Venezuela: The Unbroken Arc

The US assault on Venezuela in January 2026 was described by critics and cheerleaders alike as ‘unprecedented’. Yet seen in its historical context, the abduction of President Nicolás Maduro — followed by Donald Trump’s assertion that ‘we are in control’ and the subsequent process of economic rather than political opening — is entirely continuous with established US foreign policy. Trump is not innovating; he is recycling a bipartisan repertoire that stretches back more than a century, from Roosevelt through Cold War rivalry to the campaign against chavismo. The arc of imperialism remains unbroken.

With the 1904 Roosevelt Corollary, Washington claimed the right to exercise ‘international police power’ in Latin America, intervening against local rulers accused of ‘chronic wrongdoing’ that threatened US assets or national interests. Anti-drug campaigns were an important part of this imperial architecture. By prohibiting opium imports, the 1922 Jones–Miller Act helped to craft a domestic narrative of external threat which legitimised the denial of sovereignty to southern nations.

In line with this sharpened focus on its ‘backyard’, the US Congress considered a bilateral treaty with Venezuela in the summer of 1926, aiming to stabilise relations and protect rapidly expanding US private investment. By that time, capital was flowing into Venezuela’s newly discovered oil fields, with Standard Oil of New Jersey (later Exxon) and Royal Dutch Shell leading the way. The lucrative investments were encouraged by the country’s iron-fisted ruler, General Juan Vicente Gómez. Convinced that the state lacked the capacity to act as an extractivist entrepreneur, he handed full responsibility to the private sector, turning Venezuela into the world’s largest oil exporter and the second-largest producer after the US.

It was essential for Washington to guarantee a smooth operating environment for its firms, which naturally meant propping up Venezuelan authoritarianism. A series of dictatorships repressed nationalist and democratic opposition over the following decades, up until the social democratic President Rómulo Betancourt came to power in 1958 and embarked on a process of political reform. At this point, Washington softened its line and agreed to accommodate democracy, but only within tight parameters. The unspoken condition was that Venezuela would continue to send roughly 40 percent of its oil exports to the US.

In the mid-1970s, President Carlos Andrés Pérez embarked on the programme known as La Gran Venezuela, which involved restructuring oil sector contracts and creating a new national oil firm, PDVSA, to capture more income in taxes and royalties. US companies refused to operate under the new framework and pivoted to other countries like Mexico and Saudi Arabia. Pérez would later change course, trying to win back private capital and boost production with a sweeping privatisation of PDVSA. But the companies’ hopes were dashed when Hugo Chávez was elected at the turn of the millennium. He moved to reassert sovereign control of natural resources, passing a new hydrocarons law which nationalised much of the sector and overriding corporate resistance. 

Ever since, successive US governments have tried to contain and ultimately collapse the Bolivarian Revolution through diplomatic pressure, regional isolation, recognising a parallel presidency and crippling economic sanctions. The 2026 intervention fits within this trend. After toppling Maduro, Washington has pursued rapid diplomatic rapprochement with Caracas, sidelining the opposition and conferring legitimacy on the former Vice President, Delcy Rodríguez, in what amounts to a replay of previous bilateral tactics: using coercion to get its way while pursuing strategic engagement with repressive elites. Rodríguez’s role, like that of pre-Bolivarian presidents, is to guarantee the US transactional stability, aware that any dereliction of this duty could seal her fate.

In exercising strict oversight of Venezuela’s oil export earnings, the US has revived the classic model of fiscal receivership that it previously deployed in the Dominican Republic (1905), Cuba (1906) and Haiti (1915): managing the local economy and securing investor opportunities without the need for direct military intervention. Since January, an estimated $13 billion of Venezuelan export earnings has moved through US supervised accounts, while less than $1 billion has been reinjected back into Venezuela. The deal signed in August makes the Pentagon a major partner in the country’s extraction industry.

Yet Trump’s hopes for a major boom have so far turned out to be misguided. The Venezuelan economy has been devastated by mismanagement, mass emigration and catastrophic earthquakes, as well as years of punishing sanctions, some of which remain in place. It is now suffering further from the bureaucratic weight of Washington’s fiscal oversight. All this means that confidence in the new government remains low, both among foreign investors and the domestic public.

For the average Venezuelan, US imperialism is experienced as ongoing shortages, persistent inflation, financial insecurity and political stagnation, with civil liberties eroded and democratic elections indefinitely delayed. We can be sure that no ballot will take place until Washington is confident that the country has the right legal-institutional structures to protect US-led oil extraction on a mass scale. The extent to which the US can mould Venezuela into profitable shape — despite a relative lack of enthusiasm from fossil capitalists and an atmosphere of widespread popular frustration — will be tested in the months ahead.

What’s clear is that, for all his bluster and bravado, Trump is a fairly conventional US president when it comes to the politics of the hemisphere. The century-long struggle over Venezuela’s massive hydrocarbons and mineral resources continues. Its basic pattern remains unchanged: secure order, guarantee access, set political outcomes. The question is how long it will take for resistance to erupt. While US control of Venezuelan oil may not succeed in driving prosperity in either country, it may well create the conditions for another Chávez.