Why such a massive U.S. military deployment off the coast of Venezuela, supposedly to combat the “Cartel of the Suns” and stop drug trafficking from Venezuela to the United States? After more than four months, the results amount to little more than a handful of small vessels destroyed – an extremely modest impact given the scale of the force deployed.
The reality is that the volume of drug trafficking transiting through Venezuela to the United States is relatively small. Venezuela is not a producer of cocaine, much less of fentanyl, most of which enters the United States via Mexico. If the real interest is not to halt drug trafficking, what then is the motivation for placing the Fourth Fleet on a war footing in the Caribbean Sea? Logic might lead one to think the U.S. interest is oil, since Venezuela holds the largest reserves in the world—but that is not it either. Today the United States is the world’s leading oil producer, at 13.4 million barrels per day, and it has proven reserves sufficient for approximately ten years, assuming no new discoveries and no improvements in recovery or technological advances—an impossible assumption.
So what, then, is the underlying issue if it is neither drugs, nor oil, nor other minerals in which Venezuela might have potential and that would be attractive to the United States?
The answer lies in a little-publicized document formally released by the White House on December 4, titled National Security Strategy 2025. While the document introduces substantial changes in relations with Europe and traditional adversaries, the most striking element is the new emphasis placed on Latin America. Of the document’s “roadmap to ensure that America remains the greatest and most successful nation in human history”, five sections are devoted exclusively to our region, positioning Latin America as a fundamental component of U.S. security – a very significant shift from earlier versions, which historically prioritized the Middle East or Asia. There is a new strategy, or if you will, a “New Monroe Doctrine,” a continuation of the 1823 Monroe Doctrine, reaffirming U.S. preeminence in the region.
“After years of neglect, the United States will once again apply and enforce the Monroe Doctrine to reestablish U.S. preeminence in the Western Hemisphere, and to protect our homeland and our access to key geographies throughout the region. We will deny non-Hemispheric competitors the ability to position forces or other threatening capabilities, or to own or control strategically vital assets, in our Hemisphere,” states the 29-page document.
Key elements of this new doctrine include: countering external influence by requiring Latin American governments to dismantle foreign military installations and divest strategic assets in exchange for aid or alliances; stopping illegal migration, including naval patrols in the Caribbean and the eastern Pacific, selective border deployments, and the use of incentives for governments to curb migratory flows; combating narco-terrorists and cartels; and sealing economic and political commitments with aligned governments in a win-win framework that would include procurement preferences and greater cooperation, among other measures, with a view to turning Latin America into a stable market for U.S. exports and a buffer against global rivals.
In recent years, China has achieved significant penetration in Latin America through its diplomacy and long-term strategy (the Belt and Road Initiative, or New Silk Road). For nearly all countries in the region, China has become the leading trading partner, displacing the United States; it is also an investor in major infrastructure projects and a lender of funds (in Venezuela’s case, a very large lender that negotiated debt repayment in oil at very low prices). In addition, China has become a major supplier of weapons and information technology.
In this context, what Washington appears to be seeking is indeed a regime change in Venezuela to counter the influence of China and Russia, but without openly announcing it in order to avoid a direct diplomatic confrontation. Trump has segmented the region into friendly regimes (Argentina, El Salvador, Ecuador, Honduras, and Guatemala), enemy regimes (Venezuela, Cuba, and Nicaragua), and regimes in limbo (Colombia and Brazil).
For Venezuela, regime change appears imminent, which would profoundly benefit Colombia, because, as Miguel Uribe Turbay said before he was assassinated, “as long as there is no freedom in Venezuela, there will be no peace in Colombia.” On the other hand, a change of government in Colombia is also approaching, and the country will have to decide which of these groups it wants to belong to—whether it repairs its relations with its traditional partner and ally, or definitively joins the group of pariah states in the region. Let us hope it is the former.
About the author: Luis Guillermo Plata served as Minister of Trade, Industry of Commerce during the government of President Álvaro Uribe Vélez, and in 2021, appointed by President Iván Duque, Ambassador of Colombia to Spain.
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.
The U.S. seizure of an oil tanker off the Venezuelan coast appears designed to further squeeze the economy of President Nicolás Maduro’s government. The Dec. 10, 2025 operation — in which American forces descended from helicopters onto the vessel — followed months of U.S. military buildup in the Caribbean and was immediately condemned by Venezuela as “barefaced robbery and an act of international piracy.”
The seized tanker, according to reports, is a 20-year-old supertanker called Skipper, capable of carrying around 2 million barrels of oil.
