sovereignty

Venezuela’s oil policy has not merely been a set of technical regulations, but rather a battleground where national sovereignty has been defined in the face of Western imperialist interests. In this sense, the 20th century in Venezuela began with cannons trained on its shores. The naval blockade by England, Germany, and Italy in 1902 was the result of demands to collect debts incurred since the War of Independence and throughout the nineteenth century to build the oligarchic and fragmented republic that emerged in defiance of the Bolivarian project of unity. 

Unable to pay the creditors, Venezuelan President Cipriano Castro refused to hand over the country’s resources and territory, which is why he is considered the first nationalist president to be overthrown by the imperial powers of the time. In response to the foreign pressure exerted through the blockade, his proclamation was published in national newspapers: “The insolent foreign boot has desecrated the sacred soil of the homeland!” Castro embodied a defiance that the powers would not forgive.

However, the real tragedy was not the external attack, but the internal betrayal. Juan Vicente Gómez, who was also the president’s close friend, was not only the instigator of the 1908 coup d’état, but also the architect of the first major economic model of submission. Under his government, Venezuela was transformed overnight from an agrarian economy into an oil-producing enclave.

The concessions granted starting in 1922 through laws and decrees were not commercial agreements; they were acts of surrender of territorial and economic sovereignty to Standard Oil and Royal Dutch Shell, shaping the new geometry of power and the emergence of a new way of being and doing politics: what anthropologist Rodolfo Quintero called “the oil culture” had been born, a society whose elite looked more to the north than to the Venezuelan hinterland plains.

Venezuelan historian Oscar Battaglini provides an in-depth analysis of the inner workings of this new economic and political culture. 

…imperialism organizes (acting directly as in the days of old colonialism) a strong and truly centralized state at the head of which appear, in the role of mere ‘native overseers,’ the remnants of the old oligarchy: large landowners, agro-exporters and importers, and usurious bankers … The state that emerges … its primary mission was to maintain the cruelest and most open repression, the stability of the established oil order; which amounted to guaranteeing the oil companies consistently high profits, and to the dominant domestic sectors, the appropriation … of oil tax revenue… 

Following Gómez’s death in 1935, his own Minister of War and the Navy, Eleazar López Contreras, was tasked with serving as the transitional bridge from a highly repressive, personalist system of government to one that appeared to be freer. With oil reserves beneath his feet and an active US presence in the ports of Lake Maracaibo, López walked a tightrope. The various political and popular sectors, already consolidated though silenced, launched a fierce resistance: oil workers, students, political parties, and activists who until then had operated underground, women, and impoverished peasants entered political life with a bang. 

The expansion of oil wells, coupled with the events of World War II and the rise of fascism, laid the groundwork for the consolidation of an economic model that compromised national sovereignty, established interventionism as a mechanism of “negotiation,” and undermined political development through the persecution of any expression that might threaten the interests of the highly lucrative oil business.

From the 1943 Law to the Puntofijo Pact: The institutionalization of dependence

The government of Isaías Medina Angarita represented a significant political opening and steered the oil industry toward national interests. During his administration (1941–1945), the first fair legislation regarding the management of oil revenues was drafted, as well as the first plan for the development of a productive economy that aimed to overcome the rentier model that had already taken root during the Gómez era. With the 1943 hydrocarbon law, further strengthened by the 1942 Income Tax Act, the Venezuelan state was granted a 60% share of oil revenues – a development that did not favor the US oil companies, accustomed to reaping up to 75% of oil earnings. This law, combined with the 1945 agrarian reform law, set the stage for an intervention that prevented the democratic and sovereign transition to another presidential term and precipitated what some have called “the October Revolution” and others a “coup d’état” against these measures, which affected the regime of land ownership and control over Venezuela’s fossil fuel resources. 

After the coup, and during the “Adeco triennium” (1945–1948) led by Rómulo Bentancourt, even though the 1943 law was not repealed, a sort of relaxation was applied, known as the “fifty-fifty” arrangement, which consisted of guaranteeing oil companies a 50% revenue share, avoiding the tax levy, and thereby preventing subsequent increases in rent. At this point, it is worth noting that this process did not affect only economic aspects; rather, the oil enclave also became consolidated, which, as in any colonization process, includes cultural elements, in this case, the establishment of an “(North) American way of life” in the oil fields and their surroundings. 

