sovereignty

Tatuy TV is celebrating its 19th anniversary at a very difficult time in our history as an independent nation. With a people engulfed in daily hardship and our sovereignty compromised on several fronts, the outlook is clearly bleak.

In this editorial, we take a close look at the situation in Venezuela, not to sink us further into despair, but to reject the normalization of the current course.

We refuse to accept this neocolonialism as inevitable or even desirable. Gaining clarity on the current context is essential for us to regroup and rebuild our future.

The Pessimism of the Intellect

Although this story did not begin on January 3 (and we must analyze how we reached that point), recent months have been marked by a dizzying political shift in favor of the bourgeoisie – both domestic and foreign – and US imperialism. Our current condition as a country is one of completely compromised sovereignty.

If oil revenues go into an account at the US Treasury Department, and the national government has to submit a budget in order to have its own resources (partially) released, if judicial and electoral bodies are appointed under US tutelage, if the most important laws are drafted in consultation with the White House and Chevron executives, if the imperial army can come and go as it pleases and bomb whatever it wants on national soil, what is truly left of an independent nation?

In what world can a country that maintains criminal sanctions against our people, that bombed Venezuela and kidnapped its president, be an “ally”? The US ambassador struts around “inspecting” infrastructure and hospitals as if he were the overseer on a plantation, escorted by the adeco [anti-Chavista opposition] deputy foreign minister [Oliver Blanco], who smiles like a good little Yankee lapdog.

We could dwell on the battle of numbers surrounding the recent “historic” oil agreement with the Trump administration. However, the analysis is quite clear. The Rodríguez government has already rolled back national control and participation in the oil industry to disastrous levels, and this deal will offer even less favorable terms for the country.

Plain and simple, Venezuela’s oil reserves, even if they formally remain its property, have been placed at the service of an empire seeking to halt its decline. That gringo monster that sows death and destruction throughout the world now runs on Venezuelan fuel.

Selling Snakeoil and Hoping it Trickles Down

If in recent years there was any gap between a policy of class reconciliation in the face of economic blockade and a discourse that retained certain key elements of the Bolivarian project, that gap has now closed completely.

Gone are any notions that PDVSA can produce oil, that housing is a right and not a commodity, that land should belong to those who work it, and so on, not to mention terms like “socialism” or “anti-imperialism,” which have disappeared entirely.

Instead, today the goal is exclusively to create the best possible conditions for capital. Laws must be reformed, assets denationalized and privatized, evictions carried out in both rural and urban areas, foreign currency handed out to the bourgeoisie without restraint, and labor regulations made more flexible – whatever it takes so that the wealthy can feel confident they will earn even more money.

And then the trickle-down effect will follow. All the key tenets of the neoliberal discourse of the past 40 years are now commonplace in the national government’s rhetoric: that we must attract investment because that is the only way to create jobs, and that the only way to have schools and hospitals is by subordinating the energy industry to the United States and its corporations.

There is no better example of this surrender to foreign capitalist interests than the fact that half the country is permanently in the dark so that corporations can continue to extract their profits from our subsoil.

Nor is the avalanche of reversals anywhere near over. Still to come are the government’s plan to privatize state assets, the labor reform tailored to [business lobby] FEDECÁMARAS’ interests, the downsizing of the state in the name of “efficiency,” and the restructuring of a debt as massive as it is illegitimate, all aimed at deepening Venezuela’s dependence even further.

Tragedy and Farce at the Same Time

For years, internal debate was suppressed and repressed because we were under siege by imperialism and the fascist international. It did not matter that the discussion was about the best way to resist without sacrificing the project. We had to remain silent in the face of all kinds of abuses, since if the right-wing opposition came to power, it would dismantle all the gains of the revolution and hand over the oil on a silver platter to the United States.

And now the official propagandists want to prove that you can square the circle, that what has all the hallmarks of colonial surrender and submission is in fact a “win-win” strategic advance.

There is no mistake more serious and outrageous than taking the people for fools. For months we heard that we had to prepare for people’s war, that the U.S. would face its own “Vietnam 2.0” and would not receive a single drop of oil if it were to attack Venezuela. No one wanted a bloodbath, but it was asserted that we had to asymmetrically resist against imperialist aggression. Then after January 3 we were told that we didn’t have enough weapons and that being a vassal of the empire is not so bad.

