Why Venezuela Was Never Really About Democracy ?

I. The Shock of the Present, and the Familiarity of Past

After an extended break, I have chosen to write an essay on one of the most contentious issues in current international relations: the alleged abduction of Nicolás Maduro, the Venezuelan President, by the United States. When this news first emerged, it seemed almost absurd, too unlikely for a time that professes adherence to international law and sovereign equality. However, this is not the first instance of the United States engaging in seemingly extralegal actions.

A historical comparison is the 1989 U.S. operation that captured Panamanian leader Manuel Noriega. Noriega, also a dictator, was removed by U.S. forces during George H. W. Bush's administration and brought to the United States to face trial on drug charges. Beyond the official drug narrative, Noriega’s removal occurred when his independent political stance and criticism of the United States were becoming increasingly troublesome for policymakers in Washington, drawing another parallel with Maduro.

Another historical example is the invasion of Iraq in 2003. Prior to that war, the Bush administration presented a now-infamous argument at the UN Security Council involving claims about weapons of mass destruction. This pretext helped garner international support for the invasion, even though the weapons were never found and those claims were later discredited.

What makes the current situation with Maduro particularly notable is the blatant circumvention of international law. In previous interventions, despite their flaws, U.S. administrations framed their actions with narratives of moral high ground such as crimes against humanity, democratization, humanitarian intervention, or protection of human rights. These narratives sometimes created the appearance of legitimacy, however thin. This time, the justification relies on alleged drug trafficking links and narco-terrorism charges that Washington insists connect Maduro to international narcotics networks.

II. Narco-Terrorism as Pretext and Domestic Politics

Questions about the validity of the drug narrative are already being raised. U.S. government data and several independent assessments indicate that Venezuela is not a major source of fentanyl or cocaine entering the United States, with most illicit drug flows instead traced through Peru, Colombia, and Mexico.

The invocation of drug trafficking also serves domestic political purposes. The narrative of a foreign leader flooding the United States with drugs resonates with parts of the American electorate, particularly within rural and economically distressed constituencies that have been key to Republican support, especially white lower-class voters. A focus on drugs allows political leaders to frame the intervention as a necessary fight against criminal harm to American society—even when broader data increasingly shows that drugs like fentanyl originate outside Latin America.

This intersection of foreign policy and domestic political calculation becomes even more ironic when juxtaposed with other actions by the same administration. Donald Trump repeatedly claimed to aspire to be a “no war president,” yet under his leadership, a dramatic military operation was authorized against a sovereign state without United Nations authorization or clear self-defense justification under the UN Charter.

The result is not merely an international law controversy but a strategic signal to Cuba, Iran, Nicaragua, and left-of-center governments across Latin America—that defiance of U.S. hegemony can prompt direct intervention. Domestically, it allows Washington to frame foreign coercion as law enforcement and drug suppression.

III. Oil, Weakness, and Strategic Opportunity

This raises a fundamental issue: if the narcotics pretext is weak or selective, then the real logic for this operation likely lies elsewhere, i.e., geopolitics and resource competition, especially oil. Venezuela possesses one of the world’s largest proven oil reserves, far exceeding that of Saudi Arabia and most of the Gulf states, yet has struggled to operationalize even a fraction of it due to economic mismanagement and political instability.

Venezuela sits on an extraordinary natural endowment—it holds the world’s largest proven crude oil reserves, estimated at about 303 billion barrels, roughly 17% of global reserves. Yet, in a paradox that highlights the dysfunction of its economy and political system, the country produces only a tiny fraction of the oil it could, contributing less than 1% of total global crude output today despite its vast potential. This stark gap between reserves and production reflects chronic mismanagement, decaying infrastructure, the technical complexity of extracting extra-heavy crude, weak investment, corruption, and long-standing U.S. sanctions that have cut off capital and technology vital to the industry.

A country that should be one of the richest on Earth, literally sitting atop energy wealth far greater than Saudi Arabia’s, has instead become weak, fragmented, and geopolitically vulnerable. Worse from Washington’s perspective, it has exported its crude to countries that the United States views as adversaries, including China, Cuba, and to an extent Russia and Iran.

These export patterns are not trivial. Until recently, China accounted for the majority of Venezuelan crude exports, often receiving heavy sour crude at steep discounts. Meanwhile, Cuba, long dependent on Venezuelan oil for a substantial share of its fuel needs, faces severe shortages as shipments have fallen sharply in recent years, threatening energy stability in Havana.

IV. Venezuela: THE LOW-HANGING FRUIT ?

It is widely believed among Washington insiders that Senator Marco Rubio, himself of Cuban descent with long-standing concerns about Cuba’s influence, framed Venezuela as a “low-hanging fruit” target: a weak, isolated state with vast untapped resources and strategic symbolism. Removing or neutralizing Maduro sends a message not only to Caracas but to Havana, Managua, Tehran, and other capitals that defiance of U.S. interests may come with severe consequences.

The logic, from this perspective, is clear: the post-Maduro reconstruction of Venezuela’s economy will be driven at the expense of its oil, not American taxpayer funds.

Cuba’s continuing dependence on Venezuelan oil adds to the geopolitical calculus. Havana’s economy, already strained by sanctions and inefficiencies, risks deeper crisis if Venezuelan supply lines are disrupted or redirected.

