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The Narco-Coup: How Trump Invaded Venezuela by Calling It an Arrest When semantic innovation bypasses constitutional war powers, what constraints on executive authority remain?
by Michael Lamonaca, 3 January 2026
The United States invaded Venezuela on January 3, 2026, captured its president, bombed military infrastructure, and faced no constitutional consequences because the administration called it a drug arrest. Nicolas Maduro, head of a sovereign nation for over a decade, was removed through military force involving what Trump described as a “large scale strike.” Secretary of State Marco Rubio framed it as “largely a law enforcement function.” Attorney General Pam Bondi announced charges for narco-terrorism and weapons possession. Congress was not consulted because, as Trump explained, “Congress will leak, and we don’t want leakers.” The Constitution grants Congress the sole power to declare war. The War Powers Resolution requires presidential consultation before deploying troops. Neither happened. But if you call regime change a drug arrest, constitutional constraints apparently don’t apply. The innovation isn’t in the invasion—it’s in the language that makes invasion unaccountable.
The mechanics of semantic transformation operate through careful selection of legal frameworks that bypass constitutional constraints. The administration’s position rests on treating Maduro not as a head of state but as an indicted criminal fugitive. Bondi announced on X that Maduro and his wife Cilia Flores had been indicted in the Southern District of New York on charges including conspiracy to commit narco-terrorism, cocaine importation conspiracy, possession of weapons and destructive devices, and conspiracy to possess machineguns against the United States. These indictments, filed in 2020, existed throughout Biden’s presidency but were activated only when Trump decided to remove Maduro. The legal theory is elegant: if someone is under federal indictment, arresting them anywhere on Earth becomes law enforcement rather than military action, regardless of whether that arrest requires invading a country, conducting airstrikes, and removing a government.
Tom Cotton articulated this framework explicitly when defending the operation to Fox & Friends. “Congress isn’t notified when the FBI is going to arrest a drug trafficker or cyber criminal here in the United States,” Cotton explained. “Nor should Congress be notified when the executive branch is executing arrests on indicted persons.” The analogy requires treating Venezuela—a sovereign nation with a military, government institutions, and international recognition—as equivalent to a building in the United States where federal agents serve a warrant. The U.S. conducted what Trump called a “large scale strike” involving military assets, captured a sitting head of state, and by Cotton’s logic this is procedurally identical to the FBI arresting someone in Miami. The gap between the analogy and the reality it’s meant to justify reveals how language operates when power needs justification for actions that lack legal authorization.
Marco Rubio expanded this framework by explaining why Congress could not be notified in advance. During a press conference at Mar-a-Lago, Rubio stated that congressional notification before the mission “could have jeopardized” it because “Congress has a tendency to leak.” He described it as a “trigger-based mission” where calling members to say “we may do this at some point in the next 15 days” would be operationally impossible. Trump reinforced this: “Congress will leak, and we don’t want leakers.” The logic creates a self-fulfilling mechanism: define the operation as requiring secrecy, declare that Congress cannot keep secrets, therefore Congress cannot be consulted, therefore constitutional requirements for congressional authorization do not apply. The War Powers Resolution, passed in 1973 specifically to prevent presidents from unilaterally deploying military force, is nullified through the assertion that operational security overrides constitutional process.
The constitutional authority Congress claims to possess thus becomes functionally unenforceable when presidents choose to ignore it. The Constitution grants Congress the sole power to declare war. The War Powers Resolution requires the president to consult with Congress “in every possible instance” before introducing U.S. armed forces into hostilities. Section 4(a)(1) requires the president to report to Congress within 48 hours when forces are introduced into hostilities. None of these requirements were met before or immediately after the Venezuela operation. Democrats issued statements citing these constitutional violations. Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer called the decision “reckless” and noted the administration had assured him “three separate times” they were not pursuing regime change or military action in Venezuela. Rep. Gregory Meeks, ranking member on the House Foreign Affairs Committee, said he received “no briefing or heads up” and learned everything “from the news media.” Rep. Jim Himes, ranking member on the House Intelligence Committee, stated he had “seen no evidence that his presidency poses a threat that would justify military action without Congressional authorization.”