Another central argument was internationalism. We were told that despite all the setbacks and internal contradictions, Venezuela was still on the “good side,” the side of multipolarity. And that was not a lie. Venezuela maintained relations with Cuba and sent oil there – albeit less than in the past –, supported Iran, fiercely defended the Palestinian cause, and denounced imperialism in multilateral forums.

Today, Venezuela’s foreign policy is no different from that of any other country subordinate to Washington. Not a drop of oil for Cuba, zero support for Iran, an alliance with the Gulf monarchies, silence on Palestine, and restored ties with Israel. Strategic relations with Russia and China are being sidelined, and their companies are gradually being displaced to make way for those authorized by Trump.

Those who adapt and justify any scenario are opportunists who lack principles. The sole objective is to remain in power, even if it means implementing the exact opposite of what was previously proclaimed. The current leadership simply concluded that the best bet for staying in power was to be as useful as possible to imperialism.

History Is Not Over

In the not-so-distant past, the Venezuelan people reclaimed their dignity, which had been stripped away by one group or another for centuries, and emerged as the protagonists of their own history. They did so under the leadership of Comandante Chávez. Grassroots struggles propelled Chávez to Miraflores presidential palace, and he, as an “outsider,” changed the rules of a game that had until then been reserved exclusively for the elites.

This phenomenon was no historical accident. It was not the result of oil at $120 a barrel. It was a heroic creation, born of struggle, critical thinking, and a clear vision: socialism. Along the way, mistakes were made; old vices were ignored, and new ones were created. We must be willing to debate all of this with humility and honesty.

However, we will not renounce Chávez simply because his legacy was trampled upon by those who represent the very opposite of the Bolivarian project, yet cling to the image of the Comandante to inherit a legitimacy they never deserved.

Revolution does not happen through shortcuts. The struggle is also for historical memory. And here, those who want to be the Titanic’s orchestra just to hold onto their positions or small fiefdoms are free to do so. But they should at least have the dignity not to pretend that this course has anything to do with Chávez and Bolívar.

The empire is making plans for Venezuela’s future while different factions fight to become the lackey government of the moment. The challenge, both in our nation and across the continent, is to reorganize our equals, the working people who have nothing to lose but their chains. Starting over does not mean starting from scratch.

From our media front, as well as in the political spaces where we participate, we will do our part to bring these struggles to light and sharpen our collective consciousness. Imperialism and its lackeys will not have the final say. The Venezuelan people will once again become protagonists and set the wheels of their history in motion.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect those of the Venezuelanalysis editorial staff.

Translated by Venezuelanalysis.

Source: Tatuy Tv

In 1995, issue 34 of Revista Bigott, a Venezuelan publication dedicated to anthropology and popular culture, discussed a resurgence of national sentiment after the 1992 coup attempts. One of its articles argued that a certain “llanero emboldening” of the coup leader, his decision to assume responsibility for what had happened, and the evocation of Simón Bolívar and the tricolor armband had restored appeal to a deeply rooted idea of ​​national identity. The government at the time tried to capitalize on this momentum to save the system, which, in light of what happened afterward, also amounted to saving democracy. But the country was already exhausted. It was burdened by the discrediting of political parties, the hangover from the “Saudi Venezuela” era, the depression that followed the 1983 devaluation known as Black Friday, widespread corruption, low oil prices, and an institutional framework that failed to modernize.

As the reader knows, Hugo Chávez ended up winning the election in 1998, and the joropo, the flags, and the constant singing of the national anthem were reborn, transcending the political debate. Everything then became known as Bolivarian, from the schools to the republic itself. Each campaign was presented as a patriotic epic, a battle, or a slogan borrowed from popular sayings. But with Chávez, the national identity was fractured. The country, the idea of ​​nationhood, and its symbols were hijacked. They belonged solely to his supporters. Just as an attempt was made to create a parallel institutional framework, something similar happened with the symbols: two flags, two coats of arms, and two ways of referring to everything. While the struggle against U.S. imperialism was presented as a heroic feat, the country was mortgaged to other powers and groups in exchange for political favors. Sovereignty was lost, both in terms of territory and the capacity to maintain a functional State serving its citizens.

