This arrangement cemented the so-called petro-dollar system, ensuring global demand for the dollar and reinforcing American financial dominance.

Challenges to that system have historically been met with hostility. Iraq’s move towards Euro-denominated oil sales, Libya’s proposal for a gold-backed African currency, and more recently China’s efforts to internationalise the yuan in energy markets have all been perceived as threats to an order that benefits American monetary power.

It would be naïve to imagine that Venezuela’s fate is unconnected to these dynamics. Caracas’ deepening ties with Beijing, including discussions around energy cooperation, placed it squarely within the wider contest between an established hegemon and a rising power.

The Venezuelan operation must therefore be understood not only as an intervention in a failing state, but as a move within a broader strategic landscape. The United States today confronts a world in which its military, economic and technological dominance is no longer uncontested.

China’s rapid advances in drone warfare, cyber capabilities and asymmetric military strategies have altered traditional calculations of power. Its statements regarding the future of Taiwan underscore a willingness to challenge the post-Cold War status quo. In such a context, peripheral theatres acquire heightened significance.

From this perspective, Venezuela appears less as an isolated case and more as a demonstration — a signal that American power remains decisive, and that challenges to its strategic and economic interests will be met with force if necessary.

The danger, of course, is that such demonstrations erode the very legal norms that the United States has historically claimed to uphold. The Venezuelan episode inevitably raises a larger question, often posed in stark terms: would the world be safer under continued American hegemony, or under an emerging Chinese-led order?

The answer is not straightforward. American dominance has been associated with both relative global stability and repeated violations of sovereignty. China, for its part, emphasises non-interference rhetorically, yet signals a readiness to enforce its core interests with increasing assertiveness.

For smaller states, the choice is rarely ideological. It is pragmatic. The erosion of legal constraints on power, wherever it originates, leaves them exposed. What is clear is that the weakening of international law does not produce a neutral vacuum. It produces a world in which outcomes are determined by leverage rather than legitimacy.

The capture of Nicolás Maduro and the declaration of interim American control over Venezuela represent a stress test for the international legal order. If such actions pass without sustained institutional or diplomatic consequence, the prohibition on the use of force risks becoming aspirational rather than operative.

International law has never been immune to power. Yet it has functioned, imperfectly, as a restraint — a language through which even the powerful felt compelled to justify themselves. When justification gives way to assertion, something essential is lost.

The immediate future of Venezuela remains uncertain. So does the response of the international community. What is certain is that this episode will be cited, studied and debated for years to come — not only for what it achieved, but for what it revealed about the world we now live in.

The events in Venezuela are not an aberration. They are a symptom. They reflect an international system under strain, a hegemon anxious about decline, and a legal order struggling to contain raw power. For the lay observer, the lesson is sobering but simple: when law yields to force, it is not only the targeted state that suffers. It is the shared framework that protects all states, especially the weaker ones.

Whether this moment marks a turning point or merely another step along a familiar path will depend less on rhetoric than on response. History will judge not only the act itself, but the silence and resistance that followed