Wars Without Clear Purpose Erode Presidential Legacies, And Trump Risks Political Consequences With Further Military Action In Venezuela

The body of U.S. Army Spc. Israel Candelaria Mejias is carried in a transfer case at Dover Air Force Base in Delaware after he was killed on April 5, 2009, near Baghdad. AFP Photo/Paul J. Richards via Getty Images

BY CHARLES WALLDORF

PROFESSOR OD POLITICS AND

INTERNATIONAL AFFAIRS,

WAKE FOREST UNIVERSITY

Despite public support in the U.S. for deposing Venezuelan leader Nicolás Maduro, President Donald Trump is unlikely to find that level of support for fighting an actual war in that country.

Even as Trump tries to work through Delcy Rodríguez, Maduro’s vice president and now the acting leader of the country, to manage Venezuela, there are echoes of President George W. Bush in Iraq with Trump saying that the United States will “run” Venezuela and “nurse it back to health” with Venezuelan oil wealth. None of that – which requires a lot of control by Washington and a major presence on the ground – can or will happen without a significant commitment of U.S. military forces, however, which Trump hasn’t ruled out.

“We’re not afraid of boots on the ground,” Trump said.

Yet U.S. citizens have been and remain deeply skeptical of military action in Venezuela. From Lyndon Johnson to George W. Bush, history shows that leaders often pay a high political price – and costs to their legacy, too – when wars they start or expand become unpopular.

As an expert on U.S. foreign policy and regime change wars, my research shows that every major U.S. war since 1900 – especially those that involved regime change – was buoyed at its outset by a big story with a grand purpose or objective. This helped galvanize national support to bear the costs of these wars.

During the Cold War, a story about the dangers of Soviet power to American democracy and the need to combat the spread of communism brought strong public support, at least initially, for wars in Korea and Vietnam, along with smaller operations in the Caribbean and Latin America.

In the 2000s and 2010s, the dominant narrative about preventing another Sept. 11 and quelling global terrorism generated strong initial public support for wars in Iraq – 70% in 2003 – and Afghanistan, 88% in 2001.

A big problem Trump now faces is that no similar story exists for Venezuela.

What national interest?

The administration’s justifications for war cover a hodgepodge of reasons, such as stopping drugs that flow almost exclusively to Europe, not the U.S.; seizing oil fields that benefit U.S. corporations but not the wider public; and somehow curtailing China’s efforts to build roads and bridges in Latin America.

All these are unrelated to any story-driven sense of collective mission or purpose. Unlike Korea or Afghanistan at the start, Americans don’t know what war in Venezuela will bring them and whether it is worth the costs.

This lack of a holistic story or broad rationale shows up in the polls. In November, only 15% of Americans saw Venezuela as a national emergency. A plurality, 45%, opposed an overthrow of Maduro. After Maduro was removed in early January 2026, Americans’ opposition to force in Venezuela grew to 52%. No rally around the flag here.

Americans also worry about where things are heading in Venezuela, with 72% saying Trump has not clearly explained plans going forward. Few want the mantle of regime change, either. Nine in 10 say Venezuelans, not the United States, should choose their next government. And more than 60% oppose additional force against Venezuela or other Latin American countries.

Only 43% of Republicans want the United States to dominate the Western Hemisphere, indicating Trump’s foreign policy vision isn’t even popular in his own party.

Overall, these numbers stand in sharp contrast to past U.S. wars bolstered by big stories, where there was generally a deep, bipartisan consensus behind using force.

For the moment, 89% of Republicans support removing Maduro. But 87% of Democrats and 58% of independents are opposed.

Reflecting the national skepticism – and in a rebuke of Trump – the U.S. Senate advanced a measure to final vote requiring Trump to get congressional approval before taking further military action in Venezuela. Five Senate Republicans joined all Democratic senators in voting for the measure.

All told, the U.S. political system is flashing red when it comes to war in Venezuela.

Hubris can turn deadly

Research shows that U.S. regime change wars almost never go as planned. Yet, the hubris of U.S. leaders sometimes causes them to ignore this fact, which can result in deadly trouble. In Iraq, influential Vice President Dick Cheney told one interviewer, “We’ll be greeted as liberators.” We weren’t, and U.S. forces got bogged down in a bloody insurgency war.

Experts say the same trouble could come in Venezuela.

What might stop the United States from rolling into a deeper war that’s not in line with how the public views U.S. interests? My research shows that the answer lies with U.S. leaders taking steps to back away from owning what comes next in Venezuela.

This turns a lot on presidential rhetoric. When leaders make robust commitments to action, it often boxes them in politically later on to follow through, even if they don’t want to do so. Their words create what political scientists call “audience costs,” which are domestic political setbacks, or punishment, that leaders will face if they fail to follow through on what they promised to do.

Audience costs can even form in a case like Venezuela, because despite limited public support for force, the media along with proponents of war inside and outside government often pick up on a president’s words and produce a churning conversation. That conversation is visible now in the news cycle, with leading Republicans and other prominent voices calling for more robust action. It’s the “you broke it, you fix it” discussion.

This churn raises questions about the president’s credibility that sometimes makes leaders feel boxed in to act, even when public support is questionable.

As a presidential candidate in 2008, Barack Obama promised to devote greater attention and resources to the war in Afghanistan. When he got in office, Obama’s words came back to bite him. Political pressure generated by his campaign pledge made it almost impossible for Obama to avoid surging troops into Afghanistan at a much higher level than what he intended.

While presidents should always strive to keep the public informed of the direction policy is headed, research shows that leaders can avoid the trap of audience costs by remaining relatively vague and noncommittal, which the public now prefers, about future military actions.

On Venezuela, Trump has done some of this vague language work already by sidestepping specifics about when and if force will be used again, and by also downplaying talk of U.S.-led democracy promotion. If he stops talking about “running” Venezuela and adopts the more measured language used by advisers such as Secretary of State Marco Rubio, who says the goal is to “move (Venezuela) in a certain direction” but not run the country, Trump could take another step away from being boxed in to do more militarily.

Events on the ground in Venezuela might also factor into future U.S. policy. Obama would not have faced the political pressure for the surge that he did when coming to office if the Afghan war had been going in a more positive direction.

Venezuela is close to economic collapse, according to some experts, due to Caracas’ inability to reap the profits of selling oil abroad. If that happens, political chaos could follow and leave Trump, like Obama in Afghanistan, feeling lots of pressure to act militarily, especially if Trump is still saying he “runs” Venezuela.

Again, Americans don’t want that, which means taking steps, such as loosening the current oil embargo, to alleviate economic pain in Venezuela might make sense for Trump. Otherwise, if American troops are sent in by Trump and deaths mount, even a president deemed virtually untouchable by scandal and failure could find himself finally paying a political price for his decisions.

