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For many years before becoming president, Donald Trump publicly criticised the George W Bush administration over its decision to launch the war on Iraq. And yet, today, in his second term as president, he finds himself presiding over a military debacle that is quite reminiscent of Bush’s.

Trump ordered a military intervention to remove an antagonistic foreign leader, based on a flimsy argument of national security, with the goal of accessing that country’s oil. In both cases, we see a naive confidence that the United States can simply achieve its goals through regime change. US intervention into Venezuela reeks of the same hubris that surrounded the Iraq invasion two decades ago.

Yet there are also important differences to consider. The most important distinguishing feature of the operation in Venezuela is its lack of an overarching vision. On Saturday after Trump finished an hour-long news conference alongside his secretaries of defence and state, it was not clear what the plan was for Venezuela going forward, or if there was a plan at all. His statements threatening more attacks in the following days brought no clarity either.

Past instances of US-led regime change fit into the larger ideological visions of the incumbent US commander-in-chief. In 1823, President James Monroe declared the Western Hemisphere off-limits to European colonialism. As the United States spent the 20th century consolidating its sphere of influence across the Americas, the Monroe Doctrine would justify various interventions in Latin America and the Caribbean. The Cold War added new justifications for the United States to overthrow leftist regimes and install friendly governments in the Americas.

As the Cold War ended, President George HW Bush sought to serve as a caretaker for a “new world order” in which the US had emerged as the world’s lone superpower. When Bush sent troops to Somalia in 1992 and his successor Bill Clinton reversed a military coup in Haiti in 1994, they did so under the paradigm of “humanitarian intervention”. When George W Bush ordered the invasion of Iraq, it was done under the umbrella of the post-9/11 “war on terror”. When President Barack Obama intervened against the forces of Libyan leader Muammar Gaddafi in 2011, he was guided by the “responsibility to protect” doctrine concerning civilians in danger.

But in the case of the US attack on Venezuela, there has been no ideological justification. Trump and his team have haphazardly thrown around references to humanitarianism, counterterrorism and more to justify the attack. The president even brought up the Monroe Doctrine. But just as it seemed that he was grounding his foreign policy in a larger ideology, albeit one borrowed from two centuries ago, he made a joke of the concept.

“The Monroe Doctrine is a big deal,” Trump explained on Saturday. “But we’ve superseded it by a lot, by a lot. They now call it the Donroe Doctrine.” Trump did not make up this pun; it was used by the New York Post a year ago to describe Trump’s aggressive foreign policy as he threatened to annex Canada, Greenland and the Panama Canal.

The president’s decision to embrace the tongue-in-cheek term illustrates a disturbing reality of his foreign policy: Any notion that he is promoting an ideological vision is a joke.

The truth is Trump is pursuing an increasingly aggressive and militaristic foreign policy in his second term, not because he wants to impose a grand vision, but because he has discovered he can get away with it.

Striking a variety of foreign “bad guys” who have little capacity to fight back – ISIL (ISIS) affiliates in Nigeria who are “persecuting” Christians and “narcoterrorists” in Latin America – appeals to members of Trump’s base.

After he mentioned the Venezuelan gang Tren de Aragua during Saturday’s news conference, he went on a minutes-long tangent to brag about his military interventions into US cities. While the president’s inability to stay on topic may be concerning for those questioning his health and mental fitness, this digression into domestic affairs had some relevance for his Venezuelan intervention, at least as far as he was concerned: His increasingly militarised war on drugs and crime abroad justifies an increasingly militarised war on drugs and crime at home.

Past presidents have used US power to pursue a wide variety of ideologies and principles. Trump appears to be paying lip service to past ideologies to justify the use of US power. Many times, the “good” intentions of previous  presidents paved the way to hellish outcomes for the peoples who found themselves on the receiving end of US intervention. But those intentions at least created a level of predictability and consistency for the foreign policies of various US administrations.

Trump, by contrast, seems driven solely by immediate political concerns and short-term prospects for glory and profit. If there is a saving grace of such an unprincipled foreign policy, it may be the ephemeral nature of interventions conducted without an overarching vision. An unprincipled approach to military intervention does not foster the kind of ideological commitment that has led other presidents to engage in long-term interventions like the Iraq occupation.

But it also means that Trump could conceivably use military intervention to settle any international dispute or to pursue any ostensibly profitable goal – say assuming control of Greenland from Denmark.

Last year, he decided tariffs were a potent tool for asserting his interests and started applying them almost indiscriminately on allies and adversaries alike. Now that Trump has grown comfortable using the US military to achieve a range of goals – profit, gunboat diplomacy, distraction from domestic scandals, etc – the danger is that he will grow similarly haphazard in his use of force.