These parallel structures (one crumbling, the other with feet of clay but relentless in its repression) blurred the boundaries of the republic. The country drowned in corruption and the disappearance of its shared identities. What could it defend? What could a country that expelled millions of its inhabitants and squandered its demographic dividend sound, smell, or taste like? Amid political violence, insecurity, and abuses, the economy shrank by more than half and came to be governed by the law of the strongest or the most connected, while individualism intensified. The country and its virtues became a source of nostalgia for better times or a promise of an uncertain future. The present, meanwhile, faded with bitterness.

Chavismo, in its eagerness to cling to power, also hijacked popular sovereignty. The excuse was that, although the opposition represented the majority, it should not be recognized because it was subservient and unpatriotic. After the theft of the 2024 elections and the US intervention of January 3, it became clear that the only sovereignty that truly matters to Chavismo is that which guarantees its own survival.

With the country dismantled, its people divided, and mired in neglect and impoverishment, Venezuela became the perfect prey for whoever is currently in power. One conclusion emerges from the “mega-agreement” announced by US President Donald Trump and vaguely explained by Delcy Rodríguez: details do matter. As presented, it appears to be a cruel and sad surrender of sovereignty, decided in the dead of night, like so many of the measures announced in recent decades.

The winner and his tyrant take everything—resources and concessions—as if it were a contemporary version of the handover of the Congo to Leopold II. A forced and macabre gift.

But having access to reserves is one thing; knowing how those barrels will be extracted is quite another. The question is what guarantees investors will have and, above all, what the country will receive in return. 

Between what has been announced and its implementation, a vast gap still exists, marked by illegalities and profound incompetence. There is also the risk that Venezuela will continue to replicate the “bolichicos” model, increasingly similar to that of Russia in the late 1990s: a small class of millionaires facing a country mired in impoverishment.

It will be up to oil experts and economists to study the implications of what has been announced, and to historians to review the precedents of similar agreements: the Rojas-Pereire Protocol of 1879, the concessions granted under Gómez, the Rockefeller Plan, or the concessions granted by the Pérez Jiménez dictatorship in 1956. For now, all we know is that the US administration is determined to embody everything its harshest critics have always held against it. Chavismo, for its part, is determined to become everything it claimed the opposition would be, whose rise to power it said it would prevent to “protect” Venezuela, even at the cost of violating human rights and disregarding popular sovereignty.

The situation compels us to reach agreements as a society, promote genuine democratization, and reclaim our sovereignty, understood as the collective exercise of autonomy and freedoms. If we fail to do so, we will remain subject to the circumstances and interests of others, instead of acting in accordance with our own interests. 

The outlook is not promising, but two questions remain: What future validity will any agreement signed with the regime currently governing Venezuela have? And what will the state of the planet be when Trump’s term ends on January 20, 2029?

Venezuelan popular artist Luis Mariano Rivera was born on August 19, 1906. His music is a tribute to life and a commitment to his community’s identity and cultural sovereignty. Rivera’s works remind us that when a people sow their land and tell their stories, they become resistant to oppression and invincible against foreign domination.

A brief and affectionate profile

In the fertile and sunny lands of eastern Venezuela, specifically in the lush village of Canchunchú in Bermúdez Municipality, Sucre State, Luis Mariano Rivera was born on August 19, 1906, 120 years ago. His life was shaped by the rural realities of this area, which combined the abundance of nature with the profound inequalities of a latifundista-dominated agrarian economy.

His childhood was marked by early orphanhood and farm labor. Far from leading to resentment or resignation, this experience shaped in Rivera a loving and vital sensibility that allowed him to dismantle traditional notions of property and patriarchal-landowner hierarchy, enabling him to identify with the land, plants, and animals that surrounded him. This connection to the land enriched his imagination, and his extended family ultimately came to encompass the entire territory.

Rivera’s creative work blossomed after he turned 48. A self-taught musician, poet, and playwright, he composed his first verses using the Venezuelan four-stringed cuatro guitar as his primary instrument. His artistic output became an act of defiance that placed elements dismissed by the dominant culture at the center of Venezuelan poetry: local biodiversity, manual labor, trees, fruits, and wildlife.

Through his popular theater plays and musical compositions, Rivera portrayed a cosmogony in which nature is not merely a resource to be exploited, but a subject with rights to be loved and respected.

Although he never joined any political party nor sought public office, his approach to life and art constitutes a profound political statement. In a Caribbean and Venezuelan context where the neocolonial oil rentier model displaced agricultural production and fueled the exodus from the countryside to the city, Rivera’s insistence on staying in Canchunchú and singing about rural life was a clear act of resistance.

