America brought about regime change in Venezuela because it could.
That blunt assessment may sound cynical, but it captures an uncomfortable truth about how global power actually works.
President Donald Trump’s declaration that the United States would effectively “run” Venezuela during a transition period, take control of its oil infrastructure, rehabilitate it, and sell large quantities of Venezuelan oil was not dressed up in the language of humanitarian intervention or democratic idealism. It was transactional, unapologetic, and framed squarely in terms of American interest.
Because he can. And because the United States, under Trump, believes it should.
From one perspective, this is realism stripped of pretence. Trump has never hidden his view that foreign policy is about leverage, advantage, and returns. Venezuela, sitting atop the world’s largest proven oil reserves, crippled by sanctions, mismanagement, and internal division, was uniquely vulnerable. Washington saw an opportunity to remove Nicolás Maduro, a long-standing adversary, while simultaneously gaining strategic and economic benefits. In Trump’s worldview, that is not a moral failing; it is the very purpose of power.
Supporters of this approach argue that the United States is merely looking out for its own interests, something every great power does. They point out that Maduro’s government has presided over economic collapse, mass migration, political repression, and humanitarian distress. If American power can bring an end to that and also revive a vital energy sector, they ask, why should Washington hesitate? International politics, after all, is not a seminar room.
There is also an undeniable fact that cannot be ignored: the United States has the power and the resources to make such outcomes happen. Military reach, economic leverage, diplomatic influence, and control over global financial systems give Washington options that most countries simply do not possess. To pretend otherwise is naïve. The international order has never been a level playing field, and it is unlikely to become one any time soon.
When leading powers signal that rules apply only when convenient, the system frays
Yet acknowledging power is not the same as endorsing how it is used. The cautious view begins precisely where triumphalism ends.
The first concern is legality and precedent. Whether the removal of Maduro and the assumption of control over Venezuelan state assets violates international law is not a side issue — it is central. Sovereignty, for all its flaws, remains the basic organising principle of the international system. When a powerful country openly asserts the right to determine leadership outcomes in another sovereign state and to appropriate its resources during a “transition”, it weakens norms that smaller and mid-sized countries depend on for protection.
Once that door is opened, it becomes difficult to argue against similar behaviour by others. If the United States can justify intervention in Venezuela on the grounds of national interest, instability, or moral necessity, what prevents China from invoking similar logic in Taiwan or the South China Sea? What stops Russia from extending its claims over neighbouring states it deems strategically vital? Precedents set by the powerful are rarely ignored by other ambitious powers.
The second concern is long-term stability. Regime change achieved through external pressure, however decisive, often creates legitimacy problems that linger long after the headlines fade. A post-Maduro Venezuela overseen or heavily influenced by Washington risks being perceived domestically as a client state rather than a sovereign polity. That perception could fuel resentment, resistance, and political fragmentation, undermining the very stability the intervention claims to seek.
There is also the question of intent versus outcome. Trump’s frank admission that America would benefit from Venezuelan oil may be refreshing in its honesty, given that he does not usually hesitate to speak his mind, but it also sharpens scepticism about motives. When economic gain is explicitly linked to political intervention, it becomes harder to convince Venezuelans or the rest of the world, for that matter, that democracy and human rights are the primary objectives. History suggests that such scepticism is not unfounded.
Finally, there is the broader erosion of the rules-based order. The international system functions imperfectly, but it functions at all because most states, most of the time, accept certain constraints. When leading powers signal that rules apply only when convenient, the system frays. Chaos rarely favours the weak; it ultimately ensnares even the strong.
None of this is to romanticise Nicolás Maduro’s rule or to deny Venezuela’s profound suffering. Nor is it to argue that the United States should never use its power. The world is not governed by moral purity. But power exercised without restraint, justification, or regard for precedent carries costs that are often deferred rather than avoided.
America may well be able to remake Venezuela in the short term. The more important question is whether, in doing so, it is helping shape a world in which raw power increasingly substitutes for law and whether that is a world the United States itself will always dominate.
History suggests that no one does forever.