Delcy

One of the memorable moments of Venezuela’s crazy January ‘26 was ExxonMobil Chairman Darren Woods sitting across from President Trump, telling him Venezuela was “uninvestable.” His company is owed billions from Chávez-era expropriations, spent years in arbitration tribunals, and had watched its assets nationalised without fair compensation. Four months later, ExxonMobil’s technical teams were on the ground in Venezuela, evaluating assets including the Cerro Negro project. Woods was telling investors he felt positive about the opportunities.

The arc from expropriated creditor to ¿partner? is not happening by accident. In April 2026, the IMF and World Bank resumed dealings with Venezuela for the first time since 2019, opening the path to a formal economic assessment and potentially unlocking $4.9 billion in frozen special drawing rights. In May, the Delcy administration announced a “comprehensive restructuring of its sovereign debt” and PDVSA obligations, appointing Centerview Partners as financial adviser and pledging a macroeconomic framework by June. This did not include a request for a macroeconomic programme established by the Fund, which distanced itself from Venezuela’s announcement shortly after. According to Reuters, Venezuela’s total liabilities could be above $150 billion.

On June 2, Venezuela added Hogan Lovells as legal counsel for the restructuring under a dual mandate that also covers strategic lobbying for the Venezuelan embassy in Washington. The account is led by Norm Coleman, a former Republican senator with deep political connections in the capital. Neither selection has been free of political entanglement. Former Trump official Mauricio Claver-Carone, earmarked by The Washington Post as Venezuela’s unofficial viceroy, has vouched for Centerview. His business partner, Jessica Bedoya, was on the same chartered flight to Caracas as two Centerview executives on February 12, weeks before the firm finalized its contract (Centerview denied Bedoya played any role in their assignment).

Some of the companies that spent a decade winning arbitration awards against Venezuela may now be considering turning those claims into something more useful: an operating agreement, a new oil deal. Whether the game is actually changing, and the extent to which Delcy’s technical cadres can manage the process her government is trying to kickstart, are two of the huge questions for Venezuela’s “transition” observers.

Without the IMF as an anchor, the most aggressive litigants will extract preferential recoveries while others are left with worthless paper.

The shape of how Venezuela got here is also visible in a Delaware courthouse. In December, a judge signed the order transferring Citgo to Amber Energy, an affiliate of Wall Street hedge fund Elliott Management, for 5.9 billion dollars. The gavel came down, but the sale did not close. CITGO is now in legal and political limbo.

The transaction requires approval from OFAC, which has repeatedly extended the freeze on CITGO-related transactions. The State Department is now the main barrier blocking the sale, while Treasury, Commerce, and Energy favour letting it proceed. Ten days ago, OFAC issued General License 5W, extending the freeze on CITGO share transfers to June 19. A World Bank delegation visited Caracas last month. Everything suggests Delcy Rodríguez now feels compelled to show she can find a way to pay them back. That she has a plan.

In the meantime, Amber Energy is pressing daily for access to CITGO’s financial and operational details even though it is not formally in control, while CITGO itself cannot make major investment decisions or hire key personnel. A company valued at $13 billion is being run in slow motion, waiting for Washington to decide what Venezuela’s most valuable foreign asset is actually worth, to whom, and under what terms.

None of this happened overnight. The process was set in motion by Hugo Chávez when he went on a nationalisation spree that expropriated the assets of ConocoPhillips, ExxonMobil, Crystallex, and dozens of other foreign companies across the oil, mining, and manufacturing sectors. Those companies didn’t go home quietly. They went to arbitration. And they won.

The restructuring announcement tries to change the terms of the conversation. Venezuela is no longer being asked whether it will engage with its creditors. It has begun doing so. Centerview Partners is on the ground. A macroeconomic framework is due soon. The creditor committee, which includes GMO, Greylock Capital, Fidelity, and T. Rowe Price has been ready to negotiate since January.

ConocoPhillips has been explicit: recovering the billions owed from past expropriations takes priority over any new drilling.

An IMF programme, if it materialises, could signal credibility. It would serve as the anchor for the entire restructuring process. IMF conditionality establishes a debt sustainability framework that defines how much Venezuela can actually pay, which in turn defines what creditors can realistically expect. It also catalyses coordination. Rather than pursuing individual enforcement actions against Venezuelan assets, creditors have an incentive to wait for an orderly process. Without that anchor, the most aggressive litigants will extract preferential recoveries while others are left with worthless paper.

Delcy Rodríguez announced the restructuring without first securing that anchor. She has stated there are “no plans” to contract an IMF loan. The IMF, for its part, says it is willing to support a programme but requires clarity on economic data and external debt that Caracas has not yet provided. Very soon, we will find out whether Venezuela is building toward an IMF-anchored process or trying to engineer one without it.