His politics were rooted in pacifism, fraternity, and love for the land. In the face of the metastasizing commodification of life, he prioritized the ethics of care, respect for natural cycles, and community solidarity. Various artists of national and international renown, including Alí Primera, Lilia Vera, Cecilia Todd, Soledad Bravo, Gualberto Ibarreto, and Morella Muñoz, performed his songs, transforming his local message into a banner of continental identity. Alí Primera, in particular, saw Rivera as a beacon of popular dignity, celebrating his ability to transform everyday rural life into revolutionary and loving poetry.

Luis Mariano Rivera passed away on March 15, 2002, in Carúpano, Sucre State, at the age of 95, after nearly a century devoted to cultivating the poetry of life, simplicity, and affection. His legacy is recognized as a symbol of the musical identity that flows directly from the harmonious relationship with the land and the wisdom of the people.

Sound, memory, and collective identity

In many of the ancestral cultures of Abya Yala, sound is part of the creation myth of the women and men who originally inhabited these territories. For all of humanity, sounds have played an important role in the formation of identities. Languages and music stem from this very relationship and our need to connect, to name ourselves, and to determine our own destinies.

Every landscape has its own sonority. In other words, a set of sounds that form its geohistory. This includes our ways of speaking and our music, but also the sounds of the wind, the rain, the sea, the river, birds, insects. In short, all the sounds of life expressing itself, as well as the sounds of human inventions that are now part of our daily lives.

Within this spectrum, there are human beings who manage to connect the sounds of past, present, and future memories to bequeath a sonic identity that transcends the purely artistic realm, becoming the very landscape narrated in their poetry. Luis Mariano Rivera is an example of this transcendental audacity to place oneself beyond time with a unique music.

At the age of 48, driven by the desire to express himself without relying on others to write his letters and thoughts, he taught himself to read and write. Already in his mature years, he began composing verses, parrandas, merengues, and eastern joropos through which he paid tribute to the flora, fauna, and everyday life of his village.

Rivera’s remarkable sensitivity stems from his direct observation of the countryside. His lyrics preserve idioms, sayings, and oral expressions from eastern Venezuela that would otherwise have been lost. Long before the rise of globalized environmental movements, his songs already championed the balance between humans, wildlife, and flora from a local, community-based, and decolonizing perspective. Rivera’s legacy transcends mere musical composition; he represents a defense of communal life and a living example of how it is possible to reclaim one’s own history to create sounds that cement collective identity.

For him, Canchunchú was not merely a geographical reference point, but the center of the world. By singing about his village and embracing rural daily life as a symbol of belonging with a claim to universality, he created an affective geohistory that recognized the dignity of life as equivalent to that of the cherry, the guácara [snail], and the mango. He showed to his community that their own reality is worthy of being celebrated and sung about. As such, his work did not stem from ego. It was born out of the village’s celebrations and gatherings, and like collective knowledge, it has no other purpose than enjoyment and the strengthening of collective unity.

Singing honestly about one’s own village, honoring the vernacular of one’s community without resorting to artificial language, taught us a sense of pride in our ways of feeling, understanding, and reasoning. 

Rivera’s music, paraphrasing Alí Primera, grounds us in our own land, with the profound simplicity of one who surrenders to the magnitude of the surrounding beauty. His deep connection to his native Canchunchú never served as chauvinistic isolation or picturesque folklorism. Rather, it was a gateway to the human condition prior to the violent irruption of Western capitalist modernity, with its imposition of individuality, the commodification of nature, and linear progress, at the expense of communal memory. Rivera’s work operates in the opposite direction: it reconnects with an organic body of knowledge that does not require academia to be legitimate, because it is engraved in the lived collective experience.

It is no secret to anyone that traditional community music, as well as rural poetry, serves as a means of transmitting memory. It is not mere entertainment. Rhythmic patterns, melodic turns, and poetic meter interact with the biological, agricultural, and communal cycles that humankind has cultivated for millennia.

Rivera did not theorize about nature: he embodied it. His philosophy sprang from working the land, from sweat, and from the sounds of the countryside. It is the knowledge transmitted through the body and emotion, that “communal way of life” that predates modernity and remains a reservoir from which to conceive alternatives to capitalism, fascism, imperialism, and Zionism.

