In a bold and controversial move, the Trump administration has launched what critics are calling a unilateral military operation in Venezuela, escalating tensions in Latin America and challenging the former president's long-standing image as an anti-war leader. According to reports, the action followed an incident in which more than 100 American civilians were allegedly killed at sea by Venezuelan forces, though U.S. officials have not yet provided concrete proof to substantiate the claims. In response, over 150 U.S. aircraft entered Venezuelan airspace, resulting in the deaths of at least 40 Venezuelan civilians and the arrest and forced extradition of Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro to the United States.
The operation, described by the White House as a 'legal action' to address threats to American security, has drawn sharp rebukes from international observers and even some domestic allies. 'If someone killed more than 100 American civilians at sea, making accusations about what they were up to without offering proof, and then sent more than 150 aircraft into our airspace and killed 40 of our civilians while arresting and forcefully extraditing our president, I reckon we’d be calling it “war,”' wrote commentator Eric Alterman in a recent Yahoo News analysis. Alterman, a senior fellow at the Center for American Progress, argued that the events mark a departure from Trump's 2016 and 2024 campaign rhetoric, where he positioned himself as a peace advocate in contrast to figures like Hillary Clinton.
Background on the Venezuela incident traces back to escalating disputes over maritime activities in the Caribbean. U.S. officials claimed that Venezuelan naval vessels attacked American-flagged ships, leading to the high civilian toll. However, Venezuelan state media has vehemently denied these allegations, labeling them as fabricated to justify intervention. The extradition of Maduro, who faces charges including possession of machine guns—a charge Alterman described as 'weird' given U.S. domestic gun violence debates—has further inflamed the situation. Maduro's wife, Cilia Flores, is also implicated in the counts against them.
Trump's history with military engagements provides crucial context for understanding the current crisis. During his first term and campaigns, Trump frequently criticized endless wars, particularly in the Middle East. He opposed the Iraq War in later years, though records show he expressed support for it in the lead-up and early phases, according to interviews from that period. His primary critique, as noted by Alterman, centered not on the war's morality but on the failure to seize Iraq's oil reserves: 'U.S. forces didn’t max out the possible conquest by taking Iraq’s oil.' This stance, critics say, underscores a pattern where military action is acceptable if it serves direct U.S. interests like resource acquisition.
The Iraq War vote by then-Senator Hillary Clinton in 2002 remains a pivotal point in political narratives. Clinton supported the authorization, a decision that Alterman described as ironic given its political fallout: it 'arguably cost her the nomination in 2008 and played some role in costing her the presidency in 2016.' Trump leveraged this during his campaigns to paint Clinton as the 'hawk' and himself as the 'man of peace.' Yet, with the Venezuela operation unfolding just a decade after his first presidential run, questions about that image have resurfaced.
Alterman's piece delves into the philosophical underpinnings of Trump's foreign policy, distinguishing between anti-war sentiments and what he terms an 'anti-West' orientation. 'Trump is not antiwar. He never has been. That was always a fiction peddled by Trump, his lackeys, and the right-wing media,' Alterman wrote. He contrasts U.S.-led wars like Vietnam and Iraq, which were framed around defending Western values such as freedom and democracy—even if flawed in execution—with Trump's approach, which prioritizes 'raw power in the service of plunder and conquest.'
The United States fought the war in Vietnam, for example, in defense of “freedom” (and against communism) and out of the conviction, the “domino theory,” that failing to stop the Reds in Saigon would all but ensure that they’d soon take over across all of South Asia and, before you knew it, would be on our doorstep.
Alterman references historical figures like Lyndon Johnson, who feared congressional backlash if he did not act, and James Forrestal, the first U.S. Secretary of Defense whose Cold War paranoia contributed to his suicide in 1949. For Iraq under George W. Bush, the author rejects conspiracy theories about oil or corporate interests as primary motives, instead attributing it to establishing U.S. global preeminence and promoting freedom, albeit disastrously.
