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.

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?