The extraction of Nicolás Maduro on Saturday was meant to signal the end of an era. Instead, it has exposed an uncomfortable truth that may loom over Washington weeks and months after the “shock-and-awe” attacks in central Caracas have waned from headlines: was Venezuela’s democratic opposition sidelined at the very moment it appeared closest to victory?

Just weeks earlier, María Corina Machado, the 2025 Nobel Peace Prize laureate and the symbolic leader of Venezuela’s opposition, had laid out her Freedom Manifesto — a sweeping blueprint for a Venezuelan-led democratic transition rooted in dignity, elections, free markets and the return of millions of exiles. She framed the coming moment not as an American intervention, but as a national rebirth steered by Venezuelans themselves.

That vision now appears to be colliding with a far more transactional reality.

Following Maduro’s capture in a U.S.-led operation, President Donald Trump declined to elevate Machado or her movement into any formal role. Instead, senior U.S. officials have coalesced around Delcy Rodríguez – Maduro’s longtime lieutenant and overseer of the oil sector — as Washington’s primary interlocutor in Caracas. Trump publicly praised Rodríguez’s cooperation while dismissing Machado as a “very nice woman” who “lacks the support” to lead the country.

On Monday, Delsy Rodríguez took the oath of office in the presence of the Ambassadors to China, Iran and Russia. The scene from the National Assembly recalls the sham investiture of Maduro on January 10, 2025,  and sends a dire signal to the internationl community:  Does oil security matter more than a secure democracy?

White House insiders told U.S. media that Trump had never warmed to Machado, “because his feelings got hurt”, reads the Daily Beast. According to an article on Monday in The Washington Post, the president declined to pick Machado because she committed the “ultimate sin” of offending his pride, after receiving the Nobel Peace Prize. “If she had turned it down and said, ‘I can’t accept it because it’s Donald Trump’s,’ she’d be the president of Venezuela today,” cites the newspaper’s sources.

Having lost the Oslo podium as the world’s “peace president,” personal grievance and strategic calculation have marked the White House’s decision to annoint a “moderate” in Miraflores. But Rodríguez is no moderate, and her penchant for state repression remains intact. A  recent article in the Wall Street Journal affirms that Washington is willing to tolerate a Maduro 2.0 — a Chavista continuity government — so long as it cooperates on oil, narcotics enforcement and geopolitical alignment.

On the ground in Caracas, the mood reflects that ambiguity. There have been no mass celebrations, no release of political prisoners, and no clear roadmap. Power remains concentrated within the same military-backed elites that have pillaged Venezuela for over three decades, even as Maduro himself awaits trial in New York on charges expected to exceed those once brought against Joaquín “El Chapo” Guzmán.

U.S. officials insist this is realism, not betrayal. Secretary of State Marco Rubio has argued that squeezing the regime economically and forcing compliance on security and oil will eventually produce leverage. But he has stopped short of demanding immediate elections — a notable omission given that the opposition already won one.

Machado’s Freedom Manifesto now reads less like a transition plan and more like a rebuke. It imagined a Venezuela where sovereignty flowed from the ballot box, not from foreign capitals; where dignity, not expediency, guided reconstruction; and where Venezuelans — not external powers — chose their leaders.

Instead, Trump has suggested that the United States will “run” Venezuela, even as it leaves the same repressive security apparatus intact. The contradiction is stark: maximum news coverage abroad, minimal transformation on the ground.

The question, then, is not only whether Trump sidetracked María Corina Machado, but whether the United States has traded a rare democratic opening for short-term gains. If Chavismo survives without Maduro — its prisons full, its generals untouched, its oil flowing under U.S management — the Nobel laureate’s blueprint may yet stand as the document of a revolution deferred.

And history may judge that Venezuela was not lost for lack of courage at home, but for lack of conviction abroad. In the words of Mexican historian Enrique Krauze, the end-game is inevitable: “If geopolitics seeks to turn Venezuela into a pawn on its chessboard, the people will take to the streets. They have chosen a legitimate president: Edmundo González. And they have a moral leader: María Corina Machado. Obstacles may arise, but Venezuela’s liberation is irreversible.”

