The document released by the White House in late August states that most of the 17 oil fields now assigned to North American Blue Energy Partners (NABEP) were previously controlled by Russian and Chinese companies, or by “corrupt Maduro and Chávez cronies,” reducing the influence of actors opposed to Washington’s interests.
Secretary of State Marco Rubio has confirmed this account, having previously said in a recent interview that most of those fields “were not even being used” under Chinese or Russian control. The deal with NABEP is not merely an oil operation, but a direct displacement of Beijing and Moscow’s influence over strategic energy infrastructure in the Western Hemisphere, with the U.S. Department of War reportedly controlling a 35% stake in the parent company.
Although it is being presented as a triumph, the deal has four visible fault lines.
First front: Betancourt’s reversible legitimacy
The operator chosen to implement the deal is Alejandro Betancourt, who controls NABEP and whose past had already raised concerns in Venezuela. He was implicated in corruption scandals linked to the country’s power grid and currently faces active money-laundering proceedings in Spain and Switzerland related to the diversion of more than $3.8 billion from PDVSA.
Asked directly about that record, Marco Rubio justified the partnership by pointing out that Betancourt has no pending cases before U.S. courts and recalling that he had worked with the opposition during Juan Guaidó’s interim presidency. According to the Financial Times, Betancourt also significantly increased production at the Petrozamora field in recent years, from 20,000 to 200,000 barrels per day, suggesting that his partnership with Washington is driven more by operational usefulness than political loyalty. It is a defence based on a past favour and production results, not a clean legal slate today. Such backing is, by its nature, reversible.
Second front: the U.S. Congress
The Department of War’s Office of Strategic Capital, the vehicle through which Washington acquired its 35% stake in NABEP’s parent company, was originally designed to finance critical technologies with private capital, not international oil operations. Its use in this context could attract congressional scrutiny, and the risk is no longer merely institutional but political as well. Republican lawmakers from Florida –historically the congressional delegation most committed to the Venezuelan opposition’s cause– have shown growing concern over the Trump administration’s rapprochement with remnants of the Chavista regime, while maintaining their support for María Corina Machado. She did not oppose the oil deal itself, but challenged the legitimacy of Delcy Rodríguez’s government to sign it. If November’s congressional elections alter the balance of power on Capitol Hill, any such agreement could face greater obstacles to advancing as part of Trump’s agenda.
Third front: no timetable for democratic elections
Trump has publicly stated that Venezuela is not yet ready to hold elections. Rubio defended this argument by citing Nicaragua: the Sandinistas lost power after the civil war, but the country’s failure to stabilise created the conditions for them to return stronger years later. According to Rubio, Washington is not prepared to repeat that mistake with Chavismo.
Just as the oil deal was announced, Venezuela’s National Assembly unanimously approved a reform of the Organic Law of the Supreme Court of Justice (TSJ), expanding the Judicial Nominations Committee –the body responsible for evaluating judicial candidates, not appointing them directly– from 21 to 23 members, comprising 11 lawmakers and 12 civil society representatives. The measure revives the process of replacing all TSJ judges and does not constitute a unilateral concession by the Chavista government. Rather, it fulfils a commitment agreed on 12 August between the government and the opposition in the U.S.-sponsored talks, as confirmed by the head of the opposition delegation, Dinorah Figuera.
It is a genuine step forward in the negotiated rebuilding of Venezuela’s institutions, but also evidence that the process is moving according to its own timetable, disconnected from any specific electoral calendar. Key issues remain unresolved, including the restoration of fundamental freedoms, the release of political prisoners, and reform of the country’s electoral and state security authorities. Meanwhile, the oil deal is being implemented under an interim government with no electoral mandate and no deadline for resolving that democratic vacuum.
Fourth front: oil companies’ uneven confidence
Energy companies have not all responded to the deal in the same way, and that disparity is itself a sign of risk. Companies including Chevron, Spain’s Repsol and Italy’s Eni have already made specific, quantified commitments to explore and expand production in Venezuela. Others, however, such as ExxonMobil, the world’s largest oil company, remain in the technical assessment phase. They have sent teams to analyse feasibility but have not confirmed any comparable investment, while the company’s management has declined to comment officially on Trump’s statements about its imminent arrival. It is the same company whose chief executive, Darren Woods, described Venezuela as “uninvestable” at a meeting with Trump earlier this year, citing the lack of robust legal and commercial protections.
This hierarchy of commitment –those that have already invested, the operator with direct political and military backing, and the industry giant still waiting for guarantees– is the most honest measure of how much institutional confidence the deal truly inspires, beyond the enthusiasm of official statements.
What comes next for Venezuela?
Washington has, at least on the surface, succeeded in reasserting a centuries-old geopolitical doctrine. But its long-term sustainability depends on reversible political favours; a financial mechanism whose authority could be called into question at the ballot box in November; a host country with no elected government and no timetable for forming one; and an oil industry that, on closer inspection, has yet to decide whether it fully trusts what is being offered.
Taken together, the oil deal and the TSJ reform suggest something that no official source has explicitly confirmed, but that Washington’s own pattern of behaviour makes it possible to infer: a system of graduated incentives in which negotiated institutional progress is accompanied –or rewarded– by the flow of capital and investment that Venezuela urgently needs. This is a hypothesis, not a verified fact, but it is consistent with how Trump has treated Delcy Rodríguez so far: public praise and economic concessions that are, in practice, conditional on the institutional process continuing to advance through negotiations.
None of the four fronts described is hypothetical. All four are documented in official statements from the U.S. administration itself. The question is not whether the deal can fail, but which of its four pillars will collapse first.