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Voters Shrug Off Scandals, Paying A Price In Lost Trust

Donald Trump waits in court during proceedings over a business records violation. He was convicted, but Trump and his supporters dismissed the case as a partisan attack. Mary Altaffer/AP

BY BRANDON ROTTINGHAUS

PROFESSOR OF POLITICAL SCIENCE,

UNIVERSITY OF HOUSTON

Donald Trump joked in 2016 that he could “stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody” and not lose support. In 2024, after two impeachments and 34 felony convictions, he has more or less proved the point. He not only returned to the White House, he turned his mug shot into décor, hanging it outside the Oval Office like a trophy.

He’s not alone. Many politicians are ensnared in scandal, but they seldom pay the same kind of cost their forebears might have 20 or 30 years ago. My research, which draws on 50 years of verified political scandals at the state and national levels, national surveys and an expert poll, reaches a clear and somewhat unsettling conclusion.

In today’s polarized America, scandals hurt less, fade faster and rarely end political careers.

New York’s Andrew Cuomo and New Jersey’s Jim McGreevey both resigned as governors due to sex scandals, only to run again this year for mayoral posts. Both lost. Cuomo sought to replace New York Mayor Eric Adams, who never stepped down despite being indicted – with charges later dropped – in a corruption case that engulfed much of his administration.

The adulterous state attorney general from Texas, Ken Paxton, survived an impeachment vote in 2023 over bribery and abuse of office and is now running for the U.S. Senate. The list goes on – proof that scandal rarely ends a political career.

When scandals still mattered

For most of the previous half-century, scandals had real bite.

Watergate, which involved an administration spying on its political enemies, knocked out President Richard M. Nixon. The Keating Five banking scandal of the 1980s reshaped the Senate, damaging the careers of most of the prominent senators who intervened with regulators to help a campaign contributor later convicted of fraud.

Members of Congress referred to the House ethics committee were far less likely to keep their seats. Governors, speakers and cabinet officials ensnared in scandal routinely resigned. The nation understood scandal as a serious breach of public trust, not a potential fundraising opportunity.

But beginning in the late 1990s and accelerating throughout the Trump era, something changed.

According to my dataset of more than 800 scandals involving presidents, governors and members of Congress, politicians in recent decades have survived scandals for longer periods of time and ultimately faced fewer consequences.

Even at the presidential level – where personal legacy should, in theory, be most sensitive – scandals barely leave a dent. Trump and his supporters have worn his legal attacks as a badge of honor, taking them as proof that an insidious swamp has conspired against him.

This isn’t just a quirk of modern politics. As a political scientist, I believe it’s a threat to democratic accountability. Accountability holds politicians, and the political system, to legal, moral and ethical standards. Without these checks, the people lose their power.

To salvage the basic idea that wrongdoing still matters, the nation will need to figure out how to Make Scandals Great Again – not in the partisan sense but in the civic one.

As a start, both parties could commit to basic red lines – bribery, abuse of office, exploitation – where resignation is expected, not optional. This would send a signal to voters about when to take charges seriously. That matters because, while voters can forgive mistakes, they shouldn’t excuse corruption.

A tribal cue, not an ethical event

Why the new imperviousness?

Partisanship is the main culprit. Today’s voters don’t evaluate scandal as citizens; they evaluate it as fans. Democrats and Republicans seek to punish misdeeds by the other side but rationalize them for their own.

This selective morality is the engine of “affective polarization,” a political science term describing the intense dislike of the opposing party that now defines American politics. A scandal becomes less an ethical event than a tribal cue. If it hurts my enemy, I’m outraged. If it hurts my ally, it’s probably exaggerated, unfair or just fake.

The nation’s siloed and shrinking media environment accelerates this trend. News consumers drift toward outlets that favor their politics, giving them a partial view of possible wrongdoing. Local journalism, formerly the institution most responsible for uncovering wrongdoing, has been gutted. A typical House scandal once generated 70 or more stories in a district’s largest newspaper. Today, it averages around 23.

Evaluating surveys of presidency scholars, I found that economic growth, time in office, war leadership and perceived intellectual ability all meaningfully shape presidential greatness. Scandals, by comparison, barely move the needle.

Warren G. Harding still gets dinged for Teapot Dome, a major corruption scandal a century ago, and Nixon remains defined by Watergate. But for most modern presidents, scandal is just one more piece of noise in an already overwhelming media environment.

At the same time, partisan media ecosystems reinforce voters’ instincts. For many voters, negative coverage of a fellow partisan is not a warning sign. As with Trump, it can be a badge of honor, proof that the so-called establishment fears their champion.

The incentive structure flips. Instead of shrinking from scandal and behavior that could once have ended careers, politicians learn to exploit it. As Texas governor a decade ago, Rick Perry printed his felony mug shot on a T-shirt for supporters. Trump’s best fundraising days corresponded directly to his criminal court appearances.

Making scandals resonate

Even when the evidence is clear-cut, the public’s memory isn’t.

Voters forget scandals that should matter but vividly remember ones that fit their partisan worldview, sometimes even when memory contradicts fact. Years after Trump left office, more Republicans believed his false claims – about the 2020 election, cures for COVID-19 and the Jan. 6 Capitol riot – than during his presidency. The longer the scandal drags on, the foggier the details become, making it easier for partisans to reshape the narrative.

The problem isn’t that America has too many scandals. It’s that the consequences no longer match the misdeeds.

But the story isn’t hopeless. Scandals still matter under certain conditions – particularly when they involve clear abuses of power or financial corruption and, crucially, when voters actually learn credible details. And political scientists have long known that scandals can produce real benefit. They expose wrongdoing, prompt reforms, sharpen voter attention and remind citizens that institutions need scrutiny.

So, what would it take to Make Scandals Great Again, not as spectacle but as accountability?

One step would be to rebuild the watchdogs. Local journalism could use investment, including through nonprofit models and philanthropy.

Second, it’s important that ethics enforcement maintains independence from the political actors it polices. Letting lawmakers investigate themselves guarantees selective outrage. At the same time, however, political parties could play a role in restoring trust by calling out their own, increasing their own accountability by lamenting real offenses among their own members.

Political scandals will never disappear from American life. But for them to serve as silver linings – and, ultimately, to protect public trust – the conditions that give them meaning require restoration. That could foster a political culture where wrongdoing still carries a price and where truth can pierce through the noise long enough for the public to hear it.