True universality does not consist in erasing differences under a single mold with domineering hegemonic pretensions, but rather in reaching our very roots. When we reaffirm the dignity of our communities, we validate the “peripheries” as the center of our own worldviews without the need for external recognition.

Rivera demonstrates that the periphery is a center in and of itself by stripping away the pretensions of colonial modernity. His music taps into the common core of humanity: the wonder of being alive, communal solidarity, and respect for the sacred meaning of life. And this is not a nostalgic gaze toward the past, but rather a reservoir of meaning and hope for the present. It reminds us that beneath the veneer of modernity, the human species remains hardwired to come together, celebrate, and sustain communities.

Finally, Rivera’s production is above all an expression of love. Love toward the full life experience. But when a poet sings about love, it is usually limited to romantic love, or heartbreak in the absence of corresponding feelings. Nevertheless, Rivera did count on a “spiritual companion,” to use his own words: Maximina Marsella, known as La Negra Marsella and whom he affectionately called “la negra,” in what is a very common expression in Venezuela. She was presented as the only woman capable of understanding his silences and his late passion for words. He dedicated many love verses to her, expressing how they shared feelings and devotion for the small things in life and the land.

Writing our own history and cultural sovereignty

The act by which a dispossessed individual reclaims control over the written word is, in essence, an act of sociopolitical liberation. For Luis Mariano Rivera, the decision to learn to read and write on his own as an adult was not merely a matter of functional education or an attempt to conform to bourgeois standards. It represented taking control of his own narrative and a fundamental reaffirmation of his personal and communal sovereignty. In a system dominated by the colonialism of knowledge, where official writing has historically functioned as a mechanism of subordination and administrative control, mastering the alphabet from the campesino perspective means dismantling the monopoly on truth. Rivera lucidly understood that mastering the written code granted him the historical ability to cease being a passive subject, an object of study in folklorism, and become the chronicler and philosopher of his own time. He ceased to be narrated by others and assumed authorship of his territorial memory.

This literacy and poetic endeavor took place against a profoundly adverse historical backdrop. Throughout the twentieth century, Venezuela underwent a traumatic transformation driven by the emergence of the neocolonial oil enclave. Urban modernization advanced aggressively through its ideological and economic strategy of marginalizing the countryside, dismantling traditional community structures, and promoting rural depopulation in favor of slums in the major cities.

The extraction of hydrocarbons by transnational corporations tied to the geopolitical interests of US and European imperialism came alongside an overwhelming wave of cultural propaganda. This ideological penetration sought to impose the American consumerist lifestyle, eroding peasant identity and dismissing local agriculture as synonymous with backwardness and savagery. Venezuela, which was barely emerging from the devastating aftermath of the war of independence and successive nineteenth-century insurrections, revolutions, and civil wars stoked by local elites and foreign capital, saw its food sovereignty and historical memory shaken.

Amid this landscape of alienation, where the country was rapidly transforming into a consumerist, import-dependent enclave, Rivera’s insistence on remaining in his Canchunchú valley and singing about the communal way of life was not a nostalgic or folkloric retreat, but rather a deeply political and assertive affirmation of cultural re-existence.

He sang with such transparent and loving clarity that his powerful message took root in the national collective imagination, ethically reframing the traditions, sufferings, joys, and experiences of campesinos in eastern Venezuela. Against the aesthetics of waste and the logic of neocolonial dispossession, he countered with the ethics of care and the sacredness of everyday life. His compositions served as a mechanism for preserving historical memory: he warned against the collective amnesia regarding the communal way of life driven by the discourse of developmental modernity; he championed food sovereignty in the face of dependence on the globalizing market; he dignified rural labor in the face of urban prejudice, revealing the profound ecological philosophy inherent in popular knowledge. But, moreover, his profound poetic work demonstrates that true national sovereignty is more than just the defense of natural resources or borders. It requires the preservation of the collective soul, the dignity of the living word, and the self-determination of the people’s power.

Luis Mariano Rivera’s life journey teaches us that decolonization is not achieved solely through theoretical confrontation or bellicose rhetoric, but above all through an organic connection to the land and the community. By recognizing himself through his own voice, he prevented imperialist corporations and the oil industry’s maelstrom from erasing the humanity of his surroundings. His music endures as an indestructible testament to cultural sovereignty: living proof that a people who remember their roots, cultivate their land, and tell their own stories become resilient in the face of modern oppressions and invincible against any attempt at external domination.