Encampment-cities were created to operate as islands of foreign modernity, segregated from the national reality, where local management began to adopt the mindset and interests of the parent companies. A clear example of this was Judibana, in Falcón State, near the Amuay refinery. Judibana is an urban complex designed around 1948 by the Creole Petroleum Corporation, which at that time included schools, clubs, a commissary, and an isolated, self-contained internal dynamic. During the 2002 oil lockout, it served as an enclave for the anti-nationalist oil class. 

Later, the Marcos Pérez Jiménez dictatorship (1953–1958) proclaimed the “dream of progress” through the transformation of the landscape and a policy of monumental public works that reflected the “almighty” nature of oil and served as a physical manifestation of state power. Following his overthrow in 1958, the Pact of Punto Fijo emerged, giving rise to what many scholars call “pacted democracy.” Although it was presented as the stabilization of the political system, authors suggest that it was a mechanism for excluding popular forces and shielding transnational interests.

Rómulo Betancourt, leader of the Acción Democrática party – also known as the “Father of Venezuelan Democracy” – served as the first president under the Pact of Punto Fijo. Despite the nationalist rhetoric in his youth, he established a model during his administration (1959–1964) in which oil revenues were used to pacify social conflict without altering the structure of property ownership. “Submission” here became more sophisticated: it was not the direct surrender of land, but rather subordination to US foreign policy. The commercial and financial bourgeoisie abandoned any industrialization plans to become a parasitic class living off state revenue.

Under the Punto Fijo governments (1958–1998) Venezuela was viewed as a “laboratory” for the implementation of social democratic policies that served as a counterweight to the influence of the Cuban Revolution (1959) – characterized by its strong anti-imperialist stance – thereby consolidating the structural hegemony of the US market, which by 1997 received nearly 70% of the country’s oil exports. 

Neoliberalism and the “denationalization” of the 1990s

After a lengthy process of drafting legislation and negotiations, on January 1, 1976, the national flag was raised at the Zumaque No. 1 oil well. With this symbolic and legal act, Petróleos de Venezuela S.A. (PDVSA) was born as the company tasked with planning, coordinating, and supervising the industry, marking the beginning of a phase in which the state assumed not only income but also the total operative control of the country’s oil resources.

Bernard Mommer, an expert on the subject, offers a sharp critique that distinguishes between nationalization – whose objective was supposed to be the political and economic control of oil in the interest of national sovereignty – and statization, which entailed the creation of a state-owned corporation (PDVSA) that, over time, began to operate according to a private corporate logic, distancing itself from the needs of the national government and the objective of this ostensibly sovereign strategy. In this regard, Mommer argues that, following nationalization, the industry remained under imperialist control. PDVSA inherited the organizational structure and culture of the former concessionaires (Shell, Exxon, Mobil), which created a “state within a state.”

The neoliberal shift of the 1980s and 1990s marked the moment when submission was cloaked in the technical language of the Washington Consensus. The Oil Opening (Apertura Petrolera) was the ultimate expression of this process: an initiative in which PDVSA operated according to transnational logic, minimizing benefits for the country and paving the way for full privatization. It was more a matter of “denationalization,” where the state ceased to act as a demanding owner and instead became a promoter of foreign investment, sacrificing tax revenue, drastically reducing royalties (from 16.6% to 1% in some cases), and ceding operational control.

Denationalization policies were not limited to the oil sector. Telephone services (CANTV) and airlines (Viasa) were privatized, and attempts were made to privatize basic industries such as iron and aluminum. In this process, PDVSA’s management began to distance itself from the guidelines of the Ministry of Energy and Mines to become an entity managed by neoliberal international interests.

El Carmonazo: A failed attempt to return to the past

With Hugo Chávez’s rise to power in 1998, an effort was made to reverse this process of denationalization through the 2001 Organic Hydrocarbons Law. This law raised royalties to 30% and required the state to hold a majority stake (51%) in any joint venture. It restored the Ministry of Energy’s control over PDVSA.

The reaction of traditional sectors such as the CTV (Venezuelan Workers’ Confederation) and FEDECAMARAS business lobby, allied with the church and military sectors, was the call for an oil strike and the coup d’état (the Carmonazo) carried out on April 11, 2002 – a direct response by PDVSA’s managers and the neocolonial oligarchy to protect the contracts and the vision of the Oil Opening. The short-lived Carmona coup regime’s decree sought to repeal these laws to return Venezuela to the management model of the 1990s: a “privatized” PDVSA and a state with no control over its principal source of wealth.

