“I don’t give a shit what you call it,” US Vice President JD Vance replied last year to suggestions that killing Venezuelan civilians without any due process would be described a war crime. That comment was in relation to the US bombing boats suspected of drug trafficking in the Caribbean and Pacific in over 30 strikes, killing more than 115 people: now, it assumes an even stronger tone. The Trump administration recently carried out a large-scale military operation in Venezuela resulting in the capture and removal of President Nicolás Maduro.
This raises important legal concerns over the adherence of these actions to established principles of international law, particularly sovereignty, conditions for extradition, self-defence, immunity of heads of state, and provisions against the use of force. This article will argue that none of these have been respected, and that US attempts to characterise narco-terrorism as an attack which it could legally respond to as self-defence, are implausible.
Note: This analysis concerns the legality of the US’s actions, not the legitimacy of the Maduro government. One may simultaneously hold that Maduro’s regime is repressive and that the means used to remove him violated international law.
What Happened in Caracas?
US forces carried out large-scale military strikes in the Venezuelan capital in an operation to remove both Maduro and his wife. The operation was the culmination of prior escalations from the Trump administration, including the aforementioned strikes on suspected drug trafficking vessels and numerous sanctions put on Venezuela. Maduro and his wife, Cilia Flores, were indicted in a New York Federal Court in 2020, for their role in what the Trump administration claims is a narco-terrorist conspiracy, and which has been stated as the motivation for their removal, claims to which they have pleaded not guilty.
Other reasons given for their removal include the desire for regime change, an effect of the recent US National Security Strategy designating the ‘Trump corollary’ to the Monroe doctrine, as well as of Trump’s expressions of his desire to control Venezuela’s oil industry and allegations that it had stolen the oil from the US. Delcy Rodríguez, Maduro’s Vice President, has now been sworn in as interim President, receiving the public backing of the Trump administration, which has expressed that the US will “run the country” until there can be a safe transition.
The Central Question: Was This Lawful Force?
The UN Charter Article 2(4) prohibits the use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence of any State, a prohibition which has been consolidated as customary international law. There are two exceptions authorised by the Charter: authorisation of collective action by the Security Council, which has not occurred, and self-defence against an armed attack under Article 51 (detailed by the ICJ in the Nicaragua case). The latter argument has been made by the US, alleging that Maduro’s presidency was a narco-terrorist threat to the US such as to legitimise the military operation as self-defence. The US designated the Cartel de los Soles as a terrorist organisation in November 2025, and has alleged this cartel is embedded in the Venezuelan government and military, with Maduro as its leader.
Whilst drug trafficking is an extremely damaging phenomenon, it is unlikely that it constitutes grounds for self-defence under international law on the use of force (jus ad bellum), although this poses an interesting argument that merits some analysis (due to the nature of this article, in-depth scholarship is not possible, but an intriguing starting point for those interested may be found here).
To legitimise self-defence, there must be ‘real and honest belief’ of the imminent use of armed force, which has been interpreted as requiring use of a weapon. There is no suggestion that Venezuelan military forces are planning to attack the US. The possibility for anticipatory self-defence is recognised in customary law, but again requires the imminent threat of an armed attack.
Not every act of violence constitutes an armed attack. The question is whether drug trafficking can (it has not yet been considered to). If we make the very-much-not-light assumption that the right of self-defence can be invoked against the cartels as non-state actors whose conduct cannot be attributed to a state, a drug can conceivably be thought of as a ‘weapon’, given the level of physical harm it can cause, and the Trump administration has given one of its reasons for the operation as being a response to fentanyl deaths in the US. Scholars argue that the conditions for self-defence are not met in narcoterrorism cases, and that either way armed response would not comply with the principle of necessity regulating self-defence under international law.
One problem is pinning down the conduct that constitutes the armed attack—is it the production or supply of raw materials and precursors? Is it their cross-border smuggling (which is often done by consenting US citizens)? Is it their trafficking in US territory? In the Nicaragua case, the ICJ affirms that cross-border provision of weapons does not constitute an armed attack (it constitutes the use of force, which is not the criterion to justify self-defence), so even if drugs could potentially qualify as weapons, their cross-border supply is unlikely to legitimise the US’s response.
A central issue here is posed by the causal chain. The stages of drug trafficking involve numerous non-State actors with varying motives across different states and can sometimes involve consenting domestic actors. No clear standard of causation of harm is provided for in the Charter, and none can be ascertained from state practice or international case law. But-for (sine qua non) or reasonable foreseeability tests seem unlikely, as they would significantly increase the possibility of military conflicts. A proximity test is also likely not satisfied due to the many stages involved in drug trafficking.
