In the early hours of Saturday morning, U.S. forces entered Venezuelan territory and forcibly removed the country’s head of state, Nicolás Maduro. There was no declaration of war by the United States. No authorization from Congress. No imminent threat publicly articulated before the operation was carried out. Instead, Americans were informed after the fact, through statements framed as assertions rather than explanations.

The Trump administration has since suggested that Venezuela’s stability, safety and political transition will now be managed by the U.S.— an extraordinary claim, given the absence of any constitutional or international mandate to do so.

This is not, at its core, a story about Nicolás Maduro. Whatever one thinks of Venezuela’s president — and there are many valid criticisms — the far more consequential question raised is this: Who decides when the United States goes to war, and under what authority?

What makes this moment especially alarming is not just the action itself, but the way it was carried out — involving roughly 150 U.S. aircraft, strikes to dismantle Venezuelan air defenses and helicopter-borne troops inserted into Caracas — the same tools the United States uses in declared wars. Venezuelan officials report fatalities linked to the operation, though details remain limited. But Congress did not authorize this. There was no vote, no debate, no consultation consistent with the War Powers Resolution. Instead, senior members of Congress were briefed selectively after decisions had already been made. No oversight, only notification.

This is not a question of whether Maduro “deserved” removal. It is a question of whether President Donald Trump may unilaterally decide to overthrow another government using American military force — and whether that decision now passes without objection.

The operation in Venezuela bypassed every mechanism normally used to legitimize American power abroad — judicial process, international authorization, collective defense, congressional consent. The United States acted alone, using lethal military power inside another sovereign state. Whatever language is used to describe it — counter-narcotics, stabilization, transition — this was an act of war, undertaken without the constitutional mechanisms designed to restrain exactly this kind of unilateral executive action.

That the administration appears unconcerned by this fact should alarm everyone else.

The Constitution is unambiguous on this point. The power to declare war does not belong to the president. It never has. The framers did not distribute war powers this way out of procedural fussiness. They did so because war concentrates authority, silences dissent and creates incentives for abuse. Requiring Congress to authorize the use of coercive American power was meant to slow decisions, demand justification and bind military action to collective judgment rather than individual will.

What happened this weekend circumvented all of that. Congress was not asked to deliberate. It was treated as irrelevant, rather than as a co-equal branch entrusted with the gravest decision a republic can make.

When war powers are exercised this way, Congress does not merely fail in its duties; it becomes ornamental. And when that happens, the constitutional system designed to restrain the use of the military gives way to something far more dangerous: authority asserted by one individual. A republic that allows force to be used this way should not be surprised when others do the same.

Maduro’s forcible removal did not come out of nowhere. It follows a pattern that has been built in plain sight, in which the administration has consistently relabeled the use of force to avoid scrutiny. Lethal military action becomes “counter-narcotics.” Airstrikes are framed as moral retaliation. Each reframing lowers the threshold for the constraints meant to govern force. By redefining actions that require congressional authorization as something less than war, the government has normalized the use of force without consent or accountability.

The administration’s insistence that the Venezuelan operation did not require congressional approval because it was a “ law enforcement mission” is extremely dangerous. Law enforcement does not involve airstrikes inside sovereign countries, the forcible removal of a foreign head of state, or the projection of U.S. domestic criminal claims across borders by military force.

The Trump administration’s actions and justifications after the fact dissolve the boundary meant to restrain presidential power. If the president may redefine war as law enforcement, then any use of force can be justified by accusation alone. At that point, there is no limiting principle left. Congress is not merely bypassed — it ceases to function as a meaningful check at all.

Once this logic is accepted, it does not remain confined to one case or one country. It becomes precedent — and power spreads by precedent. A U.S. that claims the unilateral right to overthrow foreign governments forfeits its ability to object when others do the same. The argument against aggression in Ukraine collapses. Objections to coercion in the South China Sea ring hollow. Appeals to sovereignty and restraint lose force when invoked selectively.

This is not just hypocrisy; it is a collapse of credibility. Rules matter only if the powerful follow them consistently. When the country that helped construct the international order treats those rules as optional, it signals to the rest of the world that restraint is no longer expected — only dominance prevails.

What makes this moment especially dangerous is not only the decision itself, but the way Americans were removed from it. War was initiated, a government was overthrown, and the nation’s elected representatives — and by extension, America’s citizens — were sidelined entirely, informed only after decisions were already irreversible. A republic cannot claim to govern itself when force is exercised in its name without its voice being heard.

That silence is the point. When war can be initiated without authorization, explanation and public consent, the precedent does not remain foreign. A government that learns it can use force abroad without restraint will apply the same logic at home — redefining law, emergency and necessity to suit its aims. A public that relinquishes its voice over war should not expect to be heard when power turns inward.

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Jon Duffy is a retired naval officer. He writes about leadership and democracy.

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