Erstmals seit 1972 verlassen Astronauten wieder den erdnahen Weltraum. Auf der letzten Etappe ihres Flugs könnte es gefährlich werden.

Über das Fruchtwasser gelangen Aromastoffe zum Ungeborenen. Wie sehr das den späteren Geschmack prägt, ist umstritten.

Allergiker aufgepasst: Sobald die Sonne scheint und die Temperaturen über fünf Grad steigen, beginnt in der Schweiz wieder der Pollenflug. Hier gibt es Antworten auf die wichtigsten Fragen rund um Heuschnupfen, aktuelle Pollenarten und Tipps für den Alltag.

Eine 100-jährige Leistungsschwimmerin, ein 107-Jähriger, der im Supermarkt arbeitet: Wissenschafter versuchen anhand solcher Menschen das Geheimnis eines langen Lebens zu verstehen.

Am Unispital Zürich haben sich zwei Brandverletzte aus Crans-Montana mit einem gefährlichen Bakterium infiziert, einer von ihnen ist gestorben. Experten befürchten weitere Fälle.

As the New York Times reported, President Trump and NATO have reached the framework of a deal that would grant the US sovereign bases over territories of Greenland. One of the officials present at the negotiations compared the proposed bases to the British Sovereign Base Areas (SBAs) in Cyprus, a comparison that has also been analysed by Marc Weller in a recent blog post. We argue that establishing such bases constitutes a violation of international law and cannot validly be agreed to by Denmark or NATO. This conclusion draws support from two distinct lines of argument: one relating to the (il)legality of establishing sovereign bases; and the other to indigenous rights.

Who May Consent to Sovereign Bases?

The first line of argument draws on the ICJ’s Chagos Archipelago Advisory Opinion. In this, the Court explained that the detachment of part of a non-self-governing territory must be based on the free and genuine will of the people of the concerned territory. If one is concerned about respecting “the free and genuine will of the people”, identifying said people is crucial. Denmark’s title to Greenland is uncontested in modern practice and has been expressly recognised by the United States in the 1951 Defense of Greenland Agreement and its 2004 update. While Denmark’s claim to Greenland has been described as “unimpeachable,” Greenlanders are constitutionally recognised as a “people” with a right to self‑determination, including a lawful pathway to independence by referendum and subsequent negotiation. If anyone were to consent to the creation of US sovereign bases, therefore, it would have to be them. It is not for Denmark to reach such an agreement, and it is certainly not for the NATO Secretary General.

Denmark’s sovereignty over Greenland was abruptly questioned when President Trump declared that the US had to own the island and did not rule out using force to achieve this. In light of such threats, it is clear that if a transfer of sovereignty were to take place, it would not be the result of “the free and genuine will of the people”. Also supporting this argument is the fact that a threat of the use of force by the US violates Article 2(4) of the UN Charter, which is a ius cogens norm. Thus, any transfer of sovereignty of part of Greenland’s territory to the US, as a result of such a threat, would be null and void.

Modelling the proposed US bases on the SBAs in Cyprus does not enhance their credibility. The SBAs are a remnant of Cyprus’ colonial history, but even when seen through this light, they are arguably illegal. The Treaty of Establishment 1960 that created the SBAs allowed the UK to retain its sovereignty over the two large bases, while at the same time, granted independence to the rest of the island. Yet, the UK’s sovereignty is not unlimited: Appendix O of the Treaty (which Cyprus considers to be legally binding, but the UK does not) declares the UK’s intention “[n]ot to set up or permit the establishment of civilian commercial or industrial enterprises”; prohibits the creation of “custom posts or other frontier barriers” between the SBAs and the rest of the island; and mandates that UK law in the SBAs will “mirror” that of the Republic of Cyprus. As one of us has already argued (here and here), even with such restrictions on the UK’s sovereignty, the SBAs remain of doubtful international legality, precisely because they were established in contravention of the principles set out in Chagos.

