The first two months of 2026 have added another sobering element to the contemporary international system: American foreign policy, not international law, continues to be the force-making behaviour that determines the course of global events.

The institutions and treaties aimed at regulating the behaviour of states, such as the United Nations Charter, the Genocide Convention, and the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court, still exist.

Yet in cases where their application runs up against dominant strategic interests, including those of the United States and its closest allies, mechanisms for enforcement bog down. What is left is not a rule-based order, but a hierarchy of power cloaked in legal language at will.

Nowhere is this tension more visible than in Gaza. Israel's military effort, which began in October 2023, is entering its third year. Casualty figures are hotly disputed, but even the more conservative estimates suggest an appalling human toll.

United Nations agencies and major humanitarian organisations have documented serious restrictions on water, electricity, fuel, and humanitarian aid, alongside the widespread destruction of civilian infrastructure, including hospitals and schools.

Legal academics and human rights lawyers have been discussing for years whether these conditions rise to the level of crimes against humanity or genocide under the 1948 Genocide Convention.

The International Court of Justice has issued provisional measures requiring Israel to prevent genocidal acts and allow humanitarian assistance. But again, provisional measures rely on voluntary compliance, as the Court has no enforcement arm. Meanwhile, repeated resolutions calling for a ceasefire in the United Nations Security Council have been paralysed, in part due to the United States veto.

Billions of dollars of American military aid continue to flow into Israel each year, along with diplomatic shielding. The legal architecture is in place. What is missing is operational consequence.

The structural problem is not only, or even primarily, non-compliance: it is enforcement asymmetry. The United Nations Charter outlaws the use of force except in self-defence or with the permission of the Security Council. Yet the permanent members of the Council, by virtue of their veto power, can block collective action against themselves or their allies. The result is a system where legal standards are often invoked but applied sparingly.

The events in Venezuela highlight this imbalance. On 3 January 2026, American forces announced that, in a Central Intelligence Agency operation, they had carried out an effort to capture the Venezuelan President, Nicolás Maduro, who had been under United States indictment since 2020 on charges of narcotics trafficking and weapons offences.

The operation reportedly involved Special Forces and intelligence coordination, resulting in casualties within Venezuelan territory and Maduro’s transfer to the United States for prosecution.

From a strictly legal point of view, such an action sits uneasily with Article 2(4) of the United Nations Charter, which prohibits the use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence of any state. No Security Council authorisation was sought or received.

Washington described the operation as law enforcement against a criminal suspect. But acting in that manner, through cross-border military action, makes it difficult to draw a line between criminal justice and regime intervention. The message, knowingly or not, is clear: when strategic priorities are aligned, norms of sovereignty are negotiable.

International law works best when it aligns with the dominant power. When it does not, it risks becoming declaratory rather than determinative

International law works best when it aligns with the dominant power. When it does not, it risks becoming declaratory rather than determinative

Within days of the operation, the political landscape in Venezuela changed. Sanctions were relaxed, economic reforms were accelerated, and new alignments emerged. These developments were intertwined with long-standing United States goals in Latin America regarding energy access and regional influence. Again, the pattern emerges: power first, legal rationalisation afterwards.

The selective use of international justice mechanisms further undermines the credibility of the global governance system. The International Criminal Court has undertaken investigations in Ukraine and parts of Africa. Yet cases involving the United States or its close allies routinely face jurisdictional opposition and political impediments.

Washington is not a party to the Rome Statute and, in past years, has imposed sanctions on International Criminal Court officials who investigated alleged United States conduct in Afghanistan. Whether justified or not, the perception remains that accountability mechanisms function most effectively against states without powerful patrons.

This perception has strategic consequences. International law derives authority not only from codified rules but from consistent application. When legitimacy appears to depend on geopolitical alignment, it erodes. States are increasingly hedging and diversifying their alliances, preparing for a world in which power calculations outweigh treaty obligations.

Parallel ideological currents in allied countries reinforce this dynamic. In India, policies associated with Hindutva, from citizenship laws criticised as discriminatory to the removal of the special status of the region of Jammu and Kashmir, have drawn scrutiny from human rights observers. In Israel, the expansion of settlements has been declared by several international organisations to be incompatible with international law, particularly in the West Bank.

Yet both countries maintain strong strategic partnerships with Washington, including defence cooperation and technology transfers. Diplomatic engagement has not diminished significantly. The message is evident: alignment with the United States strategic interests reduces the risk of meaningful legal consequences.

The most dramatic example of this trend occurred at the end of February. On 28 February, joint United States–Israeli airstrikes targeted several sites in Iran, including leadership compounds in Tehran, killing the Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, along with members of his family and close confidants the following day.

Washington and Tel Aviv justified the operation as necessary to degrade Iran's nuclear and missile capabilities. Critics across the international legal community described it as a breach of the prohibition on the use of force. No imminent armed attack was formally presented to the Security Council. No authorisation was sought or granted.

Iran retaliated with missile strikes against United States assets in the region, and global markets convulsed. Yet beyond diplomatic appeals for restraint, no multilateral enforcement action followed. The United States’ ability to project power, coupled with its permanent seat on the Security Council, was sufficient to insulate the operation from collective sanction.

Taken together, these episodes reveal a structural truth. The international legal order was created in 1945 to limit the use of unilateral force and to institutionalise power. But the same design granted exceptional authority to the five permanent members of the Security Council. When one of those members chooses to act outside consensus, the system has limited recourse.

This does not mean that international law is meaningless. It shapes diplomacy, frames legitimacy debates, and influences the behaviour of smaller states. But it is not autonomous. Its enforcement remains conditional upon great-power alignment. When that alignment fractures, law becomes power against power.

The implications of this reality are profound for middle and smaller states. Security guarantees based on multilateralism appear fragile when major powers circumvent institutions. Legal arguments, no matter how persuasive, are no substitute for strategic leverage. The first months of 2026 demonstrate that when geopolitical stakes are high, American foreign policy priorities prevail over procedural constraints.

If the aspiration is a genuinely rule-based order, reform remains essential: meaningful limitations on the veto, enhanced enforcement mechanisms, and broader representation in global decision-making bodies. Yet such reforms would require voluntary restraint by those most advantaged by the current structure, a prospect for which history offers little encouragement.

The lesson, therefore, is not merely descriptive; it is instructive. States and institutions operating within the contemporary system must understand its underlying logic. International law works best when it aligns with the dominant power. When it does not, it risks becoming declaratory rather than determinative.

The architecture of global governance remains intact. But its practical authority is inextricably linked to the underlying distribution of power. As has been abundantly clear so far in 2026, the decisive variable in world politics is not the text of treaties, but the distribution of power and the willingness of the strongest state to act.

© The Friday Times