Several of the companies owed the largest arbitration awards are well positioned to operate Venezuelan assets: ExxonMobil at Cerro Negro, ConocoPhillips at its former Petrozuata and Hamaca projects. ConocoPhillips has been explicit: recovering the billions owed from past expropriations takes priority over any new drilling. A negotiated settlement that converts arbitration claims into operational stakes, with revenue streams tied to production, would give creditors a return and Venezuela a rebuilt industry. The OFAC licensing architecture already enables this. Since January 2026, OFAC has issued or updated more than eight general licenses expanding authorised activity in Venezuela’s energy and financial sectors. Washington has built the tools, such as General License 58. The question is whether Venezuela can use them. 

What this push does not resolve is the harder question: whether Venezuela has the institutional capacity to negotiate on its own terms rather than simply accept whatever is offered. Woods’s shift from “uninvestable” to “positive” in four months signals appetite, not commitment. ExxonMobil wants its assets back or a return on its claims. So does ConocoPhillips. So does every creditor in the queue. The question is whether Venezuela can show up to this negotiation as a party with a strategy, not just a debtor with a problem.

The path forward requires exactly what fifteen years of chavismo didn’t build: legal capacity, a coherent negotiating strategy, and the institutional infrastructure to distinguish between claims that should be settled, claims that should be contested, and claims that might be converted into something more useful than a judgment. The latter could amount to an oil agreement like the one Chevron got in the early 2020s. Venezuela’s reformed Hydrocarbons Law allows international arbitration to resolve disputes in the oil and gas sector. So does the new Mining Law for gold and strategic minerals.

The framework now exists in writing. Whether Venezuela can implement it coherently, and whether it can hold up against the inevitable tension between Venezuelan law as established in the new statutes and US jurisdiction as required by OFAC licenses, are the open questions that will determine whether this moment becomes the start of something durable or another lost opportunity.

None of that sounds like glamorous policymaking. It doesn’t play well in a speech. But the alternative, continuing to treat international arbitration as someone else’s problem, has a documented price tag. It is measured in refineries.

Tarek William Saab, one of the key figures in the repressive apparatus that oppresses Venezuelan society, is dismissed as prosecutor general, but a family friend who has spent years denying Maduro’s atrocities on the international stage is appointed in his place. Vladimir Padrino, under investigation for systematic human rights violations, is replaced by Gustavo González López, also under investigation for systematic human rights violations. They pass an amnesty law, but primarily to grant amnesty to themselves. Over 700 political prisoners are released, but another 473 remain in prison, and those who are released do not always enjoy full freedom.

The institutional reforms of Delcy and Jorge Rodríguez generate headlines abroad that portray them, to those who don’t pay attention to the details, as the moderates The New York Times described them as shortly before the military incursion of January 3rd. The economic reforms, on the other hand, provide arguments, or rather content, for the Trump administration to claim on its social media accounts that it is succeeding in reshaping Venezuela, when on the ground the population observes their living conditions—the blackouts, the inflation, the widespread vulnerability—and concludes that they remain the same as when Maduro was dancing calmly over our dead.

Yes, there are some reasons for optimism, especially regarding the economic transition, but the transition to democracy doesn’t seem to be happening yet. The dictator was removed in a helicopter, but the dictatorship remains.

So far, all of this fits into a metaphor that has been cited countless times in decades of opinion pieces in Venezuela: the Rodríguezes are changing everything so that nothing changes. I grew up reading that cliché in the press, before chavismo burst onto the scene, guns blazing, in our history. “They’re like the Leopard, they change everything so that nothing changes.” In a country that has seen so many supposed reinventions, so many revolutions promising a clean slate to simply replace one set of power with another without solving any of the nation’s structural problems, that cliché has been uttered in relation to many governments and many leaders. But where does it come from, and what does it originally mean?

The cunning of the opportunist

Giuseppe Tomasi, Prince of Lampedusa, was a Sicilian aristocrat who seemed like a character from a novel: he failed as a soldier, he couldn’t prevent his family’s ruin, he saw his palace destroyed by Allies bombs during World War II, and in reality, he was only good for reading and learning languages. He published very little during his lifetime, and spent more than twenty years writing a novel that was published a year after his death in 1957. The book, which was a great success from the start, was titled Il Gattopardo (The Leopard in the English translations), after the cheetah that appears on the coat of arms of its protagonist: Don Fabrizio, the Prince of Salina.

The world is full of Tancredis like Jorge, Venezuela has never lacked them. Juan Vicente Gómez also promised change when he overthrew his crony Cipriano Castro, remaining in power for 27 years.

