In one stroke, Venezuela has been turned into both a courtroom drama and a geopolitical doctrine. When U.S. forces seized Nicolás Maduro in Caracas on 3 January 2026, Washington did more than remove a leader it calls a narco-criminal; it tested--publicly, unapologetically--the tensile strength of the post-1945 diplomatic order built around sovereignty, non-use of force, and multilateral restraint.
The legal argument now unfolding is not academic pedantry. It is the language the weak use to survive the strong. UN human rights experts have described the operation as an apparent breach of the UN Charter's prohibition on the use of force and warned it could amount to the crime of aggression. Prominent international law analysts--writing from within Western institutions--have likewise argued that there is no credible legal justification for the capture and strikes. If that view becomes the prevailing consensus, the damage is not only to America's reputation; it is to the predictability of international conduct. The world shifts, quietly but decisively, from rules that constrain to power that persuades.
And that is the political rupture: once force is normalised as a shortcut to political outcomes, every crisis becomes a precedent factory. Countries that have long defended "non-interference" will feel vindicated in their cynicism; countries that have long defended "humanitarian intervention" will find their moral vocabulary repurposed for hard-edged interest. Even allies are pulled into a difficult choreography--condemn too strongly, and you fracture alliances; stay silent, and you underwrite a new permissiveness that may later be used by someone else, somewhere else.
Yet Venezuela is not only a question of legality; it is a contest over strategic leverage--oil, sanctions, escrow accounts, and the architecture of economic coercion. Days after the operation, President Donald Trump signed an executive order to stop courts or creditors from seizing Venezuelan oil revenues held in U.S. Treasury accounts, framing the funds as sovereign assets to be preserved for Venezuela's stabilisation. At nearly the same time, Trump pressed major oil executives to commit vast investments--up to $100 billion--to rebuild Venezuela's oil sector, while floating the prospect of major crude flows to U.S. refineries under a deal with the interim leadership. This is not merely energy policy; it is geo-economic statecraft: the conversion of military initiative into commercial realignment, with contracts and barrels as the downstream instruments of geo-political victory.
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For Nigeria, the Venezuelan episode is therefore not "Latin American news." It is a live tutorial on three things that directly shape our national interest: the fragility of norms, the weaponisation of finance, and the merciless speed with which oil geo-politics can reorder fiscal assumptions.
Start with diplomacy. Nigeria's foreign policy has historically drawn legitimacy from principled positions--African solidarity, respect for sovereignty, preference for dialogue--even when our practice has sometimes been uneven. In this moment, ambiguity is costly. A loud, emotional condemnation risks needlessly rupturing relationships with powerful partners; a studied silence risks weakening Nigeria's own long-term argument that sovereignty cannot be casually suspended. The most credible posture is disciplined and consistent: affirm commitment to democratic governance and human rights without endorsing regime change by unilateral force, and insist that transitions--however necessary--must be anchored in multilateral frameworks that protect smaller states from the whim of stronger ones. The emergency diplomacy around Venezuela at the UN underscores why that framing matters: the Security Council becomes a theatre where principles collide with veto power, and where the precedent set today becomes the script others quote tomorrow.
Then there is economics--Nigeria's most exposed flank. Our 2026 fiscal architecture remains deeply oil-dependent. President Tinubu's proposed N58.18 trillion budget is built on an oil price benchmark of $64.85 per barrel and production of 1.84 million barrels per day; debt service is projected at N15.52 trillion, with a deficit of N23.85 trillion. That is already a narrow corridor for error. Venezuela widens the uncertainty in both directions: in the short term, conflict can add a risk premium; in the medium term, a politically re-engineered Venezuela--backed by Western capital and trading channels--could add supply and soften prices. Market and policy analysts have explicitly noted this tension: modest near-term price movement paired with significant medium-term uncertainty about output, investment, and sanctions.
Nigeria cannot afford to treat that uncertainty as background noise. If oil prices drift materially below the benchmark, the consequences arrive fast: weaker FX inflows, renewed pressure on the naira, higher import costs, and inflation that turns every household into an unwilling macroeconomist. And because debt service is already heavy, revenue shortfalls quickly become a choice between cutting development spending, borrowing more at punishing terms, or monetising stress--each path carrying its own political consequences.
Which brings us to the third arena: domestic politics. The Venezuelan saga will be imported into Nigerian political rhetoric as a metaphor and a warning. One side will say: this is what happens when institutions collapse and a nation becomes hostage to a single resource. Another will say: this is proof that global power has little patience for sovereignty when interests are at stake. Both claims will find receptive audiences--especially if economic conditions tighten. When citizens are squeezed, narratives harden; and when narratives harden, policy space shrinks. A government that must adjust budgets, reform subsidies, or tighten monetary conditions may find itself simultaneously battling not just economic pain but geo-political suspicion.
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So what should Nigeria do--now, not after the storm breaks?
First, practise foreign policy as risk management: speak with clarity on the sanctity of the UN Charter, push for de-escalation and lawful processes, and build coalitions within the AU and the wider Global South that defend multilateralism without romanticising dictatorships. Second, treat oil assumptions as conditional: deepen fiscal buffers, prioritise spending that protects stability, and accelerate reforms that reduce the economy's exposure to crude price swings. Third, defend our productive base: secure oil infrastructure, raise reliable output, and expand non-oil exports so that a shock in Caracas does not become a crisis in Kano or Port Harcourt.
Venezuela is not simply a fallen petro-state. In 2026, it has become a diplomatic referendum: on how power is exercised, on whether law still constrains might, and on whether oil will continue to function as the currency of geo-political rearrangement. Nigeria must read that referendum with sober eyes--because in a world where force is returning as an argument, only countries with resilient economies and principled, coherent diplomacy will retain the freedom to choose their future.
·Dakuku Peterside is the author of two best-selling books, Leading in a Storm and Beneath the Surface.