U.S. President Donald Trump said on Saturday that the United States would “run” Venezuela until a “safe, proper and judicious transition” of power is completed, following a U.S. military operation that resulted in the capture of Venezuelan dictator Nicolás Maduro and his wife, Cilia Flores.

Speaking at a press conference at his Mar-a-Lago residence in Florida, Trump described the operation as a “spectacular assault” and “one of the most stunning, effective and powerful displays of American military might and competence in American history.”

“This was overwhelming military power,” Trump said, praising U.S. forces for what he called their “breathtaking speed, power, precision and competence.” He said the operation involved close coordination between the U.S. military, intelligence agencies and law enforcement.

Trump said Venezuelan forces had been “waiting for us” and were in a “ready position,” but were “completely overwhelmed and very quickly incapacitated.” He said no U.S. servicemembers were killed and no equipment was lost.

According to Trump, U.S. forces struck what he described as a “heavily fortified military fortress” in the heart of Caracas, disabling Venezuelan military capabilities and temporarily cutting power to the capital. “The lights went out due to a certain expertise that America has,” he said.

U.S. military officials said the operation, dubbed “Operation Absolute Resolve,” relied on months of intelligence gathering and the deployment of more than 150 aircraft. General Dan Caine said the mission maintained “total surprise,” dismantling Venezuelan air defense systems before U.S. helicopters arrived at Maduro’s compound shortly after 1:00 a.m. Eastern Time.

The helicopters came under fire, Caine said, prompting a response with “overwhelming force.” One aircraft was hit, but all returned safely. Maduro and his wife “gave up” and were taken into custody by the U.S. Department of Justice, boarding the USS Iwo Jima at 3:29 a.m., he added.

Trump said Maduro and Flores are being taken to New York to face drug trafficking-related charges. Maduro has repeatedly denied U.S. accusations that he leads a drug cartel.

Trump said the United States was prepared to carry out a second wave of attacks if necessary, adding that Washington was “not afraid of boots on the ground” and that U.S. forces had operated “at a very high level” inside Venezuela.

Asked how the United States would govern Venezuela during the transition, Trump offered few specifics, saying only that officials were “designating people right now.” He gestured toward himself and Secretary of State Marco Rubio, saying that for a period of time “it’s largely going to be the people standing right behind me.”

Rubio described Maduro as a “fugitive of American justice” with a US$50 million reward on his head. “I guess we saved ourselves $50 million,” Rubio said, prompting Trump to add: “We should make sure nobody claims it.”

Rubio said Maduro had been given “multiple opportunities” to avoid confrontation but instead chose to “act like a wild man,” accusing him of inviting Iran into Venezuela and allowing criminal gangs to send migrants into the United States. “President Trump is not a game player,” Rubio said.

Trump also said U.S. companies would be allowed to enter Venezuela to repair its oil infrastructure and “start making money for the country,” framing the intervention as the beginning of a “partnership” that would make Venezuelans “rich, independent and safe.” He referred to Maduro as an “illegitimate dictator.”

Trump confirmed that Rubio had been in contact with Delcy Rodríguez, Venezuela’s vice president and one of Maduro’s closest allies. Rodríguez issued an audio statement after the strikes urging the United States to provide proof of life for Maduro and Flores, sparking speculation that she may no longer be in Venezuela.

Trump said Rodríguez had expressed a willingness to do “whatever the U.S. asks,” though analysts say she would struggle to gain credibility as an agent of political change after years of defending the Maduro’s regime.

Opposition leader and Nobel Peace Prize laureate María Corina Machado has hailed the operation as a turning point for the country.

“The hour of freedom has arrived,” Machado said in a statement, declaring that Maduro is now facing international justice for “atrocious crimes” committed against Venezuelans and foreign citizens. She said the time had come for “popular sovereignty and national sovereignty” to prevail.

