The sequence of events is stark and unambiguous. On January 3, 2026, U.S. military forces captured Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro in what officials in Caracas immediately denounced as a kidnapping. Three days later, on January 6, President Donald Trump announced that the United States had secured a deal to import up to $2 billion worth of Venezuelan crude oil, with proceeds to be "controlled by me, as President of the United States." The timeline strips away any pretense: this was not an intervention for democracy or drug enforcement, but a calculated seizure of one of the world's largest oil reserves.
The explicit link between military action and resource extraction reveals the material logic driving U.S. policy in Latin America. While Washington has framed the operation through familiar rhetoric—counter-narcotics, tyranny, humanitarian concern—Trump's own statements about controlling Venezuelan oil revenues and redirecting supply chains expose the intervention's true objectives. This is resource colonialism, executed with remarkable transparency in an era where great power competition increasingly centers on energy security and supply chain control.
The architecture of extraction
Trump's announcement was remarkably candid about U.S. intentions. The deal, he stated, would bring 30-50 million barrels of Venezuelan crude to U.S. markets while American oil companies rebuild Venezuela's deteriorated infrastructure. He emphasized that the arrangement would lower gas prices for American consumers—a domestic political consideration explicitly tied to foreign military intervention. The president's claim that he would personally control the oil revenue represents an extraordinary assertion of economic authority over a sovereign nation's primary resource, rendered possible only through the preceding military action.
The installation of Delcy Rodríguez as interim president underscores the cynical mechanics of this arrangement. Rodríguez herself remains under U.S. sanctions, yet now presides over a government cooperating with Washington's energy agenda. This is not regime change in service of human rights or democratic governance—it is regime change in service of market access and resource flows. The contradictions are laid bare: the same government that sanctioned Venezuelan officials for corruption now partners with them to extract oil revenues.
Redirecting energy flows from Beijing to Washington
The geopolitical significance of this deal extends far beyond bilateral U.S.-Venezuela relations. For years, Venezuela's oil exports have increasingly flowed to China as U.S. sanctions closed Western markets. Chinese state companies invested heavily in Venezuelan production, securing energy supplies crucial to Beijing's industrial base. This arrangement served dual purposes for Venezuela: maintaining export revenues despite Western isolation and diversifying geopolitical partnerships beyond U.S. influence.
The forcible redirection of Venezuelan crude to U.S. markets represents a direct strike against Chinese energy security. By capturing control of Venezuelan oil production—however degraded that capacity has become—Washington simultaneously secures supplies for its own market while denying them to its primary strategic competitor. This is the logic of zero-sum resource competition, where control over production becomes as important as the resource itself.
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From sanctions to seizure
The trajectory of U.S. policy toward Venezuela has followed a predictable escalation. Years of sanctions devastated Venezuela's oil production and broader economy, creating humanitarian crisis while failing to produce regime change. The sanctions' failure pushed Washington toward more direct methods. The progression from economic warfare to military intervention reflects a broader pattern: when economic coercion fails to achieve policy objectives, the U.S. frequently escalates to military options, particularly when significant resources are at stake.
The speed of the oil deal's announcement suggests it was negotiated in advance, likely with opposition figures or elements within the Venezuelan government willing to cooperate in exchange for post-Maduro positioning. The transaction's structure—U.S. control of revenues, American companies rebuilding infrastructure—positions Venezuela as a client state rather than a sovereign partner. This is not development assistance or economic partnership; it is extraction under military occupation by proxy.
The clarity of resource imperialism
The events in Venezuela remove any remaining ambiguity about the relationship between U.S. military power and resource access in the 21st century. The intervention follows a logic as old as empire: identify a strategic resource, neutralize political obstacles to its control, and establish mechanisms for extraction. What Trump's announcement has done is make that logic explicit, connecting the military action to the economic objective without the customary interval for diplomatic cover.
This transparency should inform how we analyze future U.S. interventions in resource-rich nations with independent foreign policies. The humanitarian justifications, democracy promotion rhetoric, and security frameworks serve primarily as political packaging for interventions driven by material interests—energy security, corporate access to markets and resources, and denial of those same resources to geopolitical competitors. Venezuela demonstrates that in moments of intensifying great power competition, the U.S. is willing to pursue those interests with remarkable directness, reducing the gap between intervention and extraction to a matter of days.
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