
Campaign design team
By Vincent Cordova · December 2, 2025
We have seen a quiet but deeply alarming shift in the language and actions used by our government to justify military-style operations outside of our borders. Words like “defense,” “protection,” and “interdiction” have been slowly replaced with phrases such as “defensive war,” “lethal engagement,” and “preemptive action.” These linguistic adjustments are not accidental; they are part of a deliberate structure of power—one designed to expand the scope of authority far beyond what the Constitution permits.
Changing the semantics of an action does not change the legal reality of it. If civilians are being targeted, if people are being killed, and if these acts are carried out in international or foreign territorial waters, then what is being executed is not “defense”—it is war. And war requires constitutional process, congressional approval, and strict adherence to international standards. None of these requirements are being met. That is not a small oversight. It is a direct breach of the system of checks and balances that was designed to protect the American people from government overreach, foreign entanglements, and unjustified military actions.
The justification being used for some of these operations has been framed around “drug enforcement,” “stopping narcotics at the source,” or “combatting transnational crime.” But if the United States is employing lethal force without solid, verifiable evidence; if it is engaging vessels without proof of criminal activity; if it is killing civilians in waters that are not ours—then these actions are entirely outside the legitimate scope of the rule of law.
Drug policy is a law-enforcement matter, not a justification for preemptive killing. The U.S. cannot lawfully kill civilians abroad because of suspicion. It cannot treat foreign waters as its own jurisdiction because of suspicion. It cannot violate international borders or treaties because of suspicion. Suspicion is not evidence. Suspicion is not authorization. And suspicion is not cause for lethal force. When the government acts without evidence but claims lawfulness through its own manufactured narrative, it is not acting as a government of laws—it is acting as a government of unilateral power.
If the U.S. government performs a lethal operation in foreign territory, it cannot hide behind the term “rule of law.” U.S. law does not apply outside our national borders unless the host nation explicitly consents or Congress has declared a military conflict. Neither has occurred. Venezuela did not authorize U.S. military activity in its territorial waters. Many Latin American and Caribbean nations have publicly condemned such actions.
International law is unambiguous: a nation cannot enforce its domestic criminal statutes inside another nation’s territory without permission. To claim “we were enforcing U.S. law” while standing in foreign waters is a contradiction so large it should alarm even the most disengaged citizen. Law enforcement without jurisdiction is not enforcement—it is intrusion. Lethal force without jurisdiction is not policy—it is aggression.
We must also acknowledge the geopolitical reality behind these decisions. Venezuela has been a targeted nation for years, and not because of the rhetoric used by politicians. If we follow the economic incentives—something political elites hope the public never does—we see the pattern clearly. Venezuela is one of the most resource-rich nations on the planet, sitting on the largest proven oil reserve in the world, vast mineral deposits, and strategic geological assets.
History has shown repeatedly that when a resource-rich nation becomes politically unaligned with U.S. interests, the justification for intervention shifts rapidly: humanitarian crisis, corruption, drug trafficking, destabilization, dictatorship. The labels change depending on what sells best to the public, but the motive remains consistent—access to resources and regional control. If anything, the sudden framing of Venezuela as a drug threat raises more questions than answers. The U.S. is not known to intervene militarily to stop drug flow in countries that supply far more narcotics into the American market. So why Venezuela? Why now? And why with lethal force? The answer becomes clearer when we align the economic incentives with historical precedent: targeted nations are rarely the ones with the worst problems—they are the ones with the most resources.
America must confront a difficult truth: if we allow our government to redefine war, avoid transparency, kill civilians abroad, and excuse itself through manufactured terminology, then the system of accountability collapses. Sovereignty collapses. Consent collapses. And the very constitutional structure that was designed to restrain power becomes irrelevant. If a government can unilaterally kill in foreign waters with no war declaration, what stops it from doing the same in other regions? What stops it from expanding its definition of “defense”? What stops it from turning these tools inward?
The erosion of legality begins quietly, almost invisibly, through language—until the public awakens to a government acting outside the Constitution entirely. We must assert our authority now, as the governed, to demand transparency, lawful conduct, evidence-based operations, and respect for human life—regardless of the nationality of the life being taken.

Campaign design team
We are standing at a turning point in American history—one where our government’s actions demand more from us than passive observation, and where the consequences of ignoring those actions will fall on our children, not just ourselves. Our power has never come from weaponry or wealth. It comes from something far stronger—collective demand. When millions of Americans raise their voices, demand lawful behavior, demand transparency, demand truth, demand adherence to the Constitution, no government can ignore them.