The document released by the White House in late August states that most of the 17 oil fields now assigned to North American Blue Energy Partners (NABEP) were previously controlled by Russian and Chinese companies, or by “corrupt Maduro and Chávez cronies,” reducing the influence of actors opposed to Washington’s interests.
Secretary of State Marco Rubio has confirmed this account, having previously said in a recent interview that most of those fields “were not even being used” under Chinese or Russian control. The deal with NABEP is not merely an oil operation, but a direct displacement of Beijing and Moscow’s influence over strategic energy infrastructure in the Western Hemisphere, with the U.S. Department of War reportedly controlling a 35% stake in the parent company.
Although it is being presented as a triumph, the deal has four visible fault lines.
First front: Betancourt’s reversible legitimacy
The operator chosen to implement the deal is Alejandro Betancourt, who controls NABEP and whose past had already raised concerns in Venezuela. He was implicated in corruption scandals linked to the country’s power grid and currently faces active money-laundering proceedings in Spain and Switzerland related to the diversion of more than $3.8 billion from PDVSA.
Asked directly about that record, Marco Rubio justified the partnership by pointing out that Betancourt has no pending cases before U.S. courts and recalling that he had worked with the opposition during Juan Guaidó’s interim presidency. According to the Financial Times, Betancourt also significantly increased production at the Petrozamora field in recent years, from 20,000 to 200,000 barrels per day, suggesting that his partnership with Washington is driven more by operational usefulness than political loyalty. It is a defence based on a past favour and production results, not a clean legal slate today. Such backing is, by its nature, reversible.
Second front: the U.S. Congress
The Department of War’s Office of Strategic Capital, the vehicle through which Washington acquired its 35% stake in NABEP’s parent company, was originally designed to finance critical technologies with private capital, not international oil operations. Its use in this context could attract congressional scrutiny, and the risk is no longer merely institutional but political as well. Republican lawmakers from Florida –historically the congressional delegation most committed to the Venezuelan opposition’s cause– have shown growing concern over the Trump administration’s rapprochement with remnants of the Chavista regime, while maintaining their support for María Corina Machado. She did not oppose the oil deal itself, but challenged the legitimacy of Delcy Rodríguez’s government to sign it. If November’s congressional elections alter the balance of power on Capitol Hill, any such agreement could face greater obstacles to advancing as part of Trump’s agenda.
Third front: no timetable for democratic elections
Trump has publicly stated that Venezuela is not yet ready to hold elections. Rubio defended this argument by citing Nicaragua: the Sandinistas lost power after the civil war, but the country’s failure to stabilise created the conditions for them to return stronger years later. According to Rubio, Washington is not prepared to repeat that mistake with Chavismo.
Just as the oil deal was announced, Venezuela’s National Assembly unanimously approved a reform of the Organic Law of the Supreme Court of Justice (TSJ), expanding the Judicial Nominations Committee –the body responsible for evaluating judicial candidates, not appointing them directly– from 21 to 23 members, comprising 11 lawmakers and 12 civil society representatives. The measure revives the process of replacing all TSJ judges and does not constitute a unilateral concession by the Chavista government. Rather, it fulfils a commitment agreed on 12 August between the government and the opposition in the U.S.-sponsored talks, as confirmed by the head of the opposition delegation, Dinorah Figuera.
It is a genuine step forward in the negotiated rebuilding of Venezuela’s institutions, but also evidence that the process is moving according to its own timetable, disconnected from any specific electoral calendar. Key issues remain unresolved, including the restoration of fundamental freedoms, the release of political prisoners, and reform of the country’s electoral and state security authorities. Meanwhile, the oil deal is being implemented under an interim government with no electoral mandate and no deadline for resolving that democratic vacuum.
Fourth front: oil companies’ uneven confidence
Energy companies have not all responded to the deal in the same way, and that disparity is itself a sign of risk. Companies including Chevron, Spain’s Repsol and Italy’s Eni have already made specific, quantified commitments to explore and expand production in Venezuela. Others, however, such as ExxonMobil, the world’s largest oil company, remain in the technical assessment phase. They have sent teams to analyse feasibility but have not confirmed any comparable investment, while the company’s management has declined to comment officially on Trump’s statements about its imminent arrival. It is the same company whose chief executive, Darren Woods, described Venezuela as “uninvestable” at a meeting with Trump earlier this year, citing the lack of robust legal and commercial protections.
This hierarchy of commitment –those that have already invested, the operator with direct political and military backing, and the industry giant still waiting for guarantees– is the most honest measure of how much institutional confidence the deal truly inspires, beyond the enthusiasm of official statements.
What comes next for Venezuela?
Washington has, at least on the surface, succeeded in reasserting a centuries-old geopolitical doctrine. But its long-term sustainability depends on reversible political favours; a financial mechanism whose authority could be called into question at the ballot box in November; a host country with no elected government and no timetable for forming one; and an oil industry that, on closer inspection, has yet to decide whether it fully trusts what is being offered.
Taken together, the oil deal and the TSJ reform suggest something that no official source has explicitly confirmed, but that Washington’s own pattern of behaviour makes it possible to infer: a system of graduated incentives in which negotiated institutional progress is accompanied –or rewarded– by the flow of capital and investment that Venezuela urgently needs. This is a hypothesis, not a verified fact, but it is consistent with how Trump has treated Delcy Rodríguez so far: public praise and economic concessions that are, in practice, conditional on the institutional process continuing to advance through negotiations.
None of the four fronts described is hypothetical. All four are documented in official statements from the U.S. administration itself. The question is not whether the deal can fail, but which of its four pillars will collapse first.
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