Venezuelan Opposition

Washington does not have a single policy toward Venezuela. On the contrary, since January 3, it has shown two distinct tracks that, for now, avoid colliding. The first is executed by the White House—a pragmatic, gradual strategy willing to bring opposition figures beyond María Corina Machado and Edmundo González to the negotiating table. The second has been maintained by Congress since the removal of Nicolás Maduro, most recently taking the form of a bipartisan Senate resolution that insists both remain the legitimate leaders of the opposition. The real question here is not which of these two faces will prevail, but why it serves US interests for both to exist simultaneously.

The past week showed how the board is functioning. On August 1, Jorge Rodríguez and Dinorah Figuera initiated dialogue over the phone between Delcy Rodríguez’s “government” and the remnants of the 2015 National Assembly, with the Trump administration acting as sponsor. Four days later, the Senate resolution reaffirmed González as president-elect, aligned with the administration’s stated goal of free elections while recognizing the electoral illegitimacy of Delcy Rodríguez. Caught between these two approaches, Marco Rubio asked Venezuelans for patience (“months, not years”) regarding elections, while Democratic Representative Jonathan Jackson (who had traveled to Caracas in July with the House delegation) revealed that even within Congress, there is no single consensus on what the US should be doing in Venezuela. Still, the simple fact that a Democrat secured permission to travel with the delegation speaks volumes.

Two paths, one destination?

For the White House, Venezuela has ceased to be—if it ever fully was—a matter of democratic principles, morphing instead into an equation of stabilization: energy, migration, and hemispheric security. Secretary Rubio’s three phases lay this out frankly: economic stabilization, recovery and reconciliation, and transition. This sequence shifts US priorities from democratic ideals to transactional metrics.

The IMF mission making headway in Caracas, Energy Secretary Chris Wright’s focus on the oil sector, and Rubio’s comparisons to transitions that took “nearly three and a half years” in countries like Paraguay and Spain confirm that the White House is prepared to manage Venezuela’s political timeline in a gradual, controlled manner, avoiding disruptions that could impact oil prices. Congress, on the other hand, bears no such executive burden. It can afford to speak the language of principles because it doesn’t have to sit down and negotiate barrels or deadlines.

Shielding that stance in a bipartisan manner is, at its core, a way to ensure US tutelage over Venezuela survives beyond Trump.

The Trump administration excluded Machado and Edmundo González from the process launched on August 1, a fact both publicly confirmed while clarifying that they would not stand in its way. Their seats at the table were filled by Dinorah Figuera and a delegation from the 2015 National Assembly. While this group does not answer directly to Machado’s party, it comprises members of Primero Justicia and Voluntad Popular, two parties that have consistently backed Machado and González throughout.

Meanwhile, the Senate resolution does the exact opposite: it explicitly names Machado and González as the legitimate leaders, describing Delcy Rodríguez as someone lacking an electoral mandate who would be unlikely to win a free election. It is a text that leaves no room for the ambiguity the White House grants itself.

Why this shift in signal? My first response would be that Congress—and particularly the Foreign Affairs committees in both chambers—operates under an institutional incentive distinct from Trump’s: surviving electoral cycles and administrative turnover. A resolution that anchors the recognition of legitimacy to Machado and González does not depend on who occupies the White House in 2029. Shielding that stance in a bipartisan manner is, at its core, a way to ensure US tutelage over Venezuela survives beyond Trump, even if the next occupant of the Oval Office chooses to change course.

Who are the players and what are their interests?

On the congressional chessboard, it is worth examining who the key players are—a crucial detail with the November midterm elections fast approaching.

In the Senate, the Foreign Relations Committee is chaired by Jim Risch (R), with Jeanne Shaheen (D) as ranking member. The Western Hemisphere Subcommittee is chaired by John Curtis (R) alongside Tim Kaine (D). Here lies the first key detail: Shaheen, the prominent Democratic voice who co-led the August 4 resolution with Ted Cruz (R), announced she will not seek reelection in 2026. She is retiring from Congress, but leaving this text as a legacy, which deprives Trump of a critical Democratic counterpart willing to apply public pressure.

Committee Chair Risch is on the ballot this November, while John Cornyn (a Republican who has been critical of Trump) is retiring, allowing him to adopt a harder line on foreign policy even when it diverges from the administration’s stance. Cruz, by contrast, does not face voters again until 2030, insulating him from immediate electoral pressures—making it no coincidence that he is leading the toughest resolution against the Delcy regime.

In the House, the Foreign Affairs Committee consists of over fifty members. It is chaired by Brian Mast (R), who led the July delegation to Caracas, with Gregory Meeks (D) as ranking member. The Western Hemisphere Subcommittee (which has served as the key House venue shaping the tone toward Venezuela) is chaired by María Elvira Salazar (R) with Joaquín Castro (D) as ranking member, alongside 13 other members (six Republicans and five Democrats).

A Congress with more elected Democrats, or with Republicans who survived tough races where voters demanded tangible results, will push harder to ensure the process unfolding in Venezuela moves beyond rhetoric.

All thirteen members are seeking reelection in 2026, meaning their moves leading up to November could either preserve Republican control of the committee or shift its leadership to the Democrats. Another detail worth noting is that Michael Lawler (R)—representing one of three Republican districts won by Kamala Harris in 2024—flirted for months with a run for New York governor before deciding in July to stay in his House seat to avoid risking the Republican majority. It is the same logic that kept Castro from running for the Senate in Texas. In a Congress where every seat matters, even figures with national ambitions end up staying put.

Another factor connecting the midterms directly to the Venezuelan community—particularly those in South Florida—is the special election in November to fill the remainder of the Senate term left vacant by Marco Rubio when he became Secretary of State. Given Florida’s demographic makeup, that seat cannot afford to be detached from US policy toward Venezuela. Furthermore, the seat will be up for election again in 2028, requiring anyone competing for it to keep their stance on Venezuela front and center.

Analyzing these congressional actors reveals that the pursuit of bipartisanship on Venezuela—a staple of foreign policy since 2014—appears to be a mechanism for institutionalizing US tutelage, regardless of who occupies the Oval Office. What could change (and likely will after November) is the execution. A Congress with more elected Democrats, or with Republicans who survived tough races where voters demanded tangible results, will push harder to ensure the process unfolding in Venezuela moves beyond rhetoric into a concrete transition.

What this means for Venezuelans

Amid all these tensions are the Venezuelan people, and this is where the gap between Washington and Caracas becomes most uncomfortable. The August 1 dialogue addresses earthquake relief, democratic strengthening, and political guarantees: a modest agenda compared to the demands set by the Senate. Meanwhile, real money is flowing into Venezuela through the IMF mission, energy cooperation, and the capital accompanying the “economic stabilization” phase Rubio outlined. Here, despite its strong resolutions, Congress exercises little actual oversight over how negotiations are conducted or where that money goes, as foreign policy decisions and economic licenses ultimately rest with the Executive branch.

Rather than leaving all these levers to executive discretion, Congress could take a far more active role.

This is why symbolic resolutions fall short. If Congress wants its recognition of Machado and González to be more than a gesture, it possesses concrete tools it has yet to fully deploy, such as: (i) conditioning any sanction relief or oil license on mandatory reporting regarding the destination of funds entering Venezuela; (ii) requiring the State Department to brief Congress periodically on the status of the August 1 dialogue; and (iii) tying the approval of new economic licenses to verifiable negotiation milestones, such as the release of political prisoners, the appointment of Supreme Court (TSJ) magistrates or new National Electoral Council (CNE) rectors, and ultimately the publication of an electoral timetable.

Rather than leaving all these levers to executive discretion, Congress could take a far more active role. None of this requires Congress to act as a negotiator—only to stop being a passive spectator in a process funded partly through money within its jurisdiction. For Venezuelans who have waited more than two decades for a genuine transition, the question is not just whether Machado and González remain recognized by the United States, but whether anyone in Washington will be held accountable for what is being negotiated in their name.

Both sides of this coin prompt us to ask: To what extent is the “transition” an act in which Venezuelans actually hold decision-making power? How far do US interests truly align with improvements for the Venezuelan people? Are we willing to prioritize institutional strength over the leadership of the moment? There will be as many answers as there are Venezuelans. What we can say for certain is that in this process, the United States is playing a role far beyond that of a mere “watchdog.” It is actively building an “institutional” tutelage.

Y así arrancó.

August 1 arrived with no sign the talks would begin, nor confirmation about those involved in each delegation. Mauricio Claver-Carone, the Americans’ informal intermediary coordinating the talks, announced his departure from the famous “Viceroy” role the day before, though several sources claim he was pushed out. The uncertainty just increased until radio silence broke, when Dinorah Figuera and Jorge Rodríguez published their respective statements at around 6 pm Caracas time, via X.