According to the Trump administration, the vessel was heading to Cuba. Given its size, however, it is far more likely that the final destination was China. Tankers of this scale are rarely used for short Caribbean routes; much smaller vessels typically serve Cuba.
The tanker had been sanctioned by the U.S. Treasury in 2022 for carrying prohibited Iranian oil. At the time, it was alleged that the ship — then known as Adisa — was controlled by Russian oil magnate Viktor Artemov and linked to an oil smuggling network.
On the surface, the seizure was unrelated to U.S. sanctions imposed on Venezuela in 2019 and expanded in 2020 to include secondary sanctions on third parties doing business with Caracas.
Venezuelan officials have therefore described the move as unprecedented, and they are largely correct. While Iranian tankers have been seized in the past for sanctions violations, this marks the first time a vessel departing Venezuela with a Venezuelan crew has been taken.
The Trump administration has signaled it intends to seize not only the cargo but the ship itself — a significant loss for the owning company. Because the shipment was sold under a “Free on Board” contract, the buyer assumed responsibility once the vessel left Venezuelan waters.
Nonetheless, the seizure represents a clear escalation in pressure on Venezuela. Reports indicate that around 30 other tankers operating near the country face some form of sanction. These vessels are part of a shadow fleet designed to evade restrictions while transporting oil from Venezuela, Russia, and Iran.
The message from Washington is unambiguous: more seizures may follow as the U.S. seeks to further squeeze Venezuelan oil revenues.
Venezuela’s economy remains overwhelmingly dependent on oil. Although official figures have not been published for seven years, most analysts estimate that oil accounts for more than 80% of exports, with some placing the figure above 90%.
Most Venezuelan oil is sold on the black market, largely to independent refiners in China. Chinese state-owned firms avoid these purchases to limit sanctions exposure, while authorities in Beijing tend to overlook shipments to non-state entities — particularly when tankers conceal their true origin.
An estimated 80% of Venezuelan oil ultimately goes to China through this channel. About 17% is exported to the United States under a Treasury license granted to Chevron, while roughly 3% goes to Cuba, often on subsidized terms.
Oil also accounts for around 20% of Venezuela’s GDP and more than half of government revenue, making the sector indispensable to Maduro’s survival.
Crucially, Venezuela’s oil industry was already in steep decline before U.S. sanctions began. Production peaked at 3.4 million barrels per day in 1998, fell to 2.7 million by the time Maduro took office in 2013, and dropped to 1.3 million barrels per day by 2019.
The 2019 oil sanctions shut Venezuela out of the U.S. market, forcing it to rely more heavily on China and India. When secondary sanctions followed in 2020, Europe and India halted purchases altogether. Combined with the pandemic-driven oil slump, production collapsed to just 400,000 barrels per day.
Output has since recovered to about 1 million barrels per day, aided largely by Chevron’s continued operations.
To sustain exports, Venezuela relies on a shadow fleet that uses false flags, renamed vessels, and manipulated transponders. Cargoes are sometimes transferred at sea — posing major environmental risks — before being relabeled in transit hubs such as Malaysia and shipped on to China.
The tanker seizure had little immediate impact on global oil prices due to ample supply and Venezuela’s limited market share. However, a more aggressive U.S. campaign could change that calculus.
For Venezuelan oil prices, the consequences may be sharper. Already heavily discounted due to sanctions risk, Venezuelan crude is now likely to be sold at even steeper reductions. Buyers will demand higher discounts and fewer prepayments, while export volumes may fall, forcing production cuts that are costly to reverse.
The result will be further pressure on the limited revenues Maduro depends on to keep the Venezuelan state afloat.
About the author:
Francisco J. Monaldi, Ph.D., is the Wallace S. Wilson Fellow in Latin American Energy Policy and director of the Latin America Energy Program at the Center for Energy Studies at Rice University’s Baker Institute for Public Policy.
This article is reproduced from The Conversation under a Creative Commons licence
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.
Hugo Carvajal Barrios, the former Venezuelan intelligence chief known as “El Pollo,” has issued an explosive letter from a U.S. federal prison alleging that Nicolás Maduro’s government systematically used drug trafficking, criminal gangs, espionage networks, and even electoral technology as tools to undermine the United States. The 10-page statement, addressed to “President Trump and the People of the United States,” asserts that Venezuela’s ruling elite operates as a “narco-terrorist organization” with global reach and explicit anti-American intent.
