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The U.S. military operation resulting in the capture of Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro and his wife represents a defining moment in the Trump administration's fight against alleged drug trafficking. The administration swiftly framed the action as a lawful criminal enforcement against narco-terrorism. Almost simultaneously, senior officials announced plans for the United States to assume a supervisory role over Venezuela's governance and to divert the country's oil revenues to offset the costs of the operation.
Independent legal experts have been nearly unanimous in their denunciation of the operation as unlawful under both U.S. and international law. The forcible seizure of a sitting head of state on foreign soil is widely regarded as a grave violation of national sovereignty. Such actions, critics warn, establish a dangerous precedent that erodes the already fragile norms restraining the use of force in international relations. By cloaking a military incursion in the language of criminal justice, the administration has blurred distinctions that are foundational to the international legal order.
The operation has also triggered serious constitutional concerns at home. The unilateral use of force occurred without explicit Congressional authorisation, raising questions about the executive branch's adherence to the separation of powers. Members of Congress from across the political spectrum have objected to the absence of legislative oversight, noting that no declaration of war or comparable authorisation was sought or granted. For many lawmakers, the episode exemplifies a troubling expansion of presidential war-making authority, one that sidesteps the constitutional role of Congress in matters of war and peace.
Central to the administration's public defence has been the claim that military action against Venezuela is necessary to combat drug trafficking. President Trump has repeatedly described Venezuela as a hub of narcotics smuggling and has cited strikes on alleged trafficking infrastructure as evidence of resolve against transnational crime. Yet, independent data sharply undermine this narrative. Venezuela is not a principal source of drugs entering the United States. Cocaine production is overwhelmingly concentrated in Colombia, Peru, and Bolivia, with the bulk of that supply transiting through Central America and Mexico before reaching U.S. markets. The most acute contemporary drug threat to the United States -- synthetic opioids such as fentanyl -- originates largely in clandestine laboratories in the United States and Mexico, not in Venezuela.
Despite these realities, the Trump administration has designated Venezuelan entities, including the so-called "Cartel of the Suns," as terrorist organisations, thereby invoking extraordinary legal authorities. This move stands in stark contrast to U.S. policy towards far more significant drug trafficking challenges closer to home. Mexico and Colombia, long acknowledged as central nodes in global narcotics flows, have never been subjected to comparable unilateral U.S. military intervention. Instead, Washington has relied for decades on cooperation -- intelligence sharing, extradition treaties, and joint law enforcement operations. The abandonment of these established counter-narcotics frameworks in Venezuela, in favour of kinetic military action, reveals a striking inconsistency in how anti-drug rhetoric is applied.
Equally revealing is the administration's selective invocation of democracy and human rights. Trump's portrayal of Maduro as a dictator has been a central justification for intervention. Yet this posture sits uneasily alongside the administration's cordial relationships with other leaders widely recognised as authoritarian, some of whom have been welcomed as honoured guests at the White House. The absence of comparable pressure or punitive measures against these regimes undermines claims that the intervention in Venezuela is grounded in defence of democratic norms.
Further complicating the administration's narrative are intelligence findings that contradict its most alarming allegations. A declassified U.S. intelligence memorandum concluded that there was no credible evidence that Maduro personally directed Venezuelan criminal gangs to operate inside the United States. This assessment weakens the factual basis for portraying the Venezuelan state as an extension of transnational organised crime and calls into question the necessity of such an extreme response.
Regional leaders have been especially forthright in articulating what they see as the true drivers of U.S. policy. Colombian President Gustavo Petro has argued that Washington's pressure campaign against Venezuela is motivated less by anti-narcotics concerns than by a desire to control the country's vast oil reserves. This critique gained additional force when President Trump himself suggested that U.S. involvement could be financed through Venezuelan oil revenues-an unintended admission of economic motivation. Such statements reinforce long-standing suspicions in Latin America that greed for resource, rather than humanitarian or security imperatives, lies at the heart of the U.S. intervention. Taken together, these point to a military incursion that is less about combating drug trafficking than about asserting control over a resource-rich state led by a government inconvenient to U.S. geopolitical interests. The operation's dubious legality, its inconsistency with established counter-narcotics priorities in countries like Mexico and Colombia, and the breadth of international condemnation suggest a policy driven by strategic self-interest rather than the enforcement of law or a commitment to democracy.
The intervention can reasonably be termed as an imperial aggression masquerading as narcotics enforcement. By undermining international law, bypassing domestic constitutional safeguards and inflaming regional mistrust, the operation risks destabilising hemispheric security and deepening scepticism of U.S. intentions in Latin America for years to come.