Multiple viewpoints emerge on Trump's intentions. Supporters within the MAGA movement, as cited in Alterman's analysis, view the Venezuela action as a necessary assertion of 'America First' principles, unencumbered by multilateral alliances. However, colleagues like Greg Sargent, a Washington Post columnist, offer a differing perspective: 'Some confuse Trump’s hostility to the postwar liberal international order with an “isolationism” that eschews foreign military entanglements. But as Nicholas Grossman points out, this doesn’t reflect principled opposition to military action.' Sargent's commentary from last summer, during debates over U.S. support for Israel against Iran, highlights Trump's affinity for authoritarians who oppose Western frameworks.
The National Security Strategy, published last December, provides further insight into this shift. The document, Alterman notes, signals non-interference in regional affairs of strongmen, emphasizing 'America First' over traditional alliances. It explicitly distances from Europe, potentially weakening NATO ties. In Venezuela, early indications suggest the operation may preserve elements of the Chavismo regime if it aligns with U.S. interests, such as oil payments, rather than fully democratizing the country.
Related developments underscore the broader pattern. The administration recently pardoned an ally convicted of trafficking 500 tons of drugs into the U.S., a move Alterman links to inconsistent drug war rhetoric. Renewed threats against Greenland—echoing Trump's 2019 purchase proposal—and Mexico, including potential military incursions over border issues, indicate a focus on dominating the U.S. 'near abroad.' Alterman draws parallels to Vladimir Putin's use of the term for Ukraine and neighboring states, suggesting a tacit agreement among leaders like Putin and China's Xi Jinping: non-interference in each other's spheres.
International reactions have been swift. Leaders in Mexico and Canada expressed alarm over the Greenland and Mexico rhetoric, with Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum stating in a press conference last week that any U.S. incursion would be met with diplomatic and economic countermeasures. In Ukraine, officials worry about diminished U.S. support amid the ongoing war with Russia, especially as ISIS remnants stage a comeback in the Middle East—a region where past coalitions under Presidents Bill Clinton, Barack Obama, and even Trump had successes against the group.
Historical precedents offer context for evaluating the Venezuela operation's legitimacy. The Balkans intervention in the 1990s, led by Clinton, halted Slobodan Milošević's ethnic cleansing. Obama's drone campaigns and Trump's contributions helped defeat ISIS territorial caliphate by 2019, though recent reports indicate resurgence. Biden's coalition aid to Ukraine has been praised by some as upholding democratic values, contrasting with Trump's apparent unilateralism.
Critics like Alterman warn of a 'jungle' world without guiding principles. 'A world in which values don’t exist is a jungle,' he wrote, arguing that inconsistent application of Western ideals is preferable to their outright rejection. Proponents of Trump's strategy, however, see it as pragmatic realism, freeing the U.S. from costly entanglements like Vietnam, where over 58,000 Americans died, or Iraq, with its trillions in costs and thousands of U.S. casualties.
As the situation in Venezuela unfolds, questions linger about the operation's endgame. Is it truly about curbing drug trafficking, given the pardon of a major trafficker? Or promoting democracy, despite signals of tolerating Maduro's successors if compliant? Oil appears central, with Venezuela's vast reserves—estimated at over 300 billion barrels—potentially motivating the action, reminiscent of Trump's Iraq oil comments.
Looking ahead, the implications extend far beyond Latin America. Nations like Taiwan face heightened risks if U.S. commitments wane under an 'America First' doctrine that prioritizes spheres of influence. European allies, already strained by the NSS's tone, may accelerate defense independence. In Appleton and across the U.S., lawmakers from both parties have called for congressional briefings on the Venezuela deaths and extradition. Senate Foreign Relations Committee Chair Bob Menendez (D-NJ) said in a statement, 'Unilateral actions without proof undermine global stability.' Meanwhile, House Speaker Mike Johnson (R-LA) defended the move as 'decisive leadership against threats.'
The world watches as Trump navigates these tensions. Whether this marks a new era of despotic foreign policy or a calculated deterrence remains unclear. For now, the deaths—at least 140 combined civilian toll—and Maduro's fate in U.S. custody highlight the high stakes. As Alterman concluded, 'The question we now face is, exactly how pro-war, on his own despotic terms, is he?'