The establishment of SBAs might have been considered acceptable in the era of decolonisation, but not anymore. Contemporary practice to establish military bases overwhelmingly no longer grants this type of enclave sovereignty within the host state, but only grants defined functional (exclusively military) rights to the sending state. Problematically, what President Trump envisions in Greenland are not just SBAs, but “SBAs plus”, which would allow the US to not merely use the bases for military purposes, but also develop them commercially. Thus, any future Greenland “framework” built on sovereignty transfers would in our view not just “trade short‑term optics for long‑term legal uncertainty”. Instead, it would constitute an overt violation of international law.

Indigenous Rights, Environmental Due Diligence, and Climate Obligations

The second line of argument for why US sovereign bases in Greenland would be illegal relates to the protection of indigenous rights. Where indigenous lands, territories or resources are affected, the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous People, as customary international law, requires processes oriented toward Free, Prior and Informed Consent for large‑scale, high‑impact measures. Such consent must be supported by prior environmental and social impact assessments and equitable benefit‑sharing. A sovereignty carve‑out for enclaves would plainly qualify; without demonstrably robust consent from Greenlandic/Inuit institutions, it would conflict with today’s Indigenous‑rights baseline. The International Law Association’s 2020 Guidelines likewise affirm duties of rational, sustainable and safe resource management with particular regard for indigenous rights, and embed transparency, public participation, access to information and justice, and benefit‑sharing.

The ICJ’s 2025 Climate Advisory Opinion closes remaining gaps by integrating fields that once were siloed. The Court confirmed that environmental treaties, the customary no‑harm rule and duty to cooperate, and international human rights obligations operate cumulatively. It articulated a stringent due‑diligence standard, required impact assessments for activities posing significant environmental risks, recognised the right to a clean, healthy and sustainable environment, and characterised key obligations as erga omnes (for an accessible synthesis of the Advisory Opinion, see here). Applied to Greenland, a sovereignty enclave that removes areas from Danish/Greenlandic jurisdiction would impede the host’s ability to carry out due‑diligence controls, run cumulative EIA/ESIA processes with public participation, and secure the clarified human‑rights baseline – problems that do not arise when access is organised under host‑state sovereignty through normal international treaties for stationing of foreign militaries and their bases. This is exacerbated by US law, which does not treat sovereign bases such as Guantanamo as US territory, i.e. neither US domestic nor international law would fully apply.

Rather than starting a resource “race to the Arctic”, States should embrace the spirit of the Arctic Council.¹⁾ While most Arctic Council outputs are non-binding recommendations, Member States could potentially conclude a new binding instrument associated with the Council focused on de-militarization. Such an agreement could limit military use of the Arctic Ocean in the spirit of the BBNJ agreement, similar to how the Antarctic Treaty operates. Indigenous representatives on the Arctic Council participate fully in its drafting.²⁾ It feels deeply disturbing that one of the countries that has withdrawn from the constitution of climate change in the form of the Paris Agreement would use the warming of the Arctic Ocean as an excuse to lay sovereignty claims on Greenland.

In twenty-first-century international law, carving out a sovereign enclave, “forever” as President Trump called it, constitutes multiple breaches of international law. Any move towards US sovereign enclaves in Greenland would contravene the UN Charter and ius cogens norms, the right of self-determination, and the rights of indigenous peoples; it would undermine Denmark’s and Greenland’s ability to discharge binding environmental and human‑rights duties, and it would depart from prevailing practice for military bases. It should be ruled out.

The post Why US Sovereign Bases in Greenland Would Violate International Law appeared first on Verfassungsblog.

Within the recurring use of the two-step test in EU criminal judicial cooperation (and possibly soon in its civil counterpart), Advocate General (“AG”) Richard de la Tour’s Opinion, delivered on 22 January 2026, suggests a new role for the test: ensuring that the execution of a European Arrest Warrant (“EAW”) safeguards the proportionality principle under Article 49(3) of the EU Charter of Fundamental Rights (“CFR”). While this development strengthens exceptions to mutual trust, it also exposes the test’s limits in addressing proportionality breaches, revealing an uneven protection of fundamental rights.