Machado called for the immediate recognition of opposition-backed Edmundo González Urrutia as Venezuela’s legitimate president and commander-in-chief of the armed forces, urging military officers to recognize his authority.

“We are prepared to enforce our mandate and take power,” she said, calling on Venezuelans inside the country to remain organized and on those abroad to mobilize international support for rebuilding Venezuela.

“Venezuela will be free,” Machado said. “Hand in hand with God, until the very end.”

For a literary festival, silence can be more revealing than speech. The decision by three writers to withdraw from the 2026 Hay Festival in Cartagena over the presence of María Corina Machado, this year’s Nobel Peace Prize laureate and the most prominent figure in Venezuela’s democratic opposition, has exposed a paradox at the heart of contemporary literary culture: a professed devotion to free expression that falters when confronted with an inconvenient voice.

Hay Festival Cartagena, now in its 21st edition, is scheduled to take place from 29 January to 1 February 2026, with parallel events in Barranquilla, Medellín and a special edition in Jericó, Antioquia. Founded three decades ago in Wales and once described by Bill Clinton as “the Woodstock of the mind,” Hay has built its global reputation on the premise that literature flourishes in the presence of disagreement. Its stages have hosted figures as diverse – and divisive – as Salman Rushdie, Jonathan Safran Foer and David Goodhart, writers whose ideas have unsettled orthodoxies across continents.

Yet in Cartagena, dialogue has been recast as contamination.

The Colombian novelist Laura Restrepo, the Barranquilla-born writer Giuseppe Caputo and the Dominican activist Mikaelah Drullard announced they would not attend in protest at Machado’s invitation. Restrepo, winner of the 2004 Alfaguara Prize, had been scheduled to participate in several events, including a conversation with Indian novelist Pankaj Mishra and a session devoted to her most recent book, I Am the Dagger and I Am the Wound. In a public letter addressed to festival director Cristina de la Fuente, Restrepo described Machado’s presence as “a line” crossed.

“I must cancel my attendance at Hay Festival Cartagena 2026,” Restrepo wrote. “The reason is the participation of María Corina Machado, an active supporter of United States military intervention in Latin America.” Granting her a platform, Restrepo argued, amounted to facilitating positions hostile to regional autonomy.

Caputo echoed his reasoning on social media, announcing that “in the current context of escalating imperial violence, it is better to withdraw from a festival taking place opposite the bombarded waters of the Caribbean Sea.” Drullard, five days earlier, said she could not attend an event that “supports pro-genocide and interventionist positions through the mobilisation of those who promote them,” citing Machado’s proximity to the administration of US President Donald Trump.

What remains striking, however, is not merely the severity of these accusations but their selectivity. None of the boycott statements devotes comparable moral energy to denouncing the documented human rights abuses of Nicolás Maduro’s regime: arbitrary detentions, enforced disappearances, torture of political prisoners, or the systematic dismantling of democratic institutions. One is left to ask whether the authors’ moral outrage extends to the lived realities of Venezuelans themselves, or whether it finds expression only when filtered through the optics of geopolitics.

The irony is sharpened by the fact that the same US administration helped secure Machado’s escape from Venezuela on December 8, enabling her to arrive in Oslo hours after her daughter Ana Corina Sosa received the Nobel Peace Prize on her behalf. “When the history of our time is written, it won’t be the names of the authoritarian rulers that stand out – but the names of those who dared resist,” noted the Nobel Foundation. 

The arguments from Machado’s detractors  warrant scrutiny – and above all, debate. What they do not justify is refusal from Latin America’s self-entitled literati. A boycott replaces argument with absence, moral reasoning with pantomime. It is a gesture that confers ethical purity upon the boycotter while foreclosing the very exchange that literature has traditionally claimed to defend. This is the “line” that cannot be crossed.

