06 ISSUE X
FEBRUARY 2026
FEBRUARY 2026
crossing the rubicon
These are the conditions under which republics fracture; history shows democracy, once replaced by concentrated power, rarely returns— the U.S. invasion and abduction in Venezuela prove it.
By Victor Borja Armas
Three days into the new year, the US military entered Venezuela and abducted the country’s president and his wife and transported them to the US to face charges of “narcoterrorism” and cocaine smuggling. The actions against Venezuela represent an unprecedented moment in the region. The military intervention signifies a significant shift, surpassing sanctions and diplomacy to involve, for the first time, direct force with immediate global implications in the Latin American region. (Before this, the US used local proxy forces, like in the cases of Chile, Honduras, Guatemala, and the Dominican Republic, to remove a head of state they didn’t deem sympathetic to their regional ambitions.) The decision to attack a sovereign nation, no matter the reason, alters U.S. foreign policy and challenges post-World War II norms that limit such actions by states worldwide.
Image via Gotrade.
Occasionally in history, leaders push decisions beyond conventional limits and reach a point of no return, and this appears to be one of those pivotal moments. When Julius Caesar crossed the Rubicon River in January of 49 BCE, he didn’t just move from his province of Cisalpine Gaul into Italy; he broke a legal barrier that triggered the Roman Civil War. Roman law specifically forbade generals from leading troops into Italy, but Caesar chose to do so anyway, challenging the Senate and his rival Pompey. This bold move ultimately led to his rise to power as dictator and, eventually, the fall of the Roman Republic.
Two thousand years later, bombs fell over Caracas on the morning of January 3, 2026. Similarly, the United States found itself in a political battleground from which it cannot retreat and must answer to the entire world.
What makes this moment even more perilous is the longstanding contradiction at the core of U.S. power in Latin America. Globally, the United States portrays itself as a protector of law and order, defending sovereignty and democratic principles. However, regionally, this stance is often undermined by doctrines of dominance, dating back to the so-called Monroe Doctrine — a principle frequently invoked to justify interventions under the guise of self-defense. Under this “Doctrine,” the United States claimed the Western Hemisphere—Latin America, the Caribbean, and much of the Pacific—as its sphere of influence. While it was presented as a way to prevent European powers from re-colonizing newly independent Latin American nations, in practice, it became a foundational principle of U.S. foreign policy: the idea that the United States is the dominant power in the Americas. This policy has remained unchanged regardless of who is in power.
President Donald Trump himself has used this reasoning, describing drug trafficking and “narcoterrorism” as existential threats that warrant unilateral action. But what we see here isn't collective security or lawful defense; it's the use of force driven by personal politics, ideological obsession, and private interests. The result is an attack on a sovereign nation carried out not through international agreement, but through executive decision — and it's precisely this contradiction that has pushed the United States past its own Rubicon.
As Latin Americans, we have long faced the fact that the United States presents itself as the global guardian of law and order, while simultaneously being directly responsible for the region’s causes of poverty and social issues across areas for nearly fifty years.
It has positioned itself as the worldwide champion of democracy and human rights. However, its handling of Venezuela reveals a stark inconsistency between these ideals and its actions. By exerting coercive pressure and issuing repeated threats of force under the guise of "law enforcement” or “defense,” the U.S. has engaged in practices that often undermine or breach the very legal standards it claims to defend.
The way that this specific attack was designed and carried out has shocked the whole world, raising questions about what nation-states are capable of doing as powerful actors—controlling our future while using state power as an excuse for unregulated acts of violence and illegalities.
At the 2023 UN climate conference in Dubai, President Gustavo Petro of Colombia issued a warning: what could happen to Latin America if the world remains silent about what is happening to the Palestinian people.
He warned that the political silence over Israel’s war on Palestinians could usher in a new era of impunity, leaving the most vulnerable countries or people to bear the brunt. He noted that the conflict might be a preview of the broader violence that powerful nations could impose on the Global South in an increasingly climate-affected future. At the same time, it gives us a glimpse of the military force that might be used against poorer nations in the future.
It’s striking—and perhaps a bit unsettling—that his foresight seems to be unfolding so quickly and so close to home.
The Trump administration carried out this attack without the consent of the US Congress. Trump and the Republicans called for a swift military intervention under the pretext of national security, one that was neither debated nor approved by Congress. Yet the risk does not fall on those who made the decision alone — it belongs to all of us in this country.
This contradiction is the real danger we now face, especially if we continue to allow such actions to go unscrutinized and unpunished. Donald Trump, alongside senior US government figures like Pete Hegseth, Stephen Miller, and Marco Rubio, is steering the country toward global conflict through the same justifications we have seen before: fear, emergency, and the suspension of restraint.
These are the conditions under which republics fracture, and history shows that once democracy is replaced by concentrated power, it does not return easily.
The administration’s unprecedented use of military force as a tool of political intervention raises a serious question for us all on the national and international level: do those making these decisions understand the consequences — and who, in the end, truly benefits from them?
When Julius Caesar crossed the Rubicon with his Thirteenth Legion, he did not do so with the consent of Rome’s institutions — he did it by force, claiming necessity. Rome fell not because citizens failed to see what was happening, but because they failed to stop it in time.
That history did not end well for the Republic, though it worked out for Caesar. We now face a similar choice: confront the faction within our government or accept the consequences of watching a republic give way to rule by concentrated power.
Victor Borja is a scholar and writer exploring the intersection of media, power, and global politics.