By Dr Zawwar Hussain
As 2026 begins, renewed turbulence around Venezuela has reopened a familiar and deeply instructive chapter in global politics. Once again, a powerful state appears convinced that pressure, isolation and the threat of intervention can bend a nation to its will. History suggests otherwise. When power is exercised to secure political or economic interests without regard for popular consent, it may achieve short-term tactical success, but it rarely earns a lasting verdict of legitimacy. The removal, capture or humiliation of leaders is often celebrated as triumph. Yet history’s judgment is slower and more exacting, delivered not by press conferences or military parades, but by time, collective memory and the resilience of societies themselves.
The United States’ own historical record offers a revealing pattern. In 1901, the capture of Filipino leader Emilio Aguinaldo was hailed in Washington as the decisive moment in the suppression of the Philippine independence movement. The language of the era framed the intervention as benevolent, even civilizing. In reality, it was an assertion of colonial control. American power in Asia at the time was formidable and largely uncontested, yet the arrest of Aguinaldo did not extinguish the Filipino demand for self-rule. Independence was delayed, not denied. Ultimately, the United States withdrew, leaving behind a legacy that sits uneasily with its professed ideals.
Nearly a century later, the same logic reappeared in Panama. The 1990 US invasion and the arrest of President Manuel Noriega were presented as a necessary step in the war on drugs and the restoration of democracy. The operation involved tens of thousands of American troops and overwhelming force. Noriega was removed, but the cost was borne by ordinary Panamanians. Civilian casualties, widespread destruction and prolonged instability followed. The spectacle of power achieved its immediate objective, yet it failed to resolve the deeper political and social fractures that had made Panama vulnerable in the first place.
Iraq represents the most consequential and devastating expression of this mindset. The 2003 invasion, justified by claims that later collapsed under scrutiny, culminated in the arrest of Saddam Hussein. That moment was broadcast to the world as proof of success. The price, however, was staggering. Trillions of dollars were spent. Millions of Iraqis were killed, displaced or pushed into poverty. Two decades on, Iraq continues to grapple with sectarian divisions, fragile governance and foreign interference. The promise that force would deliver democracy proved illusory. Power removed a ruler, but it could not manufacture legitimacy or social cohesion.
Today, Venezuela stands at the center of a similar confrontation. Political pressure, sweeping sanctions and diplomatic isolation have been deployed against President Nicolás Maduro with the expectation that economic collapse would lead to political capitulation. Venezuela’s economy has indeed suffered grievously. Output collapsed, inflation spiraled and living standards deteriorated sharply. Yet the state did not simply dissolve. Institutions adapted, society endured and the anticipated political implosion failed to materialize. This is a recurring blind spot in interventionist thinking: the assumption that hardship automatically translates into submission.
The fixation on leaders obscures a more complex reality. Nations are not sustained by individuals alone, but by social bonds, identity and the instinct to resist external coercion. History shows that pressure imposed from outside often consolidates internal resolve rather than weakening it. Venezuela’s experience, like that of Iran under decades of sanctions, underscores this point. Economic pain has been severe, but it has not delivered the neat political outcomes its architects predicted.
The failed US operation in Iran’s Tabas Desert in 1980 remains a potent symbol of this truth. Operation Eagle Claw was conceived with supreme confidence in technological and military superiority. At the time, the United States accounted for a quarter of global military spending. Yet a sandstorm, mechanical failure and miscalculation turned the mission into disaster. Eight soldiers lost their lives, and the operation collapsed without achieving its objective. The episode became a stark reminder that power, however advanced, is vulnerable to forces beyond its control.
For Iran, Tabas was not merely a military failure for its adversary but a psychological turning point. It reinforced a belief that resistance could prevail against overwhelming odds. In the decades that followed, direct military confrontation gave way to sanctions and indirect pressure. The lesson was clear: force carries limits, and its misuse can strengthen rather than weaken the resolve of those it targets.
(The writer is a PhD scholar with a strong research and analytical background and can be reached at editorial@metro-Morning.com)
