January 5, 2026

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Venezuela After the Maduro Capture: Tactical Success, Strategic Risk

AP Photo/Julia Demaree Nikhinson

The U.S. operation that resulted in the arrest and removal of Venezuelan leader Nicolás Maduro and his wife was a tactically sophisticated and operationally disciplined mission, by all accounts, executed by U.S. Army Special Operations Forces (SOF), specifically, Delta Force commandos. From a strictly military and intelligence perspective, the raid achieved its immediate objective with speed, precision, and minimal exposure, demonstrating once again that the United States military retains an unmatched capacity for high-end, time-sensitive direct action. The longer-term and more consequential issue, however, lies in what strategic trajectory the mission initiates, and whether that trajectory is controllable.

At the tactical level, decapitation operations are often judged by their efficiency rather than their aftermath. Yet history shows that the removal of a head of state does not equate to the removal of a regime, let alone the resolution of the political, ideological, and security ecosystems that sustain that regime. In Venezuela’s case, the Maduro government is embedded within a dense network of military elites, party structures, economic patronage, armed colectivos, and transnational criminal linkages. The physical capture of Maduro disrupts that system, but it does not dismantle it. On the contrary, such disruption risks fragmentation, often the most dangerous phase in regime-transition environments.

The public framing adopted by the Trump administration compounds this risk. In press conferences, U.S. President Donald Trump and U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio emphasized oil, natural resources, and control over post-Maduro outcomes, including statements suggesting that “the oil will pay for itself,” and that the United States will be “strongly involved” in running Venezuela’s future. This language signals intent to allies, adversaries, and domestic actors inside Venezuela that the operation is not limited to law enforcement or counter-narcotics, but extends into governance, economic control, and hemispheric power projection as a part of great power competition.

Therefore, the argument that the operation is primarily about drugs is one that many analysts have pushed back against. While Venezuela has functioned as a permissive corridor and protection environment for trafficking networks, the bulk of narcotics entering the United States originates elsewhere in the Andean supply chain. Drug trafficking functions less as the core driver than as a legitimizing framework layered onto a broader strategic objective. Oil and natural resources are clearly central, but they are not sufficient on their own to explain the scope, tone, and ambition of U.S. involvement.

Crucially, this policy direction did not originate with the Trump administration. Pressure on Venezuela has been bipartisan and cumulative, rooted in decades of Beltway consensus around hemispheric dominance, regime legitimacy, and the strategic importance of energy security in the Western Hemisphere. The current administration is saying openly what previous administrations often implied or pursued indirectly.

Still, for many in the U.S. foreign and security policy community, the parallels with the U.S. invasion of Iraq in 2003 are difficult to ignore. The notion that oil revenues would finance stabilization, reconstruction, and democratic transformation echoes arguments advanced during the George W. Bush administration in the early stages of the Iraq war. That logic underestimated first- and second-order effects: the collapse of state authority, the emergence of a violent, armed insurgency, and the capacity of external state sponsors to promote chaos. The result was not a stable democratic order, but prolonged regional instability, the empowerment of extremist movements, and a reconfiguration of the Middle East’s security landscape, including through the rise of the Islamic State, which then went on to terrorize the region, a threat which remains to this day.

A similar ideological assumption appears to be at work in Venezuela: that removing Maduro will catalyze a democratic and liberal hemispheric realignment under U.S. leadership. Within parts of the administration, Venezuela is viewed not merely as a failed state, but as a node in a broader ideological struggle that includes Cuba and, by extension, the remnants of Cold War–era resistance to U.S. primacy in Latin America. The press conference rhetoric from President Trump and Secretary Rubio, which quickly pivoted from Venezuela to Cuba’s “failed regime,” strongly suggests that Havana is perceived as the next pressure point. If Venezuelan oil subsidies to Cuba are cut off under U.S. control, the Cuban regime would face acute economic stress—potentially setting conditions for renewed confrontation.

Secretary Rubio is deeply shaped by Cuban exile and immigration politics, a background that has long informed his worldview on Latin America and, in particular, on Cuba. That personal and ideological inheritance frames regional engagement not merely as a matter of strategic interest, but as a moral and historical struggle against authoritarianism and communism. There is a real risk, however, that when foreign policy becomes anchored in ideological commitments, as seen with the ‘neocons’ during the Iraq war, it underestimates local complexity, overestimates the transformative power of regime change, producing outcomes that are far more destabilizing than intended.

This trajectory raises profound concerns. Latin American states, already sensitive to historical patterns of U.S. intervention in the region, will likely view an assertive U.S. role in “running” Venezuela as a revival of coercive hemispheric management rather than a limited corrective action. Such perceptions shape diplomatic alignment, internal political narratives, and the willingness of regional actors to cooperate, or quietly resist.

