Venezuelan Oil

When the United States and Israel launched joint strikes on Iran on February 28, the Strait of Hormuz—the narrow waterway through which roughly one-fifth of the world’s oil passes each day—effectively ceased to function as a shipping corridor. Iran’s Revolutionary Guard Corps responded by warning off tanker traffic, and within days maritime transit had fallen to nearly zero. The consequences were immediate and severe: Brent crude has not dropped below the $100 threshold since March 13 and touched $119 on March 19 following Israeli strikes on Iran’s South Pars gasfield and retaliatory Iranian attacks on energy infrastructure in Qatar and the UAE. For Venezuela, a country sitting atop the world’s largest proven reserves but producing around 900,000 to one million barrels per day (a fraction of its historical capacity of over 3 million in the late 1990s) the disruption arrived at a peculiar moment. It was not a crisis of Venezuela’s making. But how Caracas responds to it may define the country’s energy trajectory for years to come.

On paper, the arithmetic is striking. Alejandro Grisanti, director of Ecoanalítica, estimates that Venezuela receives approximately $400 million in additional revenue for every extra dollar in the average crude price. This figure, at current price levels, represents a fiscal windfall without precedent in the post-Maduro transition. Venezuelan crude exports had already rebounded sharply in February to around 788,000 barrels per day (up from a depressed 383,000 bpd in January, when the post-Maduro-arrest disruption had frozen trade flows), with US refineries absorbing the majority of shipments directly through Chevron or energy intermediaries. Of course, production and exports are different things: Venezuela produces roughly one million bpd but consumes some 230,000 bpd domestically, meaning effective export capacity sits considerably below gross output.

The Hormuz disruption accelerated the export recovery dynamic: with Gulf supply stranded and Asian buyers scrambling for alternatives, Venezuelan crude became a more attractive proposition. Washington has responded in kind. On March 18, the US Treasury issued a broad license authorizing established American entities to conduct transactions with PDVSA directly, a landmark shift after years of near-total sanctions isolation, explicitly framed as a supply-side response to the Iran war. There are structural constraints baked into the relief: payments cannot flow directly to sanctioned Venezuelan entities but must pass through US-controlled accounts, and transactions involving Russia, Iran, North Korea, Cuba, or designated Chinese entities remain prohibited. The US will allow the oil trade, but it will control the cash flow.

The production ceiling, however, remains a formidable obstacle, and not merely a financial one. Venezuela’s Orinoco Belt produces extra-heavy crude with an API gravity typically in the 8–16° range and high sulfur content, which cannot simply be blended into a market substitute for the medium-sour grades displacing from the Persian Gulf. To reach export markets, Orinoco crude must either pass through an upgrader—facilities like Petropiar, which converts it to a synthetic crude of around 26° API—or be diluted with imported naphtha or lighter crude to create exportable blends like Merey. This means Venezuelan barrels serve a specific refinery profile: predominantly the cooking-capable refineries along the US Gulf Coast, which are well-suited to process heavy, sulfurous feedstocks. They are not a drop-in replacement for Middle Eastern crude, but a complementary supply for a defined segment of global refining capacity.

The US military backstop, the reformed hydrocarbon law, and now the broad PDVSA sanctions relief have together reduced the perception of expropriation risk and policy reversal that kept capital at bay for two decades.

ExxonMobil, whose assets were expropriated twice under chavismo, announced it would send an evaluation team to Venezuela within weeks, with Senior Vice President Jack Williams acknowledging the company’s heavy oil expertise from Canadian operations in Kearl and Cold Lake. The caveat was pointed: “Today it’s uninvestable,” CEO Darren Woods had said in January, and Williams’ more cautious optimism reflects the institutional memory of a company burned twice.

Chevron and PDVSA have meanwhile agreed on preliminary terms to expand Petropiar into the adjacent Ayacucho 8 block of the Orinoco Belt, while Shell is in advanced talks to develop the Carito and Pirital fields in eastern Monagas. These are among the few areas that produce the light and medium crude needed as diluent and blendstock for Venezuela’s heavy exports. Delcy Rodríguez has projected fresh oil investments of $1.4 billion for the year under the amended hydrocarbons law. These are meaningful steps. But a preliminary deal and a production ramp are different things. Rystad Energy estimates that simply holding production flat at around 1.1 million bpd requires $53 billion in upstream investment over 15 years, and getting to 2 million bpd by 2032 would demand $8–9 billion per year in sustained capital.

What has shifted—materially and quickly—is market sentiment about Venezuela as an investable destination, and the trajectory is meaningfully positive. Dozens of US hedge funds, asset managers, and energy investors are organizing trips to Caracas in the coming weeks: Signum Global Advisors is running a two-day conference in Venezuela from March 22–24 with 55 participants, roughly half of whom are bondholders who own or have recently purchased Venezuelan government and PDVSA debt (both in default since 2017).

