The Trump administration has already shown its willingness to cooperate with the same repressive regime it once fiercely opposed when its own interests are at stake. Before Maduro’s ouster, the impoverished Chavista government was facing declining oil production and had few international partners.
By Cristina RAMIREZ
When the United States ousted Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro from power earlier this year and placed him in a prison cell in New York, Venezuelans at home and abroad celebrated.
For the first time in 27 years, the country faced a real opportunity for regime change. But removing an autocrat does not necessarily mean dismantling the authoritarian system that kept him in power, especially when the person who removed him is himself an aspiring authoritarian and kleptocrat. Nearly nine months after Maduro was captured by US special forces, the prospect of democratic change is fading by the day. This became apparent last week at the United Nations General Assembly, where US President Donald Trump warmly welcomed the leader he left at the helm of the country, Delcy Rodríguez, who had been Maduro’s vice president.
Trump’s support has prompted some U.S. allies in Latin America to move closer to the Chavista government, as seen in last month’s meeting between Paraguayan President Santiago Peña and Rodríguez. This is happening even as the United Nations fact-finding mission to Venezuela reports that the apparatus of repression built under Chavismo remains largely intact. While some political prisoners have been released and access to some previously blocked media has been restored, the most prominent figures of the Maduro regime are still in power.
The security services and senior military leaders have not been purged of regime loyalists, while armed groups “colectivos” continue to operate with impunity. No matter how US Secretary of State Marco Rubio tries to present these facts, or how often Rodríguez promises free elections, a democratic transition is not on the horizon.
Trump’s priorities—energy security, access to low-cost oil, and rewarding his business allies—help explain this authoritarian continuity. Venezuela offers all three, with its vast oil reserves providing U.S. refiners with additional supplies and reducing exposure to the volatility of energy markets. In August, for example, the Trump administration reached a deal with North American Blue Energy Partners, giving the company a 100-year concession for 17 Venezuelan oil fields containing about 65 billion barrels of proven reserves.
The US government also took a 35% stake in the company and the right to buy 20% of its production at cost. And other investments are on the way, while Venezuela’s interim government expects the NABEP deal alone to bring in up to $100 billion in infrastructure investment. Chevron is expanding its operations in Venezuela, while ExxonMobil is discussing a return to the country, nearly two decades after Hugo Chávez nationalized its oil assets. There is no inherent contradiction between economic recovery and democratization. The two can and should go hand in hand, as happened in places like Poland in the 1990s. The problem begins when economic stabilization is put forward without a clear plan for a democratic transition – precisely the approach of the Trump administration.
In his first press conference since Maduro’s capture, Trump barely mentioned democracy, but he had plenty to say about oil. A 100-year concession is no ordinary foreign investment. He assumes that the basic agreement will survive past successive U.S. administrations. And since the U.S. government has a direct stake in the company, American taxpayers have a vested interest in protecting it.
Trump’s oil deal, brokered by businessman Alejandro Betancourt, a Chavismo loyalist who has been embroiled in several corruption scandals, was negotiated with little transparency and without a competitive bidding process by the Rodríguez government, whose constitutional legitimacy remains contested.
The deal places a significant portion of Venezuela’s key asset under the control of a foreign government for an extraordinary period. Add to that Trump’s statement at the UN General Assembly that the US should control Venezuela’s oil because “the winner takes the spoils,” and it’s understandable why a future democratically elected Venezuelan government might want to renegotiate the deal. Nothing compels US oil companies to oppose democracy or deliberately block elections, but billions of dollars in US and foreign investment create powerful incentives to avoid the uncertainty that free elections and a new government would bring.
A Venezuelan government that protects contracts, keeps oil flowing, cooperates with the U.S. government, and allows American companies to operate freely is extremely valuable, no matter how democratic it is. If this deal materializes, these incentives will not disappear when Trump leaves office. Venezuela may end up stable enough to attract foreign investment, but never democratic enough to put that investment at risk.
The Trump administration has already shown its willingness to cooperate with the same repressive regime it once fiercely opposed, when its own interests are at stake.
Before Maduro’s ouster, the impoverished Chavista government was facing declining oil production and had few international partners. New oil revenues could ease some of Venezuela’s economic woes and allow the regime to rebuild relations with its neighbors, making it harder to remove. That gives the Chavista regime a better chance of survival, while the United States provides greater energy security and a reliable ally in Caracas—a win-win situation for everyone except Venezuelans seeking political freedom. Maduro’s ouster created an opportunity for democratic change. Trump’s oil grab is sending it back down the path it didn’t take.
(The author lectures on comparative political economy and the political economy of corruption at King’s College London)