The Mask Has Finally Fallen:
After United States's Attack on Bolivarian Venezuela
The mask has finally fallen.
In the early hours of January 3, the leadership of the United States openly discarded the last pretense of adherence to international legality, restraint, and civilized conduct among nations. What Western capitals have long presented as a “rules-based order” revealed its true nature—not through deliberation or law, but through force announced as spectacle.
In a declaration issued not through diplomatic channels, not before any international body, and not even through the institutions of the American state itself, former U.S. president Donald Trump proclaimed—via a personal propaganda platform—that the United States had launched a large-scale military strike against the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela and had seized its president, Nicolás Maduro.
“The United States of America has successfully carried out a large scale strike against Venezuela and its leader, President Nicolas Maduro… who has been captured and flown out of the country,” Trump wrote, promising further details at a press conference at Mar-a-Lago.
This was not a communiqué of peace.
It was not an appeal to law.
It was an announcement of domination.
According to Trump’s own words, U.S. forces had acted unilaterally, crossing borders, striking sovereign territory, and forcibly removing the constitutionally recognized head of a member state of the United Nations. No mandate was cited. No consultation was claimed. No legal justification was offered beyond assertion of power itself.
The choice of language was revealing. The president of a sovereign nation was not said to have been “indicted,” “extradited,” or “detained under international warrant.” He was said to have been “captured.”
This single word strips away every illusion. “Captured” is not the vocabulary of law. It is the vocabulary of conquest. It belongs not to courts or treaties, but to battlefields and occupations. It is the language once used to describe the seizure of territory, the taking of prisoners, the humiliation of defeated peoples.
In using it, the architects of this act unknowingly issued their own confession.
What unfolded was not diplomacy conducted by other means. It was not the defense of peace or justice. It was the open assertion of imperial prerogative—the claim that power alone confers legitimacy, and that sovereignty exists only at the pleasure of the strong.
For decades, the United States has lectured the world on legality, norms, and international order. It has invoked the authority of the United Nations when useful, ignored it when inconvenient, and undermined it when obstructive. Now, even the ritual of justification has been abandoned.
The message is unmistakable: when imperial interests demand action, law is optional.
This moment does not mark a sudden departure from past behavior. It marks its culmination. The erosion of international norms, long advanced through sanctions, coercion, and proxy warfare, has reached its logical endpoint—direct force, openly declared, without apology.
What remains is not confusion, but clarity.
The world has been shown, without embellishment, how the empire acts when it believes it can do so with impunity. The question now confronting humanity is not what has been done—but what will be tolerated.
History has entered the room. And it is taking notes.
Imperial Lawlessness in the Open
No international institution authorized this action. Not the United Nations, whose Charter constitutes the cornerstone of the postwar international order. Not the International Criminal Court, the sole body empowered to adjudicate individual criminal responsibility across borders. Not even Interpol, which exists to coordinate police cooperation—not to legitimize military abduction.
There exists no legal mechanism under international law by which the United States—or any state—may detain, arrest, or remove the head of a sovereign government by force. Such authority is neither implicit nor conditional. It does not exist.
By its own public declaration, Washington has therefore confessed to a grave violation of the Charter of the United Nations—an instrument signed by the United States itself, and repeatedly invoked by it when convenient. The principles violated are not obscure clauses or technicalities. They are foundational:
• the sovereign equality of states• the inviolability of territorial integrity• the absolute prohibition of the use of force except in self-defense or by collective authorization
These principles were not written for ornament or rhetoric. They were forged in the aftermath of global catastrophe, from the ruins of wars born precisely of unilateral aggression dressed as necessity.
To discard them is not an error.
It is a choice.
The so-called “rules-based order,” endlessly extolled in Western capitals, has once again revealed itself as a selective doctrine—rigidly enforced against the weak, casually abandoned by the powerful. Law is proclaimed universal, yet applied hierarchically. Sovereignty is defended in speeches, then violated in practice.
This is not hypocrisy alone.
It is systemic lawlessness elevated to policy.
The most revealing confirmation of this reality came not from critics, but from the author of the action himself.
President Trump publicly declared that the operation in Venezuela—culminating in strikes on the capital and the seizure of President Nicolás Maduro—was carried out under what he termed the “Don-roe Doctrine.”