The “Carmona Decree” was the purest expression of the neocolonial oligarchic mentality. In less than 24 hours, the public authorities were dissolved and the name “Bolivarian Republic” was removed, symbolically reverting to the “Republic of Venezuela” controlled by the elite. The main objective was to halt the Land Law and the Hydrocarbons Law, returning control of revenue to the PDVSA management aligned with external interests.

From the blockade of 1902 to the coup of 2002, the common denominator has been a Venezuelan elite that perceives sovereignty as an obstacle to its business interests. Submission is not just a political stance, but a class identity that confuses progress with mimicking the imperial core.

The history of this century in Venezuela demonstrates that the struggle for nationalization is not just about oil, but about a people’s ability to decide their own destiny without the tutelage of the insolent foreign boot.

Rosanna Álvarez holds an MSc in History of Republican Venezuela from the Central University of Venezuela (UCV). She is a researcher at the Centro de Estudios Simón Bolívar and Fundación Hugo Chávez, as well as a writer at the Libertador 8 Estrellas magazine. She is the author of Venezuela vista e imaginada. Un recorrido visual por nuestra historia and host of the Bolívar Nuestro show on Radio del Sur.

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

Carlos Mendoza Potellá is an economist and university professor with vast experience and expertise regarding the Venezuelan oil industry. In this exclusive interview with Venezuelanalysis, Mendoza Potellá offers his analysis on the recent reform of the Hydrocarbon Law, the longstanding influence of Western conglomerates over Venezuela’s energy sector, and the struggle for sovereignty.

In late January, the Venezuelan National Assembly approved a reform of the Hydrocarbon Law. What are your views on the new law?

In broad terms, it is the relinquishing of our condition as a sovereign nation, plain and simple. We are not a nation anymore. We are a territory with some delegate administrators implementing decisions made abroad. Who decides? Emperor Trump, who has his proconsul Marco Rubio.

The approved law meets the maximum demands that the Venezuelan right and the oil conglomerates have been making for at least the last 25 years. The 2002 coup against Chávez was to impose something like this, the return to the old concession model. It is the fulfillment of all the dreams of the old “meritocratic” leadership of [state oil company PDVSA], the people who did everything to minimize the fiscal contributions to the country, whether that meant buying 37 refineries abroad or other disasters that wrecked the country.

The reform is a victory for international oil capital, alongside a discourse that hands over the destiny of the industry to major corporations and diminishes national participation as some unproductive “rentierism.”

The Venezuelan oil industry has gone through various stages, with varying degrees of influence from major transnational corporations, whether that is the period prior to the formal nationalization in 1976 or the Oil Liberalization (Apertura Petrolera) of the 1990s. How do we situate the new law within that context?

I believe this is a step backward beyond the apertura or the pre-nationalization period –perhaps it’s a return to 1832! In 1829, Simón Bolívar issued a decree transferring the Spanish crown’s mining rights to Gran Colombia. This, in turn, was based on old medieval law, essentially establishing that mines were the property of the sovereign, the king. In fact, that is where the term “royalty” comes from –as a tribute to the king. And in 1832, when Venezuela separated from Gran Colombia, that decree ratified the nation’s ownership of its mines. 

Obviously, oil didn’t emerge until 30 or 40 years later, but by 1866 concessions were already being granted. For a time, people spoke of “material that comes from the subsoil,” even though everyone already knew it was oil.

Our first boom was with asphalt. In 1883, Guzmán Blanco granted the Lago Guanoco concession to his buddy Horacio Hamilton, who later transferred it to the New York & Bermúdez Company, a subsidiary of the US firm General Asphalt. The asphalt boom lasted 50 years, and with it, streets and highways were built all over the United States.

But the example of New York & Bermúdez is significant because when Cipriano Castro came to power in 1899, he found out that the company had not paid taxes and attempted to collect them. What did the corporation do? It financed the so-called Revolución Libertadora led by Manuel Antonio Matos, a banker from La Victoria, which was ultimately defeated after two bloody battles. It was the first instance of foreign hydrocarbon interests seeking to control national politics. And it was always linked to the United States.

In the 1920s, then-dictator Juan Vicente Gómez tasked his minister, Gumersindo Torres, with drafting a hydrocarbons law, but the foreign companies did not like it. And Gómez told them, “Well, then, write the law yourselves!” Later, in 1936, the López Contreras administration drafted a very good law, but since it wasn’t retroactive, the companies did not mind because they already had their concessions granted.