President Trump’s public assertion that the United States will be “running Venezuela” carries strategic consequences, implying direct responsibility for governing a country of more than thirty million people, which is geographically vast, socially fragmented, and institutionally hollowed out by years of crisis. Even if Washington can negotiate transitional arrangements with elements of the existing regime or military elite, the perception of foreign administration would be unavoidable. History suggests that this perception alone is sufficient to catalyze anti-U.S. mobilization, particularly among nationalist actors, armed colectivos, and criminal networks that can reframe cooperation as collaboration. Any attempt to enforce or protect such arrangements would require a visible U.S. security presence, transforming political management into a security mission and creating the conditions for insurgency. The parallel with Iraq is instructive: initial assumptions that governance could be imposed or outsourced without provoking sustained resistance proved illusory, as foreign control—real or perceived—became the central organizing grievance for armed opposition. In Venezuela, similar dynamics would likely emerge, turning even pragmatic elite deals into targets and embedding the potential presence of U.S. forces in a protracted struggle to secure an imposed political order rather than facilitate a legitimate domestic transition.

Regionally, the response to U.S. actions in Venezuela has been shaped less by sympathy for Maduro than by logical perceptions of precedent and narrative. Brazil and Chile, despite their criticism of authoritarian governance in Caracas, are wary of an overt U.S. role, recalling a long history in which external intervention produced instability rather than democratic consolidation. Cuba views the operation through an existential lens, interpreting Venezuela as the first move in a broader campaign aimed at Havana, reinforcing siege narratives that harden rather than weaken regime behavior. Traditional U.S. partners such as Panama were also unsettled; references early into Trump’s second term to regaining control over the Panama Canal reinforce fears that Venezuela is not simply an isolated case.

Support for U.S. actions in Venezuela has come from a narrow group of governments whose alignment with Washington is driven by ideological convergence rather than a shared assessment of long-term regional risk. Argentina has been the most explicit supporter, reflecting its current leadership’s strong opposition to leftist and populist governance models associated with Caracas and Havana. Similar backing has come from El Salvador, where close security ties with Washington and President Bukele’s hardline stance against authoritarian socialism shape policy, as well as Paraguay, which has long adopted an uncompromising position against the Maduro regime. Ecuador has offered tacit support rooted in concerns over migration and organized crime spillover, while Costa Rica has endorsed pressure on Caracas while remaining cautious about escalation. Uruguay has aligned diplomatically with Western accountability efforts but has done so in a more restrained manner. These reactions underscore that regional support is less a product of consensus on U.S. strategy than of domestic ideological positioning, with many of these states rejecting the Maduro system while quietly harboring concerns about the precedent and consequences of direct U.S. intervention.

Beyond the region, the European Union, even while refusing to recognize the legitimacy of the Maduro government, has reason for concern particularly in light of Secretary Rubio’s and President Trump’s insistence that this administration will act decisively on stated intentions. President Trump’s parallel remarks about taking Greenland from Denmark heighten European unease by suggesting a broader willingness to challenge sovereignty norms. China and Russia are constrained in their ability to respond directly within the Western Hemisphere, but both are likely to interpret U.S. actions as justification to contest American power asymmetrically through diplomatic obstruction, covert influence, and pressure in other theaters, from Taiwan to Eastern Europe. Their potential reactions might transform a regional intervention in the Western Hemisphere into a catalyst for broader strategic competition.

From a security standpoint, the most plausible medium-term risk is not state-to-state confrontation but hybrid conflict. If remnants of the Venezuelan regime, armed colectivos, or splintered security units engage in guerrilla warfare, sabotage, or asymmetric resistance—potentially funded by narcotics revenue and supported by external actors, the United States could find itself drawn into a prolonged stabilization mission. President Trump’s public assertion that the United States is “not afraid to put troops on the ground,” implicitly acknowledges this possibility. Ground forces may become necessary not to remove Maduro, but to secure infrastructure, suppress insurgency, and manage political fallout; precisely the dynamics that turned tactical success in Iraq into strategic overextension.

The operation against Maduro can be judged a military success while remaining a strategic inflection point fraught with risk. Venezuela’s size, institutional decay, regional linkages, and ideological symbolism make it far more likely that this intervention marks the opening phase of a broader and less predictable contest in the Western Hemisphere. Whether this ushers in a new era of U.S. dominance or a new cycle of instability will depend not on the brilliance of the raid, but on whether policymakers internalize the lessons of Iraq, the Arab Spring, and decades of Latin American history—lessons that warn against confusing regime removal with political resolution.