House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries cited the framers’ decision to give Congress “sole power to declare war as the branch of government closest to the American people” and demanded that “compelling evidence to explain and justify this unauthorized use of military force should be presented forthwith.” The language is formal, the citations accurate, the demand clear. But the statement contains no specification of what happens if the evidence is not presented, what mechanism Congress will use to reverse unauthorized force, or what consequences the administration will face for the violation. Congress will receive briefings—House Speaker Mike Johnson confirmed that Rubio and Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth were working to schedule them when Congress returns. Members will ask questions. Officials will provide answers shaped by operational security constraints and legal justifications already established. And the operation will stand as precedent, having demonstrated that constitutional requirements for congressional authorization can be satisfied through post-facto briefings that explain completed actions rather than authorize planned ones.
The historical transformation of presidential war powers has occurred through accumulated violations that faced protest but no reversal, each establishing precedent for the next expansion. The War Powers Resolution itself emerged from Vietnam, where presidents Johnson and Nixon expanded military involvement without congressional declaration of war. The resolution was meant to reassert congressional authority. In practice, every president since 1973 has contested its constitutionality or found ways to operate outside its constraints. Reagan invaded Grenada citing rescue of American medical students. George H.W. Bush invaded Panama to arrest Manuel Noriega on drug trafficking charges—a precedent Trump explicitly invoked when discussing Venezuela. Clinton bombed Yugoslavia for 78 days under NATO authority without congressional approval. George W. Bush used post-9/11 authorizations to justify wars in Iraq and Afghanistan that extended decades beyond their initial scope. Obama conducted military operations in Libya, Syria, Yemen, and Somalia under various legal theories that stretched authorization language past breaking point. Trump ordered strikes in Syria and assassinated Iranian general Qassem Soleimani under “self-defense” authority. Biden continued operations across multiple countries under authorities granted decades earlier for different conflicts.
What distinguishes each operation is not whether it violated the War Powers Resolution—nearly all did—but what new justification it introduced that subsequent presidents could cite. Bush Sr.’s Panama invasion established that arresting foreign leaders on U.S. criminal charges could be framed as law enforcement rather than regime change, though that operation at least had congressional authorization through the International Emergency Economic Powers Act. Clinton’s Yugoslavia campaign normalized extended bombing campaigns under NATO authority without time limits. Obama’s Libya intervention demonstrated that “humanitarian” objectives could justify military action without congressional approval if framed through international coalition. Each operation faced congressional complaints that resulted in hearings, debates, and occasionally formal votes condemning the action after it occurred—but none resulted in presidents being constrained from conducting similar operations in the future, and each expanded the range of justifications available for unilateral executive action.
The pattern repeats with such consistency that it functions as informal constitutional amendment through practice rather than formal process. Presidents assert authority to act unilaterally, Congress protests the violation of its constitutional prerogatives, the operation proceeds, Congress holds hearings and receives briefings that satisfy the procedural requirement for consultation without constraining the substantive exercise of power, and the operation stands as precedent for the next president to cite when asserting similar authority. The Venezuela operation fits this template while adding innovation: where previous administrations stretched legal authorizations or acted first and sought approval later, Trump explicitly rejected the premise that congressional consultation was constitutionally required for operations framed as law enforcement, even when those operations involve regime change through military force. The next president—whether Democratic or Republican—will cite Venezuela when justifying their own unilateral military action, and Congress will issue statements that acknowledge violation without proposing enforcement, because both parties understand that constraining presidential war powers when their party holds the presidency is institutionally unpopular and constraining them when the opposing party holds power is performative given their own history of violations.
The innovation in the Venezuela case is the explicit rejection of congressional authority on grounds that Congress cannot be trusted with information. Previous administrations stretched legal authorizations or acted first and sought approval later, but generally maintained the pretense that congressional consultation was desirable if not always possible. Trump’s statement that “Congress will leak, and we don’t want leakers” reframes the constitutional requirement for consultation as operational liability. The War Powers Resolution doesn’t include exceptions for operations requiring secrecy. It was written precisely to constrain presidents who would otherwise claim that military necessity overrides constitutional process. Trump’s position is that this constraint should not apply when he determines that congressional notification would compromise an operation. This transforms consultation from constitutional requirement to presidential discretion, and locates the authority to make that determination in the president alone.