Facts of the case and Opinion of the Advocate General

In 2024, a Romanian court (“issuing court”) issued an EAW against the defendant convicted of importing small quantities of cannabis and MDMA. For this offence, Romanian law prescribes a minimum sentence of seven years’ imprisonment, which the EAW sought to enforce. Although the drugs were for personal use and no trafficking intent was found, the sentence was not reduced since it already corresponded to the statutory minimum. The defendant opposed his surrender, arguing that the sentence was disproportionate under Article 49(3) CFR. The Dutch court (“executing court”) receiving the EAW stayed the proceedings and asked the European Court of Justice (“ECJ” or “Court”) whether Article 1(3) of the Framework Decision on the EAW (“FDEAW”) required it to assess if surrender would expose the defendant to a disproportionate sentence under Article 49(3) CFR, what test applies, and whether mandatory minimums or assurances from Romania could remove the risk.

The AG analysed these questions together. He held that an EAW cannot be refused solely because of sentence disproportionality, since the FDEAW provides no such refusal ground (para. 33), and ECJ case law places primary responsibility for proportionality on the issuing court (paras. 34-37). Allowing executing courts to review proportionality would risk turning them into appellate bodies or paralysing the EAW system (paras. 42-47). However, surrender may be exceptionally refused where there is a serious risk of a manifestly disproportionate sentence (para. 48). To determine this, the AG proposed resorting to the two-step test (para. 56), a judicially administered framework developed by the Court in 2016 to protect individuals against inhuman and degrading treatment under Article 4 CFR, and which has since been applied to other fundamental rights.

In the case of proportionality under Article 49(3) CFR, the executing court must first assess whether the issuing Member State’s legal system systematically prevents courts from individualising sentences based on the offence and personal circumstances – a concern largely excluded where judicial individualisation rules and appeal mechanisms exist (paras. 71-73). Second, if deficiencies are found, the executing court must assess whether they create a real risk of a fundamental rights breach (para. 59). A breach arises only where the sentence clearly exceeds what is necessary to punish the offence (para. 75). Disproportionality cannot be inferred from differences between national sentencing levels alone, as Article 49(3) CFR establishes an autonomous EU law standard (para. 76), nor does it require conditions severe enough to breach Article 4 CFR (para. 78).

Applying the test, the AG found no systemic deficiency, as the issuing court could individualise sentences (paras. 79-83). Since the court was legally able (but chose not) to reduce the sentence below its statutory minimum imposed by Romanian law, any alleged disproportionality concerned the court’s discretionary judgment and could be challenged by domestic appeal (para. 84).

An eternal struggle

This Opinion showcases the enduring tension between the goal of swift judicial cooperation, and the requirement to comply with fundamental rights. The two-step test has now become the standard mechanism for assessing whether execution of an EAW (but also other instruments, see here and here) should be refused due to a serious risk of a fundamental rights’ breach. Its origins relate to the limited refusal grounds listed in the FDEAW which, in turn, reflect the instrument’s core purpose: ensuring fast extradition procedures based on mutual trust between Member States’ legal systems (recital 5). However, mutual trust cannot override fundamental rights obligations – an issue the EAW is silent on when it comes to non-execution.

To address this gap, with its landmark Aranyosi e Căldăraru judgment, the ECJ interpreted the obligation to respect fundamental rights under Article 1(3) FDEAW as a refusal ground. This obligation has been enforced through a two-step test where the executing court must identify systemic or generalised deficiencies in the issuing Member State’s protection of a particular right and, if found, assess whether they expose the individual to a real risk of a breach. Initially applied to detention conditions under Article 4 CFR, the test has since encompassed other rights, including the right to a fair trial under Article 47 CFR (see here), and the right to private and family life and the rights of the child under Articles 7 and 24 CFR (see here). According to the AG, the same reasoning applies to proportionality under Article 49(3) CFR.

