From Nuremberg to Caracas: Reason, power and Europe’s choice

Eighty years ago, in the ruins of post-war Europe, something radically new was attempted. At Nuremberg, the victors of the Second World War did not simply punish the defeated. They placed themselves — at least in principle — under the same legal standards they were imposing on others. Power submitted itself to law. As U.S. chief prosecutor Robert Jackson famously put it, this was “one of the most significant tributes that Power has ever paid to Reason.”

From Nuremberg to Caracas, the question is whether that tribute still holds.

The four core crimes — then and now
The Nuremberg Trials laid the foundations of modern international criminal law by defining what later became known as the four core crimes: crimes against peace, war crimes, crimes against humanity, and conspiracy to commit them. The revolutionary idea was not only that individuals — including political and military leaders — could be held personally accountable, but that aggressive war itself was a punishable crime.

This legacy lives on in today’s international legal architecture, from the Geneva Conventions to the International Criminal Court. Yet its authority rests on a fragile assumption: that no actor is above the law, and that legality — not raw power — governs international relations.

That assumption is increasingly under strain.

Reason over force — a fading ideal?
The moral core of Nuremberg was reason over force. Law was meant to civilise power, not eliminate it. Military strength was not rejected — but subordinated to legal restraint.

Benjamin Ferencz, one of the Nuremberg prosecutors and later a tireless advocate for international justice, dedicated his life to defending this balance. His message was simple: lasting peace cannot be built on selective legality. When states invoke legal principles against adversaries while quietly suspending them for themselves or their partners, the entire system erodes.

Recent developments suggest that warning was not heeded.

From the strength of law to the law of the strong
Today, the international order increasingly resembles the opposite of what Nuremberg envisioned. Instead of the strength of law, we see a return of the law of the strong — the idea that military capability and geopolitical interest override legal norms.

Europe itself is caught in this contradiction. On the one hand, it presents itself as a global champion of multilateralism and international law. On the other, it applies those principles unevenly.

In recent cases involving alleged violations of international humanitarian and criminal law — cases that are structurally comparable under the same legal framework — European reactions have differed markedly depending on political context and strategic alignment. Legal obligations are interpreted strictly in some instances, cautiously or selectively in others.

The message this sends is deeply corrosive: international law is universal in theory, but conditional in practice. A legal order built on double standards does not merely lose moral authority — it loses credibility as law.

Caracas as a mirror
This is where Caracas enters the picture.

Last week’s dramatic events in Venezuela, culminating in the use of military force to remove a sitting head of state, mark a profound escalation in the normalisation of power politics. Whatever one’s assessment of the regime in question, the method matters. Regime change by force, without a clear and broadly accepted legal mandate, revives precisely the logic Nuremberg sought to bury: that might makes right, if exercised by the “right” actors.

Caracas is not an isolated incident. It is a mirror reflecting a wider trend — the growing readiness to bypass legal frameworks in the name of urgency, morality, or strategic necessity. History teaches us that such shortcuts rarely strengthen justice. They weaken it.

Europe’s responsibility: Europe first — but how?
What is particularly painful today is the recognition that Europe often finds itself trapped in a deadlock: it condemns breaches of international law but struggles to influence outcomes, while open confrontation risks political costs. Selective silence undermines credibility, and protest can seem naïve — a challenge painfully evident in the context of Russia’s war in Ukraine.

Breaking this deadlock requires acknowledging a hard truth: respect in international affairs depends on strength. For Europe’s voice to matter, it must grow stronger economically, politically, and militarily.

“Europe first” should mean consolidation — prioritising the economy and single market, defending trade interests, deepening pragmatic partnerships, and building a credible European Defence Union.

This includes developing greater military integration, enhancing cybersecurity, strengthening cooperation with NATO, and protecting critical infrastructure, all spurred by the geopolitical challenges posed by Putin and global instability.

Paradoxically, the only way out may be for Europe to loosen some of its own principles — to act with greater pragmatism, realpolitik, and self-interest. By pursuing strategic autonomy, Europe can reduce dependency on external powers like China or the US in critical sectors such as digital technology, energy, and green innovation, while maintaining openness to trade and collaboration.

By becoming a stronger and more credible actor economically, politically, and militarily, the EU would gain the weight necessary to defend the rules-based international order it champions.

In other words, only by being more strategically self-interested can Europe effectively uphold its values and ensure that a liberal, rules-based world remains viable.

The Nuremberg test — 80 years on
Eighty years after Nuremberg, the test is no longer whether international law exists. It does. The test is whether it binds the powerful as much as the weak, partners as much as adversaries, “our side” as much as “theirs”.

From Europe’s eastern borders to the Middle East, from international courts to Caracas, the same question returns: do we still believe that reason should prevail over force — or only when it is convenient?

If Europe abandons that belief, it does not merely betray a historical legacy. It undermines its own strategic identity. In a world drifting back toward spheres of influence and raw assertion, Europe’s strength lies not only in arms, but in the credibility of law.

Nuremberg was never about the past. It was a warning for the future. Whether we heed it — or repeat the errors it sought to prevent — is now a matter of choice.