There are other contextual arguments that reduce the likelihood that drug trafficking could be characterised as armed attack. First, the UNSC generally does not get involved in ‘pure’ drug trafficking situations, and, more importantly, an international regime is in place to regulate this phenomenon with the Single Convention on Narcotic Drugs (1961), Convention on Psychotropic Substances (1971), and Convention against Illicit Trafficking in Narcotic Drugs and Psychotropic Substances (1988), agreements which the US is party to.
Furthermore, if we decide we can treat narco-trafficking as a cause for self-defence, this opens a sizeable can of worms in terms of the interpretation of Article 51. Treating drug cartels as armed attackers risks unduly widening the scope of the Article to a number of other potential causes for self-defence, and therefore legitimising an erosion of the prohibition on the use of force. Many cross-border activities are harmful, such as the spread of infectious diseases, the provision of arms, and pollution, but if these legitimised military responses, all nations would be invading each other. Armed force should constitute a clear and functioning line for self-defence, and drawing the line becomes much harder if narco-terrorism is admitted.
Not to mention the glaring fact that, even if narco-trafficking was the US’s true concern, the majority of the synthetic opioids involved in fentanyl overdoses are produced in Mexico, using chemicals imported from China (which the Trump administration itself concedes), and the majority of the cocaine consumed in the US is of Colombian origin, not Venezuelan. Trump also seems inconsistent in this aspect, having pardoned former Honduran president Juan Orlando Hernandez, who, unlike Maduro, was not just charged but convicted of large-scale drug trafficking.
Lastly, even if it could be argued that armed attack has occurred in order to legitimise self-defence, the US’s response would need to be necessary and proportionate. If the concern is drug trafficking, the bombing of Caracas and the capture of the head of state hardly seem to satisfy these conditions. The Mekong precedent and other cases, while presenting some significant differences to the present case, demonstrate how States can address transnational narcotic threats through multilateralism and law enforcement, and need not undermine the UN Charter, something which it is submitted may not have been sufficiently considered by the US before deciding to pursue unilateral military action.
A Cascade of International Law Violations
Extradition
A federal indictment does not mean that the US has the right to make an arrest in another sovereign country: extradition would be necessary. US state practice denotes the ‘unwilling or unable’ doctrine, whereby they may use force against non-state actors on the territory of another state if that state is unwilling or unable to prevent attacks originating from its territory. The doctrine is extremely controversial among both member states and scholars, and is often used to justify legally dubious incursions into foreign territory – it was used to invade Iraq in 2003, and invade and overthrow Noriega’s government in Panama in 1989.
Panama is a very relevant case study in this context. General Manuel Noriega was indicted for importing cocaine into US territory. A controversial memo justifying the action, significantly criticised by legal scholars, was signed by William P Barr, future Attorney General and member of the Office of Legal Counsel of the Justice Department. It stated that POTUS has ‘inherent constitutional authority’ to order the FBI to take people into custody in foreign countries, even if it violates international law to do so. This is extremely questionable, not least because the US Constitution makes ratified treaties part of the “supreme law of the land,” and requires Presidents to take care that laws are “faithfully executed.” The UN General Assembly condemned the operation in Panama as a violation of international law on the use of force.
Immunity
Even if the lack of extradition was a surmountable problem, heads of state have immunity rationae personae from foreign enforcement jurisdiction under international law (see the ICJ’s Arrest Warrant judgement) and cannot be tried in the domestic courts of other countries. Immunity from criminal jurisdiction and inviolability from measures of physical constraint is applicable to the so-called ‘troika’: heads of state, heads of government, and ministers for foreign affairs. The International Law Commission does not currently recognise exceptions to immunity, and the principle is recognised by the US itself.
Postulating this, Trump’s intervention begins to look less like a legal removal and a lot more like a kidnapping. This author speculates that the US may weaponise the repressiveness of Maduro’s regime to allege that he was not the legitimate leader of Venezuela anyway, as he was not freely nor fairly elected – technically a viable argument (and one the Trump administration is aware will garner them some support across the aisle despite the somewhat blatant illegality of their actions). However, unilaterally withdrawing recognition of a government or its legitimacy does not remove the immunity of the head of state under customary international law. If it became acceptable for one country to unilaterally designate another leader as undemocratic and illegitimate, therefore lacking immunity and being summonable in a foreign domestic court, this would evidently be problematic.
