The conversation started casually enough. We’d all been brought together by a protest against President Trumps illegal and insane actions in Latin America.

How do we have conversations with our friends about these issues?

As the group sat around talking about their conversations in the community, something became clear: not everyone they knew, really knew much about the place beyond those fragments they saw on the news.

What followed was a sprawling, messy, sometimes funny discussion that touched on everything from baseball players to oil cartels, from cowboy culture to the Panama Canal, from nationalization debates to the sound of a *cuatro venezolano* being strummed in a living room.

You’re reading that conversation—lightly edited for clarity, but preserving the voices, disagreements, and discoveries that emerged.

The Venezuela We Think We Know

“I think the average person just hears ‘United States and Latin America,’ and they put their hands over their eyes and get a little spooked,” one speaker began. “Every high schooler hears details that aren’t very wholesome and good, and then they stop paying attention.”

The observation landed. For most Americans, Venezuela exists as a vague blur on a map—somewhere south, somewhere troubled. “Venezuela could be in Australia or Asia, for all most Americans know,” another voice added.

One participant shared personal memories from high school, knowing several Venezuelans whose stories were grim: tales of violence, cartels, bodies left as warnings. YouTube videos reinforced the image—clips about how twenty bucks could buy you “literally everything” in a country drowning in hyperinflation. This was back in 2012, 2013.

Another member of the group, who’s Jewish, had met Venezuelan Jews who’d fled as refugees. “They see places like that in a rather negative light. It’s like people who escaped Cuba. ‘We left to have a better life.’ Definitely negative views toward Nicolás Maduro and the Bolivarian government.”

But there were other associations too. One person thought of Andrés Galarraga, the Venezuelan first baseman for the Atlanta Braves—”Big Cat,” they called him. Baseball. Beauty. Culture. Geography. Venezuela isn’t just a geopolitical flashpoint; it’s a place with mountains, jungles, Angel Falls—the highest uninterrupted waterfall on Earth.

“I play an instrument from Venezuela,” someone mentioned. “The *cuatro venezolano*.”

“Do you guys want to hear it?”

“Yes. But the entire planet of Earth could be considered a beautiful place.”

“Yeah, that’d be a good way to end it. Except for parts of Missouri.”

Laughter rippled through the room. But the point lingered: even in crisis, there’s beauty worth acknowledging.

An Abridged History Lesson

To understand Venezuela today, the group had to rewind. Way back.

Colony to Republic

Venezuela was colonized by the Spanish in the early 16th century. Its name—meaning “Little Venice”—came from explorers who saw indigenous stilt houses on Lake Maracaibo and thought of Italy. Interestingly, the name actually came from German colonizers, though Spanish rule dominated.

In the early 1800s, Simón Bolívar led the fight for independence. He dreamed big: Gran Colombia, a unified South American republic that included modern-day Colombia, Venezuela, Panama, and parts of Ecuador. It didn’t last. By 1831, Venezuela was its own republic.

Slavery was abolished in Venezuela in the early 1800s—before the United States—without a civil war. Slave owners were compensated; the enslaved were not. “The same people, planters of the haciendas from before, were in charge of this new liberal republican government that was free from Spain,” one speaker noted. “There was no real change in power structure.”

The Monroe Doctrine and the Oil Curse

Fast-forward to 1885. The U.S. and Britain nearly went to war over a boundary dispute involving Venezuela and British Guiana. The U.S. invoked the Monroe Doctrine, asserting that European powers had no business meddling in the Western Hemisphere. That crisis marked the beginning of deeper American influence in the region.

“So pretty similar to what’s happening now,” someone observed, “except instead of Britain, we’re worried about Russia muscling in.”

Then came oil.

Discovered in the early 20th century, oil transformed Venezuela’s economy. By 1976, the industry was nationalized under PDVSA (*Petróleos de Venezuela*). The country became a founding member of OPEC—the Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries.

“Quiz question,” someone interjected. “Do you know where OPEC is headquartered?”

“Caracas?”

“Nope. Vienna, Austria.”

“Like Switzerland—political neutrality.”

Exactly. OPEC is an international cartel, coordinating oil prices and production levels to benefit member states. Venezuela’s economy became deeply tied to those decisions—and to the whims of global oil markets.

One participant brought up the Panama Canal’s importance. “Instead of shipping oil around Cape Horn or the Cape of Good Hope—thousands of miles—they cut through Panama. A huge portion of shipping containers handle petroleum and crude oil.”

The Nationalization Debate

“So what do you guys think about nationalizing oil?” someone asked. “Norway does it. Saudi Arabia. Mexico. Is it a good idea?”

“Are you asking a *socialist podcast* about nationalizing industries?”

“Well, yeah, but oil’s a special case.”

The debate heated up. One voice argued that oil nationalization props up car-dependent infrastructure, which is terrible for the planet. “If a country relies on oil as the predominant part of its economy, it’s essentially relying on cars, trucks, ships. That would decrease the world’s need for sustainable transit, which would negatively affect the country.”

Another countered: “Nationalization isn’t the same as socialization. If the state isn’t democratic, it’s just a power grab by an oligarchical elite. We’re seeing nationalization right now under the Trump regime, and we wouldn’t exactly call that socialization.”

“True. But if your choices are a national corporation or a *foreign* corporation leaching wealth out of your economy, I think it’s understandable why a country like Venezuela would choose nationalization.”