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How US Intervention In Venezuela Mirrors Its Actions In Panama In 1989

US president Donald Trump, alongside CIA director John Ratcliffe and secretary of state Marco Rubio watch on as US forces capture Maduro. White House Press Office Handout / EPA

BY ADRIANA MARIN

LECTURER IN INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS,

COVENTRY UNIVERSITY

The US dramatically escalated its confrontation with Venezuela on January 3, moving from sanctions and targeted strikes on alleged drug-trafficking vessels to direct military action. In a pre-dawn operation, US forces captured the Venezuelan president, Nicolás Maduro, and his wife, Cilia Flores, and removed them from the country.

The operation has prompted historical comparisons with the US invasion of Panama in late 1989. Although separated by more than three decades and unfolding in different international contexts, the two episodes reveal a continuity in how the US approaches intervention, sovereignty and legality in the western hemisphere.

The US invasion of Panama was justified at the time through a now-familiar set of claims. US officials argued they were protecting American citizens, restoring democracy following contested elections, combating drug trafficking and upholding treaty obligations linked to the Panama canal.

However, none of these arguments provided a solid legal basis for the use of force under the UN charter. Panama had not attacked the US, there was no imminent armed threat and the operation was not authorised by the UN security council. The invasion prompted international condemnation and was denounced by the UN general assembly as a violation of international law.

Yet concern over the legality of the operation mattered far less to the US than its political outcome. The Panamanian leader, Manuel Noriega, was removed from power and transferred to the US where he was tried on criminal charges. The US achieved its strategic objectives quickly and international condemnation produced no lasting consequences.

Panama thus established a powerful precedent: a smaller state could be reshaped forcibly without multilateral approval, provided the intervention was framed persuasively and executed decisively.

Central to that framing was what I call the criminalisation of sovereignty. Noriega was portrayed by US politicians not simply as an authoritarian ruler, but as a criminal figure. This mattered because it blurred the line between war and law enforcement, enabling regime change to be recast simply as an arrest.

Panama’s sovereignty, in turn, appeared less like a legal right and more like a shield open to abuse by criminals. While legal issues remained, the framing reduced political resistance, particularly within the US. This logic has reemerged in US discourse surrounding Venezuela.

Venezuela’s authorities have long been portrayed by Washington as criminal, corrupt and illegitimate. The US has designated drug networks linked to Venezuela, such as the so-called Cartel de los Soles, as terrorist organisations. It has also issued indictments against Maduro and other government officials on narco-terrorism and drug-trafficking charges.

As was the case in Panama, this framing shifts the debate away from inter-state relations and towards enforcement against individuals. This weakens the perceived legitimacy of Venezuelan sovereignty and helps normalise coercive external action.

It may also hint at Maduro’s eventual fate. The US state department did not recognise Noriega as Panama’s head of state, which made his later prosecution easier because it was argued he was not entitled to immunity.

Maduro, in a similar way, has been described by the state department as the “de facto but illegitimate ruler of Venezuela”. This purported lack of democratic legitimacy could mean the two men ultimately face a similar outcome in court.

Democracy plays a rhetorical role in both cases. The invasion of Panama was presented as a response to cancelled elections and democratic breakdown. In Venezuela, claims of democratic illegitimacy, contested elections and authoritarian governance have been also used to justify sustained external pressure and, now, direct intervention.

In neither case does democracy function as a legal basis for the use of force. International law does not permit military action to restore or impose democracy, nor does it allow states to determine the legitimacy of other governments unilaterally. Democracy in these contexts operates as a moral narrative rather than a lawful justification.

Pattern of intervention

There are, of course, differences between the two cases. The operation in Panama saw tens of thousands of US troops deployed on the ground. The US intervention in Venezuela was more targeted, relying on a mix of economic sanctions, diplomatic isolation and the selective use of force.

But rather than signalling a transformation in strategic intent, this reflects changes in military technology, media scrutiny and political risk.

Unlike in 1989, modern interventions unfold under real-time global media coverage and social media scrutiny, sharply increasing reputational costs. Greater domestic sensitivity to foreign entanglements also raises the political risk of overt military action.

However, notwithstanding these changes, the objective in both cases remains the same: rapid political disruption designed to weaken or remove an unfriendly regime while avoiding the costs of prolonged occupation.

The international environment has also changed. Panama took place at the end of the cold war, when US dominance in the western hemisphere was largely uncontested. Venezuela unfolds in a more fragmented global order, where regional and global players are more willing to challenge US actions.

Yet this difference cuts both ways. While global opposition may be louder, the enforcement capacity of international law remains limited. As Panama demonstrated, condemnation without consequence does little to deter future interventions.

What ultimately unites the two cases is the principle of selective sovereignty. In both Panama and Venezuela, sovereignty has been treated not as a universal legal protection but as a conditional status. States governed by leaders that have been labelled as criminal, illegitimate or destabilising are seen as having forfeited their rights.

This is not how sovereignty functions in international law, but it is how power often operates in practice. Each time this logic is applied, it weakens the credibility of the rules-based international order and reinforces the idea that legality bends to strength.

Panama’s significance lies precisely in this normalisation, showing that intervention could succeed politically even when it failed legally. Venezuela suggests that this lesson has not only been learned, but refined. Where Panama involved overt illegality, Venezuela reflects a more diffused form of coercion, spread across legal, economic and military domains.

Recent events in Venezuela thus do not represent a dramatic break from past practice. They represent continuity. Panama was not an aberration of the late cold war but a formative moment in post-war US interventionism. Venezuela is its modern-day echo.

The language has evolved and the methods have adapted, but the underlying assumption remains stable: that when powerful states deem it necessary, sovereignty can be suspended, legality reinterpreted and intervention justified after the fact.

That is the real significance of the comparison. Panama then and Venezuela now show a durable pattern in how intervention is imagined, defended and repeated.

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I Wrote A Book On The Politics Of War Powers, And Trump’s Attack On Venezuela Reflects Congress Surrendering Its Decision-Making Powers

Congress has been largely absent as President Donald Trump has escalated his verbal and military attacks on Venezuela. AP Photo/J. Scott Applewhite

BY SARAH BURNS

ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR OF POLITICAL 

SCIENCE, ROCHESTER INSTITUTE OF

TECHNOLOGY

Americans woke up on Jan. 3, 2025, to blaring headlines: “US CAPTURES MADURO, TRUMP SAYS,” declared The New York Times, using all capital letters. The U.S. had mounted an overnight military raid in Venezuela that immediately raised questions of procedure and legality. Prime among them was what role Congress had – or should have had – in the operation.

Politics editor Naomi Schalit interviewed political scientist Sarah Burns, author of the book “The Politics of War Powers” and an expert at Rochester Institute of Technology on the historical struggle between Congress and U.S. presidents over who has the power to authorize military action.

Is this a war?

I wouldn’t call it a war. This is regime change, and whether or not it has a positive impact on the United States, whether or not it has a positive impact on Venezuela, I think the likelihood is very low for both of those things being true.