When do we start seeing the first steps toward Venezuelan oil nationalism?

It was precisely in 1941 that Medina Angarita took office and commissioned a massive dossier on all the concessions in the country, informing the US government that Venezuela was aware of the importance of its oil. This was during World War II, and the oil companies were haunted by the specter of the 1938 Mexican nationalization under the government of Lázaro Cárdenas.

What was [Franklin D.] Roosevelt’s response? He sent a delegation from the State Department, not to intercede on behalf of the oil companies, but to convince them to accept Medina’s reform, because Venezuelan oil was vital to the war effort. The law passed in 1943 was quite progressive. Its first article stated that hydrocarbons are a matter of national public interest, and as such, concessions were granted for a maximum term of 40 years. Eighty percent of the concessions were granted at that time, to expire in 1983.

Venezuelan production grew through the 1970s, but as the end of the concessions approached, the transnational corporations began implementing policies to somewhat ease the hostility toward foreign investment.

Thus, a policy of “Venezuelanization” of the industry’s management was put into effect. That is why, when the so-called nationalization took place (1976), companies such as Shell and Creole, a subsidiary of Standard Oil-Exxon, had Venezuelans serving as president or vice president. These executives later assumed leadership of the newly created national companies. Their passports were Venezuelan, but their hearts belonged to foreign corporations!

Historically, how was the relationship between foreign corporations and Venezuelan authorities? And how did they respond to the 1976 nationalization?

The corporations grew accustomed to the idea of an industry tailored to their interests. I mentioned how they were the ones who drafted the first Hydrocarbons Law. Oversight bodies, such as the Technical Office of Hydrocarbons, were constantly undermined in their efforts to regulate oil activities. And so the companies could extract oil without paying royalties, violate technical standards for field exploitation, or export gasoline instead of fuel oil.

The 1970s were a turbulent time for the oil sector, marked by geopolitical tensions and the 1973 crisis in the Arab countries. In 1973, James Akins, the Nixon administration’s Director of Energy at the State Department, wrote an article in Foreign Affairs titled “The Oil Crisis; This Time the Wolf Is Here.” He argued that Venezuela could be key to reducing dependence on the Middle East, and that in the face of growing oil nationalism, it was necessary to cede some ground and consider other models of participation, while maintaining control over critical areas such as refining and commercialization.

Put differently, it was possible to offer some token concessions to the nationalist aspirations of oil-producing countries like Venezuela. And that rhetoric spread to the transnational corporations. The president of Shell said at the time, “Venezuela is going to have to take action regarding its oil industry,” while the head of Creole spoke of “the Venezuelans’ oil”!

There were growing signs of how the nationalization would take shape and how the transnationals were restructuring. A good example is the Venezuelan Petroleum Corporation (CVP), created in 1960. Juan Pablo Pérez Alfonzo, whom I consider a visionary and a deeply nationalist figure, had conceived it as a company that would develop until the time came for the state to take over production. But the governments did not let it grow; they did not assign concessions it was entitled to, and by the time of nationalization, the CVP was simply one more operator among 13 or 14. 

In contrast, [Petróleos de Venezuela, SA] PDVSA, created with the nationalization, did have a very clear vision from the start. I remember hearing senior PDVSA executives talking among themselves, discussing how one came from the “Exxon culture,” which was more vertical, and the other from the “Shell culture,” which was more horizontal. And these were the managers! They were the leaders of the Venezuelan oil industry, which had very little “Venezuelan” about it. What we are seeing now is the reconstitution of all these things.

Circling back to the current reform, we have seen that sovereignty is a central issue. How is it affected on different fronts?

For me, a fundamental issue is the return of concessions. Because that means going back decades, handing control back to transnational conglomerates. With taxes and royalties, the problem is not whether the rate is 30% or 15%; that flexibility existed in the past. But now it is the transnational corporations that tell the government what their operating costs are and how much goes to the Venezuelan state. There is no oversight body to verify this; instead, the company says, “I need you to lower royalties to this level” for the project to be profitable.

The return of international arbitration is also a brutal setback, because it means that disputes are not settled in Venezuelan courts, but in other bodies that have a history of defending corporate interests. There is no role left for the Public Solicitor’s Office (Procuradoría General), which is essentially the nation’s attorney. 