The character, like his creator, was the last of a line. He was a landowner whose noble titles and privileges depended on the existence of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, as the Spanish dominion of southern Italy was called in 1860. When, that year, Garibaldi’s troops invaded Sicily, in the process that would eventually produce the Italy we know today, Don Fabrizio found that everything he stood for was in danger. Sicily would cease to be Spanish and merge into the new Kingdom of Italy, and he would lose his place at the pinnacle of that feudal society, dominated by a few through the mere will of a foreign sovereign. Don Fabrizio, who had dedicated his life to preserving what he had inherited, saw no way to stop the transformations that were approaching like a tsunami at the gates of his palace, crowned by wrought-iron leopards. But his favorite nephew, Tancredi, an ambitious climber who married the daughter of an uneducated nouveau riche and joined Garibaldi’s Redshirt revolution without hesitation, showed him what had to be done: “If we want everything to stay the same, we have to change everything.”

The fate of the cynics

Il Gattopardo is an exquisite work, a great historical novel that brings together all the virtues of the genre: the ability to transport you to an era and dissect it; the pleasure of escaping to a beautiful palace in the golden hills of Sicily, beside a turquoise sea; details like the pasta timbale and granitas served at a fully set table. All of that is in Luchino Visconti’s magnificent 1963 film version, starring Burt Lancaster and Alain Delon, and in the superb miniseries—in which all the actors are Italian—on Netflix.

But what immortalized it was that line from Tancredi. Because of its power to synthesize what many people, in many different historical contexts, have done time and again: move from the old order to the new, disguised as reformers, to avoid losing their privileges by securing a place in the emerging elite. Changing everything so that nothing changes is the strategy of those who must pretend to be the future and not the past, because they would pay a heavy price if they didn’t. It’s the roadmap of those who, like Delcy and Jorge Rodríguez, have prepared themselves to take advantage of an external factor that destabilizes the order of their world—Garibaldi’s landing, the arrival of the Marines—and reorganize that world to their advantage.

Perhaps Jorge Rodríguez read Lampedusa back when he frequented bookstores and wrote fiction like the story that won the El Nacional literary contest. Perhaps he saw Visconti’s film. Perhaps he doesn’t even know this story: the world is full of Tancredis like him, and Venezuela has never lacked them. Juan Vicente Gómez also promised change when he overthrew his crony Cipriano Castro, remaining in power for 27 years at the head of a dictatorship that had a very good relationship with foreign oil companies.

In the novel, however, Tancredi meets a bad end: he loses an eye, fails in his ambition to seize power, pays for the mistake of underestimating the Mafia father-in-law with whom he became involved, and for overestimating his own talents. The prince, as expected, disappears along with the world he represented. Italy in the 1860s changed in many ways, and left other things as they were. When you truly read that immortal book left to us by that sad, solitary Sicilian prince, you understand how cynics work to appropriate historical changes, but you also realize that no one, not even those who seem most powerful, can control these.

April 16 (UPI) — Venezuelan interim President Delcy Rodríguez has hired U.S. attorney and lobbyist Jihad M. Smaili to represent her interests in Washington and support groundwork for a possible presidential campaign, according to filings with the U.S. Department of Justice.

Records filed under the Foreign Agents Registration Act show Smaili will act as a foreign agent for Rodríguez, including assisting with her “future political campaign” ahead of Venezuela’s next presidential election, though no date has been set for the vote.

According to the filing, Smaili will represent Rodríguez in pending and future litigation involving Petróleos de Venezuela, S.A., Citgo and creditor claims. He will also provide daily advice on matters involving the U.S. State Department and the White House, independent news organization Efecto Cocuyo reported.

The contract said Smaili will “provide daily advice and counsel to the foreign principal on matters involving the Department of State and the president of the United States, including advice on how to strengthen and advance the current relationship for the benefit of the Venezuelan people.”

The agreement also describes Rodríguez as a candidate in Venezuela’s upcoming presidential elections and includes support for her “future political campaign.”

The move comes shortly after the United States lifted personal sanctions on Rodríguez and recognized her as a legitimate authority in Venezuela’s political transition.

According to Infobae, Smaili also will advise on retaining law firms involved in litigation tied to oil companies, as well as creditor claims related to cases involving the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, or FARC.

Citgo, PDVSA’s U.S.-based refining and marketing subsidiary, is at the center of multiple creditor disputes as international claimants seek to seize the asset to satisfy unpaid Venezuelan debts. A federal court in Delaware has authorized the sale of shares in the company to help cover claims totaling about $20 billion.

U.S. victims of FARC-related violence are also seeking to participate in the auction and recover about $318 million in damages.