Recent US rhetoric toward Cuba and Colombia suggests that Venezuela was not an isolated case but the opening move in a broader revival of Monroe Doctrine thinking. As military action advances without congressional authorization and dissent at home is reframed as disloyalty, constitutional limits and democratic oversight are increasingly sidelined.
Apparently Venezuela was only the beginning.
When I wrote earlier about the Monroe Doctrine, I argued that what we were seeing was not an accident or a one off escalation, but the reactivation of an old worldview. A worldview in which Latin America is treated less as a collection of sovereign states and more as a strategic backyard, subject to intervention whenever Washington decides the moment is right.
Recent statements from senior US politicians suggest that this reading was not alarmist. If anything, it may have been conservative.
In a televised appearance and subsequent online circulation, a US senator addressed Cuban Americans in Florida with a striking promise. The “liberation” of their homeland, he said, is close. He did so seated alongside Donald Trump and Marco Rubio, under a banner announcing that Cuba and Colombia were being “put on notice.”
This was not diplomatic language. It was not even strategic ambiguity. It was a domestic political message that treated regime change in another country as an impending, almost inevitable event.
That framing matters.
The Monroe Doctrine has always rested on a simple assumption. The Western Hemisphere is a US sphere of influence. External powers are warned away, but internal sovereignty is conditional. Governments are tolerated so long as they align with US interests, and challenged when they do not. Over the decades, this logic has been dressed up in different ways. Anti communism. Counter narcotics. Counter terrorism. Democracy promotion.
The word changes. The structure does not.
What is striking now is how little effort is made to disguise it. Talking about the “liberation” of Cuba is not about supporting Cuban civil society or diplomatic pressure. It is the moral language historically used to justify coercion, sanctions, destabilization, and in many cases direct or indirect military force.
The same language was used about Venezuela. And before that, about Iraq. And before that, about countless other places where liberation arrived accompanied by instability, violence, and long term damage to civilian life.
Seen in this light, Venezuela does not look like an isolated case. It looks like a proof of concept.
What makes this trajectory even more troubling is that it is unfolding without meaningful congressional authorization. The United States is drifting toward open confrontation and possible war without a clear vote, mandate, or debate in Congress. This bypassing of legislative authority is not incidental. It is a feature. War powers are being treated as an executive prerogative, not a constitutional responsibility.
That matters politically as well as constitutionally. Institutional timing plays a role. If midterm elections take place as scheduled, a shift in congressional control is a realistic possibility. A Congress less aligned with the executive would be more likely to assert its constitutional authority, particularly over foreign interventions and the use of military force.
Actions taken now, without explicit congressional authorization, create momentum that is difficult to unwind later. Once military operations are underway, oversight becomes reactive rather than preventative. The debate shifts from whether action should be taken to how an existing operation should be managed. In that sense, moving ahead before potential political change reduces the practical impact of future oversight, even if formal checks remain in place.
That calculation casts a long shadow. It suggests urgency not driven by necessity abroad, but by uncertainty at home. The question becomes not only where this foreign policy is headed, but how insulated it is being made from democratic correction. Even the assumption that midterms will take place as normal can no longer be taken entirely for granted. That alone should give pause.
The pattern is becoming visible. First, a government is declared illegitimate. Then its actions are labeled illegal. Opposition is encouraged or recognized. Pressure escalates. Finally, intervention is reframed as necessity. All of this is presented not as aggression, but as responsibility.
At home, this external posture is mirrored by a tightening of internal discipline. Political dissent is increasingly framed as disloyalty. Legal limits are treated as obstacles. The same week that US leaders speak openly about “liberating” foreign countries, a sitting senator is sanctioned for reminding soldiers that they must refuse illegal orders.
That contrast is not incidental. It reveals a worldview in which law is flexible outward and rigid inward, where power is projected externally and enforced internally.
The audience for this rhetoric is also worth noting. These statements are not aimed at Havana or Bogotá. They are aimed at voters in Florida. Foreign policy becomes campaign material. Sovereignty becomes a talking point. War talk becomes applause lines.
This is how dangerous policies are normalized. Not through secret planning, but through repetition. Through images on cable news. Through phrases that sound reassuring to some audiences while erasing the consequences for others.
None of this guarantees what will happen next. Cuba and Colombia are not Venezuela, and history never repeats itself mechanically. But the direction of travel is clear enough to justify concern.
The Monroe Doctrine was never just a defensive policy. It was a claim to dominance. When that claim is revived without restraint, without diplomacy, and without respect for international law, it stops being history and becomes program.
Venezuela appears to have been the opening act. The signals now being sent toward Cuba and Colombia suggest that it will not be the last. This is a revival of an old doctrine paired with a new impatience for restraint, legal process, and democratic oversight.
When war talk accelerates while Congress is sidelined, when liberation is promised without debate, and when dissent at home is disciplined rather than engaged, the danger is no longer abstract. The Monroe Doctrine stops being a historical reference and becomes an operating manual.
The remaining question is not whether this direction is intentional. It is whether there will still be institutions able, and allowed, to stop it.
Who has the power to take the United States to war?
The US Constitution is explicit on this point. Under Article I, Section 8, the power to declare war lies with Congress, not with the president. The framers deliberately placed this authority in the legislative branch to prevent unilateral military adventures and to ensure public debate before committing the nation to armed conflict.
The president’s role, defined in Article II, is that of Commander in Chief of the armed forces once war has been authorized. That authority is operational, not discretionary. It does not include the power to initiate war on the president’s own judgment.
Over time, this balance has eroded. Presidents have increasingly relied on vague or outdated Authorizations for Use of Military Force, emergency claims, or expansive interpretations of executive power to justify military action without new congressional approval. The War Powers Resolution of 1973 was intended to curb this practice by requiring notification and limiting the duration of unauthorized military engagements. In practice, it has been repeatedly bypassed or ignored.
When military operations escalate without a clear congressional mandate, the issue is not merely procedural. It is constitutional. The absence of authorization removes democratic accountability from decisions that carry the highest possible stakes, including loss of life, regional destabilization, and long term geopolitical consequences.
In that context, reminders that soldiers must refuse illegal orders are not acts of disloyalty. They are among the last remaining safeguards in a system where formal checks are increasingly sidelined.