Someone brought up BP’s 2010 oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. “There’s a heavy risk of disastrous environmental consequences, nationalized or not.”

“Fair. But compare it to when Nasser nationalized the Suez Canal. That gave Egypt back one of the most dominant shipping routes in the world and tons of money.”

“Oil’s different, though.”

“Maybe.”

The group didn’t resolve it. But the conversation revealed something important: there are no easy answers when it comes to resource extraction, state power, and global capitalism. As one person put it, “A resource is only valuable if the economy—local, regional, or global—actually values and uses that resource. Which we do, currently.”

Chávez, Maduro, and the Bolivarian Revolution

The late 20th century in Venezuela was marked by the *Punto Fijo* pact—a power-sharing arrangement between two parties that, while nominally democratic, excluded leftist movements and funneled oil profits to a small elite. “It’s like an oligarchy,” someone explained. “Some guys come together and say, ‘Let’s make a political machine that can just keep staying in power.'”

Corruption, inequality, and austerity fueled discontent.

Enter Hugo Chávez.

A former army officer, Chávez led a failed coup in 1992, then was elected president in 1998 on a platform of anti-corruption and social justice. He nationalized key industries, expanded welfare programs, and rewrote the constitution. To his supporters, he was a champion of the poor. To his critics, an authoritarian who eroded democratic institutions.

In 2002, there was a coup attempt against Chávez. He survived, and in 2006, he took a more explicitly socialist turn. “The democratic Bolivarian movement was reaching its limits by not considering the class aspect,” one speaker explained. “The ability of capitalists to manipulate democracy with money.”

In 2010, Chávez declared an “economic war” against the country’s ruling elite. The economy tanked. Hyperinflation set in. People struggled to buy food. Sanctions intensified.

Chávez died in 2013. Nicolás Maduro took power.

Juan Guaido and 2019

In 2019, opposition leader Juan Guaidó disputed Maduro’s election victory and declared himself interim president. The U.S. and UK recognized him as Venezuela’s legitimate leader. Guaidó took control of Venezuelan embassies abroad.

“It’s not a perfect metaphor,” someone said, “but it’s kind of like Venezuela’s January 6th.”

The group acknowledged the complexity. “Elections are happening, but it’s pretty difficult to call them free and fair. There are political prisoners, allegations of torture, independent monitors getting expelled, armed groups controlling different parts of the country.”

“I’d yield that there definitely is anti-democratic activity in Venezuela, for sure,” one voice said carefully. “But the Bolivarian Revolution does have a profoundly democratic element. That’s kind of the key element to it. Venezuelan history has a profoundly democratic element. What you’re seeing now is the reaction to extreme neoliberalism in the ’50s, ’60s, ’70s that also had human rights violations and anti-democratic activity.”

Why Now? The Petrodollar and American Empire

“Let me ask you a question,” someone said. “Say you’re the owner of a Canadian oil company. Two years ago, you want to buy a million barrels of crude oil from Venezuela. What currency do you use?”

“U.S. dollars.”

“Why?”

“Petrodollar.”

Exactly.

In the mid-1970s, the U.S. struck a deal with Saudi Arabia: ensure all petroleum trade is done in U.S. dollars, and in exchange, we’ll send you weapons and uphold your rule. That agreement expired recently. Now there’s increasing talk of using a “basket of currencies,” including China’s renminbi.

“Which threatens American interests.”

“OPEC means that Venezuela’s economic policy and Saudi Arabia’s economic policy are deeply interrelated,” the speaker continued. “Both are petrostates. Their economies are beholden to the price of oil.”

What Should We Do?

“So we’re trying to oppose these endless oil wars,” someone said. “What should people be doing?”

The group got serious.

“These guys won’t be in charge forever. They’ve done such a bad job at empire that there’s increasing pushback—even from people you wouldn’t expect. Encourage groups that typically don’t have a spine, like the media, to start showing one. If your representative is right-wing, tell them to develop a spine.”

“Don’t sign up for the military. Don’t go there. Influence people on the verge of enlisting. Look at what’s happening and say, ‘Not a good career decision.'”

“You don’t get stuck in a quagmire on day one. You go there, and *then* it becomes a quagmire. We need to bring the quagmire-ness close enough to home that people can make the decision before they get over there.”

“There were huge protests all over the country for the Vietnam War. People got drafted, so their own butts were on the line. We need that kind of pushback. Get out in the streets. Like they said back then: ‘They say we’re disturbing the peace, but really we’re disturbing the war.'”

The Sound of Venezuela

“You guys wanted to hear the *cuatro venezolano*, right?”

“Yeah, we did.”

Silence settled over the room. Then, the first notes rang out.

The song was “Moliendo Café”—a sad breakup song about grinding coffee in the middle of the night. The melody was sweet, melancholy, unmistakably human.

“That was really pretty.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Venezuela’s a cowboy country, you know. This instrument’s associated with the *Llanos*—the plains. Cowboys.”

“I knew Argentina had cowboys, but Venezuela?”

“Absolutely.”

Final Thoughts

The conversation wound down, but the reflections lingered.

Venezuela is a beautiful country.

Its people have done nothing to deserve invasion by the U.S. empire. The empire just always wants more oil, more land.

The only way to stop that endless appetite is to stop the empire.

“The whole world’s a beautiful place,” someone said.

“Yeah. You could say that about anywhere.”

“And you could say that pretty fairly, too.”