We all know what has happened in Venezuela in the last 48 hours.
What we’re not so sure about is what to make of it.
There’s been no shortage of opinions from all corners of the globe re: the actions of the U.S. intervening in Venezuela.
I will share my own in due time. But I want to share with you today two vastly different opinions on this matter. One is from an academic, the other from a true blood Venezuelan.
Both are valid in their own right, yet both are highly polemical, meaning intended to provoke an emotional reaction from whomever is consuming it.
I’ve borrowed these from social media posts, and added AI voices for purposes of making the podcast. Both commentaries are below in full.
The important takeaway is that these sorts of issues are incredibly emotionally charged, and it is important to take the time to listen to as many viewpoints as possible when forming you own opinion on any subject.
As I say at the very end of the podcast: You only get one opinion. Use it wisely!
JN
The first commentary is from blogger and academic Anoop Verma anoopverma.com.
History has a habit of repeating itself, first as justification and later as regret. Venezuela today stands where many resource-rich nations have stood before—accused, isolated, and finally struck, not because it is uniquely evil, but because it is inconveniently endowed.
Oil, in the modern world, is not merely a commodity. It is power in liquid form. And power, when held outside the preferred architecture of empire, becomes suspect by definition. The language changes with time—communism, terrorism, narcotics, migration threats—but the destination remains the same: regime collapse followed by resource realignment.
The latest allegations levelled by Donald Trump against Caracas arrive wrapped in familiar moral packaging. Criminal networks. Security threats. Hemispheric instability. These are serious words, meant to close debate before it begins. Yet history urges caution. It reminds us that certainty in geopolitics is often manufactured, not discovered.
Two decades ago, the world was told—repeatedly and confidently—that Saddam Hussein possessed weapons of mass destruction. The claim was treated not as a hypothesis, but as a verdict. Iraq was invaded. Its state dismantled. Its oil sector opened. The weapons, famously, were never found.
That absence did not reverse the war. It merely arrived too late to matter.
Venezuela’s story now carries an unsettling resemblance. The charges are different, but the structure is identical: demonize the regime, compress complexity into slogans, and present military action as a reluctant necessity. Propaganda succeeds not by lying outright, but by speaking with absolute confidence before facts have time to breathe.
If, years from now, investigations reveal that today’s accusations were exaggerated, selectively constructed, or strategically misleading, the damage will already have been done. Governments can be toppled in weeks; truth takes decades to recover its dignity.
The deeper reality is this: control over petroleum remains central to the maintenance of the American global order. This is not conspiracy; it is doctrine, openly articulated across decades of strategic literature. Energy flows shape alliances. Energy chokepoints define red lines. Energy independence for others is quietly viewed as strategic disobedience.
Oil-rich states that lack institutional resilience are not seen as partners. They are seen as opportunities.
The Venezuelan crisis is therefore not an aberration but a pattern—one that has touched Iran, Libya, Iraq, and others in different forms. The moral language shifts, but the economic geometry remains constant. Empire rarely announces itself as empire; it arrives disguised as concern.
For countries watching from afar, the lesson is sobering. Resource wealth does not guarantee sovereignty. It tests it. Weak institutions invite intervention; strong ones complicate it. The danger is not having oil. The danger is having oil without the capacity to defend political autonomy, economic competence, and narrative control.
Venezuela may yet be remembered not for what it did wrong, but for what it possessed. And history may again ask an uncomfortable question: was the real crime a security threat—or was it oil?
The second commentary is from a contact of mine on Facebook named Juan Pablo Sans. Juan is an online entrepreneur, and does not claim to be any sort of political pundit or expert in any way. Yet, having experienced what all Venezuelan’s have experienced, I think his views are worth hearing as well.
If you are American and you’re curious about why Trump forced Maduro out, you should read this first...
(An analysis by a Venezuelan who left Venezuela)
Because unless you are Venezuelan, you are missing almost everything that matters.
I am Venezuelan.
I left my country in 2013, when Hugo Chávez died and Nicolás Maduro took power.
I didn’t leave because I wanted to “try life abroad.”
I left because I could see what was coming, and staying meant watching my future shrink year after year.
So when Americans ask, “What do Venezuelans think about Trump forcing Maduro out of the presidency?”
Let me answer that question honestly, without slogans, without moral theater, and without pretending this is simple.
Most Venezuelans feel relief.
Not because we love Trump or because we believe the U.S. does things out of pure love for freedom.
And not because we are naïve about geopolitics, oil, or power.
We feel relief because we have lived through something Americans have never experienced: a country where nothing works, where elections don’t matter, where money stops being money, and where time itself feels broken.
Now, before someone jumps in to say “but not all Venezuelans agree,” let’s be precise.
Yes, there is a minority that doesn’t agree.
And that minority usually falls into one of three groups.
- Some were doing business with the regime.
- Some were personally comfortable inside the system and insulated from its worst consequences.
- And some were pushed into such extreme poverty that survival depended on obedience.
This last group matters, so let me explain it clearly.
Millions of Venezuelans were reduced to depending on a government-issued food box.
A box with rice, pasta, oil, sometimes expired food.
A box that arrived irregularly. A box that was used as leverage.
People were told, explicitly or implicitly: “If the government falls, this goes away.”
That is hostage psychology!
When misery reaches that level, people don’t defend the system because they believe in it.
They defend it because they are afraid of losing the only thing standing between them and hunger.
So yes, some people opposed change.
But that opposition was not free, informed, or dignified.
It was coerced by collapse.
The rest of us lived something else entirely.
Since Maduro took power back in 2013, Venezuela lost roughly 80% of its economy.
We lived through years of hyperinflation where prices didn’t rise monthly or yearly. They rose daily.
Sometimes hourly.
Salaries became meaningless. Pensions became symbolic.
Entire professions disappeared.
We protested. We marched. Thousands of people got k* and tens of thousands more were illegally incarcerated as political prisoner.
Just because they didn’t like Chavez or Maduro.
We also voted because we believe in democracy.
In 2015, the regime lost parliament by a massive margin. The result was ignored.
We voted again. In 2024, the opposition won overwhelmingly, roughly 70–30. The result was ignored.
Imagine winning every swing state in the U.S. and then being told, “No.”
That is not politics.
And still, we didn’t rise in arms.
We tried to stay constitutional. Peaceful. Legal.
During all this time, around a third of the country left.
Families were torn apart.
My own father died in exile.
Children grew up without grandparents.
Entire cities aged overnight.
So when Americans say, “But foreign intervention is wrong,” understand this:
From the inside, Venezuela are already occupied by Iran, China, Cuba, Russia, who are using our beloved country as shelter for terrorism, d* trafficking, and as a foothold in American continent.
No Venezuelan I know is celebrating bombs, humiliation, or chaos.
What we are reacting to is the possibility that the lock might finally open.
We know the U.S. has interests. Oil. Minerals. Strategy. Power.
We are not children.
But we also remember a time when Venezuela was functional, prosperous, and connected to the world.
When people came to our country instead of fleeing it.
When a future didn’t feel irresponsible to imagine.
So if you are American and confused by Venezuelans celebrating, don’t ask whether they “support intervention.”
Ask what kind of suffering makes people accept risk in exchange for hope.
Because this reaction didn’t come from ideology but from exhaustion.
Viva Venezuela libre!
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