Venezuela, Greenland, and the Rules-Based Order’s Autopsy

In the immediate aftermath of the U.S. raid that captured Venezuelan president Nicolás Maduro, the global reaction split almost exactly the way you’d expect. Governments with ideological or geopolitical ties to Caracas rushed to condemn the move. Brazil’s Lula called it an “extremely dangerous precedent.” Colombia’s Petro and Chile’s outgoing president Gabriel Boric echoed the concern. Russia, without a trace of irony, warned of a “return to lawlessness.”

The UN Security Council convened. Washington made clear it would veto any resolution condemning the operation. And just like that, the diplomatic process hit a wall.

But what mattered more was who didn’t protest. Much of Latin America stayed quiet. Others openly celebrated. Argentina’s Javier Milei declared it the “fall of a narco-terrorist dictator.” Ecuador’s Daniel Noboa went further, warning other “narco-Chavista criminals” that their time was coming.

Legally speaking, the critics aren’t wrong. Even under the most charitable interpretation of international law, the operation sits on shaky ground. By stricter readings, it’s a clear violation of the UN Charter.

But Venezuela exposes something far more important than a legal debate. It reveals a truth long confined to academic journals: the so-called “rules-based international order” only works when power chooses to respect it. And for countries that built their entire security strategy on the assumption that those rules would protect them, that should be deeply unsettling.

This Isn’t New—We Just Pretended It Was

With the benefit of hindsight, this moment shouldn’t be surprising. The template was set decades ago.

In 1989, the United States invaded Panama to capture Manuel Noriega, a military dictator indicted in U.S. courts for drug trafficking. He had annulled elections, antagonized Washington, and declared a “state of war” against the United States. The justifications sound familiar: combating narco-terrorism, protecting American lives, safeguarding hemispheric security.

The invasion worked. Panamanians overwhelmingly welcomed it. Post-invasion approval ratings exceeded 90 percent. Noriega was tried in Miami. Democracy returned.

Legally? It was a mess.

The Organization of American States condemned the invasion 20–1, with the U.S. voting against condemning itself. The UN General Assembly followed, declaring it a “flagrant violation of international law” by a wide margin. Most legal scholars agreed: the self-defense argument didn’t hold.

And yet—nothing happened. No sanctions. No consequences. The world moved on.

That pattern repeated, in different forms, in Libya, through global drone campaigns, and across countless interventions. This isn’t a blanket condemnation of U.S. foreign policy. Some operations were defensible. Some were successful. But the lesson is clear: international law is optional when enforcement is absent—and power sits at the top.

Two Theories, One Reality

The post-war order rested on an uneasy compromise between two worldviews.

The first—the institutionalists—believed peace was maintained by rules, treaties, and international organizations. In this view, institutions mattered. Commitments were binding. American power enforced the system because the U.S. had pledged to do so, and pledges meant something.

The second camp believed in Pax Americana more bluntly. Institutions weren’t the foundation—they were the packaging. NATO aligned Europe. The UN provided legitimacy when convenient and could be ignored when it wasn’t. The U.S. stayed engaged because it served American interests—and would leave the moment it didn’t.

For decades, both camps could claim they were right. America dominated militarily and championed multilateralism. Even controversial interventions were wrapped in legal justifications.

Venezuela changed that.

This time, Washington barely bothered arguing international legality. The justification was domestic: Maduro was illegitimate, indicted under U.S. law, and therefore arrestable. End of story.

The hegemon has made its choice. And that raises an uncomfortable question for everyone who believed the other theory: what happens to those who bet on rules instead of power?

Europe’s Strategic Miscalculation

No one bet harder on institutionalism than Europe.

For decades, European governments acted as if major war was a relic of history. Defense spending collapsed. Militaries hollowed out. Germany famously had soldiers training with broomsticks painted black because they lacked rifles. By 2017, none of its submarines were operational.

France and a handful of eastern states were exceptions—but exceptions prove the rule.

This wasn’t naïveté alone. Europe trusted American guarantees. U.S. presidents complained about freeloading for generations, but everyone knew Washington would show up anyway.

Then Donald Trump arrived—and kept warning that assumption might be wrong.

For years, European leaders clung to plausible deniability. Maybe it was bluster. Maybe leverage. Venezuela shattered that illusion. The U.S. acted purely on its own interpretation of interest and authority, with international law treated as secondary—or irrelevant.

As one European leader bluntly observed: when power and law conflict, power wins.

The Greenland Moment

If Venezuela cracked the façade, Greenland threatens to smash it entirely.

The Trump administration has openly revived its interest in acquiring Greenland—currently Danish territory. The president has refused to rule out force, calling the island vital to U.S. security. Denmark’s prime minister warned that such a move would mean the end of NATO and the collapse of the international order as Europe understands it.

Whether force is ever used almost doesn’t matter. The signal is unmistakable: nothing is sacrosanct if it conflicts with perceived American interests.

The Real Warning Isn’t About Enemies

This isn’t about whether Maduro deserved his fate. It’s about what the operation reveals.

Poland’s prime minister, Donald Tusk, put it plainly: a weak and divided Europe will be taken seriously by neither enemies nor allies. That last word matters most.

The institutionalist promise was that playing by the rules earned influence. But in a world where power decides outcomes, influence isn’t granted—it’s earned.

A Europe that cannot defend itself doesn’t just risk abandonment. It risks irrelevance. And judging by how often Brussels is mocked for “monitoring the situation,” that process may already be underway.

Security isn’t theoretical. It isn’t procedural. And it certainly isn’t guaranteed by paperwork.

The only question left is whether Europe realizes that in time—or learns it the hard way.

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