It’s not the ‘Don-Roe Doctrine’: Silly US interventionism validated Putin’s invasion and gave China a playbook

On January 3, 2026, the United States undertook a military operation in Venezuela that culminated in the capture and forcible removal of President Nicolás Maduro and his wife from Caracas. U.S. Special Operations forces executed strikes on Venezuelan military targets, seized Maduro, and transported him to the United States on charges of narco-terrorism and corruption. President Donald Trump then declared that America would “run Venezuela”, offering American oil companies unfettered access to rebuild the country’s dilapidated energy infrastructure. This action marks the most overt U.S. military intervention in Latin America since the invasion of Panama in 1989, raising serious questions about legality, strategic priorities, and global norms.

At the heart of this intervention is an explicit and peculiar invocation of the Monroe Doctrine, rebranded in Trump’s rhetoric as the “Don-Roe Doctrine”. A 200-year-old political warning, articulated in a world of European empires and wooden navies, is being retrofitted to justify 21st-century military coercion against a sovereign state. What began in 1823 as a defensive assertion against European colonisation has now been transformed into an affirmative licence for regime change.

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Trump declared that “American dominance in the Western Hemisphere will never be questioned again”, repurposing historical doctrine to justify kinetic force against a sovereign state absent any United Nations mandate or clear act of self-defence. This is not continuity; it is doctrinal opportunism.

Neo-Mercantilism & ‘Oil-for-Goods’ Imperialism

Venezuela possesses the world’s largest proven oil reserves, with an estimated 303 billion barrels of crude — about 17 per cent of global reserves — surpassing Saudi Arabia and every other country on Earth.

The Trump administration has openly discussed American firms investing billions to revitalise those assets. However, the economic logic underpinning the intervention is strikingly anachronistic. Washington’s plan to sell Venezuelan oil through American firms, recycle portions of the revenue back into Caracas, and then require that money be spent exclusively on U.S.-made products resembles not liberal capitalism, but neo-mercantilism. Control of petro-resources, under the guise of stabilisation, blurs the line between strategic energy policy and neo-colonial exploitation.

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In outlining this arrangement, Donald Trump made the economic intent explicit:

“I have just been informed that Venezuela is going to be purchasing ONLY American-made products, with the money they receive from our new oil deal… In other words, Venezuela is committing to doing business with the United States of America as their principal partner — a wise choice, and a very good thing for the people of Venezuela, and the United States.”

The structure mirrors classical imperial trade systems, where colonies supplied resources and the metropole controlled manufacturing and finance. In this sense, the analogy to the British East India Company is not rhetorical excess; it is analytically precise.

‘Simulated War’ & Strategic Irrationality

This is not liberal internationalism; it is coercive mercantilism masquerading as reconstruction. This is not a war for survival, balance of power, or hegemonic necessity. Venezuela poses no strategic or existential threat to core U.S. interests. It does not alter the global balance of power. It does not affect U.S. deterrence credibility against peer rivals.

Even by the standards of realist international relations theory, the intervention is incoherent. Realists argue that great powers go to war to preserve survival, balance power, or prevent peer competitors from gaining decisive advantages. Venezuela satisfies none of these criteria.

This is why several analysts have described the operation as a “simulated war”: a high-coercion action untethered from strategic necessity, fought not for security, but for dominance signalling, domestic political theatre, and ideological assertion. Such wars are expensive, destabilising, and, most dangerously, precedent-setting.

If realism itself cannot justify the operation, then the intervention is not strategic. It is performative.

A Dangerous Precedent for Great Power Politics

The ramifications of the U.S. intervention extend far beyond the Caribbean. Analysts note that Washington’s use of force plays directly into the logic that Russian President Vladimir Putin employs to justify his invasion of Ukraine.

Moscow has long justified the invasion by claiming that NATO’s expansion into Eastern Europe posed an existential threat to Russia’s security — a premise repeatedly articulated by Putin and senior Russian officials as a rationale for war, even if it runs counter to NATO members’ sovereign choices. These claims have been central to the Kremlin’s effort to recast its aggression as defensive statecraft rather than unprovoked invasion. Analysts argue that the U.S. operation in Venezuela gives Moscow rhetorical cover to assert that “great powers act where they perceive vital interests”, a logic that blurs the moral and legal lines between self-defence and hegemonic coercion.

Post-Facto Justification: From Monroe to ‘One China’

Beijing’s official line on Taiwan is grounded in the One China principle: that Taiwan is part of China’s sovereign territory and that foreign interference constitutes an infringement on China’s internal affairs. When a power such as the United States can deploy force in the name of “protecting interests” or “restoring order” in a sovereign state, it tacitly reinforces the idea that perceived vital interests can justify unilateral action. That logic resonates with Beijing’s own narratives about Taiwan.

If Washington claims security rationales to enforce its will in Caracas, why can’t Beijing claim its own perceived existential imperatives to enforce its will in Taipei? The subjective framing of threat — not objective, demonstrable danger — is the common thread. The trickle-down effect on Taiwan policy is not merely rhetorical; it is strategic.

Norm erosion matters because Taiwan’s current ambiguous status — where its de facto independence is not matched by de jure international recognition — depends heavily on international legal norms and great-power restraint. For Taiwan, this is not theoretical. Beijing’s military build-up, political pressure, and increasingly assertive rhetoric already test the boundary between peaceful unification and coercive annexation.

Yes, Taiwan is not Venezuela. It is economically central, militarily fortified, and politically entwined with U.S. credibility in Asia. Any Chinese attempt to abduct or remove Taiwan’s leadership would risk escalation far beyond what Venezuela entailed. However, the most damaging consequence of the Venezuela intervention is not imitation, but the loss of argumentative leverage. Washington can still deter China materially, but its normative case is weakened. When the U.S. condemns coercion in Taiwan, Beijing can now respond not defensively, but comparatively.

For Beijing, this reinforces a critical insight: institutional cost is manageable. Condemnations do not reverse faits accomplis.

Pax Americana and the Legacy of a Tiring Empire

The UN Security Council’s paralysis — long a feature of Ukraine — was reaffirmed by Venezuela. If permanent members act unilaterally and veto accountability, the institution ceases to function as a deterrent.

For much of the post-Second World War era, Pax Americana rested on a combination of military superiority, economic centrality, and, critically, normative leadership. The United States did not merely dominate; it persuaded. It built institutions, underwrote global public goods, and cloaked power in the language of universality. That architecture allowed American interests to align, at least rhetorically, with global order.

That equilibrium is now visibly strained. Scholars from Paul Kennedy to Charles Kupchan have warned of “imperial overstretch”, where global commitments outpace political consensus, fiscal capacity, and moral authority. In such moments, empires do not retreat gracefully; they often double down. They replace rule-making with rule-breaking, persuasion with punishment, and multilateralism with unilateral demonstration. The Venezuela intervention fits this pattern uncomfortably well.

Trump’s revival of the Monroe Doctrine, recast as the “Don-Roe Doctrine”, is therefore revealing. It signals not continuity, but regression — a retreat from institutional leadership towards civilisational entitlement. Where post-war American power was forward-looking and rule-oriented, this version is backward-glancing, invoking history as a substitute for legitimacy.

In this sense, Trump is not reviving the empire so much as exposing its limits. The very need to assert hemispheric dominance so explicitly suggests that such dominance is no longer taken for granted.

(Views expressed are personal and do not necessarily reflect those of Firstpost.)