Carvajal, a three-star general who served as Director of Military Intelligence under both Hugo Chávez and Maduro, writes that he is now “sitting in an American prison because I voluntarily plead guilty to the crimes charged against me: a narco-terrorism conspiracy.” He frames the letter not as a political intervention but as an act of accountability: a decision, he says, to reveal “the full truth so that the United States can protect itself from the dangers witnessed for so many years.”
Having broken publicly with the Maduro government in 2017, Carvajal fled Venezuela and was later extradited to the United States. He insists that even as he knew he faced prosecution, he acted “with the strongest conviction to dismantle Maduro’s criminal regime and bring freedom to my country.” Today, he writes, he believes it is essential to warn Americans about “the reality of what the Venezuelan regime truly is and why President Trump’s policies are not only correct, but absolutely necessary to the United States’ national security.”
Carvajal accuses Maduro and ruling party strongman Diosdado Cabello of transforming the Venezuelan state into a criminal consortium dedicated to drug trafficking. “I personally witnessed how Hugo Chávez’s government became a criminal organization that is now run by Nicolás Maduro, Diosdado Cabello, and other senior regime officials,” he states. The purpose of this network—known internationally as the Cartel de los Soles—was, he claims, “to weaponize drugs against the United States.”
He maintains that narcotrafficking operations facilitated by Venezuela were not the result of corruption or rogue actors. “The drugs that reached your cities through new routes were not accidents… they were deliberate policies coordinated by the Venezuelan regime against the United States,” he writes. According to Carvajal, the strategy “was suggested by the Cuban regime to Chávez in the mid-2000s” and relied on cooperation from the FARC, ELN, Cuban intelligence agencies, and “Hezbollah.” The regime, he adds, supplied “weapons, passports, and impunity” to these groups.
Carvajal devotes a significant portion of the letter to the evolution of the Venezuelan criminal super-gang Tren de Aragua, now considered one of Latin America’s most rapidly expanding transnational crime networks. He claims he personally witnessed its origins inside Venezuelan prisons.
“I was present when decisions were made to organize and weaponize criminal gangs across Venezuela to protect the regime—among them the group known as Tren de Aragua,” he writes. Chávez, he claims, ordered the recruitment of gang leaders “to defend the revolution in exchange for impunity,” while Maduro later expanded the strategy by “exporting criminality and chaos abroad.”
Carvajal alleges that “thousands of members” of the gang were sent out of Venezuela through coordination among the Ministries of Interior and Prisons, the National Guard, and national police forces. He claims the outflow accelerated when “the Biden-Harris open-border policy became widely known,” asserting that Tren de Aragua “seized the opportunity to send these operatives into the United States.”
“They now have obedient, armed personnel on American soil,” he writes, alleging that the gang was ordered to continue “kidnapping, extorting, and killing” as a means of financing itself abroad.
Carvajal goes on to detail alleged espionage operations linked to both Russian and Cuban intelligence services. He claims Russian operatives approached Chávez with a plan to tap submarine internet cables linking South America and the Caribbean to the United States – purportedly to intercept U.S. government communications.
He also recounts warning Maduro in 2015 that allowing Russia to build a listening post on La Orchila Island “would one day invite American bombs,” a warning he says was ignored.
According to Carvajal, Venezuela and Cuba also sent operatives into the United States. “For twenty years, the Venezuelan regime sent spies into your country – many are still there, some disguised as members of the Venezuelan opposition,” he writes. Cuban intelligence, he claims, “bragged about having sent thousands of spies over decades, some now career politicians.” Most sensationally, he asserts: “U.S. diplomats and CIA officers were paid to assist Chávez and Maduro… and some remain active to this day.”
Carvajal also revives allegations about the voting-technology company Smartmatic. “The Smartmatic system can be altered—this is a fact,” he writes, claiming he oversaw the placement of the official responsible for information systems at Venezuela’s electoral authority. While he stops short of alleging that U.S. elections were stolen, he asserts that “elections can be rigged with the software and has been used to do so.”
Carvajal concludes with a sweeping warning to the United States. “Make no mistake about the threat posed by allowing a narco-terrorist organization to roam freely in the Caribbean,” he writes. “The regime I served is not merely hostile—it is at war with you.” He reiterates his support for Trump’s stance on Venezuela, writing: “I absolutely support President Trump’s policy… because it is in self-defense and he is acting based on the truth.”
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.
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.
The arrival of the USS Gerald Ford in Caribbean waters has raised the stakes in the tense relationship between the United States and Venezuela. The aircraft carrier – the most advanced and powerful in the U.S. Navy – traveled for more than two weeks from the Mediterranean to take up position near South America, joining a growing naval presence under the Pentagon’s Southern Command.