In his own words, Venezuela was accused of hosting “foreign adversaries in our region” and of acquiring “menacing offensive weapons” that allegedly threatened U.S. interests—claims presented not before the United Nations, not before any international tribunal, but as unilateral justification for armed force.
Trump openly proclaimed the abandonment of established norms:
“All of these actions were in gross violation of the core principles of American foreign policy, dating back more than two centuries—and not anymore,” he stated, invoking the Monroe Doctrine only to announce its replacement by a doctrine bearing his own name.
Here, the mask is not merely removed—it is discarded.
The Monroe Doctrine itself was long criticized as a declaration of hemispheric domination. Yet even it cloaked power in the language of restraint. The newly proclaimed “Don-roe Doctrine” dispenses with such pretenses entirely. It asserts openly that history, law, and multilateral institutions are subordinate to the will of a single power.
This is not doctrine. It is imperial proclamation.
When international law obstructs imperial objectives, it is ignored. When it can be weaponized against adversaries, it is rediscovered. When even that proves inconvenient, it is replaced by decree.
What has occurred is therefore not merely a “breach” of the international order. It is a demonstration of how imperial power now openly conceives that order: not as a binding framework of rules, but as a temporary convenience—revocable at will, replaceable by personal doctrine.
This transformation carries consequences far beyond Venezuela.
If sovereignty can be overridden by slogan, if treaties can be superseded by branding, if the fate of nations can be determined by announcement rather than law, then no country outside imperial favor can consider itself secure.
And in this revelation lies the true danger—not only to Venezuela, but to every nation whose independence rests not on force, but on principle.
History records moments when empires cease to justify themselves—and begin to name themselves instead.
January 3 will be remembered as such a moment.
Caracas Responds
From Caracas, the message was unequivocal: Venezuela considers itself under attack.
Prior to his reported detention, President Nicolás Maduro acted in strict accordance with Venezuelan law and constitutional duty. Invoking the Constitution of the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela, the Organic Law on States of Exception, and the Organic Law on National Security, he issued a decree declaring a state of external commotion across the entire national territory. This legal instrument activated the full framework of Venezuela’s national defense, leaving no ambiguity regarding the state’s response to foreign aggression.
The decree set forth precise measures:
• Immediate activation of comprehensive national defense plans across all states and municipalities.• Full mobilization of regional organs of defense and the Command for the Comprehensive Defense of the Nation.• Calls to all social, political, and civic organizations to repudiate foreign aggression and prepare for resistance.• Engagement of militias, civil defense committees, and loyal military units to ensure the protection of the population and republican institutions.
“The entire country must mobilize to defeat this imperialist aggression,” the decree declared, leaving no doubt that Venezuela will not accept coercion, occupation, or the imposition of authority by force.
Defense Minister Vladimir Padrino López echoed this call publicly, urging the Bolivarian National Armed Forces and all patriotic citizens to take immediate and coordinated action. Militias and regular units alike have reaffirmed their hostility to any externally imposed regime, signaling the nation’s readiness for armed and organized defense.
While certain opposition figures, including María Corina Machado, have been speculated to assume leadership under Washington’s plan, developments on the ground suggest a far more volatile and unpredictable reality. The so-called power vacuum created by external pressure does not indicate submission; it reveals a state prepared for resistance and counteraction, where the loyalty of the armed forces and the organized populace may thwart any foreign attempt at control.
According to reports from Washington, U.S. authorities have already issued warnings that continued resistance could provoke further strikes. Such statements, framed as deterrence, have instead revealed the arrogance of imperial assumptions: that sovereign nations can be coerced through threats alone, and that the will of the people is subordinate to foreign military might.
Venezuela’s response underscores a fundamental truth of history: peoples who resist occupation rarely submit quietly. The nation invokes not only its legal framework, but its collective memory—of Bolívar, Miranda, and the countless generations that defended independence against foreign intrusion. In Caracas, as across the nation, the message is clear: sovereignty cannot be negotiated; it must be defended.
The Bolivarian state has also formally called upon the United Nations, CELAC, and the Non-Aligned Movement to condemn the aggression and demand accountability from the United States. Venezuela’s appeal is not merely diplomatic—it is a declaration of moral, legal, and historical principle. Aggression, when left unchecked, endangers the peace of all nations.