Fabiola José is a Venezuelan singer. She has performed in countries across South America, Africa, Europe, and Asia. Her singles and albums are available on all digital platforms. She hosted and produced “Cantante y Sonante” for Radio Nacional de Venezuela. In 2018–2019, she created a series of videos for social media, published on her YouTube channel #HechoEnCasa. She holds a bachelor’s degree in Music from IUDEM, Caracas (2005); specialized under Maestro Tom Krause in Spain (2007); and an M.A. in Arts and Cultures of the South from UNEARTE, Venezuela (2020).

Fidel Barbarito is a Venezuelan musician and researcher, with a bachelor’s and master’s degrees in music and history, respectively. He teaches in the undergraduate and graduate programs at the National Experimental University of the Arts (UNEARTE). Together with Fabiola José, he promotes several musical projects aimed at disseminating traditional repertoires, integrating them with contemporary compositions inspired by these sounds. Joropo llanero. Parranda de reexistencia is one of his published essays.

The views expressed in this article are the authors’ own and do not necessarily reflect those of the Venezuelanalysis editorial staff.

DEL MAR — Bill Mott was nearly 2,500 miles from Del Mar on Saturday night, but if you listened closely as the field raced down the backstretch in the $1 million Pacific Classic, you probably could hear the Hall of Fame trainer scream.

Thirty years ago, Mott brought Cigar to this same track for this same race, hoping his superstar horse would set the modern-day North American record for consecutive victories. But Cigar, at odds of 1-10, got caught up in a speed duel and wound up losing to a 39-1 long shot named Dare and Go.

Now it seemed like it might be happening again.

Knightsbridge went off at odds of 11-10 instead of Cigar’s 1-10 and he wasn’t racing for history, but the race took on an eerie similarity as the favorite dueled head-and-head with Full Serrano for much of the 1¼ miles. And they were going fast — not quite as fast as Cigar but close enough (1 minute, 10.02 seconds to 1:09.29) for some anguish.

“I thought maybe they were going a little too fast down the backside,” Mott told Del Mar publicity by phone from Saratoga Springs, N.Y.

He had no way of knowing, but so did his jockey.

“I was a little worried we were going a little too fast,” Junior Alvarado said.

As it turned out, neither man had reason to worry. Knightsbridge had a short lead as the two horses passed the mile marker, and when they straightened out in the stretch, the race was over. He continued on, Full Serrano weakened, and the others were too far back.

The final time was 2:02.28, with Original Sin 6¼ lengths behind in second and Full Serrano third. Om N Joy, the first filly to try the Pacific Classic in a decade, finished fourth, followed by Hit Show, Malarchuk, Forged Steel, British Isles, Navajo Warrior, Subsanador and Finger, a Japanese 3-year-old.

With the victory, worth $4.20 to his backers and $600,000 to owners Godolphin, Knightsbridge earned an automatic berth in the Breeders’ Cup Classic on Oct. 31 at Keeneland. But whether he runs in that race or the Dirt Mile will be a decision for Mott and Godolphin, who also have Sovereignty, last year’s horse of the year and the top-ranked horse in the Breeders’ Cup’s initial poll for Classic contenders.

“They’re two different horses,” said Alvarado, who rides both. “It’s nearly impossible to [compare]. This horse carries a lot of speed. The other horse has a hell of a turn of foot coming for home … from the half-mile all the way to the wire, very strong at a mile and a quarter. I don’t recall having such a strong finisher like Sovereignty. So it’s going to be interesting. We got time just to decide what we’re going to do next.”

The idea that Knightsbridge would even be under consideration for the 1¼-mile Classic would have been unthinkable until last month; his first 10 career races were all around one turn at either seven furlongs or a mile. But Mott decided to try him at 1⅛ miles in the Monmouth Cup on July 18 at Monmouth Park, and the 5-year-old son of Nyquist won by 10¼ lengths in a time that earned him the fastest Beyer Speed Figure of the year (122).

With the West Coast handicap division weakened, Mott figured it was a good time to try the Pacific Classic again. He had won the race in 2008 with Go Between and enjoyed other successes here, including last year’s Breeders’ Cup Distaff with Scylla, but he also had to scratch Sovereignty from last year’s Breeders’ Cup Classic when the horse got sick.

Now he has another positive memory — his second win in Del Mar’s signature race, which has been won by only two other trainers not based in California, Todd Pletcher (Fierceness last year) and Dale Romans (Dullahan in 2012).