Washington insists the deployment supports anti-narcotics operations aimed at curbing the flow of cocaine and other drugs from Latin America into the United States. Yet the timing and scale of the buildup have raised questions among America’s allies over whether it signals a shift toward a more confrontational posture against the regime of Nicolás Maduro.
Since early September, U.S. forces have carried out at least 19 strikes against small vessels in international waters near Venezuela and Colombia – operations the Trump administration says were targeting “cartel terrorists.” According to Pentagon announcements, some 76 people have been killed since the first narco-boat was destroyed by a missile strike on September 2.
Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth – branded as “Secretary of War” following President Donald Trump’s renaming of the Defense Department – has become the public face of the campaign. “We’re protecting the homeland and taking out the cartel terrorists who wish to harm our people,” Hegseth said in late October, describing the strikes as “a message of deterrence.”
Trump has claimed that some of the targeted vessels were manned by members of the Venezuelan criminal network Tren de Aragua (TdeA), while others were moving narcotics for Colombia’s illegal armed groups, including Gulf Clan and National Liberation Army (ELN) guerrilla.
As the U.S. Navy reinforces its presence in the Caribbean with fighter jets, Marines, and drones, the deployment of the Ford marks the most significant show of American force in the region since the 1989 invasion of Panama. Venezuela, in turn, is on high alert, mobilizing the Bolivarian Armed Forces, National Guard, and civilian militia recruits in preparation for a potential confrontation.
The prospect of an assault on Venezuelan territory no longer feels entirely remote, even though Trump has publicly downplayed any immediate plans for direct intervention. “I wouldn’t be inclined to say that I would do that… I’m not gonna tell you what I’m gonna do with Venezuela,” he stated recently to CBS’s 60 Minutes.
After the Senate voted down a measure that would have required congressional authorization for military action, Republican lawmakers described the result as a “green light” to strike land targets within Venezuela. The Gerald Ford’s presence suggests Washington may not simply be policing drug routes – it is projecting supremacy. With such immense firepower now concentrated near Venezuela, retreating without one tangible result – the arrest of Maduro – could prove politically costly for The White House.
If the ultimate objective is regime change – hoping that Maduro’s government will implode under pressure – the warship could soon find itself running out of steam to remain in the Caribbean. For the Trump administration, time and strategy are now of the essence. Deploying billion-dollar hardware to capture a leader with a US$50 million bounty on his head risks appearing, to Maduro’s allies in Moscow, as an expensive bluff – or hollow show of force.
Should the so-called “Trump Doctrine” falter in the Caribbean, Latin America’s leftist leaders, most notably Colombia’s Gustavo Petro, will capitalize on Washington’s setback, using it to galvanize domestic support ahead of the 2026 elections.
International reaction to the missile strikes has ranged from muted concern to outright condemnation. The United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights, Volker Türk, warned that the attacks “have no justification in international law,” echoing similar criticisms from close U.S. allies including the United Kingdom, France, Netherlands, and to a tarnished degree, Colombia.
CNN reported on Wednesday that the United Kingdom has suspended certain intelligence-sharing with the Pentagon fearing “complicity” in the Caribbean operations. London’s official response – “it is our longstanding policy not to comment on intelligence matters” – only underscores the unease. Both the Netherlands and France maintain a military presence in the Antilles, and claim that shared data could be used in operations that violate human rights.
In Bogotá, President Gustavo Petro, one of Washington’s fiercest critics on drug policy, announced that Colombia would follow the UK’s example and suspend communications between its security forces and U.S. agencies “as long as missile attacks on boats in the Caribbean persist.” Petro added that “the fight against drugs must be subordinated to the human rights of the Caribbean people.”
On Wednesday, U.S Secretary of State Marco Rubio rebuked the European position, stating: “I find it interesting all these countries want us to send nuclear-capable Tomahawk missiles to defend Europe. But when the United States positions aircraft carriers in our hemisphere, where we live, somehow that’s a problem.” He went on to affirm that the European Union does not get to “determine what international law is.”
While Washington frames the campaign as a continuation of the now centuries-old “War on Drugs,” Latin America’s left-leaning governments warn that it risks destabilizing the region and alienating partners at a moment when cooperation is crucial to tackle migration, organized crime, and environmental issues.
For now, the USS Gerald Ford will remain in the Caribbean – a floating fortress and symbol of American deterrence. Its presence projects strength but also uncertainty. Unless Washington clarifies its endgame, its most powerful warship could end up reviving an old question: how far is the United States willing to go in its pursuit of democracy beyond its shores – and at what cost to the stability of a hemisphere it has long abandoned?
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