Venezuela: 21st-century colonialism?

The immediate interpretation following Nicolás Maduro’s removal by an elite U.S. force was that there was no clarity as to whether a democratic transition was underway in Venezuela. Three months later, the emerging risk is different: the consolidation of an adaptive authoritarianism with global impact, a kind of 21st-century colonialism, a product—whether collateral or not—of the Trump administration’s interpretation of the Monroe Doctrine.

This model seeks economic efficiency, limited tolerance for certain forms of dissent, reduction—not elimination—of the repressive bureaucracy, and the configuration of an “ideal” opposition: recognizable as part of the democratic tradition, but without real capacity to contest power in the short term.

It’s a canvas for building a perfect dictatorship, as described by authors like Levitsky, albeit with some innovations: the regime enjoys the explicit or tacit support of a power that has yet to clearly define its roadmap for a democratic transition. As the saying goes, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Between 2021 and 2022, the Maduro dictatorship opened channels of dialogue with Washington during the Biden administration. Today, those connections have been normalized. In just three months, diplomatic relations were resumed, sanctions were eased, and visits by U.S. officials to Caracas increased.

If in the times of Hugo Chávez there was an ideological tourism —leftist activists fascinated by the exuberance of the “Bolivarian revolution”—, in 2026 the tours are for potential investors who visit industrial areas and in some cases end with a sea bath in the exclusive locations of the Los Roques archipelago.

Added to this is the enthusiasm of President Trump, who does not miss an opportunity to praise the “virtues” of Venezuela, celebrate his good relationship with interim president Delcy Rodríguez and make cruel jokes: that the country could be the 51st state or that he himself could be a presidential candidate given his popularity in that nation.

Meanwhile, the dictatorship has done little and gained much. It has released some 500 political prisoners, passed an amnesty law, made its first changes to the attorney general and the ombudsman, passed a law to reduce state control in the hydrocarbon sector, is modifying a mining law to facilitate the extraction of gold, rare minerals, and other resources, and reorganized the cabinet to consolidate a new nomenklatura. This transformation reflects the aspirational project of the siblings Delcy and Jorge Rodríguez, perceived—unlike Chávez or Maduro—as intellectuals of the champagne socialist left. From my perspective, they represent a “fancy” authoritarianism: Dior with tongs.

This tandem is sometimes called the Rodrigato. Their measures to relieve social pressure and open space for foreign capital have been taken at the behest of the United States and, according to voices of the old guard, with an approach of “strategic patience,” as written by retired military officer Francisco Ameliach, one of Hugo Chávez’s traditional cadres who has survived the purge of the new political order.

The emphasis on economics, instead of immediately aiming for democratization, may end up propping up the regime.

As Laura Dib, from the Latin America Office in Washington, warned two months after Maduro’s removal: “The worst scenario for Venezuela is the stabilization of a reconfigured authoritarianism: the preservation of absolute control of power under other faces, without a democratic transformation.”

That scenario looks more robust today.

The Rodríguez family uses the threat of external force to discipline internal dissent, introduces changes in key sectors of the economy—including diplomacy—but keeps the repressive apparatus intact.

The replacement of Defense Minister Vladimir Padrino with General Gustavo González López—former head of the political police, SEBIN, and considered one of the architects of the torture apparatus—is an unmistakable sign. And yet, that same general greeted CIA Director John Ratcliffe with a smile on January 15, barely two weeks after Maduro’s ouster.

The only condition the Rodríguez siblings has supposedly set for “behaving well” is that opposition leader María Corina Machado not return to the country. This is a point of honor that quells internal tensions. For the Chavista factions, it is preferable to deal with their historical enemy, the United States, than with Machado.

The irony is evident: the adapted regime benefits from two extractions. Maduro’s, through sheer force, and Machado’s, who has spent three months in an exile that was neither sought nor convenient, in a balance that someone compared to that of a tightrope walker.

Venezuelans often say they come from the future. This time is no different. The country has already become a case study in “how democracies die.” Unlike the dictatorships of the 20th century, those of the 21st arrive with votes. Besides Venezuela, Nicaragua and El Salvador are recent examples.

However, in this new phase, a further step has been taken. To the experimentation with an authoritarian model emerging from an external act of force, combining economic efficiency with minimal political freedoms—characteristic of hybrid regimes—another element is added: Venezuela is emerging as the first corporate colony of the 21st century.

It may sound exaggerated, but it is a fact that the country lost its sovereignty. Regaining it will not be easy, even with elections and a change of regime.

In the old dichotomy, the forces of capital are taking advantage of the vulnerability of a country that wanted to be at the forefront of 21st-century socialism and today instead runs the risk of becoming an example of 21st-century colonialism.

Sign up for our weekly newsletter to get more English-language news coverage from EL PAÍS USA Edition