That should never have happened but it happened. Things are much better now.
After more than seven years of severed ties, an American Airlines flight from Miami touched down in Caracas on Thursday — not merely as a resumption of air travel, but as the visible symbol of a geopolitical inversion made possible by a US military operation that removed Nicolás Maduro from power four months prior. With Delcy Rodríguez now governing Venezuela under Washington's patronage, and major oil and mining concessions already exchanged, the two nations have moved from mutual hostility to a relationship whose nature — liberation or extraction, partnership or dependency — remains genuinely unresolved. History has a way of dressing its most ambiguous moments in the language of celebration.
- A US military operation four months ago seized a sitting head of state and installed a Washington-backed successor, creating one of the most dramatic geopolitical reversals in recent hemispheric history.
- The arrival of Flight 3599 was staged as ceremony — model planes, saxophonists playing Sinatra, officials invoking 'historic milestones' — but the festive surface barely concealed deep uncertainty about what this new order actually represents.
- Venezuela has already surrendered major oil and mining concessions as the price of American backing, leading a veteran US diplomat to describe the arrangement as a 'viceroyship' rather than a partnership.
- The promised democratic transition shows no signs of materializing: the interior minister declared on the eve of the flight that 'it's not time for elections,' and Rodríguez's government has expressed no urgency about holding them.
- Millions of Venezuelans who fled economic collapse and repression now watch from abroad as their country reopens — uncertain whether this new chapter will serve their return or simply reorganize who holds power over them.
An American Airlines jet landed at Simón Bolívar International Airport in Caracas on Thursday — the first direct commercial flight between the United States and Venezuela in over seven years. Officials marked the moment with ceremony: a model plane was presented to Venezuela's transport minister, and the US chargé d'affaires called it a "historic milestone," speaking of economic reconstruction and the reconnection of peoples. What made it possible was a US military operation four months earlier, in which special forces captured President Nicolás Maduro on Donald Trump's orders.
The reversal was almost surreal in its completeness. Trump's first term had brought sanctions and the collapse of commercial ties; the last American airline flight had left Caracas in March 2019 as Venezuela descended into one of the world's worst economic crises outside active war. Millions fled. The airport itself became a symbol of authoritarian control — a place where journalists and activists faced interrogation and deportation.
Now, with Maduro's vice-president Delcy Rodríguez governing under Washington's blessing, the relationship had inverted entirely. Trump had praised her cooperation and warned that resistance would bring consequences worse than those Maduro faced. Venezuela had already made sweeping concessions over its oil and mining industries. John Feeley, a veteran US diplomat, described the arrangement bluntly as a "viceroyship" — a powerful outside force extracting resources while ensuring its own interests were served.
At the airport, a saxophonist played Frank Sinatra and the Eagles. Travelers spoke of hope. Eloy Montenegro, a 71-year-old engineer heading to Miami, reflected quietly: "That should never have happened but it happened. And things are much better now." Yet the third phase of Trump's stated plan — a genuine democratic transition — remained conspicuously absent. The interior minister had said the day before that "it's not time for elections," and Rodríguez's government showed no urgency to change that.
Feeley, who had resigned from the foreign service during Trump's first term, allowed that the intervention might eventually benefit ordinary Venezuelans after years of suffering — but he was not optimistic. "If Donald Trump is an autocratic-style president internally," he asked, "what leads one to conclude he would be promoting democracy in another country?" The flight had landed. The question of what it truly carried with it remained open.
An American Airlines jet touched down at Simón Bolívar international airport in Caracas on Thursday afternoon, and with it came something that had not happened in more than seven years: a direct commercial flight between the United States and Venezuela. The arrival of Flight 3599 from Miami was treated as a ceremonial moment. José Freig, the airline's vice-president of international operations, presented Venezuela's transport minister, Jacqueline Faría, with a model plane. John Barrett, the US chargé d'affaires, stood before assembled journalists and called it a "historic milestone." The language was careful and grand—reconstruction of economic ties, reopening to global commerce, reconnection of peoples. What made the moment possible was a military operation that had unfolded four months earlier, when US special forces helicopters and planes swept over Venezuela's capital on Donald Trump's orders to capture the country's president, Nicolás Maduro.
