Venezuelan Oil

Many have commented on the recent reforms to the Venezuelan Hydrocarbons regime and its reach. Most people have focused on the irony of Delcy Rodríguez giving away the country’s resources after years of empty anti-US rhetoric and, of course, it is ridiculously tempting to do so. But the long-term questions beyond the political posturing of the US robbing Venezuelan oil linger: is the reform good for Venezuela? Was the previous regime really favorable to the country’s interest? Why has the reaction by major oil companies been rather slow or lukewarm, as the WSJ reported a month ago?

The debate over the adequacy of Venezuelan oil regulations predates January 3. A statist vision has prevailed among political elites for almost half a century. Contrary to the chavista narrative, the oil industry in Venezuela was nationalized by Carlos Andrés Pérez fifty years ago. Up until the 1990s, the State, through PDVSA, performed exclusively primary oil activities: exploration and production. Then, due to the sharp drop in oil prices, the cash-strapped Rafael Caldera government, using a provision of the 1975 nationalization law, had to allow for private investment in primary activities through service agreements with foreign oil companies. These contracts were branded as the Apertura Petrolera, which became a bête noire for the Venezuelan Left, who even tried to stop the process via the Supreme Court.

Chávez put an end to this with his 2001 Hydrocarbons Law reform, migrating from the service agreements to joint venture companies where the Venezuelan state was the main shareholder. The refusal of some companies, like Conoco and Exxon, to migrate to the joint ventures led to several of the arbitration claims against Venezuela. Another contentious aspect of the Venezuelan oil business was that only State-owned companies could directly export oil. Joint venture companies could only sell oil to another PDVSA subsidiary, which led to PDVSA running up huge debts with foreign partners.

The Chávez 2001 model ruled until recently. Only PDVSA directly, or the JVs where PDVSA was a majority shareholder, could perform exploration and production activities and export oil.

The Executive also retained very discretionary power over what is called the government take (the percentage of oil or profits taken as a consideration in agreements with foreign partners in the joint ventures and applicable taxes), which can be used by the government to drive down the profits of its private company partners, a major deterrent for private investment in oil.

Up until very recently, the Chávez 2001 model was ruling: only PDVSA directly, or the joint ventures where PDVSA was a majority shareholder, could perform exploration and production activities and sell oil in international markets.

A similar regime was implemented in Colombia. In 2003, that country reformed its hydrocarbon regime to its current iteration, where it removed the exclusive primary activities rights granted to Ecopetrol, and established that this State-owned company would compete with private companies for exploration through contracts granted by a newly minted hydrocarbons regulator, the ANH. The ANH grants exploration rights under competitive bids where Ecopetrol competes with private companies under the same conditions. The purpose was to simplify the existing bureaucracy and award contracts under competitive, transparent bids, instead of having an all-mighty State company that both drills and decides who drills under very discretionary powers, as is the current case with PDVSA.

This model was behind past reform proposals by the opposition and have been part of the expert discussion on oil reform in Venezuela, and it is also included in María Corina Machado’s oil sector proposal, which received hypocritical criticism from people who remained mum about Delcy’s sweeping reforms. This model is seen as a true break from the previous one, as it takes power away from omnipotent PDVSA and turns it into just another player who has to compete with private companies in competitive bidding before a national, impartial regulator.

The reforms do represent a momentous formal break with the statist oil policy that has prevailed in the country for over 50 years. Under the new Hydrocarbons Law, private companies can perform primary activities through contracts with PDVSA subsidiaries and joint venture companies, and can export oil directly to international markets, paying the government take. The law, enacted on January 29, 2026,  also establishes that these contracts can include arbitration clauses, which can provide more certainty and guarantees for potential investors than submitting them to Venezuela’s infamously corrupt and dependent courts. The law also worryingly removes parliamentary oversight over the oil sector.

But the catch is that abiding by the law has never been chavismo’s strong suit, and they had been violating the Hydrocarbons Law since 2018. Under the aegis of the disgraced oil czar/soccer player Tarek el Aissami, PDVSA started signing contracts granting primary activities rights to private companies, as well as the right to directly export oil. This was done on dubious legal grounds under presidential emergency powers. Thus, the 2026 Hydrocarbons Law is only a regularization of a de facto situation that already existed.

The new regulations give a lot of discretionary power to the government to control the performance of the new contracts and to set the government’s take unilaterally.

As with everything in life, the devil is in the details, and the new law is very scant on the details of the new contracts, it seems to have been drafted in a rush. It defines very broadly the terms and conditions of the contracts (the new contracts pertaining to joint venture companies are only mentioned in passing) while at the same time giving the government wide discretionary powers to interpret them, and the last thing any international investor wants is to give chavismo discretionary powers over anything.

