When international law stops mattering: What the Venezuela invasion tells us

I was born at the end of the World War Two, in a world still raw from the violence of empires and the birth pangs of new nations.

At Pasar Road English School, I stood at attention to three national anthems and saluted three different flags. It was an early lesson, though not recognised then, in how fragile sovereignty can be, and how easily the symbols of authority can shift.

Our school song, O’ Font of Learning, taught us that education was not merely the acquisition of knowledge, but a moral compass for navigating a world in flux and reforming it. That was the promise and the belief.

Today, that promise feels endangered. The United States’ recent military invasion of Venezuela and the forcible abduction of President Nicolás Maduro and his wife mark one of the most brazen violations of international law in recent decades.

Overnight strikes on Caracas. The seizure of a sitting head of state. The declared intention to “run Venezuela” until Washington installs a government of its choosing. These represent not only an assault on a sovereign nation, but a direct attack on the global legal order itself.

My generation witnessed the birth of the UN Charter and the hope that law could tame force.

The Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which was borne out of that hope, is perhaps the most important single document created through consensus. It lays down the foundations of civilisation.

To see those principles discarded so casually is not just alarming – it is a betrayal of the lessons paid for in blood.

Violation of international law

The legal violations are clear and stark. Article 2(4) of the UN Charter is unequivocal: “All members shall refrain… from the threat or use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence of any state.”

The US assault – air strikes, special forces operations, and the kidnapping of a head of state – constitutes a textbook breach of this foundational rule.

Then there is the matter of aggression itself. A military invasion, blockade or attack on another state is expressly defined as aggression, the “supreme international crime” under UN General Assembly Resolution 3314 from 1974.

UN experts have already warned that recent US actions towards Venezuela -including blockades and armed attacks – meet this threshold.

The abduction of a sitting president goes further still. Presidents enjoy immunity under international law, protected by the Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations. The principle is straightforward: heads of state cannot be seized or prosecuted by foreign powers while in office.

France, China, Russia, and multiple states have condemned the US action as a direct assault on Venezuelan sovereignty and a dangerous precedent for the world.

The UN’s paralysis

Yet beyond statements of concern, the UN has been unable to act, even helpless. UN Secretary General António Guterres said he is “deeply alarmed” and that the US action “constitutes a dangerous precedent” because the rules of international law “have not been respected”. But words are all he can offer.

The reason is structural. The US is a permanent member of the Security Council. Any attempt to condemn or restrain Washington can be vetoed by Washington itself. This structural flaw – long criticised by the Global South – has now been exposed in its starkest form.

And then there is the selective enforcement. States that routinely preach a “rules-based order” have responded with hesitation, ambiguity or outright support.

The EU called for “restraint” but stopped short of condemning the invasion. Italy’s government even called the US action “legitimate”. Major Western media outlets celebrated the invasion as “bold” and “audacious,” revealing the ideological capture of institutions that claim to defend democracy and law.

Venezuela has requested an emergency Security Council meeting – but the outcome is predictable. The UN can deliberate, but it cannot restrain the world’s most militarily powerful state. This is not neutrality. It is moral paralysis.

Double standards exposed

The hypocrisy is impossible to ignore. Many of the same governments that condemned Russia’s invasion of Ukraine now refuse to apply the same legal principles to the US. The message is unmistakable: international law applies only to adversaries, never to allies.

China and Russia, ironically, have become the loudest defenders of the UN Charter in this episode – not because of moral clarity, but because their geopolitical interests are threatened.

The Global South sees this clearly. The double standards are no longer deniable.

What happens next

If this violation goes unanswered, the consequences will reshape global order.

We could see a collapse of the UN Charter system. If a permanent Security Council member can invade a sovereign state, abduct its president, and announce plans to ‘run’ the country, then the UN Charter’s core principles are effectively dead.

We will see a return to raw power politics. Smaller states will conclude that treaties and international norms cannot protect them. They will seek security through arms races alliances, or alignment with great powers. Invasions, conquests and murder will be the new world order.

Regime change by force has happened before. But it will not be normalised. If the US can topple a government for political or economic reasons – openly admitting its intention to seize Venezuelan oil – other powers may follow suit.

The world will become more fragmented and dangerous. The precedent set in Caracas will echo globally. Once the rules are broken by those who wrote them, the entire system risks collapse.

The invasion of Venezuela is not merely a regional crisis. It is a moral turning point. It exposes the fragility of the international legal order and the hypocrisy of states that claim to defend it.

If the world accepts this act of aggression, we will enter an era where might once again makes right, and where no nation – large or small – can rely on the UN and its various agencies for protection.

The hypocrisy of civilisation is that conquest and theft are dressed up as progress, order and destiny. But beneath the polished surface lies a long history of taking what was never freely given.

Entire systems are built to disguise this, to turn violence into virtue and plunder into policy. And for most of a lifetime, you move through that world believing its stories, repeating its reassurances, trusting its institutions because everyone else seems to.

In the end, when you are 80, you realise that what we describe as civilisation is how criminals take control of the world.

There is no comfort in realising you have lived under a lie. Yet that moment of recognition – late as it comes – is its own kind of release. It strips away the illusions you were handed and forces you to see the world for what it is.

And perhaps the only dignity left is this: that even if the world was built on theft, your understanding of it no longer is.

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