The exercise of enforcement jurisdiction on the territory of another state requires either the consent of that State or a permissive rule of international law. Neither is present here, although the maxim of male captus, bene detentus has precedent in the US, as demonstrated in United States v. Alvarez-Machain (it essentially posits that the method with which a defendant is brought to a US court does not preclude that court’s jurisdiction). This does not, by far, mean that male captus, bene detentus is generally accepted in international law, so the US’s ignoring of immunity is dubious at best.
‘Running’ Venezuela and the law of armed conflict
While the focus of this article is not on whether the US’s subsequent actions in Venezuela have legal basis, it is notable that the US will be subject to rules under the Fourth Geneva Convention and customary international law that prohibit profiting from the exploitation of natural resources of a State under occupation, including Venezuelan oil (see also the ICJ’s advisory opinion on the Legal Consequences arising from the Policies and Practices of Israel in the Occupied Palestinian Territory, Including East Jerusalem, that the use of natural resources by the occupier must not exceed what is necessary for the purposes of the occupation and may be contrary to the principle of permanent sovereignty over national resources). Trump’s future actions concerning Venezuela, therefore, do not promise to be any more legal than the past.
What This Means for the Global Legal Order
Other than the questionable precedent it may set for use of Article 51, the US’s actions pose a “dangerous precedent”, in the words of UN Secretary-General Antonio Guterres, for the wider legal order.
When witnessing the potential precedent that designating another country’s government as terroristic and corrupt allows one to invade and bomb it with impunity, you can almost hear Benjamin Netanyahu, Vladimir Putin, and Xi Jinping rubbing their hands together in glee. Any precedent such an action would set, especially if it continues to go unpunished, sets the future of international law in the balance even more, if possible, than it already is. Moreover, if repressive government by foreign leaders justifies abducting them, Trump himself has a long list of offenders to pick through (including some backed by US economic and military support).
Seeing as the US is a permanent member of the UNSC, it can veto sanctions against itself, which already significantly reduces how it can be held accountable, without international leaders also refusing to clearly condemn the actions. This seems to have emboldened Trump to pursue similar strategy in his attempts to acquire Greenland, for which the White House has cited utilising the US military as a possibility. Like Venezuela is rich in oil, Greenland is rich in something else Trump has his eye on: rare earth minerals (important for computer chips, EVs, military hardware), for which China currently dominates the supply chain and recently cut off the US’s access through export controls.
The consequences for the Venezuelan population are also bleak. The belief that the US would impose a democratic regime change in a foreign country has historically been quick to fade, and this case is no different. Instead of allowing Maria Corina Machado, Nobel Peace Prize winner, to take control of Venezuela, Delcy Rodríguez has been designated as leader, likely because Trump believes she is most likely to hand over oil reserves. She has been cosignatory to many of Maduro’s oppressive actions in Venezuela.
Furthermore, other Central and South American nations involved in drug supply to the US are now under threat. One might find themselves asking if Trump is planning on abducting Claudia Scheinbaum anytime soon as well, having recently stated that “She’s not running Mexico, the cartels are” and that “something’s gonna have to be done about Mexico.” This comes alongside his other comments insinuating that he could move militarily against Colombia, stating that Colombian President Gustavo Petro has to “watch his ass.”
A Final Word on the Stakes for International Law
As stated by 17th-century British philosopher John Locke, “Where-ever law ends, tyranny begins.”
International law may be fragile, but its remaining foundations must not be left unprotected. If anything, this moment should serve as an urgent call to rebuild them—and to recommit to the rule of law.
The Trump administration’s actions in Venezuela are just the latest waves in a sea of the administration’s historic disregard of international law and, more strongly, its intentional tearing-down of, and self-distancing from, the international legal system due to concern that it is overly ‘liberal’, ‘delusional’, or being ‘wielded against’ the US (the examples are endless: US sanctions against the ICC judges that issued an arrest warrant for Netanyahu, cutting funding for UN organisations, the handling of Ukraine peace deals).
Trump’s actions have significant implications for the broader global legal order. His continued disregard for international law, and the even more worrying fact that he so far seems to have done so with impunity and without unequivocal condemnation from national leaders, threatens to upend the international legal system as we know it. The unpunished assault on the sovereignty of another country should worry all of us, especially when it comes from a state with the military prowess, economic leverage, and volatile leadership the United States has.
The unapologetic enforcement of international laws must hold strong in the face of momentous pressure. “The power of the law must prevail” in the face of US lawlessness, lest we forget that legitimising baseless and illegal incursions into the sovereignty of another country could mean that our own countries eventually become the next target.
Sara Bonato is a third-year student in the Law with Italian Law program at the University of Oxford.