The Hay Festival’s response has been characteristically diplomatic In a statement following the cancellations, organisers reaffirmed their commitment to pluralism: “We reaffirm our conviction that open, plural and constructive dialogue remains an essential tool for addressing complex realities and for defending the free exchange of ideas and freedom of expression.” They stressed that Hay “does not align itself with or endorse the opinions, positions or statements of those who participate in its activities,” while respecting the decisions of those who chose not to attend.

That insistence on neutrality, however, also reveals a deeper unease. If a literary festival must repeatedly assert its impartiality, it may be because neutrality itself has become suspect. Increasingly, festivals are asked to function as courts of moral arbitration, conferring legitimacy on some voices while quietly disqualifying others. The result is not a more just cultural sphere, but a narrower one—policed less by argument than by consensus.

The controversy has unfolded at a particularly volatile moment for Venezuela’s eight-million diaspora. Machado’s invitation coincides with a renewed escalation in US pressure in the Caribbean Sea. On Tuesday, President Trump ordered a “total and complete blockade” of all sanctioned oil tankers entering or leaving the country, targeting Caracas’s principal source of revenue. His administration also designated Maduro’s government a Foreign Terrorist Organization, accusing it of using “stolen US assets” to finance terrorism, drug trafficking and organised crime.

“Venezuela is completely surrounded by the largest armada ever assembled in the history of South America,” Trump wrote on Truth Social. “It will only get bigger, and the shock to them will be like nothing they have ever seen before – until such time as they return to the United States all of the oil, land and other assets they previously stole from us.”

Against this backdrop, Machado’s high-profile presence at Hay has acquired a symbolic weight that far exceeds literary stages. Yet it is precisely at such moments that intellectual forums are tested. Fiction, after all, teaches empathy, complexity and the capacity to hold contradiction without retreat. To boycott rather than engage is to abandon that lesson – and, with it, democratical ideals.

The reputational cost to Hay Festival Cartagena may prove lasting – not because Machado was invited, but because the limits of reason and tolerance have been publicly exposed. A gathering that once prided itself on hosting difficult conversations now finds itself unsettled by the very principle on which it was founded.

And there is a final inflection. If Hay’s commitment to dialogue is grounded in a leftist agenda – if certain voices render discussion impossible – then Machado herself should reasonably question the value of her remote participation at the festival on January 30, for a scheduled conversation with Venezuelan journalist and former minister Moisés Naím.

In Cartagena, it is not Machado’s words that should concern audiences, but the intellectual impoverishment by those who chose not to speak to her at all.

Colombia’s Foreign Minister Rosa Villavicencio declared Thursday that the Government of President Gustavo Petro is “not in agreement” with the Nobel Peace Prize awarded to Venezuelan opposition leader María Corina Machado – a position that signals how Colombia remains a close ideological ally of one of the hemisphere’s most authoritarian states.

In remarks that were evasive at best and obtuse at worst, Villavicencio told Caracol Radio that Colombia did not send a delegation to the ceremony in Oslo because the prize “should not be granted to someone who incites aggression.” She accused Machado of having previously endorsed the possibility of foreign intervention to restore democracy in Venezuela — a talking point aligned with Maduro’s narrative but at odds with the reality of Machado’s persecution and exile.

The foreign minister tried to soften the blow by reminding listeners that the Norwegian Committee is “autonomous,” line repeated several times as if to imply Colombia’s hands were tied. But the message was unmistakable: Colombia has chosen the comfort of accommodating a dictatorship over defending a peaceful transition to democracy in Venezuela.

The Petro administration’s stance also signals how a government that claims to champion human rights now shows deference to regimes that imprison, torture, censor, and force political opponents into hiding. Colombia has deliberately refused to stand with a woman who risked her life to defend the most essential freedoms for all Venezuelans.

The contrast between Colombia’s silence and the global celebration of Machado cannot be more glaring. Leaders across Europe, Latin America, and the United States praised her courage, while King Harald of Norway presided over a ceremony attended by Argentina’s Javier Milei, former Colombian president Iván Duque, Panama’s José Raúl Mulino, Ecuador’s Daniel Noboa, and Paraguay’s Santiago Peña.