That does not bode well for the US nor for the rest of the world. At a time when multiple global crises are overlapping – climate, conflict and impoverishment – the last thing the world needs is a trigger-happy superpower without a clear strategy or a day-after plan.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

The recent strikes by the United States on alleged ISIL (ISIS) targets in northwest Nigeria have been presented in Washington as a decisive counter-terror response. For the supporters of the administration of US President Donald Trump, the unprecedented operation signalled his country’s renewed resolve in confronting terrorism. It is also making good on Trump’s pledge to take action on what he claims is a “Christian genocide” in Nigeria.

But beneath the spectacle of military action lies a sobering reality: Bombing campaigns of this nature are unlikely to improve Nigeria’s security or help stabilise the conflict-racked country. On the contrary, the strikes risk misrepresenting the conflict and distracting from the deeper structural crisis that is driving violence.

The first problem with the strikes is their lack of strategic logic. The initial strikes were launched in Sokoto in northwest Nigeria, a region that has experienced intense turmoil over the past decade. But this violence is not primarily driven by an ideological insurgency linked to ISIL, and no known ISIL-linked groups are operating in the region. Instead, security concerns in this region are rooted in banditry, the collapse of rural economies, and competition for land. Armed groups here are fragmented and motivated largely by profit.

The Christmas Day strikes appear to have focused on a relatively new ideological armed group called Lakurawa, though its profile and any connection to ISIL are yet to be fully established.

The ideological armed groups with the strongest presence in northern Nigeria are Boko Haram and the ISIL-affiliate in West Africa Province (ISWAP). The centre of these groups’ activity remains hundreds of kilometres from Sokoto, in the northeast of Nigeria – the states of Borno, Yobe and Adamawa – where insurgency has a long history. This begs the question: Why strike the northwest first? The logic is unclear.

Equally concerning is the uncertainty surrounding casualties. So far, we have no authoritative figures. Some social media accounts claim there were no human casualties, suggesting the bombs fell on empty targets. Security analyst Brant Philip posted on his social media platform X: “According to a private source familiar with the US operation against the Islamic State in Nigeria, several strikes were launched, but most of the individuals and groups targeted were missed, and the actual damage inflicted remains mostly unknown.”

Nigerian news platform Arise TV reported on X that locals confirmed the incident caused widespread panic; according to its correspondent, at least one of the attacks happened in a district that had not suffered from violence before. They also noted that the full impact of the attack, including whether there were civilian casualties, is yet to be determined.

Other social media accounts have circulated images alleging civilian casualties, though these claims remain unverified. In a context where information warfare operates alongside armed conflict, speculation often travels faster than facts. The lack of transparent data on casualties from the US government risks deepening mistrust among communities already wary of foreign military involvement.

Symbolism also matters. The attack took place on Christmas Day, a detail that carries emotive and political significance. For many Muslims in northern Nigeria, the timing risks being interpreted as an act of supporting a broader narrative of a Western “crusade” against the Muslim community.

Even more sensitive is the location of the strikes: Sokoto. Historically, it is the spiritual seat of the 19th-century Sokoto Caliphate, a centre of Islamic authority and expansion revered by Nigerian Muslims. Bombing such a symbolic centre risks inflaming anti-US sentiment, deepening religious suspicion, and giving hardline propagandists fertile ground to exploit. Rather than weakening alleged ISIL influence, the strikes could inadvertently energise recruitment and amplify grievance narratives.

If air strikes cannot solve Nigeria’s security crisis, what can?

The answer lies not in foreign military intervention. Nigeria’s conflicts are symptoms of deeper governance failures: Weakened security, corruption, and the absence of the state in rural communities. In the northwest, where banditry thrives, residents often negotiate with armed groups not because they sympathise with them, but because the state is largely absent to provide them with security and basic services. In the northeast, where Boko Haram emerged, years of government neglect, heavy-handed security tactics, and economic exclusion created fertile ground for insurgency.

The most sustainable security response must therefore be multi-layered. It requires investment in community-based policing, dialogue, and pathways for deradicalisation. It demands a state presence that protects rather than punishes. It means prioritising intelligence gathering, strengthening local authorities, and restoring trust between citizens and government institutions.

The US strikes may generate headlines and satisfy a domestic audience, but on the ground in Nigeria, they risk doing little more than empowering hardline messaging and deepening resentment.

Nigerians do not need the US to bomb their country into security and stability. They need autochthonous reform: Localised long-term support to rebuild trust, restore livelihoods, and strengthen state institutions. Anything less is a distraction.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

The loudest question in Washington right now is whether Donald Trump is going to invade Venezuela. The quieter, and far more dangerous, reality is this: he probably won’t. Not because he cares about Venezuelan lives, but because he has found a strategy that is cheaper, less politically risky at home, and infinitely more devastating: economic warfare.

Venezuela has already survived years of economic warfare. Despite two decades of sweeping U.S. sanctions designed to strangle its economy, the country has found ways to adapt: oil has moved through alternative markets; communities have developed survival strategies; people have endured shortages and hardship with creativity and resilience. This endurance is precisely what the Trump administration is trying to break.

