Allow me to begin to with this statement:
The United Nations’ so-called “experts” are wrong.
Their recent claim that U.S. strikes on drug-running vessels in the Caribbean amount to “extrajudicial executions” betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of both law and reality. America is not waging war on fishermen; it is defending its people from a foreign onslaught that has killed more citizens than any battlefield since Vietnam. When tens of thousands of Americans die every year from narcotics manufactured, financed, and trafficked by transnational cartels operating with the protection—or willful blindness—of rogue regimes, that is not a policing problem. It is an attack on the United States itself.
The UN’s accusation ignores a grim truth: these cartels are not mere criminals. They are militarized organizations with intelligence networks, armored convoys, naval operations, and arsenals rivaling small armies. Their reach extends from Chinese chemical suppliers to South American ports, through corrupt states like Venezuela that have become safe havens for a hemispheric drug war. Pretending this is a domestic law enforcement issue is a luxury paid for in American lives.
Article 51 of the UN Charter—the very law the UN pretends to defend—recognizes the inherent right of every nation to protect itself when attacked. The method of attack may have changed, but the principle has not. Fentanyl is the modern weapon of mass destruction: invisible, easily transported, and devastating in its effect. When the U.S. acts to destroy the vessels carrying it, it does so not in aggression but in defense of its sovereignty, its people, and the very concept of civilization against a transnational criminal insurgency.
The United Nations’ condemnation is not just legally flawed—it is morally bankrupt. A body that claims to champion human rights cannot simultaneously defend the “rights” of traffickers whose trade depends on the mass death of innocents. The right to life belongs to the victims, not to those who profit from their destruction.
Under Article 51 of the United Nations Charter, the United States has the inherent right to defend itself when faced with an armed attack. That provision, drafted in 1945, did not foresee modern forms of warfare—cyberattacks, bioweapons, or transnational criminal networks operating with state complicity. Yet the framers were clear: sovereignty does not require suicide. When an organized, sustained, and lethal campaign is launched against a nation’s people, that nation is entitled—indeed obligated—to respond with proportionate force. The U.S. response to the drug war is not a violation of the Charter; it is the fulfillment of its most essential principle: the preservation of peace and security through self-defense.
To understand this, one must recognize that cartels today function as de facto insurgent forces, not common criminals. They possess structured hierarchies, command-and-control networks, and armed contingents capable of engaging in sustained hostilities. The Sinaloa and Jalisco New Generation cartels field heavily armed units rivaling national militaries, deploy naval assets through semi-submersibles and “narco-boats,” and operate across sovereign borders with impunity. They do not merely smuggle drugs—they execute cross-border operations that result in mass American casualties. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) reported over 107,000 overdose deaths in a single year—more than all U.S. combat deaths in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Vietnam combined. This is not a social issue; it is chemical warfare.
Evil doesn’t always arrive with explosions—it often seeps in quietly, one body at a time. The weapon has changed, but the intent to destroy remains the same. ~ Tore Maras
International law has already evolved to address non-traditional threats. After the September 11 attacks, the UN Security Council unanimously recognized in Resolution 1368 (2001) that acts of terrorism can constitute an “armed attack,” justifying self-defense under Article 51. If the deliberate killing of 3,000 civilians on one day justifies military action abroad, then the slow, calculated killing of over 107,000 civilians every year by transnational networks—with state complicity—is no less an attack. The difference is in method, not morality.
Furthermore, the “unwilling or unable” doctrine, developed in U.S. and allied state practice, recognizes that when a state is unwilling or unable to prevent hostile actors from using its territory as a base of operations, another state may lawfully act in self-defense. Venezuela, under Nicolás Maduro, has provided safe harbor to traffickers and armed groups that launch operations toward U.S. shores. By harboring these actors, Caracas has forfeited its claim of exclusive sovereignty over the territory being used to facilitate an ongoing attack. International law does not protect a government’s right to inaction when that inaction enables the mass killing of another nation’s citizens.
Critics in Geneva claim that these strikes constitute “extrajudicial executions,” a term rooted in international human rights law, which governs police conduct and peacetime law enforcement. But this is not a police operation. The applicable legal framework is international humanitarian law (IHL)—the law of armed conflict—which allows lethal force against combatants or organized armed groups in ongoing hostilities. Even under IHRL standards, the use of lethal force is lawful if it is necessary to protect life and no lesser means suffice. Intercepting armed drug vessels on the high seas meets that standard: these are not civilians, they are combatants in a global trade that kills tens of thousands annually.
The UN’s failure to adapt its interpretations to modern hybrid warfare is not only dangerous—it is complicit. In an era where chemical precursors are shipped from China, processed in cartel-run labs, and deployed into the U.S. bloodstream, the refusal to acknowledge this as a coordinated assault on human life renders international institutions irrelevant. The law cannot remain frozen in 1945 while the battlefield evolves around it.
