This is Part II of my series: INTERNATIONAL JUSTICE WITHOUT ILLUSIONS: A Realist’s View on the ICC’s Limitations.
Read Part I here.
Part II
Instead of lamenting that the United States might prosecute Nicolás Maduro before the International Criminal Court (ICC) ever does, a more honest—and more uncomfortable—question should be asked: why did an institution created to confront mass atrocities fail to act with urgency when it mattered most?
Much of the commentary on Maduro’s potential prosecution relies on the idea that international justice follows a single moral timeline, with the ICC as its natural pinnacle. From this view, some see national proceedings as nothing more than distractions at best, or hurdles at worst. This perspective is not only legally flawed; it is also institutionally evasive. It shifts focus away from the ICC’s own history of delays, selectivity, and strategic hesitation, and instead blames others for inaction.
Speed in international criminal justice is not just about logistics; it functions as a signal. It reflects priorities, risk tolerance, political context, and prosecutorial choices. The ICC’s procedures have never been designed for quick responses. Preliminary examinations often take years, and investigations can last even longer. Trials move at a glacial pace that hardly matches the urgency of the crimes they aim to address. These structural characteristics are well known and are often justified (excused) as the cost of ensuring due process in complex international cases.
But slowness becomes harder to justify when it turns into indefiniteness. In Venezuela’s case, allegations of crimes against humanity have been publicly documented for years. UN fact-finding missions, NGO reports, and open-source evidence have built a strong factual record. Still, the ICC’s involvement has stayed hesitant, procedural, and opaque. The lack of visible urgency—whether in public arrest warrants, clear investigative milestones, or prosecutorial signals—reflects less caution than a limited institutional ability to act decisively against entrenched power.
Delay is often framed as prudence. Sometimes it is. But extended inaction in response to ongoing allegations is not neutral; it shows choices—regarding resources, political risk, and which cases to prioritize. If crimes against humanity in Venezuela are as serious, systematic, and well-supported as often claimed, then the question isn’t why justice hasn’t been served, but why urgency hasn’t been shown. Eventually, the reason can’t just be budget limits or procedural hurdles.
Claims that the ICC lacks the resources to act quickly conflict with the rapid issuance of arrest warrants by the Office of the Prosecutor against Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and Minister Yoav Gallant. Whether those warrants are legally justified is not the main issue now. The core concern is structural: when expediency, political importance, or optics are involved, the ICC can act swiftly. Speed is achievable; it depends on specific conditions. This reliance on circumstances naturally raises questions about fairness and independence. If some cases lead to fast prosecutorial action while others remain unresolved for years, observers should question what factors—beyond law and evidence—are guiding this process.
If a sealed arrest warrant for Maduro exists, as some speculate, the most important question isn’t whether the United States might “block” its execution. The more troubling question is why such a warrant would have been held up at all. Justice delayed due to unavoidable constraints is one thing. Justice delayed because of prosecutorial hesitation or strategic calculation is another. The latter raises doubts about institutional confidence and coherence. It also deepens the perception that the ICC often favors symbolic actions over enforcement-driven results.
Against this backdrop, the claim that U.S. prosecution would somehow deprive Venezuelans of justice becomes conceptually reversed. The United States exercising its own jurisdiction—over drug trafficking, conspiracy, or other transnational crimes—is not “stealing the ICC’s thunder.” It is filling a vacuum. Sovereign enforcement is not an affront to international law; it is one of the mechanisms through which accountability truly materializes in a system still organized around states.
As I’ve noted in Part I, international law does not require a non-State Party to stand down indefinitely while the ICC deliberates. Nor does the Rome Statute grant a monopoly over accountability. To suggest otherwise is to confuse aspiration with authority. The Maduro situation reveals a deeper truth about international criminal justice: speed depends on power, politics, and prosecutorial appetite as much as legal readiness. This is not an argument against the ICC’s existence or importance. The ICC maintains normative significance and symbolic power, and, in some cases, it has promoted accountability where none would otherwise exist. But symbolism cannot replace capacity, and aspiration cannot substitute for enforcement. Until the ICC addresses its own patterns of delay, selectivity, and strategic caution, it will keep facing accusations that it is more reactive than decisive, more declarative than operational.