Both of them claimed to have held a phone call “to commence” the so-called dialogue process between the Rodríguez administration, under the Trump administration’s tutelage, and an opposition group also under the Trump administration’s tutelage. This looks nothing like the start of previous talks featuring chavismo and the opposition, with pictures of mediators and negotiators in a meeting hosted by some Caribbean nation.

We can imagine that, as nothing was really prepared for last weekend, Rodríguez and Figuera simply rang each other on WhatsApp and agreed what they would put in writing to leave a public record that the thing had begun. That’s if the call actually happened.

All statements established the same three-point agenda: the earthquake response (surely a subject Rodríguez is invoking to postpone anything that is not reconstruction), the strengthening of democracy (which has a different meaning for each stakeholder), and political rights and guarantees (what Venezuelans are demanding, in third place). 

Rodríguez skipped any mention of a transition, or the United States, or the chavista National Assembly.

Shortly after, a State Department official called Dylan Johnson said the “US welcomes this announcement.” Today’s press statement by State echoes the agenda points shared by Figuera and Rodríguez.

When both camps confirmed the start date on July 14, the response to the disaster did not appear as an agenda point for the Figuera-led delegation. It seems Jorge Rodríguez managed to sneak it in with the gringos’ approval.

Rodríguez addressed Figuera as the “representative of a sector of the Venezuelan opposition” and skipped any mentions of a transition, or the United States. His statement did not mention the chavista National Assembly or display its logo either. Instead, he spoke of a national government delegation where he stands out as coordinador and includes six members. Second in the list is Ana María Sanjuan, a close advisor of the Rodríguez siblings who joined the government as minister of education in March. Then there is Jorge Arreaza (one of the most senior chavista figures in the current legislature and a usual suspect in prominent commissions), Pedro Infante (the parliament’s vice president), and two PSUV lawmakers strongly linked to the ruling party’s youths: América Pérez and Génesis Garvett. The latter is a chavista politician-influencer born in 1999.

Machado said disagreements with the Trump administration concern the speed and urgency of the transition, and demanded short-term results.

Figuera said the first in-person meeting is set to take place next week in Caracas. She confirmed the US-backed opposition delegation is composed of a political technical commission of six members (Marco Aurelio Quiñones, Ramón López, Jorge Millán, Juan Miguel Matheus, and Sergio Vergara and herself) and a supporting commission (Macario González, Julio César Moreno, Desiree Barboza and Elimar Díaz). Figuera thanked the US and Marco Rubio for their backing of the transition before signing off on behalf of the 2015 National Assembly, which doesn’t actually exist anymore.

In an August 2 interview, María Corina Machado restated what she and Edmundo González had already established: she will not join the talks nor block them. Venevisión aired 15 minutes of the conversation between the opposition leader and Luis Olavarrieta, the first broadcast of a Machado interview on the network in ages.

“Everything that brings us closer to fulfilling the July 28 mandate will have our support,” she said, “but from a very firm perspective of always telling the truth. At this point no one is going to put a muzzle on me.” Asked about her disagreements with Washington’s agenda, Machado stated that these concern the speed and urgency of the transition and demanded short-term results: freeing political prisoners, allowing the return of exiles, renewing the National Electoral Council (CNE), and establishing a date for new elections. 

Whoever now runs Nicolás Maduro’s X and Telegram accounts announced that he welcomes “any path of dialogue that helps to consolidate peace, coexistence, and encounter among Venezuelans.”

Dinorah Figuera was allowed to return from exile thanks to her participation in this initiative. The same happens with some members of the opposition delegation

On August 1, representatives of Venezuela’s two rival legislatures sit down together under Washington’s supervision in the most concrete attempt to negotiate again since the Barbados talks of 2023. 

The talks, framed by Washington as the start of a transition, are driven by the Department of State and pair two delegations of ten. On one side sits the current National Assembly controlled by chavismo, led by its president Jorge Rodríguez. On the other is the Comisión Delegada of the National Assembly elected in 2015 — the last legislature the US and many other countries recognized as democratically legitimate. 

According to Dinorah Figuera, president of the Delegate Commission, the primary objective is laying out the institutional groundwork for a political transition: renovating Venezuela’s key state bodies, establishing a new National Electoral Council (CNE) capable of holding elections with credible guarantees, and extending to the Supreme Tribunal’s electoral and constitutional chambers. Figuera has said she hopes to deliver a transition proposal by December 2026, conveniently timed for the Trump administration to show a foreign-policy success just after the US midterm legislative election in November.

Figuera and Jorge Rodríguez first met on June 18, along with U.S. Chargé d’Affaires John Barrett, hours after Figuera returned to Caracas after years in exile. Those contacts were interrupted by the June 24 earthquakes, seeming as though the political track would freeze indefinitely behind the humanitarian emergency, especially as Delcy Rodríguez said on July 13 that the government had “no head” to think about elections while managing the disaster. 

The roots of Dinorah Figuera, the opposition’s co-chair, lie on the left. She belonged to the labor party La Causa R in the 1990s (then an important force in the rising Venezuelan Left) and served as deputy secretary of the Libertador municipality in Caracas under Aristóbulo Istúriz, who later jumped onto the chavista wagon. She eventually joined Primero Justicia and was re-elected as a lawmaker in 2015 before being forced into exile in 2018. Shortly after she led protests denouncing the death of party colleague Fernando Albán under SEBIN custody —a PJ councilman, key aide to Julio Borges and the godfather of Figuera’s daughter— she was threatened by the intelligence services and took shelter in the French Embassy of Caracas for 10 days before fleeing to Spain and receiving political asylum. 

Sources close to Primero Justicia describe Figuera as a principled politician willing to serve without seeking personal or financial gain from her sacrifices. She maintained a very low profile in this role until the State Department elevated her visibility several weeks ago.

While exiled in Spain, and following the collapse of the interinato, Figuera succeeded Juan Guaidó as the figure managing Venezuela’s overseas assets in the US via the 2015 National Assembly’s Comisión Delegada (recognized by Washington as Venezuela’s sole democratically elected institution until this year). Sources close to Primero Justicia describe Figuera as a principled politician willing to serve without seeking personal or financial gain from her sacrifices. She maintained a very low profile in this role until the State Department elevated her visibility several weeks ago. Figuera and US representatives have been undertaking preparatory meetings in Madrid for over two weeks, coordinated by Mauricio Claver-Carone, Secretary of State Marco Rubio’s principal interlocutor on Venezuela.

Figuera has called herself “an instrument” of the reinstitutionalization process. She acknowledges Edmundo González Urrutia as president-elect and María Corina Machado as the opposition’s leader, yet notes she holds “a different vision.” She is, in the role the State Department has cast for her, what Edmundo González was to Machado in 2024: a figure admitted by chavista institutions because she isn’t a threat, and little enough ambition to follow guidelines from influential people in the opposition alliance.

Jorge Rodríguez, her counterpart, is chavismo’s veteran negotiator and the brother of acting president Delcy Rodríguez. He led the government’s delegation in the Mexico talks of 2021–2022 and signed the 2023 Barbados Agreement on Maduro’s behalf. Before that, he was Chávez’s vice president, communications minister, and president of the CNE in 2005–2006. 

Up until yesterday, the opposition’s full roster was not yet public. The opposition’s ten were revealed in stages and through extraofficial communications. In June, El Pitazo confirmed six names: Dinorah Figuera, Juan Miguel Matheus, Ramón López, Jorge Millán, Marco Aurelio Quiñones and Sergio Vergara. The remaining four were disclosed on July 29th: Elimar Díaz, Julio César Moreno, Macario González and Desiré Barboza.

Six are from Primero Justicia: Figuera, constitutional lawyer Juan Miguel Matheus, engineer Ramón López, Caracas legislator Jorge Millán, and recent additions Elimar Díaz and Julio César Moreno. 

Four are from Voluntad Popular, Leopoldo López’s party: Marco Aurelio Quiñones; Táchira legislator Sergio Vergara; and late additions Macario González and Desiré Barboza. Nearly all have spent recent years in exile, or in González’ case, in detention. Several are returning only now, under the process’s complicit US security guarantee. 

For most of the last two years, Primero Justicia has effectively been two parties. After Henrique Capriles chose to participate in the 2025 regional and legislative elections, the party’s official leadership, aligned with Machado’s abstentionist line, expelled him, Tomás Guanipa, and others for legitimizing what it called a fraud. Both Tomás Guanipa and Capriles were elected members of the NA that Rodríguez presides over. What remained of Primero Justicia, keeping the party’s name and recognition, was the abstentionist wing, led by Juan Pablo Guanipa, with Julio Borges as coordinator and María Beatriz Martínez as president. 

