When Did This Become a War Crime?A look at how past presidents, including Bill Clinton and George H. W. Bush, handled the same tactics now under fireThe Last WireThe outrage cycle in American politics has a short memory—and an even shorter sense of consistency.
Today, critics are lining up to accuse Donald Trump of threatening “war crimes” over comments about targeting infrastructure like power plants. That’s a serious charge. Under the Geneva Conventions, civilian infrastructure carries protections, and any deliberate targeting raises legitimate legal and moral questions.
But here’s the part that’s being conveniently ignored: this isn’t new territory. Not even close.
If we’re going to have an honest conversation about what constitutes a war crime, then we have to be willing to look backward just as clearly as we look forward. Because multiple U.S. presidents—Democrats and Republicans alike—have authorized strikes that included electrical and energy infrastructure as part of broader military campaigns.
Start with Lyndon B. Johnson. During the Vietnam War, under Operation Rolling Thunder, the United States carried out sustained bombing campaigns against North Vietnam. Among the targets were power plants in and around Hanoi. The strategic logic was straightforward: disrupt industrial capacity, weaken air defenses, and apply pressure on the North Vietnamese government. The humanitarian consequences, however, were severe and long-lasting.
Then came Richard Nixon, who escalated the bombing further during Operation Linebacker II. Once again, infrastructure—including electrical systems—was hit. The goal was to force North Vietnam back to the negotiating table. Whether one believes that strategy was effective or justified, it clearly involved decisions that impacted civilian life on a massive scale.
Fast forward to 1991. Under George H. W. Bush, the United States led a coalition in the Gulf War against Iraq. One of the earliest and most decisive moves was the targeting of Iraq’s electrical grid. The rationale was to cripple Saddam Hussein’s command-and-control capabilities. But the consequences extended far beyond military targets. The destruction of power infrastructure contributed to failures in water treatment, healthcare, and sanitation systems, affecting millions of civilians long after the bombing stopped.
In 1999, under Bill Clinton, NATO forces conducted an air campaign in Serbia during the Kosovo conflict. Electrical infrastructure was again targeted. In some cases, graphite bombs were used to disable power systems temporarily. The intent may have been to minimize permanent damage, but the effect was still widespread disruption to civilian life.
And in 2003, under George W. Bush, the invasion of Iraq included strikes on infrastructure as part of the “shock and awe” strategy. While more selective than in 1991, the campaign still affected power systems and essential services in ways that civilians felt immediately and deeply.
Now, to be fair, the approach evolved under Barack Obama. His administration emphasized precision warfare—drones, targeted strikes, and operations designed to limit civilian casualties. There was no campaign aimed at collapsing an entire national power grid. But even then, U.S. strikes in Iraq and Syria targeted oil facilities and energy infrastructure used by ISIS. Those decisions still carried real-world consequences for surrounding civilian populations, including power disruptions and economic hardship.
So let’s be clear: the idea of targeting infrastructure—directly or indirectly—is not some unprecedented line that has suddenly been crossed in modern political discourse. It has been part of U.S. military strategy, under multiple administrations, for decades.
Now, none of this is an argument that such actions are beyond criticism. Quite the opposite. If anything, it should push us toward a more serious and consistent standard. Because if targeting infrastructure is morally or legally unacceptable, then that standard must apply universally—not just when it’s politically convenient.
That’s where the current wave of criticism starts to lose credibility.
When outrage is selective, it stops being about principle and starts being about partisanship. You cannot condemn the mere discussion of a tactic today while ignoring—or even defending—the real-world use of that same tactic in the past. That kind of inconsistency doesn’t strengthen the argument; it weakens it.
To be fair, there are distinctions worth acknowledging. Context matters. Intent matters. The difference between rhetoric and action matters. And international law is not a blunt instrument—it requires analysis of proportionality, necessity, and discrimination between military and civilian targets.
But those nuances should lead to deeper discussion, not shallow outrage.
If critics believe that any targeting of electrical infrastructure constitutes a war crime, then they should say so plainly—and be prepared to apply that judgment across the board, including to past decisions made by leaders within their own party.
If, on the other hand, they recognize that these decisions exist in a legal and strategic gray zone—where military objectives and humanitarian risks collide—then they should approach the current situation with the same level of complexity and restraint.
What doesn’t hold up is the double standard.
You don’t get to rediscover moral clarity only when it’s politically useful. You don’t get to treat history as irrelevant simply because it complicates the narrative. And you certainly don’t build public trust by applying one set of rules to your opponents and another to your allies.
War has always forced leaders into difficult choices. Some of those choices have had devastating consequences. That’s exactly why the standards we use to judge them need to be consistent, not situational.
So before rushing to label rhetoric as criminal, it’s worth asking a harder question: were you willing to apply that same standard when the bombs were actually falling?
Because if the answer is no, then this isn’t about defending international law.
It’s about defending a political position.
The Last Wire
— Gonzo
