The sudden extraction of Nicolás Maduro from Venezuela and his detention in New York, followed by President Donald Trump’s declaration that the United States would now “run” the country, marks one of the most extraordinary moments in modern international politics. Yet while the spectacle is shocking, it is not unprecedented. On the contrary, this episode fits squarely within a long tradition of American interventionism, failed regime-change strategies, and authoritarian political logic. To understand what is unfolding, it is essential to examine four historical precedents that illuminate the deeper meaning of Trump’s Venezuela operation-beyond the fog of propaganda, nationalism, and performative outrage.

The first and most obvious precedent is the long history of US intervention in Latin America. For more than a century, Washington has operated under an implicit assumption that it possesses a special right to determine who governs the region. From Guatemala in 1954 to Chile in 1973, and from Panama in 1989 to Honduras in 2009, American administrations have repeatedly interfered-covertly and overtly-in the political affairs of sovereign states.

During the Cold War, such interventions were typically justified under the banner of anti-communism. The rhetoric emphasized democracy and freedom, even as the United States supported or installed military juntas, autocrats, and repressive regimes so long as they aligned with US strategic and economic interests. The contradiction between rhetoric and reality was often obscured by the claim that stopping communism was synonymous with defending democracy.

What distinguishes the current intervention in Venezuela is not its novelty, but its bluntness. There is no longer even a pretense that democracy is the guiding principle. Maduro’s theft of the 2024 presidential election is a documented and serious crime against Venezuelan voters. Yet instead of focusing on that reality, the Trump administration has centered its case on charges of “narco-terrorism”-a label that, while politically useful, is far more difficult to substantiate and conveniently blurs legal, military, and ideological boundaries.

Even more revealing is the complete sidelining of Venezuela’s legitimate opposition. Edmundo González, who won the 2024 election, has been treated as irrelevant. María Corina Machado, arguably the most courageous and popular opposition figure in recent Venezuelan history, has been openly dismissed by Trump as a “nice woman” who supposedly lacks real support. That dismissal was not accidental. It reflects a deeper truth: Washington is not interested in Venezuelan democracy, but in Venezuelan control.

The removal of María Corina Machado from Venezuela under US protection in late 2024 was initially interpreted as a humanitarian gesture. Many assumed the Trump administration was helping her attend the Nobel Peace Prize ceremony in Oslo. In hindsight, the episode looks far more sinister.

By extracting Machado, the United States effectively neutralized a domestic political force that could have complicated or resisted American dominance. Machado’s popularity, legitimacy, and independence made her a potential obstacle to any externally imposed political arrangement. Removing her cleared the field-not for Venezuelan self-determination, but for a new form of American imperial administration.

This tactic has historical echoes. US interventions have often sidelined or undermined authentic local leaders in favor of more pliable figures who could guarantee compliance with American objectives. The result has rarely been stability, and almost never democracy.

The second major precedent is the 2003 invasion of Iraq. That war marked a turning point in American global power and credibility. The Bush administration believed that removing Saddam Hussein would automatically create the conditions for a democratic, pro-Western Iraq. Little thought was given to the country’s internal political structures, sectarian divisions, or the long-term consequences of dismantling the state.

The result was catastrophe. Hundreds of thousands of Iraqis were killed, millions were displaced, and extremist movements flourished in the power vacuum. American forces ultimately found themselves cooperating with the very actors they had once condemned, while US moral authority suffered irreparable damage.

The Trump administration’s Venezuela strategy reflects a similar fantasy: that removing a dictator is sufficient to remake a country. Yet Maduro’s government apparatus remains largely intact, and the Venezuelan military has not been defeated. There is no comprehensive political plan for what comes next.

Instead, the administration appears to envision Venezuelan Vice President Delcy Rodríguez as a kind of intermediary-someone who can “run the show” under American oversight. This is an illusion. Rodríguez’s legitimacy, like Maduro’s, collapses the moment it rests on foreign violence rather than popular consent. Her denunciation of Maduro’s capture as illegal, and her invocation of conspiratorial language, underscores the fragility of any arrangement imposed from outside.

The third precedent is Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Trump’s description of the seizure of Maduro as an “extraordinary military operation” is chillingly similar to Vladimir Putin’s language when announcing Russia’s full-scale invasion in February 2022. That phrase is not incidental-it reflects a shared contempt for international law and a belief that power alone confers legitimacy.

Russia has spent years undermining the authority of the United Nations Charter by selectively invoking and violating it. The Trump administration’s refusal to even attempt a legal justification for its actions in Venezuela represents a quiet victory for Moscow’s worldview. If international law is meaningless, then raw force becomes the only currency of global politics.

Ironically, while the Kremlin may object to the specifics of the Venezuela operation, it benefits from the precedent. Every such action accelerates the collapse of a rules-based international order and legitimizes future aggression by any sufficiently powerful state.

The final and most disturbing precedent lies in the logic of fascist regimes before 1945. Fascist governments in Germany, Italy, and elsewhere justified dictatorship by claiming that internal opponents were agents of foreign conspiracies. War was not merely an external endeavor-it was a tool for internal control.

By charging Maduro with drug-related crimes rather than crimes against humanity, the Trump administration is deliberately merging foreign policy with domestic political theater. The drug trade, by its nature, crosses borders and involves both foreign and domestic actors. This allows Trump to frame political opposition at home as part of a vast international criminal conspiracy.

This strategy mirrors the expansion of domestic security institutions under the guise of crisis. Just as fear of migrants has fueled the growth of Immigration and Customs Enforcement, a revived “war on drugs” could justify new surveillance powers, policing authorities, and political repression.

Trump’s goal is not sustained warfare, but its symbolism. He wants the political benefits of victory without the costs of conflict. In his narrative, the US military performed a miracle, and the story ends there.

But history suggests otherwise. Wars of this kind do not end cleanly. They reshape institutions, normalize authoritarian practices, and erode democratic norms at home. Trump’s Venezuela operation is less about Caracas than Washington. It is about consolidating power, rewriting the rules, and conditioning the American public to accept extraordinary actions as normal.

The danger is not only what this operation means for Venezuela, but what it signals for the United States. Recognizing the domestic political logic behind Trump’s foreign intervention is the first step toward resisting it. The precedents are clear-and they rarely end well.

If Americans fail to learn from them, they may soon find that the most lasting consequences of this “extraordinary military operation” are not felt abroad, but at home.

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Source: Weekly Blitz :: Writings