Machado’s Escape Exposes Bogotá’s Moral Vacuum

While Colombia questions the legitimacy of the award, Machado herself undertook a dramatic escape that underscored the brutality of the regime she confronts – and the grotesque irony of Bogotá’s position.

According to a Wall Street Journal investigation, Machado disguised herself with a wig, crossed ten military checkpoints, boarded a fishing boat to Curaçao, and flew to Oslo on a private jet. After more than a year in hiding, she emerged publicly in Norway. Her daughter, Ana Corina Sosa, accepted the Nobel Prize on her behalf during a emotional ceremony on Wednesday, December 10.

Machado’s audacity – and the global admiration it generated – stands in stark contrast to Colombia’s  political miscalculations.

Villavicencio justified Colombia’s position by claiming Machado had “accepted any kind of military intervention” in Venezuela. But the remark functioned less as diplomacy and more as justification for a government unwilling to break ranks with a regime that operates as the “criminal hub of the Americas”.

Machado told reporters on Thursday, that Venezuela “has already been invaded” by Russian agents, Iranian agents, and terrorist groups Hezbollah and Hamas.  “What sustains the regime is a very powerful and strongly funded repression system. Where do those funds come from? Well, from drug trafficking, from the black market of oil, from arms trafficking and from human trafficking. We need to cut those flows,” stated the Laureate next to Norway’s Prime Minister Jonas Gahr Stoere.

Machado has pledged to return to Venezuela with her Nobel Prize and insists her country will become democratic and free. She has denounced the criminal structures that sustain the Maduro regime and highlighted the broader regional security threat it poses.

Meanwhile, Colombia – critical of Israel’s human rights abuses in the Gaza Strip – has yet to condemn the October 7 massacre committed by Hamas, and remains notably quiet on Maduro’s sprawling torture centre, El Helicoide, in central Caracas.

Petro’s increasingly toxic foreign policy with the Trump administration has now crossed an indelible moral line.  Latin America’s oldest continuous democracy is now publicly undermining a woman targeted by a dictatorship. In doing so, Colombia has distanced itself from other Western nations defending democratic ideals and aligned itself more closely with those eroding them.

The foreign ministry insists its position is based on principle. But to much of the international community, and to a majority of Colombians, the reality is unavoidable: the Petro government is no longer neutral, no longer cautious, and no longer a credible defender of democratic values. It has willingly taken Maduro’s side – and revealed a profound lack of moral courage on the world stage.

As the USS Gerald R. Ford navigates uncomfortably close to the Venezuelan coastline and some 15,000 U.S. Marines remain stationed across Caribbean waters, Venezuela’s political crisis has entered a volatile new phase. In Caracas, Nicolás Maduro is publicly calling for peace and dialogue — even quoting John Lennon’s “Imagine” and delivering rally slogans in English — while the country’s most prominent opposition figure, Nobel Peace Prize laureate María Corina Machado, has issued an expansive “Freedom Manifesto” envisioning a democratic rebirth after the collapse of Maduro’s rule.

Both gestures — Maduro’s unusually soft-spoken overtures and Machado’s sweeping declaration of national principles — arrive just days before a major U.S. decision that could redefine Washington’s policy toward Venezuela. On November 24, the State Department is expected to designate the Cartel de los Soles, a Venezuelan military-linked drug trafficking network allegedly headed by Maduro, as a Foreign Terrorist Organization (FTO).

Secretary of State Marco Rubio reiterated that the group “has corrupted the institutions of government in Venezuela and is responsible for terrorist violence conducted by and with other designated FTOs, as well as for trafficking drugs into the United States and Europe.”

Yet even as Washington prepares its most severe sanction to date, President Donald Trump has said he is open to speaking directly with Maduro. “I would probably talk to him, yeah,” Trump said. “I talk to everybody.”

That combination — tightening pressure paired with a sudden willingness to talk — has created what regional observers describe as an unprecedented moment of strategic ambiguity. Across Latin America, many now wonder whether the United States has a coherent plan for Venezuela or whether it is improvising amid escalating military preparations.

