A Turning Point in Global Order: Venezuela, Oil, and the Law of the Strong

What reportedly unfolded in Caracas early this morning marks a rupture that the post–World War II international order was meant to prevent. For the first time in decades, the United States has openly acknowledged launching large-scale military strikes inside a sovereign nation in the Western Hemisphere and, by the U.S. President’s own public assertion, capturing the sitting President of Venezuela and his wife. President Donald Trump announced on social media that Nicolás Maduro and the First Lady were seized following strikes on the capital and key military installations.

If true, this is not merely a regional shock. It is a global precedent.

Washington’s stated justification rests, as expected, on familiar grounds—branding Venezuela a “narco-state” and a threat to U.S. national security. Yet history demands skepticism. The world has heard such claims before. Iraq, too, was accused of possessing weapons of mass destruction. That allegation was later exposed as false, but only after Saddam Hussein was deposed, the state dismantled, and its leader executed. The result was not democracy, but two decades of instability, extremism, and regional chaos.

Scratch the surface of Venezuela, and a more compelling motive emerges: oil. Venezuela holds the largest proven oil reserves on Earth—resources long insulated from U.S. corporate and strategic control. Sanctions, economic strangulation, and diplomatic isolation failed to force compliance. A direct strike followed by regime capture represents escalation, not policy refinement. It signals impatience—and desperation.

The timing is equally revealing. The United States faces mounting fiscal stress, inflationary pressures, and an accelerating challenge from China to its global primacy. In such moments, history shows that great powers often reach outward to reassert control. Energy security, supply dominance, and geopolitical leverage become irresistible temptations.

But Venezuela is not an isolated episode. The pattern is global.

An elected government in Bangladesh was destabilised amid intense geopolitical manoeuvring after Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina reportedly refused to concede strategic access to an island sought by external powers. Today, Donald Trump openly warns Panama and Greenland—sovereign territories already under economic and strategic pressure—sending a blunt signal that defiance carries consequences. The message is unmistakable: compliance ensures survival; resistance invites punishment.

If this does not amount to the deliberate creation of a chaotic global environment, what does?

Yet, paradoxically, Trump continues to project himself as a global peacemaker, even staking a claim for the Nobel Peace Prize—citing the supposed halting of as many as eight conflicts, including Russia–Ukraine and Israel–Gaza. The ground realities, however, tell a different story. Rhetoric has raced ahead of reality, while conflicts persist, often deepening rather than de-escalating.

This contradiction becomes even starker in the context of India and Pakistan. Despite New Delhi repeatedly and unequivocally rejecting any third-party mediation—let alone by the United States—Trump has continued, on numerous occasions, to claim credit for stopping a brief India–Pakistan confrontation. Indian officials have consistently maintained that Operation Sindoor (as outlined by New Delhi) had already achieved decisive military objectives, including the neutralisation of multiple Pakistani air bases and terror infrastructure. Operations were paused only after Pakistan’s Director General of Military Operations sought a ceasefire.

India’s position has been clear and consistent: no external power brokered peace, influenced decisions, or dictated outcomes. Yet, the repeated assertions to the contrary raise uncomfortable questions—not merely about factual accuracy, but about narrative control in global geopolitics. Also not to forget same Trump brazenness to declare that he would soon make Canada as the 51st state, exposes his duplicity.

And if the United States reserves for itself the right to unilaterally decide which governments are legitimate, which leaders are dispensable, and which sovereignties are conditional, why should the rest of the world trust its rhetoric on international law?

China is certainly watching. If Washington can depose or abduct a head of state under the banner of “national security,” Beijing will argue—using the same logic—that Taiwan is an internal matter requiring decisive action. Once sovereignty becomes selective, norms collapse universally. The rules-based order ceases to exist; only power remains.

Allies, too, will quietly reassess. Security guarantees ring hollow when restraint is abandoned. Smaller nations will seek hedges, not partnerships. Strategic autonomy will replace moral alignment.

So where is the world heading?

Toward fragmentation. Toward a raw, transactional order where oil, technology, and military might dictate outcomes, and principles are invoked only when convenient. This is not a return to the Cold War, with its grim but stable deterrence. It is more volatile—less predictable, more impulsive.

If great powers treat the world as a chessboard of expendable states, peace becomes fragile everywhere—not just in Caracas or Taipei, but across an increasingly anxious globe.

And the most dangerous question of all remains unanswered:

In a world governed by force rather than law, who decides who is next?