Whither International Law after Iran and Venezuela?

2026 has been a rollercoaster for anyone working in international affairs. In January, the US intervened in Venezuela, kidnapping the country’s president and effectuating a questionable ‘transition’ to other powerbrokers in the Maduro regime. A few weeks later, Donald Trump’s threats to invade Greenland generated discussion of intra-NATO hostilities and the alliance’s imminent collapse. A month later, the US and Israel attacked Iran, assassinating the country’s leaders and initiating hostilities that – at the time of writing – continue with the US naval blockade against Iran. 

Against this backdrop, many ask what role, if any, does international law (still) play in world affairs? After all, as dire as Venezuela and Iran are, they occurred in the context of a fractious geopolitical situation, including high-intensity wars and genocidal processes in Ukraine, Sudan and Palestine/Israel, which some describe as an ongoing ‘world war’. Is international law in crisis or has it already died? Conversely, do these events not threaten the fundamental norms and institutions, which soldier on in the face of adversity? Or, counterintuitively, may we, in fact, be observing the birth of a new and better global legal order? 

An Age of Malaise?

It is trite to observe that there are no definitive answers to such questions. More interesting may be how the questions are framed and what unstated assumptions they hold. That in turn suggests a profound malaise about the times we live in and the role of international law in global affairs. 

For Iran, it remains true that some Iranians welcomed intervention as their ‘last best hope’ for liberation from the regime’s unlawful violence against its own citizens. 

After all, even if the Venezuela operation’s illegality under the UN Charter sparked outrage in many quarters, it also met with hedging from some states while the Venezuelan diaspora mostly supported Trump’s actions. Annexation threats against Greenland may have triggered soul-searching among some, epitomized by Mark Carney’s Davos speech, but many others shrugged, seeing the same speech as an insufficient admission of Canada’s – and the wider West’s – complicity in double standards that have corroded international law’s credibility. As for Iran, while most agreed that US-Israeli attacks violated international law, it remains true that some Iranians welcomed intervention as their ‘last best hope’ for liberation from the regime’s unlawful violence against its own citizens. 

More generally, the tension between upholding international law and the desire to protect people – whether it be Iranians, Venezuelans, Sudanese or others – from violence has left many confused, despairing, and, perhaps most poignantly, bereft of any good options. Where do we go from here? Are we returning to a world where ‘might makes right’ and force is the norm? How can I possibly make a difference in this new age of empires? 

How to Think of (In)Action?

While I cannot speak for others, 1, which explored the theme of ‘Solidarity and Intervention in the Era of Unconstrained Power.’ Taking place after the Venezuela operation and the Iranian regime’s crackdown on protesters in January – but before the US/Israeli attack on Iran in late February – the participants offered views from different perspectives including feminist foreign policy and liberal internationalism. However, they all shared a general skepticism of what the international community and international law can ‘realistically’ do to help in the current global situation. 

From an international law perspective, situations like Iran or Venezuela seemingly resurrect an age-old dilemma. If military action were to plausibly save people from mass violence or regime oppression, does the UN Charter recognize an exception to the prohibition on the use of force? If not, should the system be changed to allow ‘humanitarian intervention’ or ‘democracy promotion’ and under which conditions? 

To be clear, these are not new questions. Debated extensively in the context of Kosovo, Iraq or Libya, the Responsibility to Protect (R2P) doctrine emerged as a putative response to how the international community should reconcile its obligation to protect both international law and populations under threat. However, rather than rehash the arguments for and against intervention in situations of internal repression or mass human rights violations, I aim to offer a few observations to contextualize this debate in our current moment of skepticism about international law.

International Law Under Challenge

First, applying the lens of ‘humanitarian intervention’ and/or ‘democracy promotion’ to Iran or Venezuela is paradoxical at best. Insofar as Trump has never expressed any serious concern over the well-being of the local populations, these two contexts differ from prior debates over the applicability and limits of humanitarian intervention or R2P. It is, of course, understandable that some actors, notably amongst Venezuelans and Iranians, interpret the interventions in a ‘humanitarian’ light, as possibly leading to something better than their status quo. However, the Trump administration’s open disdain for international law, including attempts to bypass the UN through instruments like the Board of Peace, render any discussion of the applicability, let alone permissibility, of humanitarian intervention counterproductive. In fact, accepting the very pretense of humanitarianism – despite statements to the contrary – may serve the Trump administration’s stated objective of undermining international law.