Maduro appears intent on exploiting that ambiguity. In recent public appearances, he has addressed the U.S. public directly, shifting between Spanish and English, at one point even singing. Over the weekend, he declared he wanted a “face-to-face” with Trump, urging: “Dialogue, call, yes; peace, yes; war, no — never, never war.”

In a televised address Monday, he warned that any U.S. military intervention would mark the “political end” of Trump’s leadership, accusing advisers around the U.S. president of “provoking” an armed conflict for political gain.

But even while denouncing Washington’s “hawks,” Maduro simultaneously extended yet another olive branch: he was willing to speak, he said, “with anyone in the Trump administration who wants to talk to Venezuela.”

This duality – hostility mixed with conspicuous calls for peace – reflects the delicate position Caracas faces as U.S. firepower mounts offshore and covert options reportedly expand.

According to a report published Tuesday by The New York Times, Trump has authorized the CIA to prepare potential covert operations inside Venezuela, part of a broader pressure campaign to weaken Maduro’s government. The same report said the White House has quietly reopened back-channel communications with Caracas, during which Maduro suggested he might consider stepping aside after a negotiated transition.

The State Department has also fueled speculation by delaying the FTO designation until November 24 — a move some analysts view as an ultimatum: enter negotiations or face an escalation that could sever what remains of Venezuela’s diplomatic and economic links to the outside world.

Vision for “The New Venezuela”

While Maduro navigates the diplomatic minefield, María Corina Machado is attempting to position herself — and the opposition — for a post-Maduro future. On Tuesday, Machado released her “Freedom Manifesto,” a sweeping philosophical and political declaration, that lays out a roadmap for what she calls “a Venezuela reborn from the ashes.”

The document is sharply moral in tone. It presents Venezuelans as having endured “chains of tyranny” and calls for the restoration of dignity, property rights, free markets, unrestricted speech, secure voting, institutional reform, environmental protection, and the return of nine million exiles forced abroad.

“We stand at the edge of a new era – one where our natural rights will prevail,” Machado writes. She envisions a country with a revitalized energy sector, a diversified high-tech economy, demilitarized institutions, and a reinvigorated place in the “international community of democracies.”

Her manifesto is both a political program and a counterpoint to the perception  prevalent in several Latin American capitals – that Washington’s next steps, not Venezuela’s internal politics, may determine the timing and nature of Maduro’s exit.

Even before the FTO designation, the United States had already escalated its military posture. Since early September, U.S. forces have carried out 21 strikes on boats in the Caribbean Sea and eastern Pacific, killing 83 people, in what the administration describes as anti-narcotics operations. Trump has hinted that known trafficking sites within Venezuela are potential targets.

The prospect of further strikes has unsettled the region’s leftist governments, most notably Colombia, under Gustavo Petro. While Washington is willing to keep the door to dialogue open with Maduro, it remains water-tight shut to a democratically-elected president described by President Turmp as an “illegitimate drug leader”.

For Maduro, calling for dialogue may be a defensive tactic — an effort to avoid isolation at a moment when Washington appears to be tightening multiple pressure channels at once. For Machado, the combination of international pressure and internal exhaustion presents a rare opportunity to present the blueprint for a new Constitution.

Yet the central question remains whether the United States has a clear strategy for a peaceful transition to democracy. A show of overwhelming force without a defined political horizon could embolden Maduro’s close allies – including Russia and Colombia’s Petro – to argue that Washington lacks staying power in the hemisphere. Should the military arsenal in the Caribbean fail to deliver tangible results – from regime transition to a negotiated exile for Maduro – the Chavista leadership will feel emboldened to stay the course.

The next ten days, leading to the November 24 FTO designation, will prove decisive. Either Maduro exits quietly – triggering the removal of the U.S. government’s $50 million bounty for his arrest – or the United States crosses a legal and diplomatic threshold that could redefine the region for decades to come.