The delegation Washington seated is drawn substantially from the faction of Primero Justicia most doctrinally opposed to negotiating an electoral path with chavismo. The party has tried to hold both positions: in its July 27 statement it backed the dialogue as a route toward free elections while, in the same breath, ratifying its support for Machado. 

Who’s Who?

Juan Miguel Matheus (PJ, Carabobo) is a lawyer with a PhD in constitutional and parliamentary law behind the Estatuto que rige la Transición a la Democracia, the legal framework that underpinned Guaidó’s 2019 interim presidency. Elected for Carabobo in 2015, he was among the sharpest critics of the 2017 Constituent Assembly, calling it fraudulent. He is in exile in Austin and coordinates PJ’s board of directors. 

Ramón López (PJ, Distrito Capital) is an engineer and the former vice president of Venezuela’s Colegio de Ingenieros. López sat in the 2015 Assembly and the Parlasur, Mercosur’s parliament. Exiled in Spain after being threatened by Diosdado & Co., he became PJ’s international spokesperson. He flew back to Caracas alongside Figuera on June 18 for the meetings that launched the process..

Jorge Millán (PJ, Distrito Capital) is an industrial engineer and administrator. Millán is PJ’s Caracas coordinator and one of the opposition’s longtime specialists on the collapse of the national electric system. In 2019, the Constituent Assembly ordered his prosecution on charges including treason and instigation to insurrection. When Maduro issued him a pardon in 2020, Millán rejected it, arguing he had committed no crime and that Maduro had no legitimacy to pardon anyone. 

Elimar Díaz (PJ, Zulia) is the delegation’s youngest member. Díaz began in Manuel Rosales’s Un Nuevo Tiempo before moving to Primero Justicia, where she is now national political coordinator and PJ’s political vice-president in Zulia.

Julio César Moreno (PJ, Falcón) has the thinnest public record of the ten. Moreno was elected to the 2015 Assembly for Falcón and is counted among Primero Justicia’s delegates.

Marco Aurelio Quiñones (VP, Anzoátegui) was elected for Anzoátegui in 2015. In his early career, he was close to Capriles and Borges in Primero Justicia and then crossed to Voluntad Popular in late 2016, becoming a close ally of Guaidó. In December 2024 the exiled Assembly swore him in as second vice president, filling the seat left by Auristela Vásquez’s resignation and making him the highest-ranking officer of the 2015 legislature at the table after Figuera.

Sergio Vergara (VP, Táchira) is a founding member of Voluntad Popular alongside Leopoldo López and Daniel Ceballos. He was elected for Táchira in 2015 with nearly 76% of his circuit’s vote. He served as acting mayor of San Cristóbal after Ceballos was jailed in 2014, and has been in exile since 2019, when the SEBIN raided his home in connection with the Roberto Marrero case. He is also among the signatories of the document tied to the failed Jordan Goudreau incursion, asking for a military foreign intervention.

Macario González (VP, Lara) is a veteran Lara politician and former mayor of Barquisimeto’s Iribarren municipality. González was detained by the SEBIN in September 2025 as he left a university in Barquisimeto, held incommunicado, in what Voluntad Popular denounced as a forced disappearance for what he says was 68 days without charge, judicial hearing, or explanation. He was released near midnight on November 19, 2025, hours after the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights granted him precautionary measures. He has publicly held Interior Minister Diosdado Cabello politically responsible for his detention.

Capriles, now sitting in the Rodríguez-controlled national assembly, cautioned that a negotiation excluding Machado “will be condemned to fail.” 

Desiré Barboza (VP, Zulia) was an alternate deputy for Zulia in the 2015 Assembly and is Voluntad Popular’s regional coordinator there. Like most of the delegation, she has built her recent political life in exile and within the structures of the 2015 legislature.

On the ‘chavista’ side, only Jorge Rodríguez has been named to the time of writing. While the opposition’s ten were leaked or rumored until confirmed, the radio silence from those representing the current national assembly clashes awkwardly with Diosdado Cabello’s boasts of chavista unity. Francisco Arias Cárdenas, 1992 coup veteran and former Zulia governor, urged Rodríguez’s delegation to consult the PSUV’s base and submit any agreement to the Venezuelan public, warning that dialogue must not become a matter of simply following Washington’s instructions. 

The positions around the table

Primero Justicia and Un Nuevo Tiempo have called August 1 a “historic opportunity,” with PJ setting conditions: free, fair elections and the restoration of popular sovereignty. Voluntad Popular was the first to back the US initiative outright. But Acción Democrática’s Henry Ramos Allup has warned against any process that sidelines the coalition and Machado. Capriles, now sitting in the Rodríguez-controlled national assembly, cautioned that a negotiation excluding Machado “will be condemned to fail.” 

Machado and González stated their own position on July 26, claiming they will neither participate in nor obstruct the process, having taken no part in its “design, construction and functioning,” and will judge it by concrete, verifiable results: institutional recovery, the release of political prisoners, guarantees without exclusions, a presidential electoral calendar, and respect for popular sovereignty. 

Dinorah Figuera has a signature with limited value

“Venezuela cannot stand another communiqué” has become something of a political meme, but it captures the central problem with the process beginning on August 1. Washington has assembled a negotiation between an interim president whose continued rule it chose to preserve and an opposition counterpart it helped revive, hoping to combine Delcy Rodríguez’s control of the state with the residual democratic legitimacy of the 2015 National Assembly. The question is not merely whether they can reach an agreement. It is whether two actors whose authority is partial, externally enabled and detached from the country’s current popular leadership can legitimize a transition roadmap whose broad contours appear to have already been decided in Washington—and whether anything they sign can survive without María Corina Machado’s endorsement.

Everyone involved acknowledges that the mechanism was promoted by the United States. What nobody has explained clearly is what kind of mechanism it actually is. Is this a negotiation between two autonomous Venezuelan parties? Is it a broader national dialogue? Or is it an implementation process for a transition whose direction Donald Trump and Marco Rubio have already chosen?

The distinction matters because both sides are selling versions of the process that exaggerate their freedom to negotiate. The opposition presents it as the beginning of a democratic transition. Primero Justicia has listed substantial objectives: a new electoral authority and calendar, the restoration of political parties, an end to political disqualifications, the liberation of political prisoners, the dismantling of the repressive apparatus, freedom of expression and an independent Supreme Court.

Chavismo presents the same process as a necessary concession to preserve peace, obtain sanctions relief and protect the revolution. In its telling, sitting down with the opposition is not surrender but adaptation. “Dialogue does not mean capitulation,” Diosdado Cabello has insisted.

Neither story is entirely realistic.

The opposition may negotiate how political life is reopened and how future elections are organized. Still, it does not appear free to reopen Washington’s decision that stabilization and institutional reconstruction will precede an electoral transfer. Trump accepted Delcy’s continued presidency and has publicly argued that Venezuela is not yet prepared for another election, so the opposition is unlikely to be permitted to demand the immediate transfer of power it once said had already been decided by the 2024 presidential election.  

Delcy’s room for maneuver is also limited. She cannot seriously defend all the old red lines of chavismo: no foreign supervision, no negotiated reform of state institutions, no conditions on sanctions relief and no binding electoral horizon. The existence of an American-sponsored process involving the 2015 Assembly already violates much of the sovereignty theater through which the revolution previously justified itself.

Her real prohibitions are more practical. She cannot accept a settlement that fractures the military, dismantles the governing coalition, exposes its leadership without guarantees, or leaves chavismo incapable of competing in the order that follows. This is regime learning: not preserving the revolution exactly as it existed, but reducing the meaning of survival till it becomes achievable. If chavismo retains its organization, protects much of its elite and remains a viable electoral force, it can describe retreat as continuity.

The opposition is conducting a retreat of its own. It once insisted that the sovereignty expressed in 2024 had already resolved who should govern Venezuela. It is now negotiating the conditions under which Venezuelans may be allowed to decide that question again.

The two sides are not choosing freely between victory and defeat. They are negotiating the distance between two defeats and deciding which concessions each can successfully rename as victory.

Washington’s role goes well beyond providing the room and the refreshments. Delcy Rodríguez is interim president because the United States chose continuity under Maduro’s vice president over an immediate transfer of power to the leadership produced by the 2024 election. Venezuelan institutions administered the oath, but American recognition made that continuity politically viable.