In the broader context of U.S. politics and foreign lobbying, energy interests have consistently shaped Washington’s strategic posture. U.S. Oil Companies lost significant leverage when Venezuela nationalized foreign oil infrastructure and displaced international companies during the Chávez era, leading to heavy investment losses. Such losses did not disappear from corporate memory, and their political echoes can be felt in policy arguments.

Venezuela is a country cursed by abundance. Sitting atop one of the world’s largest proven oil reserves, it should, by any rational metric, be a stable and influential economic power. Instead, its weakness in the contemporary world order has turned into a strategic blasphemy. The Russia–Ukraine war of 2022 made one fact unmistakably clear: resource-rich but politically weak states invite intervention, coercion, and exploitation.

This logic fits squarely within Donald Trump’s foreign-policy posture during his first term. From 2017 onwards, Venezuela remained a recurring target—politically, economically, and rhetorically. Trump publicly branded himself a “no-war president”, claiming moral high ground over interventionist predecessors. Yet this claim collapses under scrutiny. While avoiding large-scale troop deployments, his administration repeatedly relied on economic warfare, covert pressure, regime-change signaling, and militarized posturing, a different form of intervention, but intervention nonetheless.

V. The Ideological Continuum: Monroe, Manifest Destiny, McKinley

To understand the Venezuela operation, it must be placed within a longer and uncomfortable tradition of American power, one that predates the Cold War and long predates Donald Trump. What appears today as an ad hoc violation of international law is, in fact, a continuation of a deeply embedded imperial logic.

The ideological foundation was laid in the Monroe Doctrine of the 1820s, which declared the Western Hemisphere an exclusive American sphere of influence. Though framed as anti-colonial, Monroe was less about protecting Latin America and more about reserving it, establishing a hierarchy in which sovereignty south of the Rio Grande was conditional on alignment with Washington. Europe was warned off, but the United States quietly crowned itself regional arbiter.

This logic was later moralized through Manifest Destiny, which transformed expansion from strategy into virtue. American dominance was no longer merely necessary; it was portrayed as inevitable, civilizational, and righteous. Power ceased to require justification; history itself was invoked as consent.

The most explicit translation of this worldview into policy came under President William McKinley. The Spanish–American War and the subsequent acquisition of Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines marked America’s transition from continental expansion to overseas empire. McKinley’s justification was bluntly paternalistic: weaker societies, he argued, were incapable of self-rule and therefore required American control for order, stability, and economic development. Sovereignty was no longer a right; it was a reward for competence.

Trump’s Venezuela policy fits squarely within this McKinleyan framework. The language has changed—“civilization” has given way to “law and order,” “narco-terrorism,” and “failed states”—but the structure of thought remains intact. The underlying premise is incapacity: that resource-rich but institutionally weak states forfeit protection under international norms.

Where McKinley saw strategic ports and trade routes, Trump sees oil. Where McKinley justified annexation, Trump justifies intervention through indictments, sanctions, and regime signaling. The method is modern, but the logic is imperial. Control is not sought through formal colonies, but through economic leverage, legal coercion, and political engineering.

Monroe drew the map. Manifest Destiny supplied the moral confidence. McKinley operationalized the doctrine. Trump modernized it.

"THE DON-ROE DOCTRINE"

This posture also caters neatly to the Republican base and the ideological underpinnings of “Make America Great Again”—a belief in unapologetic dominance rather than multilateral restraint. The irony, however, is glaring. The same United States that demands Russia disengage from Ukraine routinely justifies its own aggression toward weaker nations in the name of stability, democracy, or security.

VI. Power, Petroleum and Limits of Principle

The United States positions itself as a defender of democracy, but in Venezuela’s case, it openly anointed leadership choices, endorsing Maduro's Deputy Rodriguez. The claim of protecting the Venezuelan people rang hollow when regime continuity persisted despite electoral outcomes, and when figures celebrated internationally, such as Opp. leader Nobel Peace Prize recipient María Corina Machado, were sidelined in favor of externally convenient alternatives.

The Russia–Ukraine war of 2022 clarified an old but uncomfortable truth: international law does not protect the weak; power does. Thucydides captured this reality centuries ago in The Melian Dialogue: “The strong do what they can, and the weak suffer what they must.”

This worldview also reveals something deeply psychological. Trump relates to oil like a man frozen in the 1970s and 1980s, when oil shocks dictated global politics, energy companies shaped foreign policy, and petro-lobbies were kingmakers. To him, oil remains the ultimate strategic weapon even as the world moves toward diversification, technology, and non-energy power.

The very oil companies that built Venezuela’s infrastructure—investing in equipment, research, and extraction—were later expelled through nationalization. These same corporate interests form a core part of the Republican funding ecosystem, alongside defense contractors and ideological lobbies. Their losses in Venezuela were never forgotten. What followed was not merely policy, but revenge dressed as geopolitics.

IV. The Melian Truth of Modern Geopolitics

The deeper danger, however, lies elsewhere. When small and mid-sized states observe that oil wealth does not protect sovereignty but nuclear capability does, the incentive structure shifts. Covert nuclearisation, secret testing, and undeclared deterrence may become the rational choice for survival.

Ultimately, Venezuela exposes the illusion of a rules-based international order. The world did not change in 1945; it merely learned to speak more politely about power. As Thucydides warned long ago, morality enters only when power is equal. Until then, the weak endure and the strong justify.

THE END