The test’s angles morts

Despite the benefit of extending the test’s application to another fundamental right, its current formulation may still fail to capture evident violations of proportionality. The AG held that, for the first step to be satisfied, the issuing court must not retain the possibility to individualise the sentence. Otherwise, that discretion alone, even if limited, excludes finding systemic deficiencies (para. 74). It does not matter that, in practice, this individualisation cannot take place because the sentence was already reduced to its minimum (just seven years of detention: the defendant should consider himself lucky, because the minimum penalty has now been increased to ten years). Of course, the AG notes that the FDEAW cannot harmonise national criminal laws (para. 47), therefore proportionality and mutual trust must be balanced cautiously. Nonetheless, as currently defined, the first step fails to address evident breaches of Article 49(3) CFR. For instance, if the minimum sentence for a minor offence were increased to twenty, thirty or forty years, the inability to depart below that would still not appear as systemic deficiency under this approach. The AG acknowledges that executing courts may consider whether a foreign sentence “clearly exceeds what is necessary to punish an offence” (para. 75). However, this only forms part of the second step, which cannot be reached unless the first is satisfied.

Two safeguards emerge from the Opinion against disproportionate sentencing: EU-level harmonisation of substantive criminal law, and the availability of appellate review in the issuing Member State. Yet, neither convincingly remedies the problem. Minimal harmonisation typically allows Member States to adopt stricter national standards, and anyway EU law does not harmonise penalties for personal drug use. Similarly, while the AG treats the existence of an appellate mechanism as a fortiori evidence that sentences can be individualised, this assumption ignores that courts might refuse to deviate from legislative rules, as in this case. In a judicial system where, as the executing court itself observes, questions on the EAW execution could have also been framed from the perspective of the issuing court’s independence vis-à-vis the legislature (see the preliminary ruling request itself on point 2.2.7), the mere availability of appeals does not appear as a persuasive guarantee of sentence individualisation.

From a fundamental rights perspective, this outcome raises concerns. Although sentencing certainly remains a national matter in the absence of EU law harmonisation, once it acquires an EU dimension through judicial cooperation instruments, it should comply with EU law protections. However, the current framework could enable Member States to impose penalties that potentially breach Article 49(3) CFR without activating the protection granted by the two-step test.

One test, many applications

Scholars have long questioned the practicality of the two-step test (see here), warning that it may even encourage Member States to weaken their fundamental rights protections (see here). Although the Court frequently resorts to the test as a safety valve against all fundamental rights breaches, this Opinion highlights a newly emerging symptom affecting its functioning.

The application of the two-step test under Article 4 CFR requires an executing court to determine the existence of (i) systemic or generalised deficiencies in detention conditions in the issuing Member State that could expose detainees to inhuman or degrading treatment and, if so (ii) a real risk of such treatment for the individual. While the issuing court is under an obligation to provide this evidence, and it might even be incentivised to do so to avoid responsibility for additional detainees, it is complex for an executing court to perform this analysis. In the E.D.L. judgment, the ECJ dispensed with the first step and moved directly to the individual assessment given the person’s particular health needs. For an absolute right such as Article 4 CFR, the Court has thus recognised exceptions to the otherwise mandatory first step, a necessity also acknowledged by the AG (paras. 61-64). Under Article 47 CFR, the two-step test requires the executing court to determine the existence of (i) systemic or generalised deficiencies affecting the independence of the judiciary in the issuing Member State and, if so (ii) a real risk of a fair-trial breach for the individual. While demanding, the test enables executing courts to consider the entirety of the operation of the issuing Member State’s justice system. Its rigour perhaps reflects the close link between Article 47 CFR and the value of the rule of law under Article 2 TEU, which is increasingly protected by the ECJ.

For Articles 7 and 24 CFR, the two-step test becomes more restrictive. The executing court must determine the existence of (i) systemic or generalised deficiencies in the issuing Member State affecting an identifiable group (such as detained mothers or children with disabilities) that may breach Articles 7 or 24 CFR and, if so (ii) a real risk of such a breach for the individual concerned or their children. This narrows the test’s scope and sits uneasily with situations involving highly individualised vulnerabilities, such as specific health conditions or caregiving needs. Therefore, for rights that are neither absolute nor tied to Article 2 TEU values, no relaxation of the test applies – if anything, it suffers from more constraints. Finally, for Article 49(3) CFR the two-step test appears least effective in protecting fundamental rights as, apart from the regular difficulties, its analysis even excludes key factors (such as the sentence’s minimum duration). Beyond not qualifying as an absolute right, Article 49(3) CFR touches on criminal policy, a domain in which the EU holds only shared competence and where interference is seen as highly intrusive, likely explaining the caution exercised by the AG.

