COLUMN: When a Trump Opponent Puts on a MAGA Cap After a Military Raid

Yesterday’s Insults, Today’s Bowing and Scraping

We must remember Gustavo Petro’s words before the raid. Trump was a “madman,” a “sick man,” a “fascist,” an “accomplice to genocide.” Petro, a former M-19 guerrilla and the first leftist president in Colombian history, presented himself as a defender of Latin American sovereignty. He denounced American imperialism, criticized Trump’s immigration policies, and refused to fall in line with Washington. And Trump gave as good as he got. He had warned Petro that he “had better watch his back” and had raised the possibility of invading Colombia, saying that “it sounds good.” The two men publicly despised each other. Their governments were in open conflict. And then, January 3 arrived. The raid on Caracas. Maduro’s capture. And suddenly, Petro understood. He understood that Trump wasn’t bluffing. That the threats weren’t just rhetoric. That the empire could strike anywhere, anytime. So, when the invitation to the White House arrived, Petro said yes. When Trump extended his hand, he shook it. When he was offered the MAGA cap, he put it on. And he smiled for the cameras.

I try to imagine what was going through Petro’s mind that night. Fear, probably. Fear of ending up like Maduro, handcuffed on a military plane, headed for an American prison. Fear for his country, for his people, for his own political survival. But also, perhaps, a form of cynical pragmatism. Telling himself that resistance is futile. That Latin America has always been the United States’ backyard. That it’s better to negotiate one’s submission than to suffer it. I don’t know which is worse: cowardice or cold calculation.

The February 3 Meeting, or the Art of Capitulation

So on February 3, 2026, Gustavo Petro entered the Oval Office. Trump welcomed him with compliments. “Terrific,” he said. A radical change from the insults of the past. The two men exchanged hats and autographs. They posed for the photographers. Trump stated that Petro was “cooperative” and that they had a “very good relationship.” Rubio, the Secretary of State, confirmed that Petro had agreed to collaborate on all major issues. Drug trafficking, immigration, Venezuela. Petro, for his part, described the meeting as “constructive.” He spoke of “dialogue,” “mutual respect,” and “bilateral cooperation.” Not a word about sovereignty. Not a word about international law. Not a word about the invasion of Venezuela. And then, as he left the White House, he put on his cap. That damn red cap with the “S” added in marker. “Make Americas Great Again.” As if that plural changed anything. As if Latin America could be “great” under the American boot. The journalists captured the scene. Petro, smiling, almost proud, flaunting his allegiance. The symbolism was perfect. The opponent had become a collaborator. The rebel had become a vassal.

From Vice President to Acting President

While Maduro was being transported to New York, a woman took the reins of Venezuela. Delcy Rodríguez, vice president, a historic figure in Chavism, and sister of Jorge Rodríguez, president of the National Assembly. A seasoned politician, known for her pragmatism and her ability to navigate the murky waters of Venezuelan politics. As soon as Maduro’s capture was announced, she denounced it as a “kidnapping” and an “imperialist aggression.” She demanded proof that Maduro was alive. She called for resistance. But very quickly, the tone changed. On January 5, she was sworn in as interim president by her own brother. The Venezuelan military announced that it recognized her. The Supreme Court validated her appointment. And Delcy Rodríguez began speaking of “cooperation” with the United States. According to anonymous sources cited by The Guardian and the Miami Herald, she had even been negotiating secretly with the Trump administration via Qatari channels for months before the raid. She reportedly told the Americans that “Maduro had to go” and that she would “work with whoever came next.” Was this treason? Or a political calculation to salvage what could be saved? The truth probably lies somewhere in between.

Delcy Rodríguez both fascinates and repels me. She embodies that generation of politicians who have learned to survive by adapting. A staunch Chavista yesterday, a collaborator with the Americans today. But can we really blame her? What else could she have done? Resist and end up like Maduro? Refuse and watch her country invaded? She chose survival. Her own survival, that of her regime, and perhaps that of her country. But at what cost? Venezuela has become a de facto American protectorate. Oil flows to the United States. Political prisoners are released on Washington’s orders. Sovereignty is nothing more than a fiction.

