In a dramatic legal challenge that questions the very soul of the world’s most prestigious peace award, WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange has filed a criminal complaint in Sweden against the Nobel Foundation. The action targets the foundation’s decision to award the 2025 Nobel Peace Prize to Venezuelan opposition leader María Corina Machado, alleging the prize rewards warmongering, not peacemaking. This move throws an international spotlight on Machado’s vocal support for the United States’ hardline strategy against Venezuela’s government and reignites a perennial debate: Can a prize for peace legitimately go to someone advocating for military force in the pursuit of political change?
The complaint, filed with Swedish authorities on December 17, accuses 30 individuals associated with the Nobel Foundation of serious crimes, including gross misappropriation of funds and facilitation of war crimes. Assange’s argument hinges on the explicit instructions in Alfred Nobel’s 1895 will, which states the peace prize must go to the person who has done the most for “fraternity between nations” and the “abolition or reduction of standing armies.” Assange contends that by selecting Machado, the foundation’s administrators breached their fiduciary duty, converting “an instrument of peace into an instrument of war.”
Central to the complaint is Machado’s unequivocal endorsement of the U.S. pressure campaign against the government of President Nicolás Maduro. This campaign, reinvigorated under American President Donald Trump, includes severe oil sanctions, the deployment of a significant U.S. naval force to the Caribbean—the largest such buildup in the region in decades—and lethal strikes on vessels alleged to be involved in drug trafficking. United Nations human rights officials have labeled some of these strikes “extrajudicial executions.”
Machado, who accepted the prize in absentia, has not distanced herself from these tactics. To the contrary, she has embraced them. In a notable interview, she dedicated her Nobel award to Trump, calling him a “champion of freedom” and praising his administration for making Venezuela a U.S. national security priority. She has publicly stated that “military escalation may be the only way” and historically testified before the U.S. Congress that “the only path left is the use of force.”
For national security analysts, this alignment is strategic. The U.S. approach, combining maximum economic pressure with a visible military threat, follows a classic regime-change playbook. The objective, as privately stated by some administration officials, is the ousting of Maduro. A compliant opposition leader installed with U.S. support could potentially unlock access to Venezuela’s vast natural resources, including the world’s largest proven oil reserves. Assange’s complaint explicitly alleges Machado entered into a “conspiracy” to privatize these resources post-intervention.
The Machado controversy is not the first to challenge the Nobel Peace Prize’s identity. The award has a complicated history of honoring figures whose legacies are intertwined with conflict. President Theodore Roosevelt, the 1906 laureate, was an unabashed advocate for American military power. Henry Kissinger shared the prize in 1973 for Vietnam War negotiations even as secret bombings of Cambodia continued, a decision so contentious it was dubbed the “Nobel War Prize” by some critics. President Barack Obama received the award in 2009 and later oversaw a significant expansion of drone warfare.
These precedents reveal a persistent tension within the Norwegian Nobel Committee. The prize often seeks to make a political statement—supporting democratic movements, encouraging peace processes, or shaming authoritarian regimes. However, when awarded to active political actors, it risks endorsing the messy and often violent realities of geopolitical struggle. The prize to Machado falls squarely into this trap, celebrating her democratic defiance while implicitly sanitizing the aggressive foreign policy she champions.
The intense reaction to Machado’s prize underscores a deep ideological divide. For her supporters, the award rightly recognizes the courage of Venezuelans struggling for democracy against a repressive regime. It symbolizes that the democratic ideal itself is worth honoring, even if the path to it is fraught. Scholars note that democracy and peace, while linked, are not synonymous, and the Nobel Committee has increasingly leaned toward promoting the former as a prerequisite for the latter.
For detractors, including the 19 Norwegian peace organizations that refused to honor her with their traditional torchlight procession, this reasoning is dangerously flawed. They argue that explicitly endorsing foreign military intervention, as Machado has done, crosses a red line. It violates the pacifist spirit of Nobel’s will and, in the current context, could provide a “casus moralis”—a moral justification—for a war of aggression. This, they assert, perverts the prize’s fundamental purpose.
The legal outcome of Assange’s complaint remains uncertain, but its symbolic impact is immediate. It forces a public reckoning with what the Nobel Peace Prize stands for in an era of renewed great-power competition and hybrid conflict. Is it a reward for moral purity and pacifist achievement, as defined by its founder? Or is it a tool of realpolitik, used to bolster geopolitical allies and advance a vision of world order, even by means that include the threat of force?
The selection of María Corina Machado suggests the latter interpretation is ascendant. As the Nobel Foundation faces an unprecedented criminal investigation over its choice, the world watches a debate that goes far beyond one award or one nation. It is a debate about whether the pursuit of peace can ever be reconciled with the advocacy of war, and where the line between promoting democracy and enabling conflict truly lies. The 2025 Nobel Peace Prize, intended to celebrate the flame of democracy, has instead ignited a firestorm about the price of lighting it.
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