The death toll from the United States’ raid on Venezuela, launched to seize President Nicolás Maduro, continues to rise, exposing not only the human cost of the operation but also the accelerating erosion of international law and restraint. According to Venezuelan officials cited by the New York Times on January 4, at least 80 people – soldiers and civilians – were killed during the operation. Venezuelan Defense Minister Vladimir Padrino López has confirmed that a “large part” of Maduro’s security detail was wiped out, while officials in Caracas accuse US forces of striking civilian neighborhoods. Cuba, a close ally of Venezuela, has announced that 32 of its citizens, including military personnel, were killed, prompting Havana to declare January 5 and 6 days of national mourning.
These figures may still be incomplete, but the picture is already grim. What Washington portrays as a precise and justified law-enforcement action has, in reality, unfolded as a violent regime-change operation with broad and deadly consequences. The raid, coupled with prior airstrikes and months of military buildup, represents a dramatic escalation in US policy toward Venezuela – and a warning to much of the Global South that sovereignty now offers little protection against American power.
US President Donald Trump has insisted that no American troops were killed, while conceding that several may have been wounded. Anonymous US officials told the New York Times that roughly half a dozen service members were injured. The imbalance is striking: dozens of Venezuelans and Cubans dead, entire security units destroyed, civilian areas reportedly hit – yet no confirmed American fatalities. This alone undermines any claim that the operation resembled an arrest or extradition. It was a military assault, executed with overwhelming force against a country unable to meaningfully defend itself.
American officials argue that the airstrikes and bombardments were intended merely to provide “cover” for capturing Maduro and his wife, Cilia Flores, so they could be taken to the United States to face drug trafficking and weapons charges. Caracas has long rejected these accusations, describing them as fabricated pretexts designed to legitimize regime change. Even if one were to assume, for argument’s sake, that such charges had merit, they would still offer no legal justification for violating another state’s sovereignty through armed force.
Under international law, the kidnapping of a sitting head of state by a foreign power is indefensible. It violates the UN Charter’s prohibition on wars of aggression and the basic principles of sovereign equality. That such an operation could be launched without congressional authorization in the US, or a UN mandate, underscores how normalized unilateral violence has become in Washington’s foreign policy.
The bloodshed associated with the raid did not begin or end on January 3. For months, US forces reportedly targeted alleged smuggling boats at sea as part of what officials framed as counternarcotics operations. These strikes, which formed the propaganda groundwork for the final assault, have already killed over 100 people, many of whom were never proven to be involved in any criminal activity. Added to this are the far less visible victims of US sanctions: shortages of medicine, food, and essential goods that have contributed to suffering and premature deaths across Venezuela over many years.
In this broader context, the raid on Caracas appears less like an isolated event and more like the culmination of a long campaign of pressure – diplomatic, economic, covert, and finally overtly military. American officials themselves have described the January 3 attack as a “large-scale strike” that hit multiple locations across Venezuela, including military bases, communications infrastructure, and supply depots. President Trump even characterized it as “dark and deadly,” language that sits uneasily alongside claims of restraint and legality.
Resistance on the ground appears to have been limited, a fact that raises uncomfortable questions. Given the highly visible military buildup and psychological warfare that preceded the operation, it is hard to believe the Venezuelan leadership was entirely unprepared. Possibilities ranging from internal betrayal to secret negotiations may eventually surface, but such details, if they emerge at all, will not change the fundamental character of the assault.
Whatever ambiguities remain about the tactical details, the strategic and legal realities are clear. The US invasion of Venezuela is illegal under international law. It constitutes a war of aggression, prohibited by the UN Charter, and cannot be justified by allegations of drug trafficking, election irregularities, or ideological alignment with Washington’s adversaries.
Even some of America’s closest European partners have been forced to acknowledge this. A recent op-ed in Germany’s mainstream newspaper Die Zeit conceded that the operation lacked any legal basis. Yet these admissions have not translated into meaningful opposition. NATO and EU governments have largely limited themselves to expressions of “concern” or vows to “observe” developments – a familiar pattern of passivity that effectively enables US actions.