Dinorah Figuera’s return to relevance followed an equally American route. She did not reemerge because a renewed domestic constituency demanded her leadership or because the forces behind the 2024 campaign selected her as their representative. One of her first consequential official appearances after years of political obscurity was a meeting with Michael Kozak at the State Department. She later returned to Venezuela at Washington’s invitation and became Jorge Rodríguez’s counterpart.

Washington helped produce both sides of the table. It accepted Delcy as the administrator of the interim order and activated Dinorah as the institutional representative needed to negotiate with it.

That does not make either woman a simple American puppet. Delcy controls the state machinery required to implement or sabotage any agreement. Dinorah can withhold the opposition stamp Washington needs to sell Trump’s latest South American peace project. But both operate inside a structure whose outer limits appear to have been drawn elsewhere.

The revival of the 2015 National Assembly is understandable. Delcy possesses effective authority but lacks democratic legitimacy. Her government can implement reforms and enforce agreements. What it cannot provide by itself is a convincing democratic chain of authorization.

The 2015 Assembly offers the missing signature. It remains, at least internationally, Venezuela’s last legitimately constituted national institution. Its participation can make institutional appointments, economic agreements and the broader reopening of the country look less like arrangements reached exclusively between Washington and the surviving chavista elite. That matters to governments, creditors and corporations seeking reassurance that future democratic authorities will not repudiate everything agreed during the interim.

But legal usefulness is not political legitimacy.

The Assembly elected in 2015 was a broad and plural legislature supported by millions of Venezuelans. The body negotiating today is a diminished delegated commission represented by only part of the coalition that originally composed it. Its leaders possess little independent national recognition, and the institution itself is deeply unpopular.

Its problem is not merely that it cannot enforce its decisions. For years, it often declined to act at all. It preserved itself as a constitutional necessity while withdrawing from political life, avoiding renewal and becoming increasingly detached from the society it claimed to represent. It remained alive enough to retain recognition and administer assets, but too frozen to lead.

It has now thawed itself back into relevance because Washington needs its pedigree.

Democratic legitimacy cannot simply be placed in constitutional cryogenic storage and reheated intact. The 2015 Assembly survived by refusing to die. It did not spend those years proving that it knew what to do next.

Primero Justicia has tried to bridge that gap by claiming that the delegated commission represents the sovereignty expressed in the 2024 election. But the commission was not elected in 2024, was not selected by the leadership of that campaign and does not represent the full coalition that supported it. The same communiqué reaffirms the leadership of María Corina Machado and Edmundo González while welcoming their willingness to observe a process they have publicly refused to buy into sight unseen.

The contradiction is striking. The people said to embody the country’s current democratic mandate are assigned the role of observers while an older institutional remnant claims to negotiate in their name.

Yet María Corina is not simply outside the process. She may be formally locked out of the negotiating room, but continues to have a relationship with both Trump and Rubio, based at least on her perceived importance. Dinorah has procedural access to the table. María Corina retains strategic access to the people who arranged it.

That may be intentional. Keeping Machado outside allows the delegated commission to absorb the least attractive compromises over sequencing, guarantees and appointments. It preserves her political capital for the moment when the settlement requires popular endorsement. If the process succeeds, she can validate its results without defending every concession. If it fails, she can truthfully say that she neither designed nor controlled it.

But Washington may be delusional if it believes Dinorah Figuera and Jorge Rodríguez can emerge from a closed room, announce an agreement and expect Venezuelan society to accept it without Machado’s endorsement. Their signatures may produce legal validity. Washington may provide international recognition. Foreign corporations may decide that the arrangement offers enough reassurance to begin investing.

Neither Dinorah nor Jorge can manufacture a national constituency.

The mechanism is an attempt to assemble a legitimacy that none of its participants possesses alone. Delcy supplies control of the state. The 2015 Assembly supplies constitutional pedigree. Washington supplies leverage and guarantees. María Corina supplies contemporary popular legitimacy. The problem is that the last component remains outside the formal process and has not promised to endorse whatever it produces.

August 1 does not need to resolve Venezuela’s political crisis. It does need to establish whether this mechanism can produce anything beyond the language of its communiqués. Its credibility will not come from another declaration of democratic intentions, but from evidence that someone can compel chavismo to share power with forces outside its orbit. The first test is not simply whether the parties promise another election. As chavismo reminds us at every opportunity, Venezuela has held plenty of those. The real test is whether the country can move credibly beyond replacing red chavismo with a poorly disguised blue version of the same political order.

The first meaningful agreement should not merely tell Venezuelans when they might vote. It should begin dismantling the police state we somehow cannot escape, even under American tutelage. Without the freedom to speak, organize, report and return without fear, another election would merely place a democratic label over the same machinery of control.

The organizers must also explain what they are asking the country to trust. If this is a negotiation, they should say what remains negotiable. If it is a dialogue, they should identify who participates and what authority the table possesses. If it is an implementation mechanism, Washington should disclose the roadmap being implemented. And if it is genuinely a transition, someone must eventually announce the date on which the interim order ends.

Venezuela cannot stand another communiqué because communiqués allow everyone to declare intentions without assuming ownership. Dinorah Figuera and Jorge Rodríguez may be able to sign an agreement. Washington may guarantee it. María Corina Machado may eventually persuade Venezuelans to give it a chance.

But only results can turn it into a transition.

Hope may be vigilant. Legitimacy is less patient.

El Chigüire Bipolar, our award-winning equivalent of The Onion, recently ran a headline that nicely captures the domestic fatigue surrounding the months-old rhetoric of the secretary of state: Marco Rubio anuncia que ya ahora sí, de pana, de panita, pronto viene la transición. That translates roughly to: “Rubio announces that now it’s time for the transition to happen soon, this time for sure, for real, I swear.”

It was four days after a military intervention toppled Maduro that Marco Rubio first spoke of the famous three-phase that US diplomats and officials love to quote. He later laid out his expectations for the process currently unfolding. We summarized his comments from the January 28 Senate hearing:

Rubio was reluctant to provide a precise timeline for the current arrangement between Venezuelan authorities and the US. The Trump administration wants to see rapid progress, he suggested. And in five months, the situation must be different (…) In the long term, the US wants Venezuela to have a democratically elected government (…)  Rubio said he wants María Corina to be part of the transition and to be able to run for election eventually.

Fast forward to July, and the messaging from out from the White House has become increasingly unnerving to many. We’ve published plenty of stuff that describes the Rodríguez regime’s response to the disaster (ultimately sluggish and dwarfed by the efforts of ordinary people and foreign rescuers) and Delcy’s inability to deploy the Venezuelan military in a meaningful way.

One must not overestimate the influence of the Secretary of State. Rubio is part of the Trump administration, and he cannot break with the president’s overarching goals.

The gringos, however, are adamant that the chavista elite has been fully compliant with aid efforts. Chief of Mission John Barrett expressed strong confidence in local authorities soon after the quakes. A picture of him amicably grabbing the arm of Diosdado Cabello before a team of US rescuers drew social media outage. So did another of Cabello sharing a laugh with a US general, garnering headlines about the Americans’ willingness to work closely with an alleged narco-terrorist.

Rubio’s priorities in the Venezuela portfolio

In the Trump government, one can identify three figures or groups that have stood out for their distinct talking points and approaches to the country.

There is Donald Trump himself, who seems exhilarated whenever he mentions Delcy Rodríguez and the oil riches the US is extracting there without transparency or accountability. The US president is still eager to use Venezuela to advance his domestic agenda; he recently invoked a CIA report on potential electronic fraud in Venezuelan voting machines, a move perhaps meant to cast doubt on election integrity in US states using that technology.

Then you have a network of whisperers and operatives around Trump, which includes both administration officials and external figures, that intend to covertly influence the Venezuela portfolio behind the scenes, sometimes attempting to lobby through journalists and social media. From the outside, the likes of Laura Loomer and Harry Sargeant featured in 2025. In the White House, one figure that doesn’t talk much but is definitely part of the “Venezuela core” is political advisor Stephen Miller, as he reluctantly admitted last week. JD Vance, a likely candidate in the next presidential race, represents the isolationist faction of the administration. And there’s Rubio, who many Venezuelans and the Machado-led opposition perceive as their ally.

Rubio remains the only relevant US official who consistently discusses the purported goals of democratization and institutional reconstruction. He is also the leading figure in the Venezuela dossier, and we believe he genuinely wants to put an end to chavista rule once and for all. His record as an anti-chavista (and anti-Castro) hawk is widely known but, as this Substack post points out, he’s had to seek a middle ground between a regime-change strategy and the Ric Grenell-backed normalization agenda revealed in 2025. A week ago, Rubio welcomed the “reconciliation and transition talks” that a Rodríguez-led delegation and a Machado-less opposition group agreed to begin on August 1. He said the US will be “very engaged” in this process, while suggesting it will operate independently. It clearly won’t. The talks are happening because the State Department is sponsoring them. Which, as it happens, is not bad news at all.