Separate delegations invited by Trans-National Research and other groups are arriving, with agendas featuring meetings with Rodríguez and PDVSA CEO Héctor Obregón. The interest marks a sharp break from the isolation of the Maduro years. Country risk, while still elevated in absolute terms, has been repriced substantially since January: the US military backstop, the reformed hydrocarbon law, and now the broad PDVSA sanctions relief have together reduced the perception of expropriation risk and policy reversal that kept capital at bay for two decades.

Venezuela’s challenge is to use this window of geopolitical necessity to lock in investment commitments, debt restructuring negotiations, and production agreements that survive the normalization of oil markets.

What investors are now stress-testing is no longer whether Venezuela is open for business, but whether the legal and institutional architecture is durable enough to support long-horizon commitments. As analysts at Debatesiesa have noted in examining Venezuelan financial markets, sentiment can shift on headlines, but binding investment decisions require structural reforms and credible enforcement mechanisms. The framework is improving; the question is whether it improves fast enough, and on a stable enough trajectory, to convert this geopolitical moment into a genuine investment cycle.

The deeper question the Hormuz crisis forces is one of timing and durability. Oil prices are now trading above $110 per barrel and analysts at Wood Mackenzie and Rystad are no longer dismissing scenarios above $150 while the conflict shows no sign of imminent resolution, with Pete Hegseth signaling the “largest strike package yet” against Iran on March 19. The EIA, in its latest forecast issued prior to these newest escalations, projected Brent to remain above $95 through the next two months before falling below $80 in the third quarter of 2026 if supply flows gradually normalize. Whether that normalization materializes is the variable on which everything else depends. Venezuela’s challenge is not simply to capture today’s price premium, but to use this window of geopolitical necessity to lock in investment commitments, debt restructuring negotiations, and production agreements that survive the normalization of oil markets.

The country has rarely faced a more favorable confluence of factors: surging global demand for its barrels, a reformed legal framework for private investment, an unprecedented degree of US political and financial backing, and prices that make otherwise marginal projects viable. Whether Caracas—and the Rodríguez administration in particular—has the institutional bandwidth to convert a crisis into structural recovery, rather than another cycle of windfall and waste, is the defining question of Venezuela’s energy sector in 2026.

Recently, the United States reached a new historic milestone: it produced over 13.6 million barrels per day, a staggering feat for a country that many thought had peaked in 2008 when production bottomed out at 5 million bpd. This staggering increase was not achieved by a state giant, but by an ecosystem of thousands of independent operators driven by market-based incentives that, in Venezuela, might seem from another planet.

Meanwhile, Venezuela has traveled the opposite path: from a proud peak of 3.7 million bpd in 1970, it has collapsed to a stagnant output below 1 million bpd. 

In Texas, the landowner owns the oil; in Venezuela, it is the State—which claims, all the while, to represent us all.

The hundred-year war

Since the Los Barrosos II blowout in December 1922, our oil history has been defined by a relentless tug-of-war between private capital and the State over the capture of oil rent. This conflict is not unique to Venezuela, but as we enter this “third opening,” the question is unavoidable: how do we prevent a third nationalization?

Having done it twice before (1976 and 2006), Venezuela has established a precedent that alters risk assessment across all investment horizons. How can we guarantee investors that history won’t repeat itself? While often sold as a patriotic triumph, nationalization is a terminal breach of contract and a direct assault on property rights, deterring the very capital profiles that otherwise would be participating. International arbitration, legal reforms, and institutional frameworks are necessary, but they are not sufficient.

Government take and the global race

To put things in perspective: before the 2026 reform, the Venezuelan fiscal system was among the least competitive on the planet. Between royalties on gross income, income tax (ISLR), and “windfall profit” taxes, the State extracted a “Government Take” that often exceeded 80%, with marginal tax rates reaching up to 95% depending on price thresholds. In a scenario where the operator’s net margin was squeezed to a minimum, production became a game of survival and reinvestment became technically impossible.

While the January 2026 reform moves in the right direction, we aren’t just competing against our own past; we are competing against the world. Consider the current margins (Operator Share) in the region:

• Canada (Alberta, Heavy Oil): Private 50%-55% | Government 45%-50%
• Texas (Permian Basin): Private 45%-55% | Government 45%-55%
• Colombia (New Reforms): Private ­40% | Government ­60%
• Brazil (Pre-Salt): Private 39% | Government 61%
• Guyana (2025 Model): Private 25%-35% | Government 65%-75%
• Venezuela (2026 Law): Private 20%-35% | Government 65%-80%

Even with the recent reform, Venezuela is far from being a “bargain” for long-term investment.

The proposal: from State-partner to citizen-owner

To mitigate expropriation risk and attract long-term capital, I propose a model built on four foundational pillars:

• Private Capital-Citizen Partnership: The State is removed from operations. Incentives are aligned directly between citizens—the ultimate owners of the subsoil—and those who risk the capital to extract it.

