In the early hours of January 3, 2026, the United States carried out what appears to be the most blatant act of state-sponsored kidnapping in Latin American history since the height of the Cold War. Roughly 150 aircraft—Chinooks, Black Hawks, and fighter escorts—swarmed the skies over Caracas. Delta Force operators fast-roped into the Miraflores Palace grounds and the private residence. They dragged sitting President Nicolás Maduro and his wife, Cilia Flores, out of bed, still in pajamas, blindfolded and zip-tied, loaded like high-value targets, and flown out of sovereign airspace.
This wasn't covert. This wasn't deniable. This was gangsterism wearing the uniform of the world's most powerful military.
Venezuela is not defenseless. For years, it prepared for low-altitude helicopter assaults and maintained a robust air-defense network around its capital. Yet multiple waves of helicopters reportedly flew at treetop level over South America's densely populated city—and nothing happened. There were no missile trails. There were no instances of radar locks. No tracer fire. Just silence.
So the question spreading across the region is, was this incompetence on a scale that defies belief, or was there a deal that someone ultimately chose to enforce with rotor blades instead of signatures?
Multiple independent sources have since confirmed the same basic story. Washington floated a managed transition—a polite, face-saving exit. "Step aside quietly, Nicolás. Let Delcy Rodríguez take the chair. She already controls the economy, PDVSA, the vice presidency, and a significant portion of the country's institutional power. No messy coop. No civil war. Just a smooth handoff."
Once Maduro rejected that offer, the helicopters eventually arrived.
The man who green-lit the operation soon stepped to the podium, grinning as if he had just pulled off the heist of the century. He dusted off the Monroe Doctrine and—half joking, half dead serious—rebranded it the "Donroe Doctrine." On live television, without shame, he said the United States would "take ownership" of Venezuela, "run the country properly," "make a lot of money," and "give some of it back to the people."
They deliberately bombed Hugo Chávez's mausoleum. This was not collateral damage. It was deliberate. The tomb—the symbolic heart of twenty-five years of Bolivarian defiance—was intentionally struck.
The US operation against Maduro was accompanied by accusations that he was part of a drug "cartel." But who, in fact, is the real "cartel"? The old ghost of the "Cartel of the Suns," a term popularized with the help of US agencies in the 1990s, was revived and pinned on Maduro like a scarlet letter. However, the same system recently granted a pardon to Juan Orlando Hernández, the president of Honduras, despite evidence from his prosecutors that he was involved in massive cocaine shipments. The double standard of the US is now fully exposed. It walks up to the microphone, holds press conferences, and rebrands nineteenth-century imperialism with a twenty-first-century nickname.
This is not about one country. This is a message to every government: "We can enter your capital at three in the morning, drag your president out of bed, bomb the grave of your national founder, and stand on live television while we claim your resources." And most of the world will watch—and do nothing.
So here we stand. A president was kidnapped. A revolution symbolically beheaded. A two-hundred-year-old doctrine pulled from the attic and enforced with modern precision-guided violence.
The only question that matters now is whether the peoples of Latin America—and everyone else who still believes a nation should belong to its own citizens—are finally prepared to answer with one word:Enough.
No more colonial offers.
No more midnight raids.
No more bombed mausoleums.
No more "Donroe Doctrine" pressers.
No pasarán.
Because this isn't just Venezuela's fight. This is the fight for what's left of sovereignty in the 21st century.
Stay sharp.
Stay sovereign.
Related News:
Comment