From Noriega to Maduro: The Logic of Force in US Policy
The actions taken by the United States against Venezuela and the attempts to delegitimize President Nicolas Maduro are not surprising, as such policies are customary in U.S. behavior. There are many precedents set by previous U.S. administrations marked by the same approach, even if the tools and contexts differ.
In moments of transition or conflict, U.S. policy has always been accustomed to interfering directly or indirectly in the affairs of nations under the slogans of democracy and protecting populations, while inherently marked by a stark tendency to impose political will and reshape systems in ways that serve U.S. interests.
Since the end of World War II, the U.S. has played an active role in shaping the international order, yet this role has not always been balanced between power and responsibility. For as much as Washington has contributed to the establishment of international institutions and major relations, it has not hesitated to bypass those very institutions whenever their decisions or orientations conflicted with direct U.S. interests. Here, U.S. policies can be understood not as circumstantial reactions, but as part of a vision that views military and economic superiority as a tool for reshaping the world.
Donald Trump's administration was preceded by administrations that resorted to economic sanctions, diplomatic pressure and direct or indirect interference in the affairs of nations — whether in the Middle East, Latin America or elsewhere. The slogans of democracy and human rights were often brought up to justify these policies, while the actual outcomes revealed a different reality: the destabilization of countries, the deepening of crises and the production of new forms of political and economic dependency. Therefore, proclaimed values have turned into rhetorical tools, invoked when convenient and disregarded when in conflict. Yet, what has distinguished the Trumpian era has been the shift from a policy of quiet pressure to one of frank confrontation. His administration’s decisions have been accompanied by a direct, public discourse that has made no secret of its contempt for international organizations or of its indifference to traditional alliances. U.S. foreign policy thus has become an extension of domestic rhetoric, managed by the logic of quick gains, not by the logic of the delicate balances upon which the international order rests.
In this context, U.S. policy toward Venezuela comes as an extension of this trajectory, through recognizing political actors parallel to the sitting authority and imposing suffocating economic sanctions, particularly in the oil sector. This has turned the political crisis into a humanitarian and economic one. The declared goal has been not so much aimed at changing behavior but seeking to change the system itself by exhausting it from within and isolating it externally. Yet this logic differs little from what the region witnessed previously, as with the removal of General Manuel Noriega in Panama in 1989, when the U.S. resorted to direct military intervention to overthrow the president of a sovereign state, based on the pretext of fighting drugs and protecting democracy.
That incident constituted a serious precedent in transgressing the principle of nonintervention and entrenched the notion that changing systems is a legitimate option in the American political mindset whenever interest so dictates. Noriega's removal stands as one of the clearest precedents revealing the nature of the U.S. behavior toward systems that defy the political obedience: Washington, under George H.W. Bush, carried out this intervention in explicit disregard of the United Nations Charter. This episode is quite significant as it revealed that forcibly reshaping the political landscape is not an exception tied to a particular administration, but rather an option ever-present in the U.S. strategic mentality.
As times have changed, so have the tools, but not the essence: sanctions instead of tanks, political and economic isolation instead of direct occupation. The difference between Noriega’s case and subsequent policies lies not in the substance, but in the most effective means of multilevel pressure. Thus, invoking this model helps to read contemporary policies within a long historical context, not as isolated events, but events connected in a single chain. This was manifested in the unilateral withdrawal of the U.S. from the nuclear agreement with Iran, a glaring example of contempt for international consensus. This withdrawal shook the confidence of allies and adversaries alike and was accompanied by a policy of maximum pressure that turned the economy into a tool of collective punishment.
The relocation of the U.S. embassy to Jerusalem constituted a highly significant turning point, as it effectively laid bare the U.S. claim to neutrality, institutionalized explicit bias toward one side and elevated domestic political calculations over legal and moral considerations.
Related to this are incidents in the field such as the airport incident and the military strikes or threats thereof against Iran outside the framework of a declared war. This has reinforced Washington's image as a power acting with the logic of unilateral deterrence rather than legal partnership.
The danger of this trajectory lies not only in its immediate outcomes, but in the precedents it establishes. For when force is legitimized at the expense of law, and interest is prioritized over sovereignty, the international order itself becomes susceptible to erosion. This has been evident in the abrupt abandonment of allies in the field, revealing that U.S. alliances are governed by expediency in the moment, not by strategy and commitment. Hence, it can be said that Trump's policies have been the most brutal expression of an old trajectory that retains its essence rooted in the logic of force. Yet, their danger lies in stripping away the moral and diplomatic cover, leaving this trajectory bare before the world.
This accumulation erodes international legitimacy, transforming the international order into an open arena of influence governed by balances of power. When political legitimacy becomes contingent on recognition by a superpower, populations lose their right to self-determination and democracy becomes a selective tool. In the face of this reality, affected states find themselves compelled to reconsider their international relations and search for new formulas of balance based on diversifying partnerships, strengthening independent national decision-making and avoiding subordination to a power that experience has shown does not hesitate to sacrifice its allies whenever interest so dictates. What has happened, and continues to happen, with Maduro cannot be isolated from a long context stretching from Noriega to others; it is the same history reproducing its mechanisms, even if the names and pretexts have changed.