“It was quite impressive,” Mott said. “They went quick, but gosh he had something to finish with.”

The victory completed a Grade 1 sweep Saturday for Alvarado, who one race earlier captured the $300,000 Del Mar Oaks aboard Tam Tam ($7.40) for trainer Philip Bauer.

How did he plan to celebrate?

“We’re going to celebrate it going back to New York tonight on the red-eye flight,” he said, smiling.

In the other Breeders’ Cup Challenge race here Saturday, the 5-year-old gelding Sorrento Sky ($16), ridden by Umberto Rispoli for trainer Phil D’Amato, earned a spot in the Turf Sprint by capturing the $200,000 Green Flash Handicap by a length over No Nay Hudson. D’Amato and Rispoli also won the $300,000 Del Mar Mile with King of Gosford ($12.40).

The crowd of 15,187 was a 13% increase from last year. The mutuel handle of $29.14 million was the second highest in Del Mar history outside of the Breeders’ Cup, surpassed only by $36.02 million in 2021 when there was a Pick 6 carryover and mandatory payout.

Foreign Ministry spokesman Esmaeil Baghaei slams Trump’s latest threat as a return to ‘full-scale classic colonialism’.

Iran has decried impending United States sanctions as a “complete erosion of sovereignty” following US President Donald Trump’s threat to punish any country doing business with Tehran.

In a post on X on Saturday, Iran’s Foreign Ministry spokesman Esmaeil Baghaei said the US announcement was “an assertion of extraterritorial sovereignty” against the United Nations’ member states.

No state can compel foreign banks, enterprises or airports to renounce commerce with Iran, he said.

“The end result would be the complete erosion of sovereignty as the foundational basis of the UN-based inter-State system, and a recipe for an abysmal return to full-scale classic colonialism,” Baghaei said.

Trump announced on Wednesday the “most crushing economic operation” yet against Iran and said any country whose institutions interface with Tehran would face “tremendous economic consequences”.

US Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent doubled down on the president’s words on Thursday, saying the new sanctions regime would “collapse” Iran and that other countries are “either with us or against us”.

Iranian state media was quick to point out that Tehran has faced US sanctions for decades. Iranian Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi said the new measures were “bound to fail”.

“We have seen this movie before,” Araghchi wrote on X, alongside a screenshot of a tweet from former President Barack Obama referencing earlier sanctions in 2012. “Same bull. Different bullies.”

The latest rhetorical back-and-forth comes as peace talks with Tehran have sputtered out. The US Navy has maintained its blockade against Iran’s ports, while oil shipment traffic through the Strait of Hormuz has virtually ceased.

Trump told reporters Friday that his government is “seeing what happens” in the conflict.

“They would love to make a deal, but they’re not ready to make the right deal in my opinion,” the president said.

While the US has blockaded Iranian vessels in their ports, the Strait of Hormuz remained bottled up with thousands of seafarers stranded on hundreds of vessels.

Only four commodity ships sailed along the strait on Thursday, none of them large crude carriers or liquefied natural gas tankers, ship-tracking data showed.

However, Iran has granted permission for several Iraqi oil tankers to pass through the strait following repeated requests from Baghdad, Iran’s state news agency IRNA ⁠reported on Saturday.

IRNA said obtaining special permission for Iraqi tankers was one of Baghdad’s main requests during Iranian parliament speaker Mohammad Bagher ⁠Ghalibaf’s visit to Iraq.

Reflect. Think about yourself, about those around you, and you will reach the same conclusion as I have. Since the signing of the disastrous economic adjustment package with the International Monetary Fund in February 1989, Venezuela has never experienced such a unanimous feeling of bewilderment, contained anger, and repulsion at others deciding for us.

In October 2025, a Hinterlaces survey had 83% of respondents state that they would be willing to confront a foreign military invasion. The attack came [on January 3], we were denied the possibility of resistance, and now we face an invisible invasion. An insolent foreign presence that barely appears on screen, but tramples us, crushing the executive, legislative, judicial, and moral attributes of sovereignty one after the other, stealing over $13 billion worth of oil from us in just half a year, resources that no one knows where they have gone, and remodeling our country so that the plundering can continue indefinitely.