Altogether, this results in divergent applications of the two-step test depending on the right invoked, increasingly narrowing the executing court’s discretion in its assessment. While distinctions between absolute and non-absolute rights may be justified, the more thorough application of the two-step test under Article 47 CFR compared to Articles 7, 24, and 49(3) CFR – all non-absolute rights – suggests the existence of an implicit hierarchy. Moreover, as already pointed out here, the test’s application could interfere with the obligations stemming from the European Convention of Human Rights, which do not admit subjecting an individualised assessment to a more generalised one (see here). The narrow application of the two-step test under Article 49(3) CFR is also somewhat paradoxical, given the executing court’s doubts on whether to approach fundamental rights protection from the perspective of sentence proportionality or judicial independence. Had the court formulated its referral differently, the Opinion might have provided different content to the test (perhaps offering a more robust scrutiny of proportionality), despite the same facts.

Conclusion

The AG’s Opinion highlights two core issues. First, the current formulation of the two-step test may prove insufficient to capture even clear breaches of proportionality under Article 49(3) CFR. Second, the test’s protective strength seems to vary depending on the fundamental right at stake, which might decrease legal certainty and risk arbitrary prioritisations. With the matter now before the ECJ, the Court will have an opportunity to uphold or redefine the balance between national sentencing discretion and the protection of Article 49(3) CFR – ideally reaffirming that the implementation of EU law must adhere to EU-mandated standards of fundamental rights protection.

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“I don’t need international law.” This statement by US President Donald Trump is likely to go down in history, although it remains to be seen whether it will one day serve as evidence of the demise of the international legal order or as testimony to the unprecedented hubris of an authoritarian ruler. In his interview with the New York Times, Trump did not go so far as to deny the binding effect of international law. However, he declared himself the arbiter of when legal boundaries would apply to the US. Only his morals and his mind could stop him.

These statements, made immediately after the United States’ armed intervention in Venezuela, raise questions that go far beyond the classification of the specific operation under international law. The significance of the Venezuela case does not stem from the fact that international law has once again been violated, but from the circumstances surrounding the breach of law: a National Security Strategy published at the end of 2025, which reads like a neo-imperial document; the ongoing deliberations and threats to incorporate territories such as Greenland, and the striking and blunt openness about the economic motives for intervening in Venezuela, without even a pretext of an attempt to justify US actions within the established categories of international law.

The Illegality of the Use of Force

The international law applicable in the case of Venezuela is quickly explained: the US attack, dubbed “Operation Absolute Resolve”, not only disregarded Venezuela’s territorial sovereignty as guaranteed under international law. Above all, the military operation violated one of the cornerstones of the current international legal order, the prohibition of the use of force. Neither did the UN Security Council authorize military action, nor had Venezuela launched an armed attack that would have entitled the US to exercise its right to self-defence. In particular, forms of alleged narco-terrorism, which the US administration pointed to in the context of the various boat strikes, do not come close to triggering the right of self-defence under Article 51 of the UN Charter and customary international law.

It is true that Nicolás Maduro is not a democratically legitimised ruler. However, this fact does not justify the breach of the prohibition of the use of force. It was already highly questionable to deny Maduro’s status under international law as the head of state of Venezuela at the time of the attack, as the US did. This is because Maduro’s position of power remained effective until the US took forcible action. Nor had the international community, for example in the United Nations, agreed to collectively deny Maduro’s status as head of state.

But even if one disagrees with these assessments, this would not alter the illegality of the use of force. In the case of military intervention by invitation, the US would have had to obtain the consent of a person authorised to represent Venezuela before the military operation. There is no evidence of such a request. Whether Maduro was the head of state of Venezuela on 3 January is therefore only relevant to the question of whether the US additionally committed a violation of immunity and whether such a violation has continuing effects in the ongoing criminal proceedings in New York.

