Is Pedro Sánchez wrong to invoke international law?

In Europe, it used to be that an invocation of international law was the most predictable – and least controversial – gesture that a leader could offer. Today, it constitutes a gamble. When Spain’s President of the Government Pedro Sánchez declares the international legal order to be the guiding compass of his foreign policy, he does so in a world where rules are now in competition with actions already taken.

Rechazamos la acción militar unilateral de EE.UU. e Israel, que supone una escalada y contribuye a un orden internacional más incierto y hostil.

— Pedro Sánchez (@sanchezcastejon) February 28, 2026

In the midst of the military offensive against Iran, statements such as these strike some as a sign of consistency. For others, they indicate poor positioning in a contest that rewards strength and ambiguity. 

This dilemma isn’t new. Historically, the middle powers – a category into which Spain comfortably fits – have thrived within regulated environments. Lacking the capacity to impose their own will, they depend on rules that limit stronger actors and on institutions that amplify their voices. Europe’s strategic choice after 1945 was precisely that: to weave a network of rules, courts, and alliances that could turn collective interdependence into security. In that context, allegiance to international law was an act not of naïvety but of self-interest.

Undeniably, that context has changed. Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, the conflict in Gaza, the U.S.-China rivalry, and the return of political blocs have weakened the illusion that the world is moving toward a stable liberal order. As Mark Leonard, director of the European Council on Foreign Relations, recently observed in Agenda Pública: "The West is dead." International law still exists, but application is selective, and compliance depends on the correlation of forces. In such a landscape, appeals to the law may sound moralistic if unaccompanied by power or by sturdy alliances.

"A country that singles itself out too often can look like it’s losing its influence"

Herein lies the first critique of Sánchez: the risk of asymmetry. If Spain opts to emphasize the primacy of international law while its partners adopt more pragmatic positions, Madrid may appear out of alignment. In foreign policy, the perception of unity matters almost as much as actual fact. A country that singles itself out too often can look like it’s losing its influence.
The alternative is perhaps less obvious. Spain is neither a nuclear power nor an actor with structural veto capacity. Its room for maneuver depends on its insertion in the European Union and NATO, and both the EU and the Atlantic Alliance legitimize themselves (at least rhetorically) in their defense of a rules-based order. Perhaps the question isn’t whether Spain should invoke international law, but how it should do so, and with what consistency.

Consistency is the second delicate point. In a polarized environment, and with Europe’s radical right already acting as "strategic putty" for the MAGA movement, political adversaries scrutinize every statement for inconsistencies. And then there’s the domestic calculation. In a society where foreign policy rarely drives elections, the apparent costs of adopting a normative position used to be low. That’s changing. The war in Ukraine has affected energy prices; tensions in the Middle East are influencing security as well as social cohesion; technological competition with China has industrial impacts. International decisions are no longer abstract. Invocations of international law can build support in certain segments of the pro-European population, but they also feed the narrative of those who prioritize a more transactional view of interests.

Nonetheless, it is worth recalling that international law isn’t only ethical – it’s also infrastructural. It regulates maritime trade, on which the Spanish economy depends; it protects investments in Latin America; it structures fishery agreements and defines frameworks for cooperation in immigration. When Spain refers to international legality, it isn’t just referring to distant wars – it is defending the very ecosystem that sustains its prosperity. To abandon such a narrative on grounds that it seems ‘unrealistic’ is to ignore that a middle power defends its own reality by upholding rules. Albert Guivernau recently noted that "what happens between Tehran and Washington and Tel Aviv will end up affecting the budgets of an SME in Cuenca or a family in Almeria." 

"What happens between Tehran and Washington and Tel Aviv will end up affecting the budgets of an SME in Cuenca or a family in Almeria"

The European Union offers an instructional laboratory. The community project is essentially an experiment in rules-based shared sovereignty. If Member States begin to treat the law as an optional variable, then the entire community suffers. From that perspective, the position taken by Sánchez can be interpreted as an investment in European political capital. During Spain’s rotation as president of the EU Council, the country sought to project itself as a constructive actor. It has incentives to remain consistent in terms of multilateralism.

The risk lies in the disconnect between discourse and capacity. Norms without instruments to support them become diluted. The defense of international law requires contributions of compliance: supporting sanctions when violations occur, investing in defense when deterrence fails, strengthening courts and mechanisms for verification. When the rhetoric isn’t accompanied by resources, then accusations of ‘bad positioning’ gain force.

There’s also a broader strategic dimension. In a fragmented world, many countries in the Global South are skeptical of Western selectivity. Given Spain’s history and links with Latin America and the Mediterranean, it can serve as a bridge – if its defense of international law is perceived as coherent and not instrumental. That’s an opportunity: to turn the law into a tool for mediation and not a simple declaration of principles.

The ultimate question isn’t whether arguments for international law are correct, but whether they’re effective. For a middle power integrated into the EU and dependent on global trade, the rules-based order is a strategic asset. Its defense might create tactical friction, but its renunciation would be tantamount to acceptance of a world where Spain’s relative weight is diminished. The key is to combine norms and power: to articulate alliances, to invest in capacities, to maintain coherence.

"Sánchez’s position may cause discomfort for those who privilege the short term, but it offers a clear narrative about Spain’s place in the world"

In times of uncertainty, it can be tempting to take refuge in ambiguity. But ambiguity also has its costs: it erodes credibility and makes coalition-building difficult. Sánchez’s position may cause discomfort for those who privilege the short term, but it offers a clear narrative about Spain’s place in the world. The alternative of unrestricted pragmatism risks facing every crisis with improvisation.

International law is neither a guarantee of peace nor an infallible shield. It’s an imperfect set of rules that must be sustained through political will. For a country like Spain, the erosion of law is no academic abstraction but a concrete threat to its ability to influence and prosper. Invoking international law doesn’t guarantee a strong position, but its abandonment will almost certainly guarantee the opposite.