The more challenging question isn’t why states act, but why the ICC often doesn’t. Until that question is addressed clearly, the ICC risks seeming more bark than bite, more paper tiger than predator, and more idealistic than results-oriented. Justice without power is fragile. Justice without urgency is mere rhetoric. And justice that waits endlessly for perfect conditions might never occur at all. Debates over Maduro, the ICC, and U.S. enforcement reveal a deeper truth about international criminal justice—one often hidden by moral urgency and loyalty to institutions. This isn’t a story about one man, one arrest warrant, or one court. It’s about how justice operates in a system where law strives for universality but enforcement remains highly uneven.
Any claim that U.S. prosecution of Maduro would “block” justice at the ICC is based on a fundamental misunderstanding of international law and is pure poppycock. There is no hierarchy that places the ICC above national jurisdictions, especially over non-States Parties. Complementarity is not a doctrine of supremacy; it is a rule of admissibility tied to case identity. Different crimes allow for different proceedings. Parallel accountability is lawful. National jurisdiction over different conduct does not hinder international justice; it often supports it. The ICC was never meant to monopolize accountability. It was created to intervene when states cannot or will not act, not to displace lawful national prosecutions by default.
The harsh truth is that time is not just procedural; it is political. The ICC’s long preliminary investigations, extended investigations, and drawn-out trials are not random delays; they influence outcomes. In the Maduro case, years of inaction—despite extensive public reports and documentation—indicate institutional hesitation, not inevitability. Arguments of resource shortages sound hollow when compared to quick prosecutorial actions in other instances. Whether those actions were legally justified is not the main concern. When used selectively, speed signals what is prioritized. Justice delayed by institutional decisions draws scrutiny. It also opens the door for other forums to step in.
Finally, law and delay in their governing reality reveal that international criminal justice operates in a world shaped by power imbalance. The ICC has no police force, no standing army, and no independent enforcement body. It relies on states—especially powerful ones—to enforce its authority. This reliance inevitably influences prosecutorial risk assessment, case choices, and institutional caution. Great powers are not equally vulnerable to international adjudication, nor are smaller states equally protected. This imbalance is not a moral failing of the ICC; it is a structural feature of the international system. Expecting international law to directly police power is a misunderstanding of its purpose.
What the Maduro debate ultimately reveals is that, when these realities are viewed together, they dismantle the persistent illusion—better yet, excuse—that international justice fails primarily because powerful states interfere. More often, it falters because we demand from institutions what they were never structurally equipped to deliver. The ICC is not a substitute for enforcement power. It is a forum that operates when political conditions allow. National prosecutions, even when politically motivated or imperfect, are not betrayals of justice—they are often the only mechanisms capable of producing custody, process, and consequence. Justice does not vanish when it bypasses The Hague. It disappears when we mistake symbolism for capacity and aspiration for authority.
What I ultimately argue in this series is straightforward, even if it’s uncomfortable:
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- International criminal law does not stand above power—it functions within it.
- Delay is not always procedural; it is often strategic.
- National jurisdiction is not obstruction; it is frequently the driver of accountability.
- The ICC’s limitations are structural, not conspiratorial.
- Justice progresses unevenly because power is uneven.
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Transitioning from myth to maturity involves understanding that these truths do not weaken the foundation of international law, which it relies on. International criminal justice will advance only when it sheds its myths—about neutrality, symmetry, and inevitability—and faces its actual operational realities. While international justice may sometimes seem weakened because it is political, it becomes more vulnerable when political realities are ignored. The choice isn’t between idealism and cynicism; it’s between illusion and clarity. And clarity, no matter how uncomfortable, is the only solid foundation for establishing lasting accountability.
My modest analysis of the debate surrounding Nicolás Maduro, the ICC, and U.S. enforcement views these issues not as separate topics but as reflections of the fundamental limitations of international criminal justice. Typically, discussions are framed morally—suggesting that national prosecutions “block” international justice or that the ICC is the only legitimate path for accountability. However, this view oversimplifies matters, overlooking jurisdictional rules, misinterpreting the principle of complementarity, and underestimating the influence of power on enforcement outcomes.
My aim in this series was to offer a realistic perspective on what international criminal justice can accomplish within a world shaped by sovereignty and strategic interests. Justice isn’t impeded by state actions when they use their jurisdiction to prosecute suspects who might also fall under the ICC’s authority; it stumbles when we confuse symbolic achievements with real enforcement. The varying levels of accountability mirror the unequal distribution of power—this actually reinforces international law rather than weakens it. My stance isn’t against the ICC or international law. It’s neither polemical nor emotional. It’s a plea to focus on how the system truly works, not how we wish it would. Aspirations are important—only if they align with what is practically attainable. In other words, chasing ideals without realism is futile.
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