Oil, power and silence by Mia Rodríguez

Something deeply unsettling has happened in Venezuela and the world seems too distracted to fully process it. While headlines drift toward Iran, global tensions and the erratic online messaging of Donald Trump, a quieter but arguably more consequential event has unfolded in Latin America. The dramatic capture of Nicolás Maduro by U.S. forces in early 2026 was not just a geopolitical shock, it may have marked the beginning of a new kind of intervention, one that blurs the line between liberation and control.

Let’s call things by their name. A sitting head of state was forcibly removed and taken to another country to stand trial. Even critics of Maduro, of which there are many, have to admit this sets a dangerous precedent. Governments have been toppled before, yes, but rarely with such direct, unapologetic force in modern times.

What followed is even more ambiguous. Washington’s rhetoric leaned heavily on familiar themes, restoring democracy, fighting corruption, stabilizing a broken economy. But almost immediately, another narrative emerged, one centered on oil. The United States moved quickly to secure access to Venezuela’s vast reserves, discussing control over production and sales, even suggesting it would “run” the country during a transition.

That’s where the discomfort grows. Because when democracy arrives escorted by oil contracts, people start asking uncomfortable questions.

Today, Venezuela is officially under the leadership of interim president Delcy Rodríguez, a figure who has rapidly consolidated power while opening doors to foreign, particularly American economic involvement. Political opposition figures remain sidelined, elections are delayed, and the promised democratic transition feels increasingly abstract.

Meanwhile, the U.S. has eased certain sanctions and encouraged financial flows, signaling not just political influence but economic integration on its own terms.

So what exactly is Venezuela right now? Not quite liberated. Not quite sovereign either. Supporters of the intervention argue that removing Maduro was necessary. His government had long been accused of authoritarianism, economic mismanagement, and corruption. That argument carries weight. But removing a leader is one thing; shaping what comes next is another.

And that “next” looks murky. If a foreign power controls key economic arteries, especially oil, which is the lifeblood of Venezuela’s economy, can the country truly claim independence? If political leadership aligns closely with external interests while domestic opposition is frozen out, is this democracy in progress or something more transactional?

The timing adds another layer. With global attention fragmented by crises elsewhere, Venezuela’s transformation has unfolded without the level of scrutiny such a moment demands. It’s not that people don’t care, it’s that the noise of the world has drowned out the signal.

And perhaps that’s the most telling part. Because history has shown that when major powers intervene under the banner of freedom while securing strategic resources, the outcome is rarely simple. It’s messy, layered, and often leaves the local population caught between narratives.

So no, Venezuela has not clearly become a “colony.” That word carries legal and historical weight that doesn’t quite fit, yet.

But it also hasn’t clearly become free. Instead, it sits in a gray zone: a nation reshaped by external force, governed in uncertain partnership, and watched by a world too distracted to ask the hardest question... Who really owns Venezuela now?