The Constant Double Game

But Delcy Rodríguez is not merely a puppet. She is playing a dangerous game—a constant double game. In front of American cameras, she speaks of cooperation, transition, and reconciliation. But in front of her own people, she takes a different tone. On January 26, during a rally with oil workers, she declared: “Enough of Washington’s orders to Venezuela’s politicians! ” A statement that made the rounds in the media. When asked about it, Trump shrugged. He said he hadn’t heard those remarks but believed he had a “very good relationship” with her. Rubio downplayed it, calling it “rhetoric for domestic consumption.” But the message was clear. Rodríguez is walking a tightrope. She must satisfy Washington to avoid a second wave of attacks. But she must also maintain a semblance of independence so as not to lose all legitimacy in the eyes of her people. So far, she’s managing. She has released 383 political prisoners out of approximately 800 detainees. She has passed a law privatizing the oil industry. She has signed an agreement to deliver fifty million barrels of oil to the United States. But she refuses to present herself as a collaborator. She denies the existence of an “agreement” with Washington. She maintains the fiction of Venezuelan sovereignty. How long can she hold this position? No one knows.

The Return of Open Imperialism

Trump didn’t invent American imperialism in Latin America. But he has dusted it off, modernized it, and embraced it. He has resurrected the Monroe Doctrine, that old 19th-century policy that made the Western Hemisphere the exclusive domain of the United States. But Trump has renamed it: the “Donroe Doctrine.” Don for Donald. A narcissistic play on words that perfectly sums up his worldview. During his January 3 press conference, he declared: “American dominance in the Western Hemisphere will never again be challenged.” Never again. This is a warning to all countries in the region—Brazil, Argentina, Mexico, Chile. All must understand that the era of independence is over. That Washington dictates the rules. That those who resist will end up like Maduro. Trump even raised the possibility of a military occupation of Venezuela, financed by the country’s oil revenues. An occupation that would cost the United States “nothing” since it would be “repaid” with stolen oil. A breathtaking display of cynicism. But it works. Because no one dares to oppose it. Because might trumps right.

The Monroe Doctrine. What a ridiculous name for a terrifying policy. Trump has succeeded where his predecessors failed. He has shattered the taboo against direct military intervention. He has shown that the United States can invade a sovereign country, kidnap its president, and get away with it without consequences. No UN sanctions. No international condemnation that really matters. Just indignant statements that change nothing. Latin America has once again become what it should never have ceased to be in Washington’s eyes: a colony. A reservoir of resources. A playground for the empire.

Other countries are watching and trembling

All Latin American leaders have gotten the message. Argentine President Javier Milei, a staunch ally of Trump, applauded the operation. He praised the U.S. president’s “courage.” But the others remain silent—Lula in Brazil, López Obrador in Mexico, Boric in Chile. All have half-heartedly condemned the invasion, spoken of a “violation of international law,” and called for “respect for sovereignty.” But none have taken concrete action. None have severed diplomatic relations. None have imposed sanctions. Because they’re afraid. Afraid of being next on the list. Trump has threatened to invade Colombia. He’s mentioned strikes in Mexico against the cartels. He’s talked about “cleaning up” Central America. No one knows where this madness will end. So the leaders stay silent. They bow their heads. They hope to slip through the cracks. And when Trump summons them to Washington, they come. They smile. They shake hands. And some, like Petro, even put on a baseball cap.

Three hundred billion coveted barrels

It’s all about oil. Always. Venezuela has the world’s largest proven reserves of crude oil. Three hundred billion barrels. More than Saudi Arabia. More than Canada. More than Russia. A treasure buried beneath Venezuelan soil. A treasure that Trump wants at any cost. He made that clear from the start. At his 2023 press conference, he said: “Venezuela was on the verge of collapse. We could have taken it… and kept all that oil.” In 2026, he took action. The raid against Maduro was not an anti-drug operation. It was a war for oil. A colonial war disguised as a law enforcement mission. Trump announced that American oil companies would invest one hundred billion dollars in Venezuelan infrastructure. ExxonMobil, Chevron, ConocoPhillips—the American oil giants. But during a meeting with those same companies on January 9, the CEOs were reluctant. Darren Woods, CEO of ExxonMobil, stated that Venezuela was “uninvestable” due to the country’s legal framework. Trump was furious. He threatened to bar ExxonMobil from Venezuela, saying he didn’t like their “response” and that they were “playing too close to the edge.” But it doesn’t matter. With or without the oil majors, Trump will get that oil. By force if necessary.

Oil. Always oil. How many wars, how many deaths, how many countries destroyed for this black, viscous substance? Iraq, Libya, now Venezuela. Trump isn’t even hiding it anymore. He openly says he wants Venezuelan oil. That he considers it stolen American property. A rewriting of history so grotesque that it becomes almost comical. Except that it’s not funny. People have died for this oil—Venezuelan soldiers, Cuban military personnel, innocent civilians. And this is only the beginning.