This places a fundamental question in front of the U.S.: Does it wish to be a power that guarantees the international order, or a party that deepens its crisis? It also places in front of targeted states the imperative of strengthening their strategic independence in a world where laws are no longer sufficient to deter the logic of force.
In moments of transition or conflict, U.S. policy has always been accustomed to interfering directly or indirectly in the affairs of nations under the slogans of democracy and protecting populations, while inherently marked by a stark tendency to impose political will and reshape systems in ways that serve U.S. interests.
Since the end of World War II, the U.S. has played an active role in shaping the international order, yet this role has not always been balanced between power and responsibility. For as much as Washington has contributed to the establishment of international institutions and major relations, it has not hesitated to bypass those very institutions whenever their decisions or orientations conflicted with direct U.S. interests. Here, U.S. policies can be understood not as circumstantial reactions, but as part of a vision that views military and economic superiority as a tool for reshaping the world.
Donald Trump's administration was preceded by administrations that resorted to economic sanctions, diplomatic pressure and direct or indirect interference in the affairs of nations — whether in the Middle East, Latin America or elsewhere. The slogans of democracy and human rights were often brought up to justify these policies, while the actual outcomes revealed a different reality: the destabilization of countries, the deepening of crises and the production of new forms of political and economic dependency. Therefore, proclaimed values have turned into rhetorical tools, invoked when convenient and disregarded when in conflict. Yet, what has distinguished the Trumpian era has been the shift from a policy of quiet pressure to one of frank confrontation. His administration’s decisions have been accompanied by a direct, public discourse that has made no secret of its contempt for international organizations or of its indifference to traditional alliances. U.S. foreign policy thus has become an extension of domestic rhetoric, managed by the logic of quick gains, not by the logic of the delicate balances upon which the international order rests.
In this context, U.S. policy toward Venezuela comes as an extension of this trajectory, through recognizing political actors parallel to the sitting authority and imposing suffocating economic sanctions, particularly in the oil sector. This has turned the political crisis into a humanitarian and economic one. The declared goal has been not so much aimed at changing behavior but seeking to change the system itself by exhausting it from within and isolating it externally. Yet this logic differs little from what the region witnessed previously, as with the removal of General Manuel Noriega in Panama in 1989, when the U.S. resorted to direct military intervention to overthrow the president of a sovereign state, based on the pretext of fighting drugs and protecting democracy.
That incident constituted a serious precedent in transgressing the principle of nonintervention and entrenched the notion that changing systems is a legitimate option in the American political mindset whenever interest so dictates. Noriega's removal stands as one of the clearest precedents revealing the nature of the U.S. behavior toward systems that defy the political obedience: Washington, under George H.W. Bush, carried out this intervention in explicit disregard of the United Nations Charter. This episode is quite significant as it revealed that forcibly reshaping the political landscape is not an exception tied to a particular administration, but rather an option ever-present in the U.S. strategic mentality.
As times have changed, so have the tools, but not the essence: sanctions instead of tanks, political and economic isolation instead of direct occupation. The difference between Noriega’s case and subsequent policies lies not in the substance, but in the most effective means of multilevel pressure. Thus, invoking this model helps to read contemporary policies within a long historical context, not as isolated events, but events connected in a single chain. This was manifested in the unilateral withdrawal of the U.S. from the nuclear agreement with Iran, a glaring example of contempt for international consensus. This withdrawal shook the confidence of allies and adversaries alike and was accompanied by a policy of maximum pressure that turned the economy into a tool of collective punishment.
The relocation of the U.S. embassy to Jerusalem constituted a highly significant turning point, as it effectively laid bare the U.S. claim to neutrality, institutionalized explicit bias toward one side and elevated domestic political calculations over legal and moral considerations.
Related to this are incidents in the field such as the airport incident and the military strikes or threats thereof against Iran outside the framework of a declared war. This has reinforced Washington's image as a power acting with the logic of unilateral deterrence rather than legal partnership.
The danger of this trajectory lies not only in its immediate outcomes, but in the precedents it establishes. For when force is legitimized at the expense of law, and interest is prioritized over sovereignty, the international order itself becomes susceptible to erosion. This has been evident in the abrupt abandonment of allies in the field, revealing that U.S. alliances are governed by expediency in the moment, not by strategy and commitment. Hence, it can be said that Trump's policies have been the most brutal expression of an old trajectory that retains its essence rooted in the logic of force. Yet, their danger lies in stripping away the moral and diplomatic cover, leaving this trajectory bare before the world.
This accumulation erodes international legitimacy, transforming the international order into an open arena of influence governed by balances of power. When political legitimacy becomes contingent on recognition by a superpower, populations lose their right to self-determination and democracy becomes a selective tool. In the face of this reality, affected states find themselves compelled to reconsider their international relations and search for new formulas of balance based on diversifying partnerships, strengthening independent national decision-making and avoiding subordination to a power that experience has shown does not hesitate to sacrifice its allies whenever interest so dictates. What has happened, and continues to happen, with Maduro cannot be isolated from a long context stretching from Noriega to others; it is the same history reproducing its mechanisms, even if the names and pretexts have changed.
This places a fundamental question in front of the U.S.: Does it wish to be a power that guarantees the international order, or a party that deepens its crisis? It also places in front of targeted states the imperative of strengthening their strategic independence in a world where laws are no longer sufficient to deter the logic of force.
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