In short, Caracas does not merely resist—it mobilizes, organizes, and asserts its legal and moral right to defend itself. The streets, the barracks, and the militias are united under a single imperative: to repel imperialist intrusion and preserve the integrity of the republic.
The War on Drugs? Or a vulgar Monroe Doctrine?
In justifying his military incursion into Venezuelan territory, former U.S. president Donald Trump and his allies invoked the familiar refrain of the “war on drugs.” Maduro, they claim, presides over a sprawling narco-state, whose alleged criminal networks poison the United States and threaten its citizens. The language is carefully chosen, designed to present military aggression as moral necessity rather than naked conquest.
Yet even a cursory review of publicly available data exposes the weakness of this pretext. Venezuela is not a major source of fentanyl or synthetic opioids entering the United States—a fact acknowledged, reluctantly, even by U.S. law enforcement agencies. The narrative of drugs as justification therefore collapses under the weight of evidence.
To critics, the pattern is unmistakable. The invocation of narcotics is not a genuine concern for public health or national security. It is a political cover for a far more enduring objective: the acquisition and control of Venezuela’s petroleum wealth, which ranks among the largest proven reserves on Earth. Oil, not opioids, drives the strategy.
The operation thus follows a timeworn imperial script: moralized pretext, foreign intervention, regime change, and eventual economic restructuring to favor external capital. Today, the methods are modernized—drone strikes, helicopter assaults, and a constant stream of curated propaganda amplified across social media—but the logic is centuries old. This is gunboat diplomacy for the digital age: spectacle replaces deliberation, narrative substitutes for legitimacy, and law is treated as optional.
Trump’s reinterpretation of hemispheric policy further clarifies the intent. Again, as said above, his public statement announcing the operation, he invoked the Monroe Doctrine, not to defend the Western Hemisphere from foreign intrusion, but to justify U.S. unilateral aggression. In his words:
“All of these actions were in gross violation of the core principles of American foreign policy, dating back more than two centuries—and not anymore… The Monroe Doctrine is a big deal, but we’ve superseded it by a lot, by a real lot. They now call it the ‘Don-roe Doctrine.’”
Here, empire discards centuries of precedent. The Monroe Doctrine, historically used to proclaim American regional influence while framing it in ostensibly protective terms, is recast as a license for intervention on any pretext the United States chooses. “Don-roe” is not law; it is personal fiat projected as doctrine, legitimizing aggression against a sovereign state while cloaking it in historical rhetoric.
Seen through this lens, the military strikes, the capture of Maduro, and the threat of further attacks are not anomalies or reckless improvisation. They are the expected expression of a strategic vision: foreign power asserting control, circumventing international law, and subordinating the sovereignty of nations to the whims of empire.
Venezuela’s oil is no longer simply a resource—it is a symbol of independence, a prize to be seized by those willing to replace law with doctrine, and force with spectacle. In this context, the “war on drugs” becomes a recycled argument, a moral veil for economic conquest, and a propaganda instrument designed to obscure the naked ambitions of empire.
History has shown that such strategies rarely succeed in quelling resistance. When moralized narratives are exposed as pretext, when sovereignty is violated openly, the reaction is rarely submission. Resistance becomes both legal and existential, and the empire that acts without restraint risks awakening a force it cannot contain.
Exceptional Necessity: A Threat to World Peace?
The danger of Washington’s aggression does not end at Venezuela’s borders.
China, the largest importer of Venezuelan crude oil, has substantial and legally recognized economic interests in the country. Only days before the assault, President Nicolás Maduro met with a Chinese special envoy. Any attempt to seize Venezuelan resources by force will be perceived not as a local operation, but as a direct attack on the legitimate interests of other nations.
Thus, a unilateral act of aggression in the Caribbean threatens to ignite confrontation not only in the region but among major global powers, with consequences that may escalate far beyond the immediate conflict.
This is how wars begin—not with deliberations in parliaments, nor with appeals to law, but with arrogance in palaces and the calculated assumption of impunity.
At the heart of this confrontation lies a question older than any modern institution: Who decides the fate of nations?
Imperial doctrine answers plainly: those with aircraft carriers, financial leverage, and media empires. International law, painstakingly constructed from the ruins of two world wars, answers differently: peoples alone possess the right to determine their political destiny.