• Zero Corporate Taxes (Tax Displacement): Eliminate corporate income tax, royalties, and all “shadow” taxes at the source. This slashes the operational break-even to technical average levels of $30 to $40 per barrel, turning “iron cemeteries” into profitable ventures even in low-price environments. This is not a tax holiday, but a redirection of the fiscal take: the operator delivers a major share of the value directly to the citizens, while the State sustains itself by taxing the total income of the citizenry and companies in the rest of the economy.

• The Citizen Dividend (Oil-to-Cash): Instead of paying a traditional tax to a discretionary Treasury, the operator delivers 50% of its net profit—effectively a flat tax paid to the owners—directly into a sovereign trust (or similar non-state mechanism) managed by top-tier international banks. While 50% is a significant share, the absence of any other fiscal burden makes this model one of the most competitive in the region. This trust distributes periodical dividends to every Venezuelan citizen, including those abroad. The State then funds its operations by taxing these dividends as part of the citizens’ total income via personal income tax (ISLR) and other tax sources from a diversified economy. This ensures that the government’s budget depends on the collective prosperity of its people, not on political control over the oil.

• The Citizen as “Guardian” and Auditor: This is the ultimate shield. In 1976 and 2006, the State nationalized because it was easy to seize control from a “multinational” and hand it to a bureaucracy. Under this scheme, any government attempting to expropriate would be taking directly from the pockets of 30 million owners. Transparency is embedded: citizens monitor production and distributions through real-time digital platforms, independent audits, and other decentralized oversight mechanisms. The citizen ceases to be a spectator and becomes the industry’s most powerful defender.

Unlike the State, whose lust for oil rent is political and lacks immediate consequences for those in power, the citizen acts with the prudence of an owner—because they become one. Under this model, any attempt to “suffocate” the private partner translates immediately into a drop in personal dividends. Private ownership of the benefit is, in itself, the best guarantee of stability for capital.

Application and reality

Under this model, the direct net profit split for the oil industry would be: Private 50%, Citizens 50%, State 0%.

This “State 0%” applies exclusively to the source to insulate the industry from political rent-seeking. It does not mean a zero-revenue State; the government continues to fund its functions, but through a transparent tax system (ISLR, VAT) derived from a citizen-owned economy.

To illustrate, with oil at $100 and production at 3.5 million bpd, each citizen would have received $1,500 annually ($6,000 for a family of four). At a $60 base price, the dividend would be $640 per person. Today, with production stalled below one million barrels, a citizen would receive a mere $185. It is modest, but it represents the starting point of a virtuous cycle where the State only prospers if its citizens do first.

Herein lies the virtue of the model: the alignment of interests. Under the current system, citizens watch from the sidelines as oil wealth vanishes into the state vortex. With this approach, each Venezuelan has a personal stake: the more their private partner thrives, the more they themselves benefit. Citizens move from passive critics to primary stakeholders in the nation’s industrial growth.

Considerations for a new Venezuela

Under other circumstances, I might not be a proponent of direct “cash” transfers. But given the alternatives, it is the “lesser evil”. The political class will likely claim this is neither feasible nor “patriotic.” For many politicians, the incentive is two-fold: the salivating prospect of managing an immense oil “booty,” and the recurring ideal of “doing good” with other people’s resources.

Still in doubt? Look at our track record: despite having the world’s largest proven reserves and over 20 different administrations of every political stripe since 1922, the State captured and managed over $1.2 trillion in rent between 1920 and 2015. The result? A Guinness world record in squandered booms, the largest migration in the hemisphere without a formal war, and unprecedented institutional destruction.

Isn’t it time to withdraw the State from oil? 

This proposal would achieve:

• Real competitiveness: By matching Texas and Alberta margins (50%+ for the private sector), we compensate for institutional risks with top-tier global profitability.
• A limited State: The State ceases to be an inefficient businessman and becomes an arbiter: providing control, arbitration, and security. Its funding would come from taxing other economic activities, forcing it to foster general prosperity rather than living off the subsoil.
• A path towards a dividend-producing nation: Why not extend this to all extractive activities (gas, gold, iron, rare earths)? Perhaps the gold of the Arco Minero would stop being a black hole and become a direct dividend, shielding resources from looting and opacity.

The January 2026 reform is just a sigh in a prolonged agony. We cannot expect different results by doing the same thing. The “Hundred-Year War” over oil rent has left the State as a jailer rich in promises and a citizenry poor in realities.

Avoiding a third nationalization requires moving the subsoil out of the political arena and into the sphere of economic freedom. The US does not dominate markets by government mandate, but through an ecosystem that rewards risk and efficiency. Venezuela can emulate this success, but only by breaking the State lock and allowing a fabric of investors to flourish in direct alliance with citizens.

True sovereignty is not the State running the wells; it is Venezuelans themselves being the real owners of the benefits. Only through this pact of ownership can we hope that oil becomes, at last, an engine of development and not the tool of our own institutional destruction.