Tareck El Aissami: The former Venezuelan power broker now turning against his own in court

Less than a month ago, a trial began in Venezuela that once seemed impossible. Tareck El Aissami — just three years ago, the most powerful man in the Venezuelan regime, a former vice president, former oil minister, and an inseparable figure in the governments of Hugo Chávez and Nicolás Maduro — arrived at the first hearing in a wheelchair, visibly thinner, wearing the light‑blue prison uniform. He is the central figure in the largest corruption case opened in Venezuela in two decades: 64 defendants, billions of dollars missing, and a criminal system built from within the state to evade U.S. sanctions.

The trial is being held on the top floor of the Palace of Justice in Caracas, under the watch of armed men. It is closed to the public and sessions run until the early hours of the morning. The case file is under lock and key. “It’s a major case, and there’s so much secrecy surrounding it,” says former prosecutor Zair Mundaray, now in exile, who is following the proceedings through sources within the courts.

What those sources have revealed is disturbing. Before the court, El Aissami testified that he was extorted by prosecutors from the Attorney General’s Office, who demanded money in exchange for freeing him from the case. That he was subjected to enforced disappearance, prolonged isolation, denial of medical care, and the use of drugs during interrogations. That a prosecutor and a doctor stripped him and drugged him. That he spent eight months under a spotlight, sleeping on an extremely cold floor. El Aissami said he did not know torture existed in Venezuela until he experienced it himself — even though he oversaw the police forces when he served as interior minister between 2008 and 2012.

And he has named names. El Aissami testified that, under orders from Tarek William Saab, who headed the Attorney General’s Office — the same office now prosecuting him — until February, prosecutors and a psychiatrist “drugged and stripped him during an interrogation.” The defendant said Saab went to his cell “to mock his conditions” and once told him: “You sleep like a prince, because that’s how princes sleep — on the floor.”

Mundaray added that El Aissami said Saab threatened him: “You’re dead. Today the whole country hates you, but I’m going to make sure the whole universe hates you.” He also claims Saab tried to implicate him and his bodyguards in the murder of rapper Canserbero, a case the former prosecutor reopened and made a priority.

The first hearing ended with El Aissami in tears. He demanded his right to medical care and said he feared he would never see his son again, who was recovering from heart surgery.

The defendant has turned each appearance into an open challenge to the court. He has denounced procedural violations and demanded public hearings. “If this is the biggest theft in history, then it must be the most transparent trial,” he reportedly said. His complaints have had an effect: last week, prosecutor Eddie Rodríguez — whom he is said to have accused of visiting his cell to demand that he record a video confessing to crimes — was temporarily removed from the case. Meanwhile, the herniated disc and the blood clot in his leg, which he has suffered since his arrest — the result of eight months sleeping on a freezing floor — have led his defense to request conditional release.

El Aissami has also pointed to other schemes involving officials close to Maduro and the president’s wife, Cilia Flores. His defense is seeking to have the trial annulled.

At the heart of the case lies something far larger than one man: a complex criminal network intertwined with the state. The so‑called PDVSA‑Crypto case — named after Venezuela’s state‑owned oil company — investigates the embezzlement tied to the system the Venezuelan government used between 2019 and 2022 to trade oil for cryptocurrencies, a workaround that allowed it to keep operating despite U.S. sanctions.

This system also involves Delcy Rodríguez, then vice president and economy minister, and later in charge of the Oil Ministry after El Aissami abruptly resigned in March 2023, disappeared from public view, and was arrested a year later. Also on the dock are former lawmaker Hugbel Roa, former finance minister Simón Zerpa, and former crypto‑regulator chief Joselit Ramírez.

The charges are serious: treason, misappropriation of public assets, money laundering, and criminal conspiracy. The money lost in this case alone is estimated at $5.55 billion, according to the Attorney General’s Office, and $16.9 billion, according to Transparency Venezuela. “The indictment states that the foreign currency generated by crude‑oil sales was routed through cryptoassets and business operations carried out by 74 commercial companies,” the NGO explained.

These are not the only accusations hanging over El Aissami. He has been on the U.S. Treasury Department’s sanctions list since 2017, is wanted by U.S. authorities — with a reward offered — and the federal court in Manhattan links him to drug‑trafficking networks and sanctions evasion. In the records of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), he appears as “captured” following his arrest by Venezuelan authorities in April 2024.

The trial comes two years late — from the moment El Aissami’s arrest was announced to the start of proceedings — and opens at a moment of convulsive transition: Chavismo is trying to regroup after Maduro’s capture in the U.S. military intervention, while acting President Delcy Rodríguez promises to dismantle the opaque judicial apparatus that for years served as a tool of repression. For now, El Aissami seems determined to shine a light on the abuses committed by his own side.

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