The United States has chosen the first answer. Trump openly proclaimed the abandonment of established norms:
“All of these actions were in gross violation of the core principles of American foreign policy, dating back more than two centuries—and not anymore,” he stated, invoking the Monroe Doctrine only to announce its replacement by a doctrine bearing his own name.
By claiming the authority to remove a foreign head of state by force, Washington asserts a hierarchy of nations in which sovereignty exists only at the pleasure of empire. This doctrine was rejected in 1945, reaffirmed in countless United Nations resolutions, and solemnly enshrined in the Charter of the United Nations. Yet today it is discarded with contemptuous ease.
What Washington presents as “exceptional necessity” is not exceptional at all. It is routine imperial behavior, the predictable expression of power unbound by law, morality, or the consent of the governed.
In this act, the United States has not defended security, nor upheld law, nor protected human life. It has demonstrated the enduring logic of empire: that the rights of nations are conditional, that treaties exist at the discretion of the strong, and that unilateral violence is the ultimate arbiter of global order.
The question now is clear—and urgent: Will the world accept such lawlessness as precedent, or will it reaffirm the principles that make sovereignty meaningful?
From Law-Based Order, Sovereignty,
to Personal-'Transactional' Rule
When international law obstructs imperial objectives, it is ignored. When it can be weaponized against adversaries, it is rediscovered. When even that proves inconvenient, it is replaced by decree.
What has occurred is therefore not merely a “breach” of the international order. It is a demonstration of how imperial power now openly conceives that order: not as a binding framework of rules, but as a temporary convenience—revocable at will, replaceable by personal doctrine.
This transformation carries consequences far beyond Venezuela. Unlike during the cold war when countries who chose to defy end beaten by established powers "in the name of freedom", this situation becomes quite the contrary for instead of submission meant defiance- especially in countries happened to be resource rich yet chose to be sovereign than vassal-like. It may sound easier to say "Maduro was ousted because he's a dictator" or "He was removed due to Drugs", but, if one must speak plainly- Venezuela is not attacked because it is weak, but because it is rich—and insists on being sovereign as one of the world’s largest proven petroleum reserves represent not merely energy, but leverage. Control over such reserves shapes currencies, alliances, and wars. Nationalization transformed Venezuelan oil from a colonial asset into a political instrument of development and autonomy.
And thus, this is unforgivable by many. Just because they chose not to submit, or rather say- chose to charter its own path, against the established norms if necessary? When contracts failed, sanctions followed. When sanctions failed, subversion followed. When subversion failed, force arrived. This sequence is neither accidental nor unique. It is the standard operating procedure of imperial economics.
If sovereignty can be overridden by slogan, if treaties can be superseded by branding, if the fate of nations can be determined by announcement rather than law, then no country outside imperial favor can consider itself secure.
And in this revelation lies the true danger—not only to Venezuela, but to every nation whose independence rests not on force, but on principle.
History records moments when empires cease to justify themselves—and begin to name themselves instead.
"None of this is New- so is the will to resist"
For the peoples of Latin America, none of this is new. They have endured it repeatedly—through coups blessed by foreign embassies, through presidents dragged from office by armed force, through militaries trained not to defend nations but to enforce obedience. Each intervention arrived cloaked in the familiar vocabulary of empire: order, stability, freedom.
Each departed leaving the same legacy: mass graves, shattered institutions, and economies stripped bare.
From Guatemala in 1954 to Chile in 1973, from Panama in 1989 to the long night of Central America, the lesson was written in blood: imperial power never arrives to solve problems. It arrives only to rearrange ownership.
Venezuela’s defiance is therefore no anomaly. It is continuity, a living testament to centuries of struggle. Its call to resistance is not empty rhetoric—it is history speaking through the present.
If the removal of a head of state by foreign force becomes normalized—if it is applauded, excused, or ignored—then no nation outside the imperial core can consider itself secure. Today it is Caracas. Tomorrow it could be Tehran, Havana, or any capital that refuses submission.
Every empire imagines its power permanent. Every empire imagines resistance futile. And yet, every empire eventually discovers otherwise.
Resistance may not triumph immediately. It exacts sacrifice, endurance, and courage. But over time, it transforms the balance of history in ways no occupying force can control.
As Simón Bolívar understood, independence is not a moment in history—it is a continuous process, renewed in each generation, defended by the courage of the people, and written in the annals of their struggle.