Sanctions Lifted, Oil Flows

On January 20, 2026, Venezuela received the first three hundred million dollars from an oil agreement with the United States. Fifty million barrels are to be delivered. Venezuelan oil, seized by the U.S. Navy during the naval blockade of December 2025, is now being sold by Washington. The revenues are “controlled” by the United States, which decides how they are used. Officially, this is to “benefit the Venezuelan people.” In reality, it is to enrich American companies and “reimburse” the United States for imaginary damages. On January 29, Delcy Rodríguez passed a law privatizing the oil industry. Private companies can now control oil production and sales. This is a revolution for a country where oil had been nationalized since 1976. U.S. sanctions on Venezuela’s oil trade have been lifted. Oil is flowing again—to the United States, to American refineries, and into American profits. Venezuela has become what Trump wanted it to be: a compliant supplier of cheap oil—an oil-producing state under U.S. control—a modern colony.

Three hundred eighty-three calculated releases

Delcy Rodríguez knows how to play the game. As early as January 8, she began releasing political prisoners—opponents of the Chavista regime, journalists, and human rights activists. Some had been detained for years; others since the post-election protests of 2024. As of February 5, 383 prisoners had been released out of an estimated 800 political detainees, according to human rights organizations. A partial, calculated, strategic amnesty. Trump immediately claimed credit. He said these releases were the result of his “pressure” on Venezuela. That Rodríguez had “got the message.” That this was proof his strategy was working. And he added that these releases had helped prevent a “second wave of attacks.” A barely veiled threat. Release the prisoners or we’ll strike again. On January 30, Rodríguez announced an amnesty law covering the period from 1999 to the present. A general amnesty for all political crimes committed under Chávez and Maduro. An attempt to turn the page. To move on. To build “national reconciliation” under U.S. supervision. But how many prisoners remain behind bars? How many will never be released? And above all, at what cost was this amnesty obtained?

These releases leave a bitter taste in my mouth. Of course, I’m happy for these men and women who are regaining their freedom. For their families who were waiting for them. But I can’t help but think that they’ve become pawns in a game beyond their control. That their release isn’t an act of justice but a political calculation. Rodríguez is freeing them to satisfy Washington. Trump is using them to justify his invasion. And in the meantime, Venezuela is losing its independence, its oil, its dignity. What is the price of freedom when it is granted by the occupier?

National Reconciliation Under Supervision

Marco Rubio, U.S. Secretary of State, has presented a three-phase plan for Venezuela: stabilization, recovery, and transition. The first phase consists of preventing the country from “sinking into chaos” following the strikes. The second aims to ensure foreign companies’ access to Venezuelan oil and to “create a process of national reconciliation” allowing opposition forces to be “granted amnesty and released from prison or brought back to the country.” The third phase is the “transition,” during which “it will be up to the Venezuelan people to transform their country.” But under U.S. supervision. With U.S. “advisers.” With U.S. “observers.” With U.S. oil companies controlling the economy. A democratic transition orchestrated by the invader. A national reconciliation imposed from the outside. A political process under imperial tutelage. Edmundo González, the opposition candidate who, according to international observers, would have won the 2024 election, remains in exile in Spain. María Corina Machado, an opposition leader, is biding her time. But their return depends on Washington’s goodwill. Their political future lies in Trump’s hands. Venezuela is no longer the master of its own destiny.

The UN condemns, but takes no action

The United Nations condemned the U.S. raid. Experts in international law stated that the operation violated the UN Charter and Venezuela’s sovereignty. The Security Council was convened at Venezuela’s request. Indignant speeches were delivered. Russia and China denounced it as “blatant aggression.” The Non-Aligned Movement called for “respect for international law.” But no resolution was adopted. No sanctions were imposed. Because the United States has veto power in the Security Council. Because no one really dares to challenge Washington. The UN, the institution supposed to maintain international peace and security, has once again proven powerless in the face of brute force. Trump doesn’t care. He declared that the only limit to his global power was his “own morality” and his “own mind.” A statement that speaks volumes about his worldview. A world where might makes right. Where the empire does as it pleases. Where international institutions are nothing more than facades with no real power.

The UN is dead. It died on January 3, 2026, when American bombs fell on Caracas and no one did anything. Oh, there were condemnations. Statements. Resolutions that lead nowhere. But no concrete action. No consequences for Trump. The UN is now nothing more than a theater where diplomats put on a show of outrage before going home and doing nothing. International law no longer exists. There is only the law of the strongest. And the strongest is America.

