KRAKOW, POLAND JANUARY 3:
A woman watches ABC News Live as U.S. Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Dan Caine explains details of a U.S. special military operation in Venezuela, with President Donald Trump present, in Krakow, Poland, January 3, 2026. (Photo by Artur Widak/NurPhoto via Getty Images)
What is being reported today—that the United States military removed Nicolás Maduro, the sitting president of Venezuela, under the direction of Donald Trump—should be treated as a constitutional, legal, and moral emergency rather than a triumph. Even setting aside one’s opinion of Maduro or the failures of his government, the use of unilateral military force to depose a head of state is plainly illegal under international law. This is not a gray area. It is precisely the sort of conduct the modern international legal system was created to prohibit.
The cornerstone of international law since 1945 is the prohibition on the use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence of another state. Article 2(4) of the United Nations Charter bars such actions outright, allowing only two narrow exceptions: self-defense against an armed attack or action authorized by the UN Security Council (United Nations, 1945). No credible public evidence suggests that Venezuela launched an armed attack against the United States, nor has there been any Security Council authorization permitting regime removal. Absent either condition, military intervention for the purpose of removing a government constitutes unlawful aggression under international law (Brownlie, 1963; United Nations, 1970).
Attempts to justify such an action by invoking “self-defense,” “counter-narcotics,” or “restoring democracy” do not survive serious legal scrutiny. International law does not permit a state to overthrow another government because it is authoritarian, corrupt, or hostile to foreign economic interests. The UN General Assembly has repeatedly affirmed that no state has the right to intervene, directly or indirectly, in the internal affairs of another, regardless of motive (United Nations General Assembly, 1970). This principle exists precisely because powerful states have historically cloaked invasions in moral language while pursuing strategic and economic gains.
Seen through that lens, this intervention reads less like a defense of democracy and more like a textbook exercise in plutocratic power. Venezuela possesses some of the largest proven oil reserves in the world, and U.S. policy toward the country for decades has revolved around control, access, and leverage over those resources (Mommer, 2002). When military force is paired with rhetoric about “stabilizing” oil production, reopening markets, or placing foreign companies in a position to manage extraction, the intent becomes difficult to deny. This is not about liberating Venezuelans; it is about aligning state violence with corporate interests, particularly those of multinational energy companies that stand to benefit from regime change.
International law directly rejects this logic. The principle of permanent sovereignty over natural resources affirms that a people’s land, minerals, and energy reserves belong to them alone and must be used for their national development, not appropriated through coercion or foreign occupation (United Nations General Assembly, 1962). That right does not evaporate because a foreign power disapproves of how a country governs itself or wishes to restructure its economy. To claim otherwise is to revive colonial doctrines that the postwar legal order explicitly sought to bury.
What makes this moment especially dangerous is the precedent it sets. If the United States can openly remove a foreign leader by force and then claim legal justification after the fact, the entire prohibition on aggressive war becomes performative rather than binding. Other powers will follow the same script, citing security concerns, economic stability, or humanitarian necessity as cover. The result is not a safer world, but a return to a system where might makes right and international law exists only to discipline the weak.
The Venezuelan people have the exclusive right to determine their political future and to decide how their resources are used. That process may be flawed, painful, and slow, but it cannot be replaced by foreign troops and oil contracts without shredding the legal norms that protect all states, large and small. If international law means anything at all, it means that regime change by force—especially when tied to resource extraction—is illegal, illegitimate, and profoundly destabilizing.
References
Brownlie, I. (1963). International law and the use of force by states. Oxford University Press.
Mommer, B. (2002). Global oil and the nation state. Oxford University Press.
United Nations. (1945). Charter of the United Nations. https://www.un.org/en/about-us/un-charter
United Nations General Assembly. (1962). Permanent sovereignty over natural resources (Resolution 1803 (XVII)).
United Nations General Assembly. (1970). Declaration on Principles of International Law concerning Friendly Relations and Co-operation among States (Resolution 2625 (XXV)).
The Problem with “Owning the Libs”
By Katherine Walter
On September 20, 2025
In political science
Illustration contrasting “own the libs” cruelty with progressive compassion. (Image generated by ChatGPT, 2025)
In recent years, the phrase “own the libs” has become a rallying cry for many conservatives. At first glance, it might seem like harmless political banter—a way to laugh at the other side. But taken seriously, this mindset reveals something troubling about how politics is being practiced in the United States. It shows a shift away from solving problems and toward something much darker: treating politics as a game where the goal is to make other people suffer.
The idea of owning the libs is not about making life better for ordinary people. Instead, it’s about celebrating when someone else is angry, humiliated, or hurt. Passing laws that restrict healthcare, rolling back rights for LGBTQ+ people, or undermining voting access aren’t framed as solutions to real problems. They are framed as victories precisely because they upset progressives. Cruelty itself becomes the goal.
But politics should not be about harming others—it should be about helping people. That is the central difference between the conservative “own the libs” mindset and progressive politics. Progressives, at their best, focus on policies that improve people’s lives: expanding access to healthcare, making schools stronger, reducing poverty, and protecting the freedom to live authentically. The success of progressive politics is measured in lives improved, not tears shed by political opponents.
This difference matters because it points to two fundamentally different visions for our society. One vision treats politics as a contest of domination, where the worth of an idea lies in how much it angers “the other side.” The other vision treats politics as a tool for compassion, where the worth of an idea lies in how much it improves the lives of our neighbors.
Of course, no political movement is perfect. Progressives sometimes stumble, and not every policy works out as intended. But there is an important moral distinction between trying to help people and trying to hurt them. If our politics is driven by spite, we will end up with policies that deepen division and suffering. If our politics is driven by empathy, we have at least a chance at building a society that is fairer, freer, and more humane.
The question is not whether liberals or conservatives “win.” The real question is: do we want our politics to be about cruelty—or about compassion?