Finally, the accusation of systematic human rights violations frequently levelled against Maduro is also irrelevant with respect to the legality of the operation under the framework of the jus ad bellum. According to the prevailing view in international law, this is already the case because the use of military force to end human rights violations requires authorisation by the Security Council. However, even if a so-called humanitarian intervention were considered permissible in an extreme case without such authorisation, this would not justify the use of force in question. According to all available information, the human rights violations in Venezuela did not reach near-genocidal proportions. Moreover, the US attack was declared to have objectives other than ending possible human rights violations – namely, the execution of arrest warrants for drug trafficking, the acquisition of control over Venezuelan oil, and ultimately the consolidation of US hegemony over the continent.

From Unlawfulness to Lawlessness

Any violation of the prohibition of the use of force under international law is serious in and of itself, and this is all the more so if committed by a permanent member of the Security Council. The significance of this particular breach of law, however, has wider ramifications. “Operation Absolute Resolve” testifies to the determination of the US government to descend into lawlessness. Only superficially does this intervention appear to be a mere repetition of the kind of intervention that the US undertook in Panama in 1989/1990. At that time, too, the US intervened militarily in a Latin American state and flew its ruler, General Manuel Noriega, out of the country to prosecute him in the US on charges of drug trafficking. Then, as now, the situation under international law was relatively clear. Yet the US did put forward legal arguments that were at least debatable. Panamanian security forces had attacked US soldiers in Panama, and General Noriega had declared war on the US in the run-up to the intervention. The first Bush administration sought to present its actions as compliant with international law and to put forward the most plausible argument possible under the circumstances. Even in the case of the 2003 Iraq War, whose illegality had triggered considerable criticism worldwide in academic and public debate, the US presented a justification that was not entirely untenable under international law.

By contrast, there was no sign of any effort to argue in line with established criteria of international law when Trump, Hegseth and Rubio appeared before the press the morning after the conclusion of “Operation Absolute Resolve”. None of the three mentioned the words “international law”. Instead, the undisguised message was that it was all about oil. It is difficult to recall a moment since the UN Charter came into force when the government of a member state has so blatantly failed to justify its violation of the prohibition of the use of force as the United States did on 3 January this year.

Anyone who had hoped that the US would show a different face when the UN Security Council convened for an emergency meeting two days later was disappointed after the US representative took the floor. While he refrained from explicitly describing ‘Operation Absolute Resolve’ as an armed operation to seize Venezuelan oil, his description of the military attack as a “surgical operation to execute two US arrest warrants” offered no cause for relief. This was not primarily because of the echoes of Putin’s cynical cloaking of Russia’s war of aggression as a “special military operation”. Above all, the fact that the US military operation was based solely on a claim of enforcing US criminal justice confirmed the disregard for international law. US law was elevated to the sole decisive standard worldwide.

A New Vision of Order

The case of Venezuela fits into larger trends that distinguish it significantly from previous US military interventions and highlight the profound upheavals we are facing: This intervention is not about interest-driven realpolitik that overstretches and abuses legal arguments; it is not a matter of shaping the law in the interests of the hegemon. Rather, one might be tempted, along with Henry Kissinger, to see Trump as a “historical figure” who is putting the final nail in the coffin of an era that has come to an end, without offering an alternative model of order to replace it. In fact, the international (legal) order has been subject to profound criticism for some time now due to systemic legitimacy deficits perceived by a variety of actors. These concerns range from international law’s historical involvement in projects of colonialism and imperialism to current debates about double standards in the enforcement of international law. In addition, the limited capacity for reform of the international system contributes to the impression held by some that international law is basically operating on the basis of outdated criteria that lack representativeness, particularly with regard to institutions such as the UN Security Council. In this light, Trump’s foreign policy, as Daniel Marwecki recently pointed out, could act as a catalyst, breaking down traditional certainties and entrenched path dependencies in an unorthodox way and clearing the way for something new.