How does Congress see its role in terms of military action initiated by the United States?

Congress has been, in my view, incredibly supine. But that’s not just my word. Having said that, it is true that Congress – in the House, predominantly – tried to pass a war powers act recently, saying that President Donald Trump was not allowed to do any action against Venezuela, and that failed on very close votes.

So you see some effort on the part of Congress to assert itself in the realm of war. But it failed predominantly on party lines, with Democrats saying we really don’t want to go into Venezuela. We really don’t want to have this action. Republicans predominantly were supporting the president and whatever it happens to be that he would like to do. Moderate Republicans and Republicans who are in less safe districts were and are more likely to at least stand up a little bit to the president, but there’s a very small number of them.

So there may be an institutional role for Congress, a constitutional role, a role that has been confirmed by legal opinion, but politics takes over in Congress when it comes to asserting its power in this realm?

That’s a perfect way of putting it. They have a legal, constitutional, one might even say moral, responsibility to assert themselves as a branch, right? This is from Federalist 51 where James Madison says “Ambition must be made to counteract ambition.” So it should be that as a branch, they assert themselves against the president and say, “We have a role here.”

In the 1940s, presidential scholar Edward Corwin said that in the realm of foreign policy, it is an invitation for Congress and the president to struggle. So it should be that Congress and the president are struggling against each other to assert, “I’m in charge.” “No, I’m in charge.” “No, I’m in charge,” in an effort to create a balance between the two branches and between the two things that each of the branches does well. What you want from Congress is slow deliberation and a variety of opinions. What you want from the president is energy and dispatch.

So certainly, if we have an attack like 9/11, you would want the president to be able to act quickly. And you know, conversely, in situations like the questions around what the U.S. is doing in Venezuela, you want slow deliberation because there is no emergency that requires energy and dispatch and speed. So the president shouldn’t be entirely in the driver’s seat here, and Congress should very much be trying very hard to restrain him.

What power does Congress have to restrain him?

They have to pass legislation. They aren’t particularly well suited right now to passing legislation, so effectively there is not a very clear way for them to restrain the president.

One of the things that members of Congress have attempted to do several times, with very little positive impact, is go to the courts and say, “Can you restrain the president?” And political scientist Jasmine Farrier has written that the courts have regularly said to members of Congress: “You have the power to stop the president, and you are ineffective at that. And so if you want to stop the president, you shouldn’t turn to us. You should work together to create legislation that would restrain the president.”

What would such legislation do? Cut off money for troops? Is it finger-wagging, or is it something really concrete?

There are a few different tiers. Joint resolutions are finger-wagging. They just say, “Bad, Mr. President, don’t do that.” But they have no effect in law.

The War Powers Resolution, first passed in 1973, is a legitimate way of trying to restrain the president. Congress intended to say to presidents, “You cannot start a war and continue a war without our authorization.” But what they said instead was “You could have a small war or a short war – of 60 to 90 days – without our authorization, and then you have to tell us about it.” That just sort of said to presidents the opposite of what they intended. So President Barack Obama took advantage of that with the military engagement in Libya, as well as Trump in his first administration.

This is not a partisan issue. It’s not Republican presidents who do it. It’s not Democratic presidents who do it. It’s every president since the War Powers Resolution was passed, and the only time that Congress has drawn down troops or drawn down money was the Vietnam War.

Other than that disastrous war, we have not seen Congress willing to put themselves on the politically negative side, which is taking money away from the troops. Because if you take away money right now, they’re going to be harmed.

What is the War Powers Resolution?

The War Powers Resolution from 1973, also known as the War Powers Act, was Congress – during the Vietnam War – saying definitively to President Richard Nixon, “You have overstepped your bounds.” They had explicitly said in law, you cannot go into Cambodia. And Nixon went into Cambodia.

So that was their way of trying to reassert themselves very aggressively; as I mentioned before, it didn’t work effectively. It worked insofar as presidents don’t unilaterally start wars that are large scale, the way that World War II was large scale. But they do have these smaller actions at varying levels.

Then we get to 9/11 and we see the 2001 authorization for the use of military force, and the 2002 authorization for the use of military force. The 2001 law authorized going after anyone in al-Qaida and associated with 9/11. The 2002 authorization was directly related to Iraq, saying “There is a problem with Iraq, we have to do something.” Both of them were extremely vague and broad, and that’s why we’ve seen four presidents, including Trump, using the 2001 and 2002 authorizations to carry out all sorts of operations that had very little to do with Saddam Hussein or al-Qaida.

In 2021, senators Mike Lee, Bernie Sanders and Chris Murphy collectively got together and tried to create a national security document that would restrain presidential unilateralism. It was a good effort on the part of members of Congress from a variety of different ideological views to attempt to restrain the president. It did not even sort-of pass – it barely got out on the floor.

Since that time, we haven’t seen a lot of efforts from members of Congress. They haven’t really reasserted themselves since the war in Korea, which began in 1950. It’s very clear that ambition is no longer checking ambition the way that it was meant to by the founders.

When you woke up this morning and saw the news, what was your first thought?

Here we go again. This is not a Republican or a Democratic issue. Lots of presidents have made this error, which is that they think if you do this smaller-scale action, you are going to get a positive result for the nation, for the region, for international stability. And very rarely is that the case.

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US Snatches Maduro In Raid On Caracas: What We Know So Far

Ousted Venezuelan president, Nicolás Maduro, will face drug trafficking chargee in the US. Jesus Vargas/dpa/Alamy Live News

B Y ANDREW GAWTHORPE

LECTURER IN HISTORY AND

INTERNATIONAL STUDIES,

LEIDEN UNIVERSITY

Venezuela’s president, Nicolás Maduro, has been apprehended and flown to the US where the US attorney-general has announced he will face charges of drug trafficking and narco-terrorism. The US military’s operation to snatch Maduro was carried out in the early hours of January 3 and follows months of steadily mounting pressure on the Venezuelan government.

Now it appears that the US operation to remove a leader it has designated as a “narco-terrorist” has come to fruition. But whether the capture and removal of Maduro will lead to regime change in the oil-rich Latin American country remains unclear at present.

The US campaign against Venezuela is the product of two distinct policy impulses within the Trump administration. The first is the long held desire of many Republican hawks, including the US secretary of state, Marco Rubio, to force regime change in Caracas. They detest Venezuela’s socialist government and see overturning it as an opportunity to appeal to conservative Hispanic voters in the US.

The second impulse is more complex. Trump campaigned for election in 2024 on the idea that his administration would not become involved in foreign conflicts. But his administration claims that Venezuela’s government and military are involved in drug trafficking, which in Washington’s thinking makes them terrorist organisations that are harming the American people. As head of the country’s government, Maduro, according to the Trump administration’s logic is responsible for that.