If we do not challenge power when it crosses the line, then that line will disappear entirely. And once it is gone— once unchecked authority becomes the norm—it is our children who will inherit the consequences. They will inherit the wars we allowed to begin silently. They will inherit the erosion of rights we failed to resist. They will inherit the instability created by decisions we were too distracted or too hopeless to confront. The time to act is now.
When we examine the last century of American foreign policy, a clear pattern emerges: administration after administration, whether Democrat or Republican, has worked to disarm, destabilize, or weaken foreign governments under the banner of “security,” “stability,” “democracy,” or “defense” — only for the underlying motives to later reveal themselves as economic, strategic, or resource-driven. This is not speculation. It is documented history.
Woodrow Wilson entered World War I after declaring neutrality, ultimately helping dismantle empires and redraw borders. Franklin D. Roosevelt, through Lend-Lease and military pressure, shaped global post-war power structures. Harry Truman dropped nuclear weapons and later positioned the U.S. as the singular global military authority. Dwight Eisenhower oversaw the CIA overthrow of Iran’s democratically elected government in 1953 to maintain access to oil — a move that set the stage for decades of Middle East conflict. John F. Kennedy escalated interventions in Cuba, Vietnam, and Laos under the logic of containing communism, but the outcomes fractured entire regions.
Lyndon Johnson expanded Vietnam into a full-scale war based on distorted intelligence. Richard Nixon extended that war into Cambodia and Laos covertly, destabilizing Southeast Asia for generations. Jimmy Carter’s administration armed factions in Afghanistan that eventually evolved into militant groups the U.S. later fought. Ronald Reagan destabilized Central America, particularly Nicaragua, Guatemala, and El Salvador, using “anti-communism” as justification while secretly funneling weapons and conducting proxy conflicts. George H.W. Bush launched the Gulf War, claiming to defend sovereignty but ultimately securing U.S. military presence over vital oil regions.
Bill Clinton bombed Iraq repeatedly, enforcing sanctions that crippled the civilian population while maintaining strategic pressure over oil-rich areas. George W. Bush invaded Iraq under false pretenses of weapons of mass destruction — one of the most significant and deadly disarmament operations in modern history — resulting in the collapse of an entire nation and paving the way for chaos. Barack Obama orchestrated the NATO-led disarming and overthrow of Libya’s government, leaving a once-stable state in ruins, contributing to migrant crises and regional instability. He also expanded drone warfare, conducting lethal operations in sovereign nations without congressional approval.
Donald Trump continued the same pattern, selling weapons to allies for leverage while assassinating foreign officials and pushing crippling sanctions on Iran and Venezuela. Joe Biden has maintained sanctions on numerous nations, supported arms transfers, and expanded U.S. military engagement under the justification of “defense partnerships.” Through every era and every administration, the underlying structure remains the same: America disarms or destabilizes other nations when it serves economic, strategic, or geopolitical interests — and the reasons provided to the public often arrive wrapped in noble language while hiding the true motives beneath.
This is not an attack on any one president. It is an acknowledgment of a continuity of power, a system that transcends parties, campaign promises, and individual personalities. It is the architecture of American foreign policy — an architecture built on intervention, resource access, influence, and maintaining global leverage. When we understand this history, we see clearly that what is happening today is not new. It is simply the next chapter in an old playbook.
The big question—the one that sits in the center of every debate about foreign policy, national security, and global influence—is whether the United States can survive without the same interventionist playbook it has used for generations. The truth is uncomfortable: the playbook did not make America strong—it made America dependent on dominance. It created an illusion that our security comes from destabilizing others, that our economy depends on weakening nations with resources we desire, and that leadership requires intervention, not cooperation.
That model was built in a different era, on a different world, with different global realities. Today, maintaining that model requires endless spending, perpetual conflict, and the constant creation of enemies. It forces the American people to shoulder the moral and economic burden of decisions made far from public view. And it leaves us less safe, not more. Survival without the playbook requires acknowledging that true national security comes from stability, not chaos; from mutual prosperity, not extraction; from respecting sovereignty, not violating it.
It requires breaking generations of political conditioning and refusing to accept that the only path forward is the one worn into the ground by past administrations. And it requires us, the people, to demand a government that serves our values, not one that trades them away for influence abroad. Whether we survive without the old playbook depends on one thing: whether we have the courage to build a new one.