However, while Kissinger’s thesis of a shift towards the uncertain could claim a certain plausibility under the first Trump administration, the measures taken by the second Trump administration do indeed point to a new vision of order. This vision is characterised by a departure from the principles of political rule as they have developed since early modernity and gives rise to fears of a dissolution of any power limits for a few states or even individuals. The emerging understanding of political rule at the international level combines feudalistic practices and mafia-like methods with ideas of private corporate governance, which unfold against the backdrop of a libertarian understanding of an economy that is based on barely concealed cliques. In this context, the spectres of imperialism and colonialism reappear. As a result, the idea of statehood as legally founded and limited, and as committed to the common good, is ultimately renounced; ideas that are reflected at the level of international law: the legitimisation of the exercise of power in the pursuit of common public interests, the limitation of sovereignty through the allocation of responsibilities and the demarcation of competences, the recognition of other actors and their interests as legitimate, the differentiation between public and private, between internal and external, between war and peace. The latter distinctions in particular have been under considerable pressure for some time now for a variety of reasons, but the Trump administration’s foreign policy actions seem to be seeking to permanently undermine any understanding of political rule that also aims to contain power.

Signs of this include not only the considerable personal threats against Venezuela’s interim president. The statements made to Denmark regarding Greenland, particularly in the run-up to the World Economic Forum in Davos, as well as the dismissive treatment of Ukrainian President Zelensky in the White House, also reflect the explicit hierarchisation of the global state system reminiscent of feudalism, in which other states are dependent on Trump’s personal goodwill. The fundamental distinction between public authority and personal property is dissolved when the American president attempts to derive private benefit from his public duties. This applies to his efforts to obtain control over Greenland (or at least parts of it) not only for security reasons, but also with the aim of exploiting its resources. Moreover, the construction of the peace plan for Gaza shows how much the exercise of public authority is mixed with private action. Unlike comparable cases in the past, the role of international institutions, such as the World Bank, is being diminished. At the same time, a “Board of Peace” headed by Donald Trump is to manage a “special economic zone” based on ideas of private corporate governance, thus creating spaces that are gradually slipping out of public control.

A Pre-Legal Understanding of Sovereignty

What is more, the Board of Peace seems to have morphed into a more general vehicle for realizing the Trump Administration’s new vision of world order. The foundational Charter of the Board does not even mention Gaza. Instead, it is now styled as a self-standing international organization with a highly unusual conception of governance. This includes the twofold role of Donald Trump as Chairman in a personal capacity and possibly beyond the end of this term in office as US President, as well as his role as the representative of the United States on the Board. The decisions of the Board are subject to his approval and he “is the final authority regarding the meaning, interpretation and application of this Charter” (Art 7). While it remains to be seen how impactful this dystopian vision of a highly privatized international organization will become, the damage is already done: a permanent member of the UN Security Council is attempting to launch a new – almost autocratic – form of multilateral organization in outright competition to the UN system as such.

These developments come together with a pre-legal understanding of sovereignty that exempts the US president from (international) legal obligations by elevating him, in the sense of Carl Schmitt, to the role of an unbound guardian of his nation’s welfare. Numerous statements by President Trump, Vice President Vance, or White House Deputy Chief of Staff Miller reflect this understanding, for example when the US president says, “He who saves his country does not violate the law.” The President expressed a similar view in the New York Times interview referred to in the introduction. Observers describe this understanding of power in various combinations as feudal, mafia-like, imperialistic or even fascist. Ultimately, these historical comparisons and metaphorical labels serve to make tangible a paradigm shift that is unfolding before our eyes. The fact that political language has not yet developed precise terminology to describe this foundational change does not justify considering the current situation as “business as usual” in light of past US intervention practices.

Europe’s Choice

What does this mean for German foreign policy and that of other European states? In German foreign policy discourse, some voices argue that Europe can no longer afford to stand up for international law in view of its military and digital weakness in the new global political constellation. According to this view, the decision to keep the US on board in defending Ukraine must be the deciding factor. In light of the concurrence of a devastating Russian war of aggression and the rejection of legal obligations by the US in international politics, it is supposedly a matter of political wisdom to put international law on the back burner for the time being in order to avoid open contradiction with the Western alliance’s foremost power. From this perspective, the German Chancellor’s incorrect classification of the Venezuela mission as “legally complex” was understandable in light of the “politically complex” situation for Europe.