During Trump’s first administration, his Department of Justice indicted Maduro on charges of “narco-terrorism”. Now Bondi says there might be a new indictment which also covers Maduro’s wife, who was taken into detention with him. The fact that US law enforcement was involved in their capture reinforces the idea that they will now face those charges in a New York court, despite an early claim by opposition sources in Venezuela that Maduro’s departure may have been negotiated with the US government.

What comes next?

The big question is what comes next in Venezuela, and whether either the Republican hawks or the “America first” crowd will get the outcome that they want: ongoing US military presence to “finish the job” or simply a show of US strength to punish its adversary which doesn’t involve a lengthy American involvement.

The US has discovered time and again in recent decades that it is extremely difficult to dictate the political futures of foreign countries with military force. The White House might want to see the emergence of a non-socialist government in Caracas, as well as one which cracks down on the drug trade. But simply removing Maduro and dropping some bombs is unlikely to achieve that goal after nearly three decades of bulding up the regime under Maduro and his predecessor Hugo Chavez.

The Trump administration could have learned this lesson from Libya, whose dictatorial government the US and its allies overthrew in 2011. The country collapsed into chaos soon after, inflicting widespread suffering on its own citizens and creating problems for its neighbours.

In the case of Venezuela, it is unlikely that American military’s strikes alone will be enough to fatally undermine its government. Maduro may be gone, but the vast majority of the country’s governmental and military apparatus remains intact. Power will likely pass to a new figure in the regime.

The White House may dream that popular protests will break out against the government following Maduro’s ousting. But history shows that people usually react to being bombed by a foreign power by rallying around the flag, not turning against their leaders.

Nor would Venezuela’s descent into chaos be likely to help the Trump administration achieve its goals. Conflict in Venezuela could generate new refugee flows which would eventually reach America’s southern border. The collapse of central government authority would be likely to create a more conducive environment for drug trafficking. Widespread internal violence and human rights violations could hardly be portrayed as a victory to the crucial conservative Hispanic voting bloc.

If the Trump administration dreams of establishing a stable, pro-American government in Caracas, it is going to have to do more than just arrest Maduro. Bringing about durable regime change typically involves occupying a country with ground troops and engaging in “nation building”. The US tried this with decidedly mixed results in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Trump has pledged to avoid such entanglements and Rubio has said that, for now at least, the US has no plans for further military action against Venezuela. Trump has a penchant for flashy, quick wins, particularly in foreign policy. He may hope to tout Maduro’s capture as a victory and move on to other matters.

Nation-building failures

In almost no recent US military intervention did the American government set out to engage in nation-building right from the beginning. The perceived need to shepherd a new government into existence has typically only come to be felt when the limits of what can be accomplished by military force alone become apparent.

The war in Afghanistan, for instance, started as a war of revenge for the terrorist attacks on the US on September 11 2001 before transforming into a 20-year nation-building commitment. In Iraq, the Bush administration thought that it could depose Saddam Hussein and leave within a few months. The US ended up staying for nearly a decade.

It’s hard to imagine Trump walking down the same path, if only because he has always portrayed nation-building as a waste of American lives and treasure. But that still leaves him with no plausible way to achieve the divergent political outcomes he, his supporters and America’s foreign policy establishment want with the tools that he has at his disposal.

Meanwhile the US president will face pressure from a range of constituencies from Republican hawks to conservative Hispanic voters to force wholesale regime change in Venezuela. How Trump responds to that pressure will determine the future course of US policy towards the country.

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From Hiding To Nobel Laureate: María Corina Machado’s Continues Fight For Venezuela’s Democracy

Opposition leader Maria Corina Machado displays vote tally sheet during a protest against the reelection of Nocolas Maduro one month after the disputed presidential vote which she says the opposition won by a landslide, in Caracas, Venezuela, Wednesday, August 24, 2024. (AP Photo/Ariana Cubillos, file)

BY REGINA GARCIA CANO

CARACAS, VENEZUELA (AP) — María Corina Machado has long been the face of resistance to Venezuela’s 26-year ruling party. Now, she is also a Nobel Peace Prize laureate.

Machado, the Venezuelan opposition leader who prompted millions of Venezuelans to reject President Nicolás Maduro in last year’s election, appeared in public for the first time in 11 months on Thursday, following her arrival in Norway, where her daughter received the award on her behalf the previous day.

Machado had been in hiding since Jan. 9, when she was briefly detained after joining supporters during an anti-government protest in Venezuela’s capital, Caracas.

Her Nobel win for her struggle to achieve a democratic transition in her South American nation was announced on Oct. 10. Hours after waving from the balcony of a hotel to a cheering crowd gathered outside on Thursday, Machado told reporters that she would continue the fight for her homeland’s democracy and promised to return soon.

“My return will be when we believe the security conditions are right, and it won’t depend on whether or not the regime leaves,” she said. “It will be as soon as possible.”

Engineer-turned-politician

Machado, an industrial engineer and daughter of a steel magnate, began challenging the ruling party in 2004, when the nongovernmental organization she co-founded, Súmate, promoted a referendum to recall then President Hugo Chávez. The initiative failed, and Machado and other Súmate executives were charged with conspiracy.

She drew the anger of Chávez and his allies the following year for her Oval Office meeting with then U.S. President George W. Bush. Chávez considered Bush an adversary.

Her full transformation into a politician would come in 2010, when she was elected to a seat in the National Assembly, receiving more votes than any aspiring lawmaker ever. It was from this position that she boldly interrupted Chávez as he addressed the legislature and called his expropriation of businesses theft.

“An eagle does not hunt a fly,” he responded. The exchange is seared in voters’ memories.

She drew the anger of Chávez and his allies the following year for her Oval Office meeting with then U.S. President George W. Bush. Chávez considered Bush an adversary.

Her full transformation into a politician would come in 2010, when she was elected to a seat in the National Assembly, receiving more votes than any aspiring lawmaker ever. It was from this position that she boldly interrupted Chávez as he addressed the legislature and called his expropriation of businesses theft.

“An eagle does not hunt a fly,” he responded. The exchange is seared in voters’ memories.

Presidential aspirations

Machado, 58, sought Venezuela’s presidency for the first time in 2012, but she finished third in the primary race to be the presidential candidate for the Democratic Unity Roundtable.

The ruling party-controlled National Assembly ousted Machado in 2014 and, months later, the Comptroller General’s Office barred her from public office for a year, citing an alleged omission on her asset declaration form. That same year, the government accused her of being involved in an alleged plot to kill Maduro, who succeeded Chávez after his 2013 death.

Machado, a free-market firebrand, denied the charge, calling it an attempt to silence her and opposition members who had called tens of thousands of people to the streets in anti-government protests that at times turned violent.