Europe remains silent; Latin America trembles

The European Union issued a statement expressing its “concern” over the escalating violence in Venezuela. A lukewarm statement, with no clear condemnation and no call for sanctions. European capitals remain silent. Paris, Berlin, London. All are watching in silence. Because they depend on the United States for their security. Because they don’t want to upset Trump. Because, deep down, they don’t really care about Venezuela’s fate. In Latin America, fear reigns. Leaders know they could be next. So they remain silent. They cooperate. They come to Washington when summoned. Only a few isolated voices still dare to speak out. But they are growing increasingly rare. Increasingly faint. Latin America has realized that the era of independence is over. That the Bolivarian dream is dead. That the empire is back. And that it’s here to stay.

A Terrifying Precedent

The raid on January 3, 2026, set a precedent—a terrifying precedent. For the first time in decades, the United States invaded a sovereign country, captured its president, and forcibly took him away to put him on trial on U.S. soil—without a declaration of war, without congressional authorization, and without a UN mandate. Just because Trump decided to do it. This precedent opens the door to further interventions. Trump has already threatened to invade Colombia, Mexico, and several Central American countries. He has spoken of “cleaning up” the region of cartels, dictators, and “enemies of America.” Who will be next? Ortega in Nicaragua? Díaz-Canel in Cuba? Arce in Bolivia? No one knows. But everyone knows it’s possible. That Trump can strike anywhere, anytime. And that no one will be able to stop him. This precedent also destroys what remained of international law. If the United States can invade Venezuela without consequences, why couldn’t Russia invade Ukraine? Why couldn’t China invade Taiwan? Why couldn’t any power do whatever it wants? The world has entered a new era. An era where might trumps right. Where treaties are worthless. Where only military capability matters.

I’m afraid. Afraid of this world that is taking shape. A world without rules, without limits, without justice. A world where the powerful do as they please and the weak suffer. Trump has opened Pandora’s box. He has shown that international law can be violated without consequences. Others will follow. Others will imitate him. And we will slowly slide toward a new Middle Ages, where brute force dictates the law. Where empires divide up the world. Where the people no longer have a say.

Venezuela: A Testing Ground for Neocolonialism

Venezuela has become a testing ground. A testing ground for American neo-colonialism. Trump is testing a new form of domination. More direct than the coups of the Cold War. More brutal than the “humanitarian” interventions of the 2000s. A domination that is openly acknowledged, claimed, and celebrated. Venezuela is effectively occupied. Its oil is controlled by the United States. Its government is under trusteeship. Its political decisions are dictated by Washington. But there are no American troops on the streets of Caracas. No visible military administration. Just a diffuse presence, constant pressure, a permanent threat. This is 21st-century colonialism—effective, discreet, profitable. And if it works in Venezuela, why not apply it elsewhere? In Mexico to control the border? In Colombia to fight the cartels? In Nicaragua to overthrow Ortega? The possibilities are endless. And Trump has shown that he is willing to do anything. That nothing will stop him. That Latin America has once again become his playground. His empire. His property.

When Dignity Is Sold to the Highest Bidder

Let’s return to that image. Gustavo Petro leaving the White House wearing his modified MAGA cap. That “S” added with a marker—a pathetic attempt to save face. “Make Americas Great Again.” As if that plural changed anything. As if Latin America could ever be “great” under U.S. domination. That cap has become the symbol of an era—an era in which Latin American leaders have abandoned any pretense of independence, accepted their status as vassals, and traded their dignity for the promise of not ending up like Maduro. Petro isn’t the only one. Others will follow. Others will wear the cap. Others will smile for the cameras. Others will pretend to believe that submission is a form of partnership. But we all know the truth. We know that the empire is back. That the Monroe Doctrine has been resurrected. That Latin America has lost its freedom. And that this red cap—that damn MAGA hat—is the perfect symbol of our collective defeat.

I look at this photo and I weep. I weep for Bolívar, for Martí, for all those who dreamed of a free and sovereign Latin America. I weep for future generations who will grow up on a colonized continent. I weep for all of us who are helplessly witnessing this tragedy. Petro has put on the cap. Others will put it on. And one day, perhaps, we’ll even forget that there was a time when we were free. When we could say no. When we still had our dignity. On that day, the empire will have won. Once and for all.

Signed, Jacques Provost