Those who tend to share this view should bear in mind that, with its statements on Greenland, the US administration has already set its sights on European territory. While the Davos conference may have provided some form of détente for the time being, it remains to be seen how the announced agreement on greater US influence over parts of Greenland will unfold and whether the outcome of these negotiations will placate the US administration. A glance at the US National Security Strategy of December 2025 shows that Greenland may in any case not be the end of it. In that document, Europe is treated – cynically put – no differently than the rest of the world. The security strategy announces, in a barely veiled manner, that the new MAGA establishment in the US can also envisage “regime change” in Europe in order to halt its supposed civilisational decline, which European governments are said to foster, inter alia, by allegedly censoring freedom of expression.

After the case of Venezuela, there can be no doubt that the announcements in the National Security Strategy are more than just rhetoric. Thus, with every violation of international law by the US on other continents, which Germany and other European states do not call out for fear of a reaction from the US President, the danger increases that the US’s behaviour will have further repercussions. Above all, powers with imperial tendencies that, unlike Russia, have not yet permanently abandoned the path of compliance with international law may feel challenged to emulate the United States. At the same time, German and European silence on US violations of international law threatens to reduce the group of states whose solidarity European states can count on should the US or other imperial powers turn against them. States such as Brazil, Mexico, Colombia and South Africa are likely to have felt abandoned by Europe during the Security Council debate on the Venezuela case. The fact that seven European heads of government immediately thereafter emphatically invoked international law with regard to Greenland did not improve matters regarding the “Global South”. If Europe applies double standards depending on whether the case concerns Venezuela or Greenland, disappointment or resentment in the “Global South” is inevitable. It is not in Europe’s interest to provoke such reactions time and again. Europe will need a coalition, particularly with democratic states from the ‘Global South’, to counter the neo-imperial logic of US and Russian actions, with the possibility of China joining them. This should include a willingness to make compromises with the “Global South” on contested international legal policy issues, for example when it comes to the role of the UN General Assembly in the UN system or policy decisions on the future direction of international economic law.

Eventually, Germany and the other European states cannot afford to abandon international law – and the international legal order cannot be preserved with only selective commitment to it. Germany should therefore join forces with as many other states as possible to signal to the US that it is not prepared to go down the path of lawlessness in international relations, regardless of which continent is involved. Obviously, this is a highly inconvenient stand to adopt in view of Germany’s own relative military and digital weakness. But if countries such as Colombia and Mexico, which are directly exposed to the threats of the US president, are prepared to uphold international law in the Security Council, then Germany, France, and the United Kingdom should also be prepared to do so.

What Can Europe Offer?

In this undertaking, European countries should remember their strengths. Even under the new global political circumstances, Europe remains a player whose economic weight cannot be ignored for the time being. More importantly, Europe stands for a normative alternative that holds global appeal in contrast to the imperial-feudalistic US vision of order. The attractiveness of the set of ideas to which Europe is indebted is closely linked to the call for legally justifying the exercise of political power and to the legal limitations placed upon it, both internally and externally. Europe should advance its normative offer at the international level, especially vis-à-vis states of the “Global South,” and forge new coalitions with them in the interests of freedom, equality and solidarity. In that context, it is a hopeful sign that trade relations appear to be in the process of being strengthened between the European Union and Latin American States (Mercosur) as well as India.

On 18 January, eight European states declared regarding the escalation of the Greenland conflict: “We are committed to upholding our sovereignty.” That is precisely the point. Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney clearly stated the alternative at the World Economic Forum in Davos on 21 January: “This is not sovereignty. It’s the performance of sovereignty while accepting subordination.” This would be the consequence if middle powers stopped defending international law. The sovereignty of militarily weaker states ultimately arises only from international law. To defend the international legal order is thus in our own best interest.

The initial version of this article appeared in German in the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung on 22 January 2026 (p. 6); the English version has been updated to reflect developments until 30 January 2026. The translation was prepared with the help of DeepL.

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