Neither Edmundo González nor Dinorah Figuera possessed significant political capital until a major player backed them. Both, too, are likely easy to guide and control.

Still, one must not overestimate the influence of the Secretary of State. Rubio is part of the Trump administration, and he cannot break with the president’s overarching goals.

One of Rubio’s main goals here is to keep the situation stable. If the recent off-the-record skirmishes with María Corina Machado were to escalate into open conflict between the opposition leader and Trump, framing the Venezuela portfolio as a foreign policy success would become far more difficult. As a Secretary of State, Rubio has become accustomed to defending Trump’s rhetoric and actions in a professional and composed tone while reassuring allied figures and governments in private (including some whom the president has publicly humiliated). This same dynamic likely governs his approach to Machado, whom Rubio insists can play a role in the transition even as Trump continues to shun her.

Machado, who has recently challenged Washington, cannot afford to break with her sole reliable, long-time ally in the US government, Rubio, if she wants to avoid a damaging fallout. Rubio, meanwhile, can’t break with Trump either if he hopes to run for president in 2028, given Trump’s grip on the Republican Party and the MAGA voter base. Rubio would probably like to engineer elections in Venezuela in a way that maximizes his political credit. With the Republican presidential primaries scheduled for the first half of 2028, showing off Venezuelan elections as a personal triumph while the GOP selects its nominee would require those elections to take place in late 2027 or early 2028.

Washington’s proxy

Rubio wants to control this process through Dinorah Figuera and a group of former opposition lawmakers from Primero Justicia and Voluntad Popular, the parties who backed the creation of the Comisión Delegada Figuera presides. To Washington, Figuera represents what Edmundo González was to Machado in the 2024 election: a figure with enough legitimacy who was admitted as a competitor by the chavista-controlled institutions. Just as the opposition leader needed an opposition proxy to stand in for her when she was banned from running, Rubio needs a Venezuelan politician coming from the 2015 National Assembly to claim that negotiations for democracy and reconciliation are Venezuelan-led. Neither González nor Figuera possessed significant political capital until a major player backed them. Both, too, are likely easy to guide and control.

Much like the president-elect, Figuera has shown little political ambition beyond serving as a viable, cooperative figure under these circumstances (much as González did after the Maduro regime disqualified dozens of potential opposition candidates). Figuera has described herself as “an instrument” of the reinstitutionalization and democratization process. She hopes to guarantee the participation of political parties and Machado, whom she acknowledges as the opposition’s leader but notes that she holds “a different vision.”

We expect the Rodríguez-Figuera talks to make progress before the end of 2026.

The upcoming talks will be like nothing we have ever seen, in terms of the US operating as an all-powerful actor wielding immense coercive capacity and veto power. The members of the opposition delegation, whose full roster is not yet public, are expected to serve more as liaisons in constant communication with the Department of State and Trump administration personnel, than as fully-empowered negotiators over the major issues at stake.

Figuera claims this process should lead to a trustworthy CNE and a reformed Supreme Court with new magistrates across its entire structure—not just the chamber overseeing elections. Repressive statutes passed in the Maduro era, used to seize the assets of the regime’s opponents or to punish citizens under the chavista definition of hate speech, are expected to be revoked too. 

With the Delcy regime unable to make progress on multiple fronts and definitely after the government’s lame emergency response, her position before the United States seems weaker as we approach the end of the year. Our latest Political Risk Report quotes Rodríguez government sources suggesting the Trump administration wants to accelerate political developments in Venezuela ahead of the November midterms, so its ventures in Caracas can be framed as a clearer success.

We expect the Rodríguez-Figuera talks to make progress before the end of 2026. Whether that progress will translate into preparations for a new presidential election, as Machado and most Venezuelans would hope, remains to be seen

Six months after Nicolás Maduro’s military removal by US forces, the political situation in Venezuela can be summarized very schematically.

Under the 1999 Constitution, on July 3, Maduro’s absence became absolute. Under this assumption, Article 233 of the Constitution states that presidential elections must be held within 30 consecutive days following July 3. Meanwhile, Delcy Rodríguez remains as acting president, filling Maduro’s absolute absence.

The elections would be the final part of the third phase of the plan that Trump administration officials and Marco Rubio in particular often mention.

However, we know that elections will not be held in the short term, as there is a consensus that a new National Electoral Council (CNE) and conditions of electoral integrity are necessary. That is because, in theory, the first two phases outlined by the US government—stabilization and recovery—should first be completed.

So, how can the Venezuelan opposition push for free elections someday?

To do so, Venezuelans must first determine who within the Venezuelan opposition should lead the charge.

Naturally, it would be María Corina Machado. However, there is evidence that the Trump administration does not want her to be that lead person. I am not saying the White House does not want Machado to be a presidential candidate, but that everything seems to suggest that the Trump administration does not want her to lead the process toward those elections. Which is a different matter.

No political actor can achieve anything significant without the support, or at least the acquiescence, of the US.

Therefore, if the US government does not want Machado to lead the political process that will lead us to free elections, who is the US government backing? It has only given two indications so far.

One, somewhat farcical even in terms of US foreign policy, was that Trump invited Enrique Márquez, a satellite political leader, to the State of the Union address. It was a message to say that the US president does not want Machado leading the process that would lead to free elections.

The other was the return of Dinorah Figuera, president of the 2015 National Assembly Delegated Commission, to Venezuela, at the invitation of the US, where she was received at the airport by US embassy personnel. Upon arrival, Figuera met with Chargé d’Affaires John Barrett and National Assembly president Jorge Rodríguez. In this way, the Trump administration emphasized its vision of who would be the opposition’s interlocutor.

Finally, after the earthquakes, there was a third, even clearer message: to disavow Machado’s trip to Venezuela.

At this point, it is worth remembering that at this moment in Venezuelan political history, no political actor can achieve anything significant without the support, or at least the acquiescence, of the US. Like it or not, the result of the January 3rd operation is that we find ourselves under a tutelage of both the regime and the opposition.

Given this reality, where should we push for the Venezuelan transition?

The 2015 National Assembly, with US support, could dedicate itself to building the electoral roadmap together with the 2026 National Assembly.

If the Trump administration doesn’t want Machado to lead the process toward free elections, and the last clear signal it sent was to involve the 2015 National Assembly, perhaps that’s the path we should follow.

From what we understand, the idea of ​​involving the 2015 National Assembly, through 6 or 12 of its members, is to work with the 2026 National Assembly to build an institutional roadmap leading to elections, specifically the appointment of a new board for the CNE, and perhaps the formation of a new Supreme Court of Justice (TSJ).

It is known that this option generates deep distrust in Machado, who attempted to thwart it, apparently unsuccessfully, with the Panama Manifesto, in which she declared, among other things, that she should lead the negotiations with the interim regime. However, it seems that if a definitive break with the Trump administration is not desired, Machado and the 2015 National Assembly should reach agreements.

The first could be that the 2015 National Assembly, with the support of the US government, dedicates itself to building the electoral roadmap together with the 2026 National Assembly. Naturally, Machado’s opinion would be taken into account at all times. This should lead to the appointment of a new CNE board and a new TSJ. Then, the electoral legislation and administrative regulations would have to be reformed to create conditions that allow for truly free elections. Machado’s opinion would also be taken into account at all times.

Finally, a primary election could be held within the opposition, allowing opposition voters to express their views. It is likely that Machado will be re-elected as the opposition candidate. This way would open an acceptable option for those who control this process: an electoral path around the 2015 and 2026 National Assembly elections, and then presidential elections in which, predictably, María Corina Machado will win.

Maria Corina’s return to Venezuela is looking imminent. Her willingness is hurried by her desire to stand next to Venezuelans after the devastating earthquakes, and by the risks of remaining in exile while the emergency unfolds. Her return trip now looks like a matter of when, not if.

Last weekend, Bloomberg’s Eric Martin reported that US officials made it clear to both Dutch and chavista authorities that Washington wouldn’t support her return, when she was planning to fly to Venezuela from Curacao. Machado countered in a video distributed Tuesday, claiming she intends to do “whatever is necessary” and speak to “whoever is needed” to serve the Venezuelan people. 

Meanwhile, officials in Washington are backing the regime and trying to distance themselves from her intentions. In a recent interview, the chargé d’affaires in Caracas praised the commitment of Delcy’s regime to work and collaborate with the US. A State Department spokesperson said on the record that chavismo remains “the ultimate authority over their territory,” further empowering the Venezuelan State to react negatively if the opposition leader shows up. 