The legal framework used to justify the operation—treating head of state as indicted criminal—creates precedent with implications extending far beyond Venezuela and raises questions about international law that remain unaddressed in domestic debate. If the United States can invade a sovereign nation to arrest its president based on federal indictments without congressional authorization, the mechanism is replicable for any world leader the Justice Department chooses to indict. The Southern District of New York or any other federal district can issue indictments against foreign officials for drug trafficking, money laundering, sanctions violations, cybercrimes, or human rights abuses. Those indictments can remain sealed or public but dormant. When geopolitical circumstances make removal of that official desirable, the indictment activates as justification for military action framed as law enforcement. Congressional authorization is unnecessary because this is arrest, not war. The War Powers Resolution doesn’t apply because operational security prohibits congressional notification. The mechanism bypasses both constitutional requirements while maintaining the appearance of legal process.
The international legal framework this violates receives almost no attention in U.S. domestic debate, suggesting that international law functions as constraint on other nations but not on American actions. The United Nations Charter, which the United States helped draft and ratified in 1945, prohibits the use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence of any state except in cases of self-defense or with Security Council authorization. Article 2(4) could not be clearer on this prohibition. The U.S. did not claim Venezuela attacked American territory or personnel, requiring self-defense. The Security Council authorized no action. The operation therefore appears to violate the most fundamental principle of international law established after World War II. Yet neither the administration’s justifications nor congressional responses engage with this framework. The debate centers entirely on domestic constitutional process—whether Congress should have been consulted, whether the War Powers Resolution applies—while treating international legal prohibitions on cross-border use of force as simply not applicable to U.S. actions. This reveals an unstated assumption: international law constrains other nations’ behavior but exists as aspirational guideline rather than binding constraint when American interests are involved.
The specific charges against Maduro reveal how legal language transforms political objectives into criminal enforcement. Bondi’s announcement lists conspiracy to commit narco-terrorism, cocaine importation conspiracy, possession of weapons and destructive devices, and conspiracy to possess machineguns and destructive devices against the United States. The “against the United States” framing is doing significant work—it suggests active threat rather than general weapons possession. Rep. Thomas Massie, a Republican frequently skeptical of executive power, questioned this framing: “If this action were constitutionally sound, the Attorney General wouldn’t be tweeting that they’ve arrested the President of a sovereign country and his wife for possessing guns in violation of a 1934 U.S. firearm law.” The reference to the 1934 National Firearms Act in the context of removing a foreign head of state highlights the gap between the stated legal justification and the obvious political objective. Venezuela’s involvement in drug trafficking is well-documented. But characterizing regime change as enforcement of U.S. firearms regulations reveals how completely the legal framework has been subordinated to providing post-hoc justification for actions determined by other considerations.
The bipartisan nature of opposition to the operation dissolved within hours as Republicans who initially questioned it shifted to support after administration briefings. Sen. Mike Lee, a Republican constitutional conservative, initially posted that he looked “forward to learning what, if anything, might constitutionally justify this action in the absence of a declaration of war or authorization for the use of military force.” After a phone call with Rubio, Lee’s position changed: “This action likely falls within the president’s inherent authority under Article II of the Constitution to protect U.S. personnel from an actual or imminent attack.” The transformation from questioning constitutional justification to affirming inherent presidential authority occurred between two social media posts, suggesting the briefing provided either new information about threats to U.S. personnel or persuasive framing of existing facts that satisfied Lee’s constitutional concerns. What imminent attack on U.S. personnel Maduro posed that required regime change rather than targeted defense remains unexplained in public statements.
The split between Republican celebration and Democratic condemnation followed partisan lines while neither party proposed mechanisms to enforce congressional war powers. Senate Majority Leader John Thune called the operation “an important first step to bring Maduro to justice for the drug crimes for which he has been indicted.” House Speaker Johnson said Trump was “putting American lives first, succeeding where others have failed.” Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene, now departing Congress after falling out with Trump, questioned the operation by asking “why is it ok for America to militarily invade, bomb, and arrest a foreign leader but Russia is evil for invading Ukraine and China is bad for aggression against Taiwan?” Democrats focused on constitutional process violations and demanded strategy explanations. Sen. Andy Kim stated Trump “rejected our Constitutionally required approval process for armed conflict because the Administration knows the American people overwhelmingly reject risks pulling our nation into another war.” Neither party’s statements included proposals for legislative action to enforce the War Powers Resolution or penalize administrations that violate it. The positions sorted into familiar roles: Republicans defending executive authority they will want to constrain under Democratic presidents, Democrats protesting violations they committed themselves under Obama and Biden.