The diplomatic reversal was stark enough to seem almost fictional. For years, the United States and Venezuela had been locked in a relationship of mutual hostility. Trump's first term had brought sanctions, threats, and a collapse of commercial ties. The last American airline flight had departed Caracas in March 2019 as relations deteriorated. Other carriers had already stopped flying there as Venezuela descended into one of the world's worst economic collapses outside an active war zone. Millions of Venezuelans had fled the country seeking survival. The airport itself had become a symbol of that crisis—a place where foreign journalists and Venezuelan activists faced deportation and interrogation, where the machinery of an increasingly authoritarian state was visible to anyone trying to enter or leave.
Now, with Maduro gone and his vice-president, Delcy Rodríguez, in power with Washington's blessing, the relationship had inverted. Trump had praised Rodríguez's actions and warned her that refusal to cooperate would bring consequences worse than those Maduro faced. Under her administration, Venezuela had made major economic concessions involving its oil and mining industries. The new arrangement was so unusual that John Feeley, a veteran US diplomat who had served as ambassador to Panama, described it as a "viceroyship"—a powerful figure extracting resources from overseas territories while ensuring that Washington received its due.
On the day the flight arrived, the mood at the airport was celebratory. A Venezuelan saxophonist played Frank Sinatra and the Eagles. Oliver Blanco, a senior Venezuelan diplomat, spoke of writing a new chapter in coexistence and economic opening. Félix Plasencia, Venezuela's top diplomat in the US, said he was thrilled and hoped this would be the first of many flights. Eloy Montenegro, a 71-year-old civil engineer preparing to fly to Miami, reflected on the years of broken relations. "That should never have happened but it happened," he said. "And things are much better now."
Yet beneath the ceremonial language and the optimism of travelers lay a more complicated reality. The third phase of Trump's stated plan for Venezuela—a political transition back toward democracy—remained uncertain. Rodríguez's administration showed no urgency about holding elections. Diosdado Cabello, the powerful interior minister, had said on the eve of the flight's arrival that "it's not time for elections." Skeptics questioned whether democracy would ever materialize under the new arrangement, or whether the US intervention would simply replace one form of authoritarian control with another.
Feeley, who had resigned from the foreign service during Trump's first term, acknowledged the possibility that the military intervention could eventually benefit Venezuelans after years of economic chaos and isolation. But he was pessimistic. "If Donald Trump is an autocratic-style president internally in the United States, what leads one to conclude he would be promoting democracy in another country?" he asked. The question hung over the runway as passengers boarded, as the model plane was presented, as officials spoke of historic milestones and new eras. The flight had landed. What came next remained unclear.
Citações Notáveis
We are witnessing the reconstruction of our economic ties, Venezuela's reopening to global commerce and the reconnecting of our peoples.— John Barrett, US chargé d'affaires in Venezuela
If Donald Trump is an autocratic-style president internally in the United States, what leads one to conclude he would be promoting democracy in another country?— John Feeley, former US diplomat and ambassador to Panama
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
So this is being celebrated as a diplomatic breakthrough, but it came about through a military operation. How do you square that circle?
You don't, really. The US captured the sitting president of another country four months ago. That's not diplomacy—that's military intervention. What's happening now is the aftermath, the attempt to normalize what was done and extract value from it. The celebration is real, but it's built on an unconventional foundation.
And Delcy Rodríguez—she's essentially running the country now with Trump's approval. Is she a puppet, or is there actual autonomy there?
The language people use matters. Feeley called it a viceroyship, which suggests she's managing things on behalf of Washington rather than governing independently. Trump has publicly warned her about the consequences of not cooperating. That's not the language of equal partnership. She has power, but it's power that exists within boundaries set by someone else.
The article mentions millions of Venezuelans fled during Maduro's rule. Does this new arrangement actually help them?
That's the unanswered question. Some might be able to travel more easily now—like that engineer flying to Miami. But the people who left because the economy collapsed or because they faced political repression—this doesn't necessarily bring them home or restore what was lost. It might stabilize things, but stabilization under a different form of control isn't the same as restoration.
What about the democracy piece? The article suggests that's not happening.
The interior minister literally said it's not time for elections. There's no indication Rodríguez plans to hold them or step down. So when US officials talk about a democratic transition, they're describing a plan that the people actually in power don't seem committed to executing. That gap between the rhetoric and the reality is the real story.
Do you think this could actually work out well for Venezuela in the end?
Feeley said he wants to believe it could, but he's pessimistic. And his reasoning is sound—the track record doesn't support optimism. What we're watching is an experiment in whether military intervention and economic control can somehow produce democratic outcomes. History suggests otherwise.