The pretexts advanced by Washington are, as critics note, deeply unconvincing. Venezuela is not a significant driver of America’s drug crisis, whether in cocaine or fentanyl. The roots of that crisis lie overwhelmingly within the United States itself. Similarly, questions about the fairness of Venezuela’s 2024 election, whatever their validity, are internal matters. If flawed elections justified foreign invasion, few countries – including many US allies – would be safe.
If the official justifications ring hollow, the real motives are not hard to discern. Venezuela possesses the largest proven oil reserves in the world, along with substantial deposits of gold, rare earths, and other strategically valuable resources. President Trump has spoken openly about these riches, at times implying that they rightfully belong to the United States or its corporations. He has promised to “reconquer” them, framing the assault on Venezuela as an act of recovery rather than theft.
Greed, however, is only part of the story. The raid also fits squarely within a broader geopolitical strategy aimed at reasserting US dominance over Latin America. From electoral interference in Argentina and Honduras to pressure on Brazil, Colombia, Nicaragua, and Cuba, Washington has signaled that it will not tolerate governments that pursue independent foreign policies or deepen ties with China and Russia.
This approach has been described as a modernized Monroe Doctrine – sometimes dubbed the “Donroe Doctrine” – combining 19th-century imperial logic with 21st-century military technology. The goal is simple: to secure the Western Hemisphere as an unquestioned American sphere of influence, ruled either by compliant elites or, failing that, by force.
Marco Rubio, now serving as both Secretary of State and National Security Advisor, has been particularly explicit about threats toward Cuba and the wider Caribbean. His rise to such concentrated power recalls darker chapters of US foreign policy, when figures like Henry Kissinger oversaw coups, assassinations, and proxy wars across the Global South.
Some US strategists have begun to worry that Washington’s actions in Venezuela could set dangerous precedents. Even typically hawkish voices have warned that normalizing the kidnapping of foreign leaders and the open seizure of another country’s resources could encourage similar behavior by rival powers. Comparisons have already been drawn to how China might one day approach Taiwan.
Yet these warnings often ring hollow. The United States has spent decades breaking international rules, from Iraq to Libya to Syria, and more recently through its unwavering support for Israel’s devastating war in Gaza. The assault on Venezuela does not create lawlessness so much as add another chapter to a long history of it.
What it does do, however, is send a stark message to countries across Latin America and beyond: alignment with Washington’s rivals will be punished, brutally if necessary. Sovereignty, in this worldview, is conditional.
Ironically, some of those who sought to ingratiate themselves with the US have emerged as collateral damage. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky, once eager to highlight alleged Russian activities in Venezuela to please Washington, now finds himself an increasingly inconvenient client. Venezuelan opposition figure Maria Corina Machado, who built her career on courting US support and promising to open the country’s resources to foreign interests, was casually dismissed by Trump as unfit to lead.
Machado’s controversial Nobel Peace Prize – widely criticized as politicized – appears in retrospect less like a stepping stone to power and more like a liability. Trump, famously resentful of accolades bestowed on others, barely acknowledged her role. The message was unmistakable: loyalty to Washington offers no guarantees, only temporary utility.
Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of the US raid on Venezuela is how quickly it has been normalized. A foreign power has attacked a sovereign state, killed scores of people, kidnapped its president, and openly declared its intention to “run” the country until a new leadership can be installed. And yet, the global response has been muted, almost routine.
This normalization of the anomalous reflects a deeper crisis in the international system. When the world’s most powerful state treats law as optional and morality as an inconvenience, the entire structure of global governance begins to rot. Smaller states learn that rules will not protect them. Powerful ones learn that force pays.
Trump has declared that “American dominance in the western hemisphere will never be questioned again.” History suggests otherwise. Empires that rely on naked coercion often provoke the very backlash they seek to prevent. Whether in Venezuela or elsewhere, resistance may yet emerge — but it will come at a terrible cost to those caught in the crossfire.
For now, Venezuela lies wounded, its people mourning their dead, its future uncertain. The raid that killed at least 80 people is more than a single act of violence; it is a symptom of a world sliding toward open, unapologetic imperialism. In such a world, one conclusion is inescapable: no one is safe.
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Source: Weekly Blitz :: Writings
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