An unprecedented catastrophe once again exposed the incompetence of the Venezuelan government. Yet the Trump administration continues to tilt the scales in Delcy’s favor. This time, by offering no guarantees and taking no official position on Machado’s return, contradicting the assurances given by Marco Rubio and Ambassador Michael Kozak during congressional hearings earlier this year. 

A complex set of stakeholders is determining the terms of this event. Machado’s return will have a direct impact on the challenges she is set to face in the first days and weeks after arriving. Blocking it entirely will only intensify the social tensions already simmering within the country. However, an arrival without a clear operational contribution risks undermining her leadership.

While exile has helped Machado advance the democratic cause across the world and coordinate closely with allies, the benefits of staying outside the country no longer outweigh the costs.

The Venezuelan people await a leader that steps up to fill the institutional and operational vacuum left by a regime that has abandoned the population. The last seven days have been characterized by the lack of adequate relief to rescue survivors and assist refugees on ground zero. The Venezuelan State has been exposed in what should be its core mission. Time is running against everyone involved. 

While exile has, to an extent, helped Machado advance the democratic cause across the world and coordinate closely with allies, the benefits of staying outside the country no longer outweigh the costs.  For many, the clock is ticking under the rubble and their grievances can no longer be addressed with digital messaging.

Since Nicolás Maduro and Cilia Flores were captured, every passing day has raised more doubts regarding Machado’s autonomy and political agency. The saga surrounding her return is casting doubts on Washington’s ultimate support for the Nobel laureate, putting a large question mark over long-term plans to have her truly involved in a purported transition. For the opposition leader, recognizing Trump as an ally in the pursuit of a democratic Venezuela is understandable. Allowing him to dictate your decisions in one of the most crucial moments in Venezuela’s history is a very different thing.

Trump’s intentions over post-Maduro Venezuela have definitely eroded. Elite expectations of a swift economic recovery that pervaded post-January 3 conversations changed dramatically. But as the little credibility the Rodríguez siblings had evaporated in a matter of days, the Trump government continues to hold María Corina down. This happens as we know the US retains more than enough influence to allow the Nobel laureate to return to her country during a national tragedy, with or without a valid passport.

For María Corina to regain Washington’s support, she has to succeed in becoming a figure that inspires stability. 

Since 2025, María Corina has tried to communicate that she can persuade the Trump administration over Venezuela. For instance, when it came to the need to pressure Maduro to step down, to finally resort to military means to remove him, to press for the release of political prisoners, and so it goes. Trump himself has repeatedly shown he doesn’t need Machado to have his goals met in Caracas. This emergency could now emerge as a train crash between Trump’s interests and those of the democratic opposition. Unlike Delcy, whose main goal is to retain power and survive chavismo’s demise, María Corina cannot afford to have minimal leverage over Washington. At least not anymore. The earthquakes’ aftermath, then, is also an opportunity for her to forcefully drive a realignment of US tutelage over reconstruction and democratization efforts. Or to finally expose Trump over conflicting interests.

Civil defiance against regime forces is increasing on the ground, a sign that social unrest is emerging among a population without someone to look up to for help. Blocking María Corina’s entry might feed tensions created by the vacuum produced by the State. If people continue to be left to their own devices, this could spark a new, critical chapter of social conflict in the country’s history.

Relief efforts have already provided a positive platform for local leaders who have delivered. A good example is Chacao mayor Gustavo Duque, who has been able to establish and communicate the most effective operational coordination from a local government official. María Corina would need to replicate this at a larger scale while raising the standards, relying on non-government tools and human capital at her disposal. 

The regime’s complete lack of response and its attempts to block relief efforts need to be challenged. Machado’s ability to organize efforts through civil society and allied NGOs, coordinate with international rescuers and foreign governments, muster operational capacity through Vente Venezuela’s comanditos and local political structures, and deliver sensible (and sensitive) communications could be crucial to contrast with the regime’s negligence. Her responsibility would not be to engage in political campaigning with other opposition leaders, but to establish a backbone for operational organisation, even a chain of command that makes the efforts of Venezuelan civilians more effective. When it comes to logistics involving civilian volunteers, the famous electoral strategy of 2024 showed what Machado’s leadership can achieve. The stakes are even higher this time.

Chavismo’s negligence is fueling instability that could jeopardize the economic and political gains the US hopes to secure in Venezuela.

Machado must demonstrate that she can contain the threats to Trump’s post-Maduro narrative that inevitably emerge from the country’s current state of political and institutional orphanhood

The likes of Delcy and Cabello will try to obstruct Machado’s networks and allies from providing assistance and support. Their goal would be to secure Machado’s failure in supporting the people. Nonetheless, the costs of repression are currently at the highest due to the state of widespread desperation. Attempting to block or even capture Machado could come at a high price, yet they will use every resource available to hinder her initiatives.

For María Corina to regain Washington’s support, she has to succeed in becoming a figure that inspires stability. 

Chavismo’s negligence is fueling instability that could jeopardize the economic and political gains the US hopes to secure in Venezuela. Machado must demonstrate that she can contain the threats to Trump’s post-Maduro narrative that inevitably emerge from the country’s current state of political and institutional orphanhood. If Washington cannot mitigate those risks soon, as it has sought to do in the wake of its February strike on Iran, a Venezuela policy in crisis could become yet another political liability for the Trump-dominated GOP ahead of the November elections. 

Between Trump’s continued support for the regime and Delcy’s incompetence in addressing the emergency, there is an opportunity for María Corina to make a consequential return. Throughout the history of anti-chavista politics, no leader has been able to withstand the political test that coming back from exile poses. If the ambitions of María Corina and her supporters become reality, she will inherit the long-term consequences of the tragedy. Her return offers a critical opportunity to take immediate responsibility, show the type of public-servant leadership she should offer, and channel the frustration of Venezuelans into collective actions.

Venezuelan civil society has risen to the occasion. The people have become the heroes lifting the country’s ruins. But Venezuelans remain in desperate need of a leader. Not to raise our hopes, which I believe we have found among each other. But for the guidance necessary to face the wreckage chavismo continues to leave behind.

For a quarter century, Venezuelan politics has revolved around a single divide: chavismo versus anti-chavismo. Entire political careers were built around that struggle, as parties rose and fell according to their ability to interpret it. Leaders were judged less by what they proposed than by how effectively and fervently they opposed the regime. 

No one has embodied that tradition more successfully than María Corina Machado. Her achievement was not simply electoral. She transformed anti-chavismo from a coalition of parties and personalities into something closer to a political identity.

That transformation helped make Machado the dominant figure in Venezuelan politics since 2024. It may also explain why the beast showing its fangs at the other side of the Western border deserves to be taken seriously by the opposition. 

Political movements rarely remain the property of the people who built them. Over time, people begin to invest parts of themselves in them. They become attached not only to leaders, but to their own idea of what those leaders represent. Their loyalties gradually shift from individuals to identities, at that point, succession becomes possible.

The curse of the trailblazer

Colombia’s recent election offers an intriguing illustration of how this process can unfold. At first glance, Abelardo de la Espriella’s victory looked like a victory for the Colombian Right. It may turn out to have been something more interesting.

De la Espriella did not defeat Uribismo. If anything, he inherited it. Many of his voters still admire Álvaro Uribe and some probably voted for him repeatedly. What changed was not their opinion of Uribe, but their sense of who now spoke most convincingly for the political tradition he created.

The Tiger did not campaign against Uribe’s legacy. He campaigned as its most uncompromising heir, as he described himself “más uribista que doña Lina” (Uribe ‘s wife). His appeal rested on a simple proposition: Uribe had been right all along, but those who claimed to represent his legacy lacked either the conviction or the will to carry it through to its logical conclusion. This is a very different kind of political challenge. It does not seek to replace a movement. It seeks to inherit it.

De la Espriella’s voters didn’t change their opinion of Uribe, but their sense of who now spoke most convincingly for the political tradition he created.

That possibility should sound familiar to Venezuelans.

The question is not whether Machado is losing support. By any reasonable measure she remains the dominant figure in the Venezuelan opposition. The more interesting question is whether anti-chavismo, having become an identity in its own right, could one day develop ambitions, expectations and frustrations that exceed her ability to contain them.

The strange thing about political victories is that they rarely belong entirely to those who achieve them. Over time, successful leaders create constituencies, expectations and myths that acquire a life of their own. What begins as a political movement gradually becomes a political identity, and once identities take root they stop asking permission from the people who created them.