Rather than launching a military invasion that would provoke public backlash and congressional scrutiny, Trump is doubling down on something more insidious: total economic asphyxiation. By tightening restrictions on Venezuelan oil exports, its primary source of revenue, Trump’s administration is deliberately pushing the country toward a full-scale humanitarian collapse.

In recent months, U.S. actions in the Caribbean Sea, including the harassment and interdiction of oil tankers linked to Venezuela, signal a shift from financial pressure to illegal maritime force. These operations have increasingly targeted Venezuela’s ability to move its own resources through international waters. Oil tankers have been delayed, seized, threatened with secondary sanctions, or forced to reroute under coercion. The objective is strangulation.

This is illegal under international law.

The freedom of navigation on the high seas is a cornerstone of international maritime law, enshrined in the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea. Unilateral interdiction of civilian commercial vessels, absent a UN Security Council mandate, violates the principle of sovereign equality and non-intervention. The extraterritorial enforcement of U.S. sanctions, punishing third countries and private actors for engaging in lawful trade with Venezuela, has no legal basis. It is coercion, plain and simple. More importantly, the intent is collective punishment.

By preventing Venezuela from exporting oil, which is the revenue that funds food imports, medicine, electricity, and public services, the Trump administration is knowingly engineering conditions of mass deprivation. Under international humanitarian law, collective punishment is prohibited precisely because it targets civilians as a means to achieve political ends. And if this continues, we will see horrific images: empty shelves, malnourished children, overwhelmed hospitals, people scavenging for food. Scenes that echo those coming out of Gaza, where siege and starvation have been normalized as weapons of war.

U.S. actions will undoubtedly cause millions of Venezuelans to flee the country, likely seeking to travel to the United States, which they are told is safe for their families, full of economic opportunities, and security. But Trump is sealing the U.S. border, cutting off asylum pathways, and criminalizing migration. When people are starved, when economies are crushed, when daily life becomes unlivable, people move. Blocking Venezuelans from entering the United States while systematically destroying the conditions that allow them to survive at home means that neighboring countries like Colombia, Brazil, and Chile will be asked to absorb the human cost of Washington’s decisions. This is how empire outsources the damage. But these countries have their own economic woes, and mass displacement of Venezuelans will destabilize the entire region.

Venezuela is a test case. What is being refined now—economic siege without formal war, maritime coercion without declared blockade, starvation without bombs—is a blueprint. Any country that refuses compliance with Washington’s political and economic demands should be paying attention. This will be the map for 21st-century regime change.

And this is how Trump can reassure the United States Congress that he is not “going to war” with Venezuela. He doesn’t need to. Economic strangulation carries none of the immediate political costs of a military intervention, even as it inflicts slow, widespread devastation. There are no body bags returning to U.S. soil, no draft, no televised bombing campaigns. Just a steady erosion of life elsewhere.

Trump’s calculation is brutally simple: make Venezuelans so miserable that they will rise up and overthrow Maduro. That has been the same calculation behind U.S. policy toward Cuba for six decades—and it has failed. Economic strangulation doesn’t bring democracy; it brings suffering. And even if, by some grim chance, it did succeed in toppling the government, the likely result would not be freedom but chaos—possibly a protracted civil war that could devastate the country, and the region, for decades.

People in Venezuela celebrate Christmas and New Year’s gathered around the table to eat hallacas wrapped with care, slices of pan de jamón, and dulce de lechoza. They will share stories, dance to gaitas, and make a toast with Ponche Crema.

But if this economic siege continues, if Venezuelan oil is fully cut off, if the country is denied the means to feed itself, if hunger is allowed to finish what bombs are no longer politically useful to accomplish, then this Christmas may be remembered as one of the last Venezuelans were able to celebrate in anything resembling normal life, at least in the near future.

Polls consistently show that nearly 70 percent of people in the United States oppose a military intervention in Venezuela. War is recognized for what it is: violent, destructive, unacceptable. But sanctions are treated differently. Many people believe they are a harmless alternative, a way to apply “pressure” without bloodshed.

That assumption is dangerously wrong. According to a comprehensive study in medical journal The Lancet, sanctions increase mortality at levels comparable to armed conflict, hitting children and the elderly first. Sanctions do not avoid civilian harm – they systematically produce it.

If we oppose war because it kills, we must also oppose sanctions that do the same, only more quietly, more slowly, and with far less accountability. If we don’t act against economic warfare with the same urgency we reserve for bombs and invasions, then sanctions will remain the preferred weapon: politically convenient but equally deadly.

Michelle Ellner is the Latin America Campaign Coordinator at CODEPINK. Born in Venezuela, she holds a bachelor’s degree in Languages and International Affairs from Université Paris-Sorbonne (Paris IV). Her work focuses on U.S. foreign policy, economic sanctions, and solidarity with Latin America and the Caribbean.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect those of the Venezuelanalysis editorial staff.

Source: Code Pink