When U.S. President Donald Trump announced Maduro’s capture on 3 January 2026, global attention quickly shifted to the scale and symbolism of the moment. Coverage emphasised U.S. military involvement, reports of explosions in Caracas, and claims of a rapid operation that led to the Venezuelan president being taken out of the country. References to special forces, air operations, and the drama surrounding the event dominated headlines and social media discussion.
Yet beneath the operational theatre lies a far more consequential story, one largely sidelined by mainstream coverage. The capture of Nicolás Maduro is not only a geopolitical rupture or a display of U.S. military reach. It is a profound shock to a society already pushed to the brink by years of economic collapse, repression, and mass deprivation.
The operation that led to Maduro’s removal was not a clean or isolated extraction. Reported strikes hit La Carlota airbase, Fuerte Tiuna military base, the Federal Legislative Palace, an air facility in Barquisimeto, and multiple airports and helicopter bases. Large sections of Caracas experienced power outages as explosions echoed through the capital. Venezuela’s defence minister confirmed deaths and injuries, though no official casualty figures have been released. That absence speaks volumes about whose suffering is measured carefully and whose is treated as collateral.
These were not empty or abandoned sites. They were active facilities embedded within a densely populated city where millions of civilians were already struggling with shortages of food, electricity, clean water, and medicine. Residential neighbourhoods sit close to military infrastructure in Caracas, and ordinary Venezuelans were not evacuated before the strikes. For many, the morning of 3 January began not with liberation or relief, but with fear, darkness, and uncertainty.
What is clear is that the Venezuelan people, who have already paid an unimaginable price for Maduro’s misrule, are now being asked to gamble again on forces beyond their control. The best-case scenario involves credible elections, restored democracy, lifted sanctions, and transparent management of oil revenues that prioritises rebuilding over enrichment. The worst-case scenario involves prolonged instability, foreign exploitation, renewed violence, and another generation lost to migration.
Mainstream coverage will continue to focus on the fate of Nicolás Maduro and the strategic implications for U.S. foreign policy. These questions matter, but they are not the most important ones. What matters most is what happens to the Venezuelan people now. Their hunger, illness, displacement, and fear are not footnotes to a geopolitical drama. They are the central reality. Until that reality is placed at the centre of the story, the world remains a spectator to suffering, watching history unfold while millions bear its cost.
For most Venezuelans, the central question is not whether Maduro’s removal was deserved. Few would defend a leader under whose rule Venezuela’s economy contracted by roughly 75 per cent, hyperinflation erased life savings, and more than 7.7 million citizens fled the country. Over the years, repression deepened, protests were crushed, and political dissent was met with arbitrary detention and violence.
The real question is what comes next for a population that has already endured conditions resembling a slow-motion humanitarian catastrophe. At various points in the crisis, more than 90 per cent of Venezuelan households faced food insecurity. Infant mortality rose sharply. Diseases once considered under control, including malaria, returned. The healthcare system collapsed as doctors and nurses fled the country alongside their patients. This is the Venezuela that woke up on 3 January 2026 to find its president gone and parts of its already fragile infrastructure damaged by foreign military action.
The immediate aftermath has been marked by uncertainty. Vice President Delcy Rodríguez has requested confirmation regarding Maduro and his wife, Cilia Flores, while announcing emergency measures in Caracas and neighbouring states. Authorities have also appealed for public mobilisation, a step that places additional strain on a population already facing severe hardship. In situations like this, appeals for unity often place the greatest burden on ordinary citizens with limited resources and few safeguards.
Across the border, Colombia has activated security and humanitarian protocols in anticipation of a potential surge of refugees, adding strain to a country already hosting nearly three million Venezuelans. The U.S. Federal Aviation Administration has banned flights over Venezuelan airspace, and the U.S. Embassy in Bogotá has advised American citizens in Venezuela to shelter in place or evacuate when possible. For millions of Venezuelans, such advice rings hollow. There is no evacuation plan for the poor, the sick, or the displaced.
Constitutionally, power should fall to Rodríguez. Politically, the United States and its allies reject the legitimacy of the current government and may instead recognise opposition figures such as Edmundo González or María Corina Machado. This contradiction has created a legal and political vacuum that could easily spiral into conflict. History shows that removing an authoritarian leader does not automatically result in democracy, stability, or improved living conditions. Past cases, including interventions in other nations, demonstrate that transitions without careful planning can lead to prolonged disruption and significant challenges for civilians.
There are also immediate economic dangers. The strikes reportedly damaged sites linked to Venezuela’s oil infrastructure, the backbone of the economy and source of nearly all export revenue. If oil production or exports are disrupted for any sustained period, the consequences will fall hardest on ordinary citizens. Shortages of food, fuel, and medicine could deepen, and inflationary pressures could return with force.
Those in favour of the intervention point to the promise of lifted sanctions and the release of billions of dollars in frozen assets. But these outcomes depend on a smooth and credible transition that has yet to materialise. Even if assets are unlocked, the crucial question is who controls them and how they are used. Will they rebuild hospitals, restore power grids, and stabilise food supply chains, or will they be captured by a new elite aligned with foreign interests? Venezuela’s recent history gives citizens little reason to assume the best.
There is also the deeper issue of sovereignty and resentment. Maduro was widely despised, and his 2024 re-election was rejected as fraudulent by the United States, the European Union, and much of the Venezuelan opposition. A military operation conducted without Venezuelan participation could result in a shift of power controlled externally rather than locally. Concerns about such influence are widely shared across Latin America, where historical interventions remain a sensitive topic.
In the months preceding Maduro’s capture, U.S. pressure increased through a range of military and security measures. These included naval deployments in the Caribbean, operations linked to counter-narcotics enforcement, targeted actions at ports, and restrictions affecting oil shipments. While presented as security-focused initiatives, taken together they contributed to sustained external pressure on Venezuela’s government and economy.
Russia has condemned the operation as armed aggression, while Cuba has labelled it state terrorism. China, a major investor and creditor in Venezuela, stands to lose influence in a region it has courted for decades. The precedent is unsettling. If a global power can capture a sitting head of state without a declared war, the already fragile norms of international law and non-intervention are further eroded.
For the millions of Venezuelans scattered across the Americas and beyond, Maduro’s capture evokes a conflicted mix of hope and dread. Some see a long-overdue chance to return home. Others fear that instability will deepen, pushing recovery even further out of reach. The tragedy is that neither outcome is guaranteed.
The U.S. operation was swift and decisive, but there is no publicly articulated plan for Venezuela’s political reconstruction, economic recovery, or social reconciliation. Press conferences and statements cannot rebuild institutions, heal social fractures, or reverse years of hunger and displacement. Those tasks require time, legitimacy, and a level of coordination that remains conspicuously absent.