For months we were told we were ready to confront imperialism, but the truth is that everything is being imposed on us. Even the National Assembly is castrating itself. It has enacted a law stating that oil projects no longer require the parliament’s approval; they need only be notified. And on top of all that, there is also the constitutional issue. The reform conflicts with Articles 1, 12, 150, 151, and several others of the Constitution. But this is not merely a constitutional violation; it is a total surrender. A surrender of sovereignty that calls into question our status as a republic.

One of the issues under debate is the distinction between a country that owns oil and a country that produces oil. How should we understand the difference?

Of course, that’s fundamental. A country that owns oil simply collects royalties, and it does so according to its political capabilities. At the moment, Venezuela’s capabilities are limited, because the military cannot confront the enemy, and allies like Russia and China have not shown themselves willing to take any risks. So, there is little room to impose conditions on the US.

But this is a country that has grown used to the multinational corporations having free rein over its oil sector. Unfortunately, there are many people, within the industry itself, who believe that “the foreign conglomerates developed this and therefore have a right to these privileges.” Curiously, that is the same rhetoric Trump uses! 

This struggle for sovereignty is fundamental in oil-producing countries. We have seen this with the countries of the Middle East, which try to assert themselves but remain highly dependent on the United States. Obviously, they have the advantage of not being as close as we are. But in my opinion, historically we have lacked nationalism on this issue.

One of the arguments in favor of reforming the Hydrocarbon Law was the need to attract investment to so-called “green fields,” on the grounds that when the previous law was passed in 2001, there were many mature fields ready for development and this is no longer the case. However, major corporations have not shown much enthusiasm. What is your reading on this?

Those are fantasies about oilfields that have always been unviable; it is the obsession with the Orinoco Oil Belt. Humberto Calderón Berti, minister of mines in the 1980s and a major proponent of PDVSA’s internationalization, was already talking about green fields back then. By the way, Calderón Berti is now talking about the possibility of fracking in Lake Maracaibo, which would make the lake’s environmental disaster even worse.

The idea that an avalanche of investment is coming is an illusion, and the oil companies themselves know it. Trump talks about investments of $100 billion, but transnational corporations like ExxonMobil use the word “uninvestable.” With market volatility, no one is thinking about investing in oil with extremely high production costs. There is a study that concludes that increasing production to 2.6 million barrels per day based on the Orinoco Belt would require US $90 billion in investments and $122 billion in operating expenses over the next 10 years to drill 13,000 new wells! In other words, it is completely unfeasible.

On top of that, OPEC’s forecasts for oil demand over the coming decades aren’t particularly ambitious. (1)

So who stands to benefit from this new landscape? On the one hand, small “rogue” companies that can take on a well here and there. But above all, the conglomerates that are already here, like Chevron, which know the lay of the land and can expand their operations or make their current operations more profitable. The same goes for Eni and Repsol, which have some crown jewels, like the offshore Perla natural gas field. The corporations that come will be betting mostly on conventional fields, not the Orinoco Belt.

It is very commonplace to hear about US refineries in the Gulf of Mexico that are built to receive Venezuelan crude. That is true, but it is not oil from the Orinoco Belt! It is oil from the Oriente (East) and Occidente (West) oil-producing regions.

Let us stay for a moment on the Orinoco Oil Belt, since that is where the talk of the “largest oil reserves on the planet” centers, as well as the prospects for a massive increase in production. What are the myths and realities surrounding these deposits?

The Orinoco Belt is a geological miracle. Eighty million years ago, 10–15 percent of all life that existed on the planet was fossilized north of the Orinoco River. It is something to cry out to the heavens. But that is not exploitable oil. It is extra-heavy crude, a sticky mess that needs to be upgraded. First it must be converted into liquid petroleum so it can flow through pipelines, and then taken to be refined and turned into gasoline. 

In the 1970s, the United States saw the energy crisis coming and asked, “When conventional oil runs out, where can we find oil around the world?” In three places: the Soviet Union, Canada, and Venezuela. And where in Venezuela? In the Orinoco Oil Belt. Pérez Alfonzo spoke of the belt as “something for the future,” but the United States wanted to accelerate exploitation and sent a delegation in 1971 to convince President Rafael Caldera to begin the process. In fact, the name was changed from “Tar Belt” to “Oil Belt” to make it more attractive.

The US Geological Survey estimates that there are 513 billion barrels of “technically recoverable” oil. But that is absurd, because there is no capacity. What makes a reserve recoverable has to do with economic ability, the market, and the available technology. Nevertheless, the Orinoco Belt has been at the center of grandiose projections over the past few decades, alongside the highly lucrative business of certifying reserves.