Second, on the question of legality, the vast majority of international lawyers today agree that UN Charter’s black letter law offers a clear negative answer: in accordance with Article 2 (4), international law does not allow ‘humanitarian intervention’, R2P, or democracy promotion abroad. Absent Security Council authorization for collective action, no state or ‘coalition of willing’ states may unilaterally decide to save people in other countries from abuse. Hence, notwithstanding moral arguments to the contrary, Venezuela, Iran, Greenland (the mere threat of force is prohibited) – or earlier Kosovo and Iraq – are all clear violations of international law.

The Trump administration’s open disdain for international law, including attempts to bypass the UN through instruments like the Board of Peace, render any discussion of the applicability, let alone permissibility, of humanitarian intervention counterproductive.

Against this backdrop, international lawyers often double down on legal arguments in cases like Iran to denounce violations of Article 2(4). Understandable on their own terms, such doctrinal arguments take for granted the authority of international law to resolve such debates, while side-stepping the wider socio-historical and political context of why the prohibition on interstate force emerged, why it still matters today, and why unilaterally resorting to force is so questionable. It is not possible to do justice to this wider context in this short post. Suffice it to say that international law took centuries to arrive at a prohibition in the 20^th century, and that its wider systemic objective of prohibiting interstate wars – notwithstanding the continued occurrence of intrastate conflict – reduces overall levels of violence. Conversely, despite its stated goal of relieving human suffering, whether unilateral ‘humanitarian’ intervention does more good than harm is hotly contested.

Third, and most fundamentally, in an increasingly divided and polarized world, where international law and global governance are under challenge, reflexive appeals to uphold law or ‘restore’ respect for the rule of law may require greater introspection going forward. After all, the existing system of norms and institutions offers insufficient protection to people in many parts of the world. This is not by accident but by design. The UN Charter’s principle of sovereign equality shields states from external intervention, including when they abuse the human rights of their own people. Against this backdrop, too many people in too many places seem to think international law has little to offer. 

Put simply, more and more people seem skeptical of international law’s ability to constrain power. 

The reasons for today’s disenchantment with international law and multilateralism are surely complex. How and why perceptions of inefficacy and allegations of double standards may have grown in the last decade(s) is open for debate. However, countering such perspectives and demonstrating the continued relevance of international law may require different tools and arguments than international lawyers have traditionally deployed. Plausible doctrinal arguments remain important, of course, but appeals to defend international law may have to be combined with a greater political awareness and deeper socio-historical analyses of why and how legal arguments are more persuasive in some contexts than in others. A greater willingness to debate the limits, contradictions and blind spots of international norms and institutions – for instance, by acknowledging the selective nature of state compliance or the compromises and inequalities that underlie agreements nominally arrived at by ‘mutual consent’ – seem crucial to addressing the global order’s wider crisis of legitimacy. By the same token, reform proposals – especially when formulated by historically weaker and marginalized actors – should receive greater attention from those accustomed to institutional privileges within the post-1945 order.

Conclusion

To be clear, Iran or Venezuela are not the only places where international law and multilateralism are under challenge. The tensions and contradictions inherent in core norms are increasingly surfacing elsewhere as well. After decades of progress on eliminating landmines, Eastern European states are withdrawing – on debatable empirical assumptions – from the Ottawa treaty ban. A leading example of regional integration in Africa until recently, ECOWAS has seen three of its members – Burkina Faso, Mali and Niger – leave the treaty after unconstitutional coups d’état. Echoing African states’ earlier objections, some European governments now seem ambivalent about the enforceability of certain International Criminal Court arrest warrants, raising serious questions about double standards and selective compliance with global norms.

Appeals to ‘uphold’ international law equally and impartially are essential in such contexts. However, it is hard to miss that such appeals seem to carry less normative weight than in the past and even risk reproducing depoliticized and de-historicized ideas of normativity that elide the underlying reasons for contestation. Put simply, more and more people seem skeptical of international law’s ability to constrain power. Are cases of selective compliance simply manifestations of the crisis of liberal international order? Or is more going on in that the contradictions of that order are becoming (more) visible? There are no easy answers to these questions, but in pushing for compliance with international law it is worth acknowledging the changing global landscape and divergent perceptions of how these norms operate.