She kept a low profile for the next nine years, supporting some anti-Maduro initiatives and election boycotts and criticizing opposition efforts to negotiate with the government. By the time she announced a new bid for the presidency in 2023, her careful messaging had softened her image as an elitist hard-liner, allowing her to connect with skeptics on both sides.

She won the opposition’s presidential primary with more than 90% of the vote, unifying the faction — as noted by the Nobel Prize committee. But ruling party loyalists who control the country’s judiciary kept her from appearing on the ballot, which forced her to throw her support behind former diplomat Edmundo González.

She hiked on overpasses, walked highways, rode motorcycles, sought shelter in supporters’ homes and saw her closest collaborators be arrested as she kept campaigning across Venezuela. She repeatedly joined thousands of supporters chanting in unison “Freedom! Freedom! Freedom!” in rallies and asked them to vote for González, a virtual unknown who had never run for office.
Brutal repression

González crushed Maduro by a more than a two-to-one margin, according to voting machine records collected by the opposition and validated by international observers. Still, Venezuela’s National Electoral Council, loyal to the ruling party, declared Maduro the winner of the July 28, 2024, contest.

People protested the results across the country, and the government responded with full force, arresting more than 2,000 people and accusing them of plotting to oust Maduro and sow chaos. Most were released over the following months, but the government simultaneously arrested dozens of people who actively participated in Machado’s efforts last year.

Some of Machado’s closest collaborators, including her campaign manager, avoided prison by sheltering for more than a year at a diplomatic compound in Caracas, where they remained until May, when they fled to the U.S. She reunited with them, her family and González on Thursday.

González went into exile in Spain last year after he became the subject of an arrest warrant, and Machado hadn’t been seen in public since January, when she joined people protesting Maduro’s planned swearing-in ceremony. Her and González’s inability to stop Maduro from taking the oath of office led to a decline in support.

People’s trust has diminished since then, primarily over Machado’s unquestionable support for Trump, including the large U.S. maritime deployment in the Caribbean that has carried out deadly strikes off the coast of Venezuela. This has led to new divisions within the opposition, but she remains undeterred in her efforts to oust Maduro.

Machado told reporters Thursday that Venezuelans have “given everything for an orderly and peaceful transition to democracy” and now need “action,” not just statements, from other governments to meet their goal.

“The one who has declared war on Venezuelans is the Maduro regime,” she said. “In criminal systems, we need the world’s democracies to support our citizens.”

Trump’s Anti-Venezuela Actions Lack Strategy, Justifiable Targets And Legal Authorization

The U.S. deployed its largest warship, the USS Gerald R. Ford, to the Caribbean, north of Venezuela, following multiple strikes on vessels allegedly involved in drug trafficking. Omar Zaghloul/Anadolu via Getty Images

BY JEFFREY FIELDS

PROFESSOR OF THE PRACTICE 

OF INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS,

USC DORNSIFE COLLEGE OF,

ARTS AND SCIENCES

“I think we’re just going to kill people that are bringing drugs into our country. OK? We’re going to kill them. You know, they’re going to be, like, dead,” President Donald Trump said in late October 2025 of U.S. military strikes on boats in the Caribbean Sea north of Venezuela.

The Trump administration asserted without providing any evidence that the boats were carrying illegal drugs. Fourteen boats that the administration alleged were being operated by drug traffickers have been struck, killing 43 people.

On Oct. 24, the administration began a substantial military buildup in the region. The Pentagon moved the aircraft carrier USS Gerald R. Ford and some of its strike group, along with several other naval ships, to the Caribbean and moved F-35 fighter jets to Puerto Rico. This is the largest U.S. naval deployment in the Caribbean Sea since the Cuban missile crisis in 1962.

According to the White House, the naval buildup and strikes on boats in international waters are part of counternarcotics operations. The vessels targeted allegedly belonged to Venezuelan drug smugglers, though the administration has produced no evidence that there were drugs on the boats, or what type. Trump has named fentanyl as one of them.

At times the president and some of his advisers have referred to the operators and occupants of the boats as “narco-terrorists.” But they have offered no explanation why the people would be considered terrorists.

The president and his advisers’ own words have also indicated that the larger intentions of the administration could be to topple the government of Nicolás Maduro in Venezuela.

But as a former political-military analyst and former senior adviser at the Department of Defense, I find it hard to discern a coherent strategy or objective.

The puzzling drug angle

The boats that have been hit all had origins in, or connections to, Venezuela, and all were struck in the Caribbean Sea and in the Pacific north of Colombia, making the operation particularly puzzling. Venezuela is not a major producer of fentanyl or cocaine. The major cocaine trafficking routes are in the Pacific Ocean, not the Caribbean.

Typically, the U.S. Coast Guard stops vessels suspected of carrying illegal drugs in international waters. In 2025, the Coast Guard has interdicted a record amount of illegal drugs and precursor chemicals in the Caribbean. It is notable that the amount of methamphetamine precursor chemicals interdicted far exceeds that of fentanyl.

After interdiction, the Coast Guard typically begins a process that adheres to legal strictures, detaining the crew and eventually turning them over to a U.S. law enforcement agency.

But the Trump strikes have summarily killed most of the people on the boats and presumably destroyed any of the alleged illicit drugs. Many observers and legal experts have said the killings amount to murder.

Trump’s preoccupation with Venezuela

Trump has had a fixation with the Venezuelan gang Tren de Aragua for some time, adding to his administration’s focus on Venezuela.

The administration designated Tren de Aragua a terrorist organization in January, along with several other drug cartels. But the White House statement announcing the designation made no mention of any behavior or activity that would constitute terrorism.

Under U.S. law, terrorism is defined as politically motivated violence, usually targeting a civilian population, intended to bring about political change. The terrorist designation allows the government to pursue actions such as seizing assets and imposing travel restrictions on those appearing on the list of Designated Foreign Terrorist Organizations.

But the designation of a criminal gang with no clear political ideology or objectives mischaracterizes the group. That calls into question some of the White House’s motivations.

Then there’s the odd incident of the covert operation that wasn’t covert.

In early October, The New York Times reported that Trump had authorized covert operations in Venezuela and authorized the CIA to conduct “lethal strikes” inside the country.

Surprisingly, Trump confirmed that he had indeed authorized covert action. Yet the defining feature of a covert operation is that the role of the government is hidden.

Trump’s fixation on Venezuela goes back to his first term, when he also had Maduro’s regime in his sights. The administration eventually charged Maduro with leading the Cartel de los Soles – Cartel of the Suns – an informal criminal network tied to high-level Venezuelan military officials believed to have conducted drug trafficking into the U.S. The White House has also claimed that Maduro controls Tren de Aragua.