The comparison that comes most readily to mind is Winston Churchill. The British prime minister lost the first election after the Second World War, in one of the great paradoxes of democratic politics. The standard explanation is that Britons decided the war had been won and wanted someone better suited to building the peace.

Bukele, Trump and Milei often feature more prominently in the imagination of many Venezuelans than the leaders who shaped domestic opposition politics before Machado.

The Venezuelan case may eventually present the opposite problem. Machado’s future challenger, once one emerges, is unlikely to argue that the struggle against chavismo has ended. If anything, the argument would be the reverse: not that Machado was wrong, but that she stopped too soon.

If such a figure were ever to emerge in Venezuela, it would likely appear first as a sentiment rather than as a politician.

A nameless threat

One can already glimpse fragments of that sentiment across the Venezuelan diaspora, in Miami, Houston or Madrid among voters who remain deeply committed to the opposition but increasingly impatient with the pace of events, and Machado’s approach to Trump’s plan. Many admire Machado, some even revere her. Yet admiration and impatience are not mutually exclusive sentiments.

A decade ago, one of the most common criticisms of Machado was that she was too confrontational. Today, some of her critics seem to believe she has not been enough of a hardliner. The shift may appear subtle. It is anything but that.

What unites these constituencies is not necessarily ideology. Many disagree on policy, strategy and even on the nature of a future Venezuelan transition. What they seem to share is a growing impatience with the political habits that defined the opposition during the previous two decades. Their political reference points are increasingly international. Bukele, Trump and Milei often feature more prominently in their imagination than the leaders who shaped Venezuelan opposition politics before Machado.

The result is a political vocabulary that would have sounded unfamiliar not long ago. Arguments about negotiations and elections increasingly coexist with arguments about strength, authenticity, betrayal and whether the opposition has shown sufficient willingness to exercise power rather than merely seek it.

The Tiger represents a possibility: that the greatest challenge facing anti-chavismo in the years ahead may not come from its enemies, but from the unresolved question of what victory should look like.

None of this means that a Venezuelan Bukele is waiting in the wings, nor does it suggest that Machado’s position is immediately threatened. As things stand, the opposite appears true. But political identities rarely remain frozen in time. They absorb new influences, adapt to new frustrations and develop new aspirations. The question is whether anti-chavismo is beginning to do the same.

Perhaps someone like Abelardo The Tiger never comes. Perhaps Machado successfully leads Venezuela through a transition and remains the uncontested leader of the movement she helped build. That remains the most likely outcome.

But history suggests that political movements rarely remain suspended in a single moment forever. The forces that transformed Machado into the dominant figure of Venezuelan opposition politics, frustration, perseverance, impatience, conviction and a refusal to accept the permanence of chavismo, are not forces she alone controls.

That is why The Tiger matters. The point is not whether it materializes as a candidate, a faction or a movement. The point is that it represents a possibility: that the greatest challenge facing anti-chavismo in the years ahead may not come from its enemies, but from the unresolved question of what victory should look like.

For 25 years, Venezuelan politics revolved around how to confront chavismo. María Corina Machado provided the most compelling answer that question has yet produced. The shadow crouched in the woods is the possibility that a different question is beginning to emerge.

And predators have a peculiar habit. They tend to show up before people eventually give them a name.

Photo: Humberto Villalobos in February 2023, months before the last opposition primaries

While Washington’s focus seems to be shifting toward security and armed groups, Machado’s team keeps its priorities clear, looking beyond the immediate circumstances. The Nobel Peace Prize laureate keeps saying that an election will be the vehicle to channel a transition to democracy—an event where the anti-chavista movement sees itself as the clear winner. Following the 2023 and especially the 2024 elections (where the coalition successfully defended a clear victory for Edmundo González by collecting and publishing 85% of the official tally sheets), it is not far-fetched to say that this is where the Venezuelan opposition’s greatest strengths lie, even under adverse conditions.

At Caracas Chronicles, we sat down with Humberto Villalobos—Vente Venezuela’s electoral chief, who coordinated Machado’s famous defense machinery—to discuss the current gap between ideal electoral conditions and reality, now that the publication of the Panama Manifesto has opened the opposition to negotiating elections with chavismo, naming Machado as the leader (or conductora) of the process.

Machado’s team is proposing changes that, to a large extent, aim to “demolish” the electoral system as we know it. Among other measures, this involves migrating to a hybrid system that would get rid of the ExCle voting machines, (paper ballots would be counted by hand), establishing a CNE in a novel fashion, improving the Venezuelan Electoral Registry so it accurately reflects how the population is scattered both inside and abroad, and implementing a mechanism to legalize political party competition in practice.

Once a new CNE is formed and the electoral calendar is published, Villalobos says this study could contribute to the renewal of the Electoral Registry. Under the proposal, the Registry would be renewed in three months.

This is a baseline proposal that could change in a scenario where Villalobos views the US as the guarantor of an agreement: “Delcy will make proposals, we will too, and in the end, all those things will be considered to yield something reasonable.” He envisions an election that is “simpler to produce,” stripping away the obvious strategic advantages that chavismo has historically claimed for itself during elections. “Under other conditions,” Villalobos says, “none of this would even be on the table. But here they proved to us that they can pass an energy reform in 15 days. You could do something similar to make elections happen, something just as important as pumping oil.”

First: an independent citizen register

Villalobos began by describing the need to produce a rigorous study of the local and migrant populations to understand the country’s actual electoral reality. The opposition would gather information directly from the people to understand who still lives where the Electoral Registry says they do, who left the country, and how many voters would require a change in their polling station. Villalobos calls this empadronamiento: the creation of a citizen residency register. The objective, he notes, is for the majority of voters to update their addresses through a digital platform featuring biometric facial recognition (ABIS) identification mechanisms, or at registration points operated by a network of enumerators or empadronadores

Once a new CNE is established and the electoral calendar is released, this study could assist in overhauling the Electoral Registry, the current state of which Villalobos calls “disastrous.”

“While citizens are changing their voting addresses, they could also support a political party. From that, you would yield parties with validated groups of voters.” 

The digital platform and the network already exist. Vente has started the process with its own members, and all current enumerators hold positions within the party: “We originally thought of it just for Vente, and as we grew, we envisioned it as a solution for all Venezuelans.” They would only need the people’s consent to use their data. Villalobos admits that managing a database of this scale carries an enormous burden of responsibility, but the alternative would mean negotiating while relying exclusively on data managed by the chavista state, which “treats it as its own asset.”

“At the end of the day, we are the only ones ready to do it. The systems being employed are the ones we already used in the 2024 presidential election. We simply added an extra feature that allows for enrollment of this type,” Villalobos asserts. “That feature handled half of the tally sheets we transcribed. And that gives you the certainty that you can handle millions. Furthermore, the guarantee is being provided by María Corina Machado.”

Second: ad hoc CNE, Electoral Registry, and political parties

The proposal rests on the premise that the CNE’s current structure is too flawed to fix simply by appointing a new board of rectors (or “electoral commission,” as Marco Rubio has called it). They propose a new, temporary electoral authority termed ad hoc CNE, an entity created specifically to manage an electoral transition. From that point on, it would only require a new specialized company to carry out the formal overhaul of the Electoral Registry

“More than one company is already preparing its bid under the terms we are working with,” Villalobos says. “That bidding process would have to be run by the new CNE, a natural process that nobody else can handle.”

Data from the independent, citizen register “would serve as a foundation” for the state provider to shorten the process. Villalobos assures that, in this manner, the new Registry could be ready in three months. Meanwhile, political parties that have been suspended or intervened since the last decade would be legalized through groups of voters that endorse these political organizations. “While citizens are changing their voting addresses, they could also support a political party. From that, you would yield parties with validated groups of voters. That would save us a lot of time.” The concept of groups of voters (grupos de electores) exists in Venezuelan legislation, though not necessarily for these purposes. A new statute for the ad hoc CNE, Villalobos suggests, could change that.

The electoral expert noted that one additional provider would be needed to manage the calendar and the elections. Identity verification made possible by the technology first implemented in the independent citizen register would thus help the ad hoc CNE assign party representatives and witnesses.

Third: goodbye to the machines

The most ambitious part of the proposal is to discard the electronic voting system that has been in place in Venezuela throughout this century and move to a mixed system featuring manual counting and automatic transmission.

According to Villalobos, paper ballots would be counted by hand by polling station members in the presence of party representatives. Afterward, a photo and a scan of the voting tally sheet would be taken. The data of all votes would then be transmitted from the polling station to the CNE, the political parties, international institutions linked to the electoral process, universities, and media outlets.

