As Nicolás Maduro rallies militias and armored convoys for television, U.S. warships and bombers idle just offshore. Between spectacle and risk, Venezuelans are living inside a script that feels both familiar and frightening: propaganda promises resilience, but an empty pantry—and a hollowed-out army—hint at real vulnerability.
Militias for the Camera, a Military for Repression
Caracas has turned defiance into theater. On state television, anchors invoke the United States as a “rapacious empire.” At the same time, patriotic anthems loop over footage of soldiers marching, Russian-made jets cutting across blue skies, and civilian volunteers—many of them middle-aged—crawling under barbed wire or waving rifles for the cameras. “The people are ready for combat, ready for battle,” President Nicolás Maduro told cheering crowds, part of a made-for-TV crescendo meant to prove resolve.
Bloomberg’s reporting fills in the stage directions: an alleged “millions-strong” militia on standby, tanks rumbling down highways, ammunition crates hoisted for effect. But the spectacle hides a brittle core.
Venezuela’s military, once a regional heavyweight, is now a shell of its former self. On paper, it counts 125,000 active troops. In practice, years of political purges, corruption, and conscript malnutrition have eroded its strength. “They have been systematically worn down,” said Edward Rodriguez, a former army colonel now in exile, telling Bloomberg the government’s martial posturing is “a smoke screen” to buy time and deter interference. Another ex-officer told Bloomberg that no new deployments had occurred in months—most “exercises” are local garrison troops reshuffled for optics.
The through line is chillingly clear: since Maduro succeeded Hugo Chávez, the armed forces have trained less to fight wars and more to crush protests. Bayonets sharpened not for foreign enemies, but for the country’s own unrest.
Deterrence by Overhang, Coercion by Ambiguity
Across the Caribbean, Washington is staging its own form of theater—less bombast, more muscle memory. The Pentagon has positioned eight Navy warships, an attack submarine, F-35B fighter jets, P-8 Poseidon patrol planes, and MQ-9 Reaper drones within striking distance, according to Bloomberg. Flight trackers even spotted B-52 bombers near La Orchila, where Caracas recently staged amphibious drills.
The buildup is too small for invasion but easily capable of precision strikes or maritime blockades—precisely the kind of limited operations President Donald Trump has publicly vowed to use. Bloomberg counted at least five U.S. strikes on suspected drug boats in recent months, killing 27 people—operations critics describe as extrajudicial, and Washington calls counterterrorism.
In Caracas, the response has been to crank up the anti-imperial volume. “Raise your hand if you want to be a slave of the gringos!” Maduro thundered, before pivoting to paradox: “If you want peace, get ready to earn peace.” His defense minister, Vladimir Padrino López, and ruling-party heavyweight Diosdado Cabello have been filmed in fatigues, saluting militias and promising unity. “Venezuela is a country of peace,” Cabello declared on state TV, “but we are fierce beasts when we must defend it.”
Behind that rhetoric lies a blunter strategy. Bloomberg cited former Colombian intelligence officers describing how ELN rebels and other Colombian groups sheltered in Venezuela can be reactivated to help the government control interior regions if unrest spreads—deterrence for the world’s cameras; coercive insurance at home.
An Economy That Can’t Feed a War
The math tells a different story than the slogans. The IMF projects that Venezuela’s economy will shrink by another 3% in 2026, while inflation soars toward 682%, according to figures cited by Bloomberg. In a country struggling to fuel delivery trucks or stock vulnerable shelves, scaling a large-scale mobilization is a fantasy. Even military insiders acknowledge that the supply chains for deployed units are flawed.
Soldiers are poorly fed and under-equipped,” Rodriguez told Bloomberg. “They can parade for the cameras, but they can’t fight.”
For ordinary Venezuelans, the contradiction is daily life. Blanca Soto, a community leader in Caracas, told Bloomberg she would “give her life for the fatherland,” crediting Maduro for the food programs that keep her neighborhood afloat. For others, the government’s war footing is a grim distraction. “I’ve watched this U.S. situation for two months and nothing happens,” said Milagros Campos, 46. “I just want the economy to improve—and for that, we need a change in government.”
If Maduro’s saber-rattling is meant to project unity, the kitchen table tells a different tale. Every time the government moves troops for a photo op, buses run late, fuel lines lengthen, and wages—still denominated in bolívares—buy less bread.
And now, another complication: Trump confirmed authorizing CIA covert operations in Venezuela—a rare public acknowledgment of a program usually cloaked in secrecy. The goal, as Bloomberg explained, is psychological as much as tactical: to keep Maduro’s regime guessing. Yet the more loudly both sides announce their intentions, the thinner the room for mistakes becomes. A drone mistaken for an attack or a patrol boat misidentified on radar could transform bluster into tragedy overnight.
EFE/ Miguel Gutierrez
Between Theater and Thresholds
What’s unfolding is a duel of asymmetries. Washington’s advantage is precision and range—the ability to strike anywhere, anytime. Caracas’s is ambiguity and endurance—the ability to blur targets, outsource repression to militias and foreign allies, and survive pain a democracy couldn’t bear.
Each side plays to the other’s weakness. The U.S. signals resolve with carrier groups and satellite imagery; Venezuela answers with street militias, nationalist rallies, and a narrative of anti-colonial resistance. Both scripts work until they collide.
The danger lies in the gaps between performance and control. One errant missile or overzealous militia could turn managed tension into uncontrolled escalation. Maritime strikes, framed as “counternarcotics,” risk igniting a diplomatic crisis if they target the wrong flag. Venezuelan soldiers—hungry, undertrained—are one false order away from panic.
The irony is that neither side truly wants war. The United States gains little from a drawn-out confrontation that could destabilize the Caribbean and complicate its global commitments. Venezuela, bankrupt and isolated, cannot afford one. Yet both need the appearance of defiance: Trump for domestic swagger, Maduro for survival.
There is still room for diplomacy—if either side can resist its own spectacle. The U.S. could narrow its operations to verified interdictions under international law, while opening discreet back channels through regional partners such as Brazil or Colombia. Caracas could dial down its televised militias and let real military professionals, not propagandists, handle deterrence.
In the barrios, people like Soto and Campos have little appetite for the grand show. They want security, yes—but also food, electricity, and medicine. They want a future that doesn’t depend on slogans shouted from parade grounds.
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As Bloomberg put it, both governments are performing just enough of a war to risk creating one. The moment calls for something rarer than courage: restraint. Because the line between spectacle and catastrophe isn’t drawn on a map—it’s drawn in real lives, already stretched too thin to bear another act.