The human dimension of the operation remains largely invisible in the debate focused on legal process and constitutional authority. No U.S. soldiers were killed, according to Trump. Venezuelan casualties from the “large scale strike” have not been publicly reported. Maduro and his wife are being transported to the United States to face charges in federal court. What happens to Venezuela’s government in Maduro’s absence has not been detailed beyond administration assurances that they have plans for stability. Rep. Jim Himes noted he had “heard no strategy for the day after and how we will prevent Venezuela from descending into chaos.” Rep. Hakeem Jeffries questioned “who would run Venezuela now that Maduro has been deposed” and “how many American troops would remain on the ground.” These questions about practical consequences receive less attention than constitutional process debates, suggesting the operation’s success or failure will be judged more on whether it expands or constrains presidential authority than on its effects on Venezuela’s 28 million people.
The timing of the operation—early in Trump’s second term—establishes precedent that will shape executive authority for decades while revealing the economic interests operating beneath constitutional debates. Operations conducted in a president’s first year tend to define the boundaries of acceptable action for their administration and successors. By removing a foreign head of state through military force framed as law enforcement without congressional authorization early in his term, Trump has demonstrated that this mechanism is available and that congressional opposition will be limited to statements and briefings that do not reverse the action. Future operations using similar logic will cite Venezuela as precedent. If a Democratic president orders military action to arrest an indicted foreign official, Republicans will protest the constitutional violation while Democrats defend executive authority, but both parties will accept that the operation can proceed pending briefings that occur after completion.
The economic dimension of the operation remains barely discussed despite Venezuela holding the world’s largest proven oil reserves and Maduro’s removal potentially opening those reserves to American corporate access. Venezuela’s oil industry, nationalized under Chavez and continued under Maduro, has been sanctioned by the U.S. for years. American oil companies lost access to Venezuelan crude when sanctions tightened. If Maduro’s replacement proves more amenable to U.S. corporate interests, those sanctions could lift and American companies could negotiate new extraction contracts. This possibility hovers in the background of the operation but receives less attention than constitutional process debates or drug trafficking charges, suggesting that geopolitical actions are debated through legal and humanitarian frameworks while economic motivations remain politely unmentioned. The pattern is consistent across interventions: public justification emphasizes democracy, human rights, or law enforcement, while petroleum interests, mineral extraction rights, or strategic geography provide the unstated calculus. Maduro may indeed run drug trafficking operations. Venezuela may indeed benefit from different leadership. But the timing of enforcing a four-year-old indictment aligns suspiciously well with opportunities for American corporate access to the hemisphere’s largest oil reserves.
The broader pattern reveals how constitutional constraints erode through semantic innovation rather than formal amendment. The Constitution has not changed. The War Powers Resolution remains law. Congressional authority to declare war persists in the text. But the practice has evolved to where presidents can order military operations removing foreign governments, and congressional response consists of statements asserting authority that will not be enforced. The mechanism is language: regime change becomes law enforcement, military strikes become arrest operations, constitutional consultation requirements become operational liabilities, and congressional war powers become briefing schedules that occur after decisions are already implemented. No amendment repealed Congress’s war authority. It simply became possible to bypass it by calling the action something else, and Congress demonstrated through decades of accepting such bypasses that the authority it claims in statements will not be defended through action.
The Venezuela operation thus serves as case study in how democratic checks on executive power fail not through violent overthrow but through linguistic innovation that makes violations appear procedurally correct. Trump did not suspend the Constitution or prohibit Congress from meeting. He invaded Venezuela, called it an arrest, cited operational security to justify skipping congressional consultation, and faced protest that will result in briefings that satisfy the procedural requirement for congressional involvement without constraining the substantive exercise of presidential authority. The operation stands. Maduro is in U.S. custody. Venezuela’s government has been changed. Congress will be briefed. And the precedent is established that future presidents can conduct similar operations justified through similar language. The constraint on executive power is not constitutional text but political will to enforce it, and that will has eroded to where statements acknowledging violation substitute for actions preventing or reversing it.
The Audit Bridge: This analysis of how language transforms invasion into law enforcement to bypass constitutional constraints is part of our broader investigation into institutional and personal capital. To see how these same psychological mechanics—semantic innovation that obscures reality, stated principles that don’t constrain actual behavior, and the gap between procedural compliance and substantive accountability—impact the 10-year stability and “Management Moats” of the ASX 200, access the full ASX Audit Library in the Vault.
Tags: Geopolitics, Presidential Power, Constitutional Law, War Powers, Venezuela, Executive Authority, ASX