“It works almost like a blockchain, because you will have multiple repositories of the original document, which prevents it from being altered. It isn’t a galactic development like a voting machine that does absolutely everything,” Villalobos says. “It would be a matter of scanning something, transcribing it, and sending it. That fits on a smartphone.”

Villalobos noted they will push to ensure there are no polling stations where it is impossible to deploy a witness.

He maintains that the current system operates like a “black box” where voters are forced to accept the results transmitted by the machines, which he claims can be manipulated by those managing the CNE. But didn’t the physical tally sheets printed by these machines on July 28, 2024—which proved Edmundo González won the election by a 2-to-1 margin—serve to show that the count itself wasn’t manipulated, but rather that the CNE simply fabricated results declaring Maduro the winner? Villalobos insists that the current technology failed because, regardless, opposition witnesses were unable to obtain 15% of the tally sheets. He asserts that without representatives at a polling center, “there are ways they can change your result.”

“The extraordinary concept of having a machine that does everything is not dominant worldwide. In Colombia [referring to the first round of presidential elections where Abelardo de la Espriella secured the majority of votes], where the process was not the fastest, we already had the results of all tally sheets within an hour and a half. All of them, not a single one was missing.”

Finally, Villalobos was emphatic that voting must end strictly at a specific hour (in Venezuela, polling stations commonly close at 6 pm, but voting can be extended if there are still voters in line). He also stressed that the opposition will push to ensure there are no polling stations where it is impossible to deploy a witness. In the 2024 presidential election and previous ones, voting centers were set up inside Misiones Vivienda (state housing complexes), communal council headquarters controlled by the ruling party, and military bases—places where the likelihood of a clean process and of collecting the printed tally sheet is usually much lower.

“Voting systems were created to resolve conflicts. The first step is for all of us to believe we won’t be cheated, because otherwise, we go right back to the same thing,” he concludes. “In any election, they can change the result of a polling center if you don’t have anyone there. That’s why we are going to motivate people to stay at the centers, to have the fiesta right there. So that you walk away from that center knowing it is impossible for them to change the results.”

This article is also published in Spanish on the Hacha y Machete Substack

Last weekend, the opposition achieved the familiar show of unity in Panama City, something that is not always easy to pull off. Party representatives agreed to fight for free elections and to back María Corina Machado as the candidate in any eventual vote. Machado, for her part, promised to return before the end of 2026. 

This is a milestone that should inspire at least some optimism. Five months ago, this group of people was scattered, waiting, in exile or in hiding. But given the sheer scale of Venezuela’s democratic challenge, the unity photo-op, the return of exiled leaders, and the reemergence of figures from hiding remain insufficient. 

Some politicians have returned to the country or emerged from hiding, but without a clear, politically binding agenda for achieving free elections recognized by all actors. The current dynamics still force us to react to the regime’s horrors. The case of Víctor Quero and Carmen Teresa Navas is among the clearest examples. 

Before Venezuela can achieve a true transition, the country’s pro-democracy movement must first undergo its own internal transition. Returns and displays of unity can alter incentives only if they become part of a public, coordinated, and understandable strategy. These are the main elements such a strategy should include.

A clear division of roles and responsibilities

Opening up the political playing field requires a clear division of roles and responsibilities. María Corina Machado and Juan Pablo Guanipa can embody a kind of “good cop/bad cop” dynamic within the democratic movement. The “good cop” would be Machado, whose messaging is already closely aligned with Trump’s policy toward Venezuela. The “bad cop” is Guanipa, whose rhetoric has become increasingly impatient regarding the goal of democratic transition.

If the democratic transition is truly a la venezolana, the debate about it must be taken out of the conference rooms in Washington and Caracas. 

But that differentiation cannot remain confined to national leadership figures alone. Student organizations, victims’ groups and human rights defenders, labor unions, and social organizations are equally crucial. These actors have earned legitimacy on the ground before January 3, when many were swept aside by a brutal wave of repression from which parties are still recovering. Since then, civil society has reaffirmed new leadership figures who, despite lacking party experience, could play important roles in the looming political cycle.

What matters is that this differentiation of roles be coordinated rather than improvised or competitive. Opening up the political field does not mean diluting political leadership. It means expanding the democratic movement’s range of action.

Combine negotiation with protest

There is no contradiction between the two. Negotiation without social pressure does little more than managing stagnation. Protest without a political roadmap burns out. What is needed is to give the streets political content: mobilizing not only against the regime’s abuses, but also in favor of a concrete transition agenda.

The role of movements is to protest, propose, and articulate the kind of transition they want. Just as students in 2007 embraced the campaign against the constitutional referendum and defeated Hugo Chávez, these grassroots movements should also assume a proactive role in shaping the type of transition they identify with.

That requires organizing a kind of “social roundtable” capable of coordinating different causes. These are autonomous rivers that can converge into the same lake: free elections and a broad national agreement on the direction of post-electoral public policy. Each movement has its own identity and internal dynamics, but there must be some degree of coordination and communication among them and with the broader national political agenda.

Protests also present a constant dilemma for the ruling Rodríguez siblings, a litmus test for their supposed liberalization. Demonstrations must remain peaceful and disciplined in order to deepen their dilemma.

Open up the conversation about democratic transition

The Machado-led opposition coalition and its allies have a responsibility to promote an open discussion about transition: what it means, how it is built, and what dilemmas it entails.

Dilemmas are never truly solved. They are weighed in terms of risks, benefits, opportunities, and threats. If the democratic transition is truly a la venezolana, the debate about it must be taken out of the conference rooms in Washington and Caracas. Not everything was decided in Panama City.

This time, the goal would be to bring together different groups and individuals to debate the diverse and legitimate visions of our own transition.

That conversation should include at least three dimensions:

The political-institutional dimension: What minimum guarantees would make a transition possible? What conditions would make an election politically binding? Should Venezuela pursue a constituent assembly? Should the process begin with a presidential election or a parliamentary one? What are the advantages and disadvantages of each option?

The social-humanitarian dimension: How do institutional reforms connect with people’s daily needs, such as wages, public services, security, justice and family reunification?

The electoral dimension: What should the sequencing of elections look like? (As far as we know, there was no agreement on this point in Panama). Should Venezuela return to a manual voting system? How can a trustworthy electoral authority (CNE) be guaranteed, and who should be part of it? What expectations and steps are required to secure the political inclusion of the diaspora and of millions of citizens inside Venezuela who cannot vote in the current circumstances?

Before the 2023 opposition primaries, there was one essential experience that helped build momentum: the Hablan los Candidatos debate, organized by students and activists in July 2023 at the Aula Magna of Universidad Católica Andrés Bello. Now imagine an event, or a series of events on a much larger scale. But this time, rather than candidates, the goal would be to bring together different groups and individuals to debate the diverse and legitimate visions of our own transition.

Use technology boldly

Technology can become a central tool to expand this deliberative process. Digital consultations, hybrid assemblies, spaces for dialogue with the diaspora, coordination mechanisms among professional associations, students, parties, unions, victims, and social organizations: all of this can help rebuild a democratic infrastructure for participation.

Producing a political milestone is not enough. A sequence must be built.

During both the primaries and July 28, the democratic movement used technology in exemplary and innovative ways. Through different applications, people found their polling centers, filed complaints, participated in defending the vote, and helped publish the real results. We need to use technology with that same boldness again, this time within a broader strategy of deliberating, coordinating, and disseminating the agenda of democratic transition.

Plan the sequence

The experience of January 2019 reminds us of something important: political milestones are never improvised. That strategy (whether or not one agrees with its tactics and consequences) was planned months in advance among political parties, civil society, and the leadership of the 2015 National Assembly. What is needed today is a similar level of preparation, but with one additional lesson that may prove decisive: producing a political milestone is not enough. A sequence must be built.

A unity photo may mark the beginning of a new phase. The return of political leaders may help shift public expectations or reshape the outlook of potential voters. A protest met with repression can show  the limits of the regime’s liberalization, something we have already seen this year with students, public-sector workers, and pensioners. A public debate can help organize competing visions of transition, giving oxygen and substance to a public sphere that must continue looking for spaces for deliberation. But none of these things, in isolation, constitutes a strategy.

The democratic movement has already found innovative, intelligent, and popular solutions to political dilemmas. It has pulled rabbits out of hats, brilliant plays in a perverse game, such as the feat of July 28, 2024. However, even rabbits do not appear by magic. The next move must emerge from the lessons and achievements that are already part of the movement’s democratic inheritance. 

We should do what we have already done and know we can do: open up the political field, bring people down from the stands, turn indignation into an agenda, and transform the return of many into movement-building.