Independent observers assert that opposition leader Edmundo González Urrutia handily won the 2024 presidential election. The government-controlled National Electoral Council, however, declared Maduro the winner. If the White House has greater intentions in Venezuela, such as regime change, which some anonymous officials have suggested, Trump has tipped off Maduro to be vigilant.

Thorny issues

If the goal of the administration is interdiction of dangerous illicit drugs like cocaine, Colombia is a much bigger source. Venezuela acts mainly as a minor trans-shipment conduit rather than a producer.

In terms of mitigating the effects of drugs and narcotics in the United States, multiple studies over decades have found that measures taken to decrease demand in the U.S. rather than supply-side interdiction are more effective in reducing harm.

With little public information to suggest an overall strategy or objective, legal problems related to the maritime strikes become apparent.

Secretary of State Marco Rubio has said that the activities were a “counter drug operation.” But he went further in saying that instead of interdicting the boats, they would be blown up.

The method of interdiction and destruction of the boats and lives of those involved by a military strike presents problems, especially in terms of U.S. armed forces performing law enforcement duties. This would be proscribed by the Posse Comitatus Act, which prohibits federal armed forces from performing law enforcement activities.

As for actions targeting Venezuela, Trump has said he would not ask Congress for a declaration of war but would notify it of any ground operation.

The 1973 War Powers Act, which requires the president to notify Congress before hostilities and brief it afterward, would apply to this situation. But almost every president since its passing has ignored it at some point.

Though some Republicans in Congress have objected to the military actions so far, the Senate in early October voted down a resolution that would have prevented further strikes in the Caribbean.

The Trump administration continues to depict its activities in international waters as a military operation and the smugglers as enemy combatants. Most legal experts dismiss this and characterize the strikes as extrajudicial killings.

In reply to a flippant and profane response from Vice President JD Vance about the killings, Republican Senator Rand Paul wrote on social media, “Did he ever wonder what might happen if the accused were immediately executed without trial or representation?? What a despicable and thoughtless sentiment it is to glorify killing someone without a trial.”

If Trump and his advisers like Rubio and Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth are taken at their word in scattered statements on the activities around Venezuela, many questions remain, such as why the boats are being destroyed and their occupants killed rather than interdicted.

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In Swipe At Trump, Brazil’s Lula Tells UN That Organized Crime Is Not Terrorism

Lula dedicated part of his speech at the opening of the United Nations General Assembly to expressing his concern about the U.S. stance toward Latin America. AP Photo/Richard Drew

BY THIAGO RODRIGUES

PROFESSOR DE RELACOES

INTERNACIONAIS, UNIVERSIDADE,

FEDERAL FLUMINENSE

Much of Brazilian President Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva’s address at the opening of the 80th session of the United Nations General Assembly was expected.

Condemnation of U.S. interventionism against Brazil and Israeli action in the Gaza Strip have long been part of the rhetoric of the veteran leftist leader. So too has been the need to fight global hunger and speak up for global environmental initiatives.

But, besides those expected major themes, Lula’s speech also embarked on new territory, noticeably on the issue of organized crime and terrorism. “It is worrying to equate crime with terrorism,” Lula noted.

That was a direct reference to U.S. President Donald Trump’s attempts to equate Latin American organized crime groups with terrorist organizations.

Such conflation has been part of Trump’s agenda since the very first day of his second administration. On Jan. 20, 2025, he signed an executive order that ordered the inclusion of Latin American organized crime groups on the list of designated terrorist organizations.

As a result, entities like Venezuela’s Tren de Aragua, Ecuador’s Los Choneros, Mexico’s Cartel de Sinaloa and El Salvador’s Mara Salvatrucha now share space with Boko Haram and the Islamic State group on the State Department’s list of “Foreign Terrorist Organizations.”

Just rhetoric?

The association between drug trafficking and terrorism is not new in U.S. foreign policy. In the 1980s, groups like Sendero Luminoso in Peru and the Medellín Cartel in Colombia were classified as “narco-terrorists” because they fought their own governments using weapons funded by cocaine trafficking.

Ronald Reagan’s administration presented narco-terrorism as a serious threat to American safety. He sent the Army to combat international trafficking and exhorted Andean countries to turn their military into anti-narcotics troops.

The policy left a strong legacy in countries like Colombia, Peru and Mexico, where armies were converted into a de facto military super-police.

In the process, they lost the capacity to act as effective national defense forces.

After the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, the relationship between drug trafficking and terrorism was updated. Islamic fundamentalist groups like al-Qaida were accused by the U.S. Department of State of financing their operations through heroin and other drug trafficking.

With the support of a frightened society, President George W. Bush’s government built an anti-terrorist legal and institutional framework that gave the state exceptional powers to repress anyone it deemed to be a “terrorist.”

And in the post-9/11 world, being a “terrorist” held serious consequences in regard to how U.S. authorities could, and would, treat you.

Terrorists were arrested without formal charges. They were tortured and detained in unknown places for an indefinite period of time. Their assets and property were confiscated, their bank accounts interdicted and their resources absorbed by the authorities without accountability.

Today, when Trump extends the classification of “terrorist” to transnational organized crime groups, the tacit understanding is it allows any Latin American accused of international drug dealing to be treated outside the rules of a democratic state of law. That includes to be captured outside the U.S. with no access to any diplomatic aid, to be sent to Guantánamo or to simply disappear.

Geopolitical pressure

Since the 1970s, the so-called “war on drugs” has been an instrument of U.S. diplomatic and geopolitical pressure. It was used to blackmail governments in Latin America, align repressive policies with U.S. guidelines and justify the presence of military personnel, intelligence and military bases in the region, among other forms of intervention.

Since 2001, the “war on terror” has served similar purposes around the world, but with little impact in Latin America. Now, the new classification for Latin American criminal organizations synchronizes the “war on drugs” with the “war on terror.”

More than rhetoric, the U.S. State Department’s updated list allows the government to reinforce the interventionism in Latin America at a particularly sensitive time.

The U.S. is facing a serious domestic political crisis and an unprecedented global challenge posed by China’s consistent and vertiginous rise as a world economic and military power.

The Chinese economic and commercial presence in Latin America poses a concrete threat to the hegemony that the U.S. established on the continent.

Brazil and Mexico – the region’s largest economies – are making Trump’s trade pressure instruments, such as tariffs, much less effective than expected.

In this context, Trump has deployed a military naval force near the Venezuelan coast, reactivating accusations that the regime led by Nicolás Maduro is a “narco-state.”

Trump accuses Maduro of being the head of a group called the Cartel de los Soles, supposedly formed by high-ranking military personnel. The only sources claiming that such a cartel exists are the U.S. itself and voices linked to the ultra-right Venezuelan opposition in exile. However, the accusation is serious and influences U.S. public opinion.

