The question confronting the international system today is no longer whether international law has become weak—this has long been settled—but whether we have entered a phase that goes beyond international law altogether, a phase in which rules have become little more than a theoretical reference point, invoked when convenient and ignored when they collide with the interests of great powers.
What we are witnessing is not a temporary malfunction in enforcement, but a structural shift in global governance, where legitimacy is no longer derived from legal texts, but from the balance of power.
In this context, the case of arresting Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro cannot be viewed as a unique presidential situation or an exception tied to his person or to Venezuela’s political system. The danger lies not in the case itself, but in what it signals and the doors it may open.
We may be standing at the beginning of a phase in which violations of state sovereignty, the carving up of territories, the partition of states, or even outright occupation become possible without meaningful condemnation, so long as the actor is a great power or another state acting on its behalf.
In principle, international law rests on the sovereignty of states and their legal equality. It grants heads of state immunity from arrest or prosecution by other states while in office.
This rule was not a legal luxury, but a safety valve for the international system, designed to prevent chaos and to stop global politics from devolving into cycles of retaliation and political liquidation. Yet this principle, like many others, has always been hostage to power rather than protected by the strength of legal texts.
When a great power acts outside this framework, it does not merely violate a legal rule; it redefines the very meaning of legitimacy. Power becomes the source of legitimacy rather than an exceptional instrument constrained by law. What is forbidden to weak states becomes acceptable—justifiable—when carried out by a state that enjoys military, economic, and political supremacy. In this way, international law is transformed into a selective tool, deployed against adversaries and suspended for the powerful.
The United States, by virtue of its surplus power, is able to impose this logic without facing real accountability. It does not require a comprehensive UN mandate or a clear international legal consensus. It is enough to craft a moral or security narrative to justify its actions, while the international community settles for silence or timid statements. By contrast, other states are swiftly condemned if they engage in similar behavior, subjected to sanctions, and accused of threatening international peace. This double standard is no longer an exception; it has become the unspoken rule.
More dangerous still is the fact that such precedents rarely remain isolated. History shows that exceptions, when not firmly rejected, quickly turn into models that can be replicated. With each new precedent, the concept of sovereignty erodes further, and the red lines once considered untouchable begin to fade. This opens the door not only to targeting state leaders, but to reshaping maps, imposing new realities on the ground, and redrawing borders under various pretexts, without fear of genuine condemnation or accountability.
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In this environment, the Arab world and Africa sit at the heart of the danger zone. States already burdened by political fragility, internal divisions, and heavy dependence on external actors may find themselves particularly vulnerable to this emerging logic. This does not necessarily require direct military intervention or traditional occupation. Less costly and more politically “clean” tools may suffice: politicized legal pressure, intelligence operations, or the actions of regional powers operating by proxy. In such a world, no international consensus is required, nor even an explicit legal cover—mere understanding or silence from the great powers is enough.
This shift has profound implications for how presidents and decision-makers in weaker states perceive their position in the world. Holding office is no longer a shield, and sovereignty no longer a reliable guarantee. Travel becomes a calculated risk, security alliances a matter of personal survival, and sovereign decisions are taken under the weight of an unspoken question: how will this be read in Washington or by other major powers? Governance itself turns into a constant exercise in risk management.
When it is said that imposing will on a state the size of Venezuela theoretically required massive military mobilization, the underlying message is clear. Weaker states may require far less. Two aircraft, a legal case, or a domestically manufactured crisis redirected from abroad may be enough to produce the desired outcome. At that point, the question “who is next?” ceases to be alarmist and becomes entirely legitimate.
We are not witnessing the sudden collapse of international law, but its gradual hollowing out. This is an international system governed by exceptions rather than rules, by power rather than law. A world in which actions are not judged by their legality, but by their feasibility and by who possesses the power to impose them. In such a world, sovereignty becomes a fragile privilege rather than a guaranteed right.
The real question today is not who will violate the rules next, but who will rule this world after the rules have fallen—and who will be the next victim in a system that recognizes nothing but the logic of power.
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*Ali Halane is a Somali journalist, researcher specializing in African and Middle Eastern affairs, and co-founder of the Somali Cultural Parliament.
**The opinion expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of Dawan Africa