The oil reform took place in a specific context, following years of economic sanctions that have left PDVSA in a very difficult situation. What would be an alternative path? How can the industry recover without surrendering sovereignty?

There are no magic solutions, obviously. We are facing imperialism in the Trump era; we see all its destructive potential. It is a phase where the US, paradoxically, recognizes its weakness and is entrenching itself in its “backyard.” But we must be aware that the industry’s current course is one of total capitulation.

Whether we can recover, whether it is possible or not, we must think about it rigorously, in a sovereign manner. And above all, we must have a serious plan; we cannot be dreaming of 5 or 6 million barrels a day.

There are 17,000 conventional oil wells, with the capacity to produce, abandoned around the country. Of the 35,000 wells in Venezuela, only half are currently producing. The others require investment, though not particularly large ones. And what kind of oil will these wells produce? Crude grades ranging from 20 to 30 degrees. But we need a plan, to examine wells one by one. These are wells that will produce 20, 50, or 100 barrels a day, but it is light and medium crude—the “classic” Venezuelan oil.

So, from a nationalist perspective, what does the future hold for Venezuela’s oil industry? 

The future is to build a post-oil Venezuela. This was already being discussed by theorists such as Francisco Mieres and Pérez Alfonzo in the 1970s. Then, in recent years, many began talking about a post-oil or post-rentier country, but mostly to cover up their incompetence and inability to maintain production levels.

There is no magic solution, and the oil industry will have to play an important role. But the current situation is dire. We are in a new phase of absolute political dependence. It’s not just about oil, or that the US controls revenues, imposes concessions, and so on. It is that the country has lost the ability to make its own decisions.

There are also expectations of the people, who to a large extent have become accustomed to the idea that their oil will last forever. That creates the illusion that things can improve very quickly. The path will be slow, but it has to start with regaining sovereignty.

Note

(1) The interview was conducted before the launch of the US-Israeli war against Iran.

GCC states, UN rights chief Volker Turk warn of grave repercussions amid war on Iran.

Gulf states’ representatives have told the United Nations Human Rights Council that Iranian attacks on their territories amount to a gross violation of state sovereignty, as the UN’s rights chief warned that the Middle East is nearing an “unmitigated catastrophe” as the US-Israel war on Iran approaches the one-month mark.

Saudi Arabia’s representative to the UN, Abdulmohsen Majed bin Khothaila, condemned Iranian attacks during ⁠an emergency meeting called by Gulf states in Geneva on Wednesday, saying the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) member states were being attacked despite not being involved in the conflict.

“[Iranian attacks] violate the UN Charter and international law. We must call things by their name,” Majed bin Khothaila said.

“To target a neighbour is a violation of the principles of good neighbourly relations. To target a mediator betrays all efforts aimed at peace and undermines any constructive initiative. To target states that are not party to the hostilities amounts to unacceptable and unjustifiable attacks that cannot be passed over in silence.”

Qatar’s representative to the UN, Hend bint Abd al-Rahman al-Muftah, said Iran’s attacks had “grave repercussions” that were “not only affecting peace and security in the world, but also human rights”.

“These attacks amount to a great source of concern for us, and we can no longer remain silent,” she added.

“To attack the electricity and desalination plants also involves serious environmental consequences and undermines rights that should be guaranteed by human rights provisions.”

The Qatari representative also noted that the de facto closure of the Strait of Hormuz was “a source of great concern, given the dire consequences it can have on the economy and supply routes”.

Kuwait’s ambassador, Naser Abdullah Alhayen, told the council that the Gulf was “seeing an existential threat to international and regional ⁠security”.

“This aggressive approach is undermining international law and sovereignty,” Alhayen added.

The UN’s rights chief, Volker Turk, warned that the war has created an “extremely dangerous and unpredictable” situation that is pushing the Middle East towards an “unmitigated catastrophe”.

“The only guaranteed way to prevent this is to end the conflict, and I urge all states, and particularly those with influence, to do everything in their power to achieve this,” he said.

Al Jazeera’s Zein Basravi, reporting from Dubai, said the “GCC countries are looking for a seat at the table” at negotiations between the United States and Iran.

“As Iran is going to look for guarantees going forward from the US and Israel, Gulf states will be looking for guarantees from Iran,” he said.

Basravi added that while the volume of incoming attacks in Gulf countries seemed to be going down in recent days, a small attack from Iran “can still create the same level of disruption since the beginning of the war”.