In the same vein, the U.S. government has just “decertified” Gustavo Petro’s Colombia from its list of countries partnering Washington’s effort to fight transnational drugs trafficking – a move that could lead to economic sanctions and cuts in credit lines, loans and military aid.

Following the drug money

Arguing against this logic of unilateral U.S. action, Lula, in his U.N. address, emphasized multilateral cooperation to combat international drug trafficking. And the focus, in his point of view, must be to go after the economic assets of organized crime groups, and their money laundering strategies.

The mention of money laundering refers to the recent actions taken by the Brazilian Federal Police and other local authorities that uncovered huge money laundering schemes from drug trafficking organizations in Brazil’s largest city, São Paulo.

The scheme was carried out through financial institutions, gas stations, hotels and many other “regular” businesses. The initiatives were considered successful because they led to the arrest and indictment of organized crime financial operators, and not the usual low-level streets dealers – who are invariably poor, and Black.

Lula’s talk of international cooperation likely referred to the inauguration of the Center for International Police Cooperation in the Brazilian state of Amazonas. The center is an initiative to coordinate intelligence efforts in the fight against crimes in the Amazon. It brings together representatives of nine Brazilian states and security forces from eight Pan-Amazon countries – and France, on behalf of French Guiana.

The inclusion of the issue of organized crime in Lula’s speech at the U.N. can be seen as an additional front in his opposition to the government of Trump. Like environmental issues, the issue of organized crime is both an internal and international problem for Brazil.

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Sanctuary Cities In The US Were Born In The 1980s As Central American Refugees Fled Civil Wars

Protesters outside the federal courthouse in San Antonio, Texas, rally to oppose a Texas ‘anti-sanctuary cities’ bill on June 26, 2017. AP Photo/Eric Gay

BY LAURA MADOKORO

ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR OF HISTORY,

CARLETN UNIVERSITY

Sanctuary cities in the United States, which limit local cooperation with federal immigration enforcement, have drawn the ire of President Donald Trump during both of his administrations.

Border czar Tom Homan said in July 2025 that the Trump administration would target sanctuary cities across the country and “flood the zone” with agents from U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement to pursue deportation goals.

I am a historian of migration. I have found that the concept of sanctuary takes many forms, from gestures of kindness and advocacy to more formal approaches such as churches protecting migrants at risk of arrest and deportation.

In the U.S., sanctuary city policies have historically been designed to support undocumented immigrants and refugees, especially those facing deportation. Ordinances based on these policies are often used by local authorities to signal the need for substantive immigration reform.

New public sanctuary policies

Today’s sanctuary practices, and the federal targeting of sanctuary cities, are largely the result of the way sanctuary took shape across the U.S. in the 1980s.

During this period, churches, city officials and activists assisted migrants fleeing the violent conditions created by U.S. proxy wars in El Salvador, Nicaragua and Guatemala.

In the early 1980s, migrants arriving in the U.S. confronted restrictive asylum processes. To a large extent, this was the result of the Reagan administration’s refusal to acknowledge the extent of human rights violations perpetrated by U.S.-supported regimes in Central America.

In 1984, the federal government approved less than 3% of U.S. asylum claims by applicants who had fled El Salvador and Guatemala. By comparison, asylum claims were approved for over 30% – and in some cases, 60% – of refugees from Iran, Afghanistan and Poland.

In response, U.S. activists and church and city leaders began to advocate on behalf of refugees from Central America. They sought to effect change at home and abroad, eventually coalescing into what became known as the Sanctuary Movement.

This largely decentralized coalition focused on protecting refugees by providing safe housing, often in churches, and advocating for their right to seek asylum. And they engaged in public outreach to raise awareness about the conditions in Central America and the U.S. government’s role in conflicts there.

The goal was to change U.S. policy. As one sanctuary worker in Texas said in 1985, according to accounts compiled at the Benson Latin American Collection at the University of Texas at Austin: “Sanctuary offers a way, by which folks can, number one, be safe from the fear of death, and, number two, speak out as to what is really going on in Central America.”

The Sanctuary Movement also led to organized visits to the U.S.-Mexico border to witness the ways in which migrants were being treated by U.S. immigration officials. In Texas between 1983 and 1985, for instance, people were invited to document the activities of immigration officials at Port Isabel Detention Center.

Members of the Sanctuary Movement also shared some of the horrors they learned about from missionaries and refugees arriving from Central America, according to accounts in the Benson Latin American Collection.

As a member of the Rio Grande Border Witness group conveyed, according to records preserved in the Benson Latin American Collection, there were repeated stories out of Central America “of women being raped and stabbed” and “of fathers being murdered in front of their families.”

As awareness about violence in Central America increased, more people and congregations in the U.S. became involved in the Sanctuary Movement. At its peak in 1986, the movement included 300 churches that endorsed sanctuary for Central American migrants and the principles underpinning the Sanctuary Movement.

Public and symbolic

It was during this peak that U.S. cities first began making sanctuary declarations and later passed binding ordinances.

In 1985, Berkeley, California, which had previously declared itself a sanctuary city for conscientious objectors to the Vietnam War, made one of the first sanctuary city declarations on behalf of refugees from Central America. Its resolution reaffirmed the city’s “support for the principle of sanctuary and for those groups which engage in this time-honored tradition of humanitarian assistance.”

City officials said that no city employee would “violate the established sanctuaries by assisting in investigations, public or clandestine, by engaging in or assisting with arrests for alleged violation of immigration laws by the refugees in the sanctuaries or by those offering sanctuary.”

Cities such as San Francisco and Santa Fe, New Mexico, followed with declarations or binding ordinances. These initiatives were often specifically crafted for migrants from Central America and contained critiques of U.S. foreign policy and asylum policy.

A 1989 San Francisco ordinance, which is still in effect, was inspired by the notion that the U.S. had special obligations to the citizens of El Salvador and Guatemala because of its role in the conflicts there.

There was powerful rhetoric and symbolism in the sanctuary city resolutions passed in the 1980s. This holds true for the present, as sanctuary declarations and policies have become increasingly polarizing in today’s political climate.

Moreover, as I note in my own work, public acts of sanctuary can come at a cost, often at the expense of the very people they are meant to help. In an effort to raise public awareness and sympathy, those in need of refuge often have their most harrowing moments laid bare for public consumption.

The Sanctuary Movement that began in the 1980s, in part to protest U.S. support for repressive governments, has endured for more than 40 years as an expression of concern for and solidarity with immigrants who come to the U.S.

The question now is how the movement will evolve in the face of the Trump administration’s threats.

Some sanctuary city leaders, such as Boston Mayor Michelle Wu, have responded by pointing to the value of policies that foster community trust and help keep all residents safe. How other leaders and communities respond remains to be seen.

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