History, too, supports decisive action. The U.S. Navy’s actions against Barbary pirates in the early 19th century—criminals who attacked U.S. ships and enslaved citizens—were not seen as “extrajudicial executions” but as legitimate exercises of national defense. The principle is the same: when armed predators attack your people from lawless waters, a civilized nation responds with force. The United Nations was built on that very logic after the world watched aggression go unanswered until it was too late.
To accuse the United States of violating international law while it fights a modern plague that the international community has failed to confront is both hypocritical and perverse. True international law does not exist to handcuff the innocent; it exists to restrain the guilty. If the United Nations wishes to preserve its moral credibility, it should spend less time defending the rights of traffickers and more time addressing the global networks that poison entire generations. Until it does, the United States will continue to do what every sovereign nation must: defend its citizens from attack—by any means necessary, and fully within the law.
At its core, this dispute is not about law—it is about legitimacy. The United Nations has become paralyzed by its own bureaucracy, more concerned with process than protection. Its experts operate in a sterile environment where theory overrides reality. From Geneva conference rooms, they can afford to split hairs over definitions of “armed attack” and “self-defense,” because they do not have to bury the 107,000 Americans who die every year from imported poison. They call it “law enforcement.” But for the families who have lost sons, daughters, and parents, it is war—slow, silent, and merciless.
The UN no longer stands between nations—it kneels before them. It gives comfort to the very hands that traffic in chaos and calls that surrender diplomacy. – Tore Maras
The UN’s condemnation of U.S. counter-narcotics strikes reveals something deeper: a refusal to admit that the architecture of post–World War II international law no longer fits the shape of modern warfare. The UN was built to prevent tanks from crossing borders, not fentanyl from crossing oceans. Its experts cling to outdated categories—”combatant,” “civilian,” “armed conflict”—because acknowledging that non-state actors and chemical networks now function as weaponized systems would mean admitting that the world has outgrown their control. That, more than anything, is what they fear.
There are also political incentives at play. The Human Rights Council, which appointed these experts, includes regimes like China, Cuba, and Venezuela—states whose own hands are soaked in the blood of political prisoners, yet who use the Council as a shield against accountability. Condemning the United States serves a dual purpose: it distracts from their own abuses and weakens the international legitimacy of Western power. For China in particular, which exports the precursors that fuel the fentanyl crisis, every report that paints U.S. self-defense as “aggression” is a geopolitical victory disguised as moral outrage.
This is not the first time the UN has done this, the pattern is the same: the defenders are scolded, and the aggressors are rebranded as victims.
The truth is simple: international law is not static—it evolves with the threats it faces. When the law is used to protect those who destroy life rather than those who defend it, it ceases to serve justice. The United States, like any sovereign nation, has the right and the duty to defend its citizens. If the United Nations cannot recognize that a synthetic chemical designed to annihilate a population constitutes an act of aggression, then it is not defending peace—it is defending paralysis.
The strikes in the Caribbean are not “extrajudicial executions.” They are acts of measured defense in a war that the rest of the world refuses to fight. The cartels, emboldened by corruption and foreign supply chains, have weaponized chemistry and chaos. The United States has chosen to fight back. And that is not only lawful—it is moral.
If the United Nations wishes to be taken seriously in the twenty-first century, it must evolve beyond its Cold War vocabulary. It must recognize that sovereignty comes with responsibility, that harboring killers—whether they use rifles or laboratories—is a violation of the peace the Charter was meant to preserve. Until then, America will continue to act—not out of arrogance, but out of necessity. Because when the law fails to protect the living, it is not the defenders who stand in violation of justice—it is those who mistake inaction for virtue.
Perhaps it’s time the United States reconsidered what exactly it’s funding. When an institution built on the ashes of tyranny now echoes the talking points of regimes that practice it, the cost is no longer just financial—it’s moral. The Chinese Communist Party’s quiet domination of UN committees and councils has turned the organization into a stage for censorship disguised as consensus. This latest condemnation is not an act of global conscience; it’s a performance directed by those who profit from America’s restraint. If the UN cannot distinguish between defense and destruction, then maybe it no longer deserves the privilege of America’s support.
America should not fund its own condemnation—especially from an institution that long ago stopped defending the free world and started defending those who wish to conquer it.~ Tore Maras
On a side note-truth is that psychological operations are the most efficient weapons of mass destruction ever engineered—they don’t vaporize cities, they hollow out the human mind. They erase conviction, rewrite memory, and make people question the evidence of their own suffering. Confusion becomes the perfect battlefield, and belief the casualty. Governments understand this well. The longer populations wander through doubt and disorientation, the less they resist. So they preserve the chaos—nurture it, even—because a confused people are easier to govern than a conscious one. Until we name psychological warfare for what it is—a weapon designed to fracture reality itself—we will keep mistaking manipulation for governance and captivity for peace.
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