Delcy Rodríguez also enacted new regulations of the Hydrocarbons Law (which have not been updated since 1943) and two additional resolutions establishing some parameters for the government take. A centralized regulation of the government take is a welcome change, but the reaction to it has been mixed, as it gives a lot of discretionary power to the government to control the performance of the new contracts and to set the government’s take unilaterally.

The law also fails to incorporate any change to the current structure of the Venezuelan oil architecture. Unlike the reform in Colombia, the new law does not remove the elephantine, vastly discretionary bureaucracy that chavismo created.  PDVSA remains the almighty administrator of Venezuelan oil with no independent technical supervision of its role.

So, are the reforms good? They do signify a break from the statist vision of the oil industry, one that does not correspond with the wretched state of the Venezuelan oil sector. However, it is obviously a patched-up, limited instrument enacted by Delcy’s multiuse minions more to appease Donald Trump (even the reaction from American oil companies has been lukewarm) than anything resembling a definitive vision for the Venezuelan oil industry in an era of decarbonization.

The most likely outcome, already playing out according to the WSJ piece, is that the major oil companies (already traumatized by the previous experiences with chavismo expropriation frenzy over 20 years ago) remain skeptical or limit its investment due to the lack of clear guarantees and conditions and smaller, less known and less risk-averse companies are the ones who end up signing these contracts for a short-term gain. Chevron, who is now the most powerful player in the Venezuelan oil business, publicly signaled that the law doesn’t go far enough for them, and, considering their leverage with the Trump administration, it is possible that the Rodríguez regime is forced to further liberalize and refine the text of the law. But under the current conditions of legal uncertainty and arbitrariness no company, whether big or small, will risk investing the vast amount of money needed  (about 183 billion dollars) to recover the Venezuelan oil industry after decades of destruction and pillage. Oil companies may be evil, but never stupid. 

All of these scenarios have a limited effect on the recovery of the Venezuelan oil industry without a democratic transition because for any law to have a meaningful impact on the economy you need actual rule of law and independent courts, and you also need actual experts drafting the new laws. Not the very few lackeys of the most incompetent government in our history who happen to be proficient in English.

Is the Trump administration actually stealing from Venezuelans?

The Financial Times estimated the “likely value” of Venezuela’s oil revenues since January, when those income streams (not only from oil and gas, but also from gold and other minerals) came under the direct control and supervision of the US government. Using data from Kpler and Argus Media, the newspaper put the figure at $13 billion. 

Let’s assume that one figure is accurate or at least comes close to the real number. The key question here, which neither the United States nor Venezuelan authorities have bothered to answer, is how much of that has been trickling back to the Venezuelan economy.

American officials, in press conferences and hearings, have given remarks about how the revenue repatriation framework is supposed to work under the current arrangement. There was a temporary framework immediately after the gringo takeover (the famous Qatar fund we reported in January). Now, it allegedly works like this:

1) Oil revenues flow into accounts managed by the US Treasury. Crude buyers, such as India and Spain, route payments into US-controlled “Foreign Government Deposit Funds.” 

2) Secretary of State Marco Rubio (empowered by Executive Order 14373) provides instructions to the Treasury for disbursements to Venezuelan entities, particularly the Venezuelan Central Bank (BCV).

3) The funds land in BCV accounts.

4) One chunk of that pays pensions, public workers’ salaries, the military and the police apparatus, i.e. the basic components of the State.

5) Another part of those dollars is channelled to the domestic banking system through a select group of private banks—here’s where things start to get tricky. Rather than holding competitive auctions or floating currency rates on a free market, the BCV distributes capped quotas of dollars to these banks at the strictly controlled official exchange rate.

6) At the final stage, from commercial banks to the private sectors, the transaction is a direct cash sale: to purchase dollars, Venezuelan companies must have the full equivalent in bolivars ready in their accounts. Banks immediately debit the buyer’s bolivar account at the day’s official rate and credit the equivalent dollars into the company’s local foreign-currency account. It works as a rationing mechanism, since major corporations (e.g. those in key sectors like food and medicine) are prioritized, and smaller companies acquire USD on a first-come, first-served basis through online banking platforms until daily dollar quotas run out.

Good. So now we know how the repatriation framework is supposed to work.

Let’s go back to the $13 billion figure, and the stage of the sequence connecting the US Treasury and the BCV. The US calls itself de facto custodian of Venezuelan money (remember EO14373 speaks of the “Custodial Nature of United States Possession”), so it should showcase full transparency over those transactions and demand accountability from the Delcy Rodríguez government. How much money has the US disbursed? Has it published anything about those disbursements? What about the Delcy government?