Along with the looting, a shroud of opacity has fallen over Venezuela, relegating everything that matters to mystery, except for occasional voices that infiltrate informal media. María Alejandra Díaz Marín warns us from Colombia about the attempt to remove all constitutional limits that hinder the looting. Mario Silva contrasts what politicians used to say and what they say now. Ramsés Reyes confesses that he “spits blood.” José Sant Roz proclaims in Ensartaos: “I tremble with indignation when I hear people say ‘Iran is not Venezuela,’ ‘Cuba is not Venezuela.’”

Comparisons are odious, but more odious is avoiding them to escape self-criticism.

For my part, I preach that anger is a more valuable natural resource than the oil and gold that the US is plundering from us, because anger is infinitely renewable and more fruitful than resignation. I admire all the countries that have shaken off the yokes of empires. I appreciate those who reproach us for apparently having stopped doing the same. I do not even invoke the sacred wrath of the [1813] Decree of War to the Death, which liberated what are now six countries. The assertion that Venezuela is not like this or that country reiterates that freedom and sovereignty do not fall from the sky nor are automatically defended. They are conquered through the extreme pedagogy of the unbearable.

Venezuela is not Iran. Nothing could be truer. Since 1941, Iran had been living under the dictatorship of Shah Reza Pahlavi. The nationalist Majlis movement succeeded in having Mohammed Mossadegh appointed as prime minister in 1951, and he nationalized the oil industry. The hegemonic countries blockaded the Iranian state from selling oil. In 1953, the CIA and MI6 incited street demonstrations, a military coup ousted Mossadegh, and Shah Reza Pahlavi was installed as a dictator, handing over oil to Europeans and yankees and presiding over a repressive autocracy. Only in 1979, after an endless 37 years of fierce monarchical dictatorship and the continuous theft of oil by foreign powers, did waves of Iranians depose the puppet and confirm that autonomy is not gifted: it is defended. They took their affirmation of cultural identity to the extreme. They faced the selective assassination of their scientists and leaders until they became impregnable. They won wars against neighboring Iraq, instigated and armed by the United States, and now against the US Empire itself. They divided their defensive system into “mosaics” capable of continuing to resist when others would have fallen. We are not like the admirable Iranians. But they teach us a rough path to become like them.

We are not like the Cubans. When José Martí arrived in Caracas in 1881 and first visited the statue of Simón Bolívar, it had already been 57 years since we had gained independence and formed what are now six countries. The Liberator included in the Panama Congress of 1826 the goal of the emancipation of Cuba, Puerto Rico, and Hispaniola, and planned to achieve it with an expedition that domestic secessionism thwarted. The Apostle [Martí] and Cuba still had to endure a bitter lesson. For Martí, death in his first battle. For his homeland, the humiliation of an independence interfered with by the US invasion of 1898, and a sovereignty tarnished by the Platt Amendment. And still remaining was the bitter record of 60 years of dictatorships and corruption covered up by the United States, until Commander Fidel Castro arrived and put a stop to it. Martí never felt humiliated because in his time Cuba was not like Venezuela. He sacrificed his fragile existence in the Promethean attempt to overcome it, and his legacy pierces our conscience like red-hot iron.

China is not like Venezuela. Starting from 1848, it was attacked by England amid the Opium Wars. Through the Infamous Treaties, Western powers filled it with military bases and puppet governments. Starting in 1931, the Japanese invaded Manchuria; the rest of the world threatened, blockaded, or ignored China. Only after a bitter century of humiliations could the country, in 1948, resume the arduous path that led it to becoming the world’s leading power.

No, Venezuela is not Algeria, or Vietnam, or Korea, or Afghanistan, or India, or Pakistan, or Somalia, or Yemen. Venezuela preceded them. In 1810, we had a foolish homeland that had to learn to stand on its feet, and in 1825 it taught the world lessons. Today we must understand, along with so many admirable nations, that there is no independence greater than that which is conquered, nor sovereignty greater than that which is defended.

Once again, the current metropolis [the US] is losing its hegemony. Its bases are demolished, its mercenaries put to flight. Its Congress denies funds for its reckless aggressions, its energy sources slip away, its fraudulent unbacked currency vanishes, emerging powers surpass it in economy, social advantages, science, culture, and defense. The path diverges between the road to extinction and that of Utopia.

What Venezuela needs to relearn is to be like Venezuela.

Translated by Orinoco Tribune. Minor edits by Venezuelanalysis.

Source: Luis Britto García blog