‘Naked imperialism’: how Trump intervention in Venezuela is a return to form for the US

The U.S. military intervention in Venezuela, culminating in the reported capture of President Nicolás Maduro and his transfer to American custody, has reignited a long-running global debate about the nature of American power. Critics across Latin America, Europe, and parts of the developing world have described the action as a revival of an older U.S. approach to the region—one rooted less in multilateral consensus than in unilateral force. Supporters argue it reflects a hard-nosed realism aimed at enforcing the rule of law. The divide illustrates why the episode has resonated so widely.

According to U.S. officials, the operation was carried out to enforce longstanding federal indictments against Maduro related to narcotics trafficking. President Trump defended the action as lawful and necessary, framing it as a matter of criminal accountability rather than regime change. Yet the scale of the operation, which reportedly included strikes in Caracas and the physical removal of a sitting head of state, has made it difficult to separate law enforcement from foreign intervention in the eyes of much of the world.

For many critics, particularly in Latin America, the events evoke a familiar historical pattern. Throughout the 20th century, the United States intervened repeatedly in the region, often justifying its actions as necessary to restore order, protect economic interests, or counter perceived threats. From Guatemala in the 1950s to Panama in the late 1980s, these interventions left a mixed legacy—sometimes achieving short-term objectives, but often undermining local institutions and breeding long-term resentment. Against that backdrop, the Venezuela operation is seen by some as a return to an interventionist tradition Washington had publicly sought to move beyond.

The language used by the Trump administration has added to those perceptions. The president’s suggestion that the United States could “run” Venezuela during a transition period, alongside remarks about opening the country’s oil sector to U.S. firms, reinforced suspicions that strategic and economic considerations were closely intertwined with legal claims. Venezuela holds the world’s largest proven oil reserves, and control over its energy sector has long been a source of geopolitical interest. Critics argue that even the appearance of resource-driven motives risks undermining the stated rationale of enforcing criminal law.

International reaction has reflected these concerns. Several Latin American governments condemned the operation as a violation of sovereignty, warning that it could destabilize the region and set a precedent for external interference. Brazil and Mexico called for diplomatic engagement and international oversight, while Cuba and others used sharper language, framing the intervention as an act of imperial overreach. Outside the region, Russia and China criticized the U.S. action as contrary to international law, while European governments expressed unease, even as some acknowledged Venezuela’s severe governance failures.

Supporters of the intervention counter that comparisons to past U.S. actions are misplaced. They argue that the Maduro government’s alleged involvement in transnational crime distinguishes this case from earlier interventions motivated by ideology or economic dominance. From this perspective, the operation represents an attempt to enforce accountability where international mechanisms have failed. Advocates note that sanctions, diplomatic isolation, and legal indictments had not produced meaningful change in Caracas, leaving Washington with limited options.

Still, legal experts caution that the method matters as much as the objective. International law generally restricts the use of force in another sovereign state, except in cases of self-defense or with explicit international authorization. The capture of a sitting head of state by foreign troops raises difficult questions about jurisdiction, due process, and precedent. Even if the charges are serious, critics argue that bypassing multilateral institutions risks weakening the very legal order the United States has long claimed to uphold.

Within the United States, the episode has reopened debates about presidential power. Some lawmakers praised the administration for decisive action, seeing it as a necessary response to criminal networks operating with impunity. Others questioned whether Congress should have been consulted, warning that unilateral military action blurs constitutional boundaries. The disagreement reflects a broader tension in U.S. foreign policy between executive flexibility and institutional oversight.

For Venezuela itself, the immediate consequences remain uncertain. The country has endured years of economic collapse, political polarization, and humanitarian strain. While some Venezuelans abroad welcomed news of Maduro’s removal, others fear that external intervention could worsen instability or delay the rebuilding of domestic institutions. The constitutional process for succession exists on paper, but its application under such extraordinary circumstances is unclear.

Whether the intervention ultimately proves effective or destabilizing, it has already reshaped perceptions of U.S. policy. To critics, it signals a return to an era when American power was exercised with limited regard for international opinion. To supporters, it reflects a willingness to act where others hesitate. What is clear is that the operation has revived an old question with renewed urgency: how a powerful nation balances enforcement, restraint, and respect for sovereignty in a fragmented global order.