The fundamental question is not only how much revenue the US and the Rodríguez administration are processing, but who ultimately benefits from these flows and whether they contribute to genuine economic recovery.

Here’s where the news is worse. Washington has not disclosed anything concrete. What we know is limited to what US officials tell journalists (mainly foreign correspondents) off the record, which is very vague, and very little. Most recently, a “senior US official” told reporter Stephania Taladrid (who wrote this 11-pager about Maria Corina Machado) that the Trump administration “authorized the disbursement of more than six billion dollars to Rodríguez’s government.” Officials had given some accounts of the amounts disbursed in the first days of the arrangement. For instance, Rubio mentioned that $300m were disbursed through the Qatari fund during a Senate hearing in late January. In early February, an anonymous US official confirmed that Venezuela received its first $500 million post-Maduro. That was the first full disbursement, the last one that the US addressed, though without offering any form of paper trail.

You could say things are equally opaque on Delcy’s front, with the caveat that we are used to this defining feature of the chavista regime. I should add something else about the US-Venezuela framework explained above: according to public statements from American officials, Caracas should submit monthly budget requests to the US, so Rubio can keep authorizing cash transfers with peace of mind. The State Department (through Western Hemisphere chief diplomat Michael Kozak, who is playing an important role in Venezuelan politics) said in April that the accounting firm KPMG was hired to produce quarterly audits of how Venezuelan oil revenues are being spent. He also claimed that, by then, $3 billion had been “moved through” to Venezuela.

Three months later, those reports do not exist. Or are not public at least. It seems that our friend El Kenedi was right when he warned Venezuela will never show you the money, but that’s the Viceroy’s fault, not just Delcy’s.

The Financial Times, which ran the story that ignited the controversy, is playing an interesting role in shaping the conversation about the value of Venezuelan assets and liabilities. Right before the devastating earthquakes, an FT scoop said the Delcy government would reveal a $240 billion debt pile (“much higher than expected”). The latest article might not paint the full picture (as a New York Times reporter suggests) but it’s perhaps the first major broadsheet to lambast Trump for his irresponsible (and misleading) remarks, and his team for the lack of transparency over the handling of Venezuelan money. This issue is nothing new, although the recent catastrophe makes full disclosure much more urgent. Other prominent figures and organizations had raised their voice before the quakes.

On June 2, Harvard economist Ricardo Hausmann wrote a column in Project Syndicate titled “The Rape of Venezuela” where he addresses this issue and others, including the politics of the looming debt restructuring and the lack of a democratic recovery. In it, he accuses the Trump White House of viewing Venezuela not as a democratic reconstruction project, but as a strategic hydrocarbon asset in the service of American power. A day later, the Council on Foreign Relations (a leading liberal-leaning US think tank) broke down how US control of Venezuelan oil remains murky. That has served as a valuable source for much of the stuff we mention here.

Going back to yesterday’s story, it quotes Venezuelan economist Alejandro Grisanti noting clear indications of large dollar inflows over the past few months. While Grisanti had initially expected economic growth to accelerate in the fourth quarter of this year, he noted that the recent earthquake is now likely to push that recovery back into the middle of next year.

These “indications of large dollar inflows” provide a clear clue as to how the Delcy Rodríguez administration is spending the oil revenues disbursed by the US Treasury. The BCV continues to deploy significant foreign currency reserves to artificially stabilize the official exchange rate. As Juan Comella observed in May, Rodríguez’s monetary policy differs little from that of the Maduro regime. Grisanti and Ecoanalítica remain sharp critics of this interventionist model, the very mechanism that wrecked Venezuela’s economy in the first place by turning privileged access to official-rate dollars into a primary driver of systemic corruption and economic inefficiency.

In an April report, Ecoanalítica criticized the rigid framework governing the domestic private sector’s acquisition of foreign exchange. Only entities with foreign bank accounts (which can be cleared through the SWIFT network) can buy dollars from the select group of major Venezuelan banks, effectively excluding emerging firms and SMEs. Consequently, local businesses receiving US dollars often cannot execute international transactions (such as paying overseas vendors) because they lack the proper banking infrastructure or because their local financial institutions lack correspondent banks abroad. Furthermore, the report highlights that retail accounts held by natural persons capture 20-30% of total FX allocations. This reflects the classic playbook of rewarding cronies while perpetuating market distortions: privileged individuals purchase dollars cheaply at the official BCV rate and immediately offload them on the parallel market at a premium.

We may not know the exact figures, but funds are trickling through the system. The fundamental question is not only how much revenue the US and the Rodríguez administration are processing, but who ultimately benefits from these flows and whether they contribute to genuine economic recovery.