Washington — The recent U.S. action targeting Venezuela’s leadership has revived a long-running debate over whether American foreign policy is driven primarily by law enforcement concerns or by strategic and economic interests, particularly the country’s vast oil reserves.

U.S. officials have pointed to criminal indictments involving narcotics trafficking and weapons offenses as the legal justification for the operation against President Nicolás Maduro and members of his inner circle. Similar indictments were first issued during the Trump administration’s initial term and were expanded in subsequent years. Supporters of the action argue that the allegations reflect a sustained effort to combat transnational crime in the Western Hemisphere.

Yet critics question whether those charges alone explain the timing and scale of the intervention. Venezuela possesses the world’s largest proven oil reserves—estimated at more than 300 billion barrels—surpassing even Saudi Arabia. Nearly one-fifth of known global oil reserves are believed to lie within Venezuelan territory, primarily in the Orinoco Belt, a region rich in extra-heavy crude that requires advanced technology and significant investment to refine.

For decades, Venezuela’s oil industry has suffered from declining infrastructure, sanctions, and political instability. Production has fallen sharply from its peak in the late 1990s, limiting the country’s economic capacity while heightening international interest in its untapped potential. Analysts note that renewed access to Venezuelan oil could have major implications not only for global energy markets but also for geopolitical rivalries, particularly involving Russia, which holds significant stakes in Venezuelan energy assets.

Central to this discussion is Citgo Petroleum, a U.S.-based refining company once fully owned by Venezuela’s state oil firm, Petróleos de Venezuela (PDVSA). Nationalized under previous Venezuelan governments, Citgo has since become entangled in litigation and debt disputes, with courts authorizing the potential sale of its assets to satisfy creditors. Some observers argue that the struggle over Citgo illustrates how economic interests intersect with political pressure on Caracas.

The administration has denied that oil is the primary motivation behind its actions, emphasizing instead the need to enforce U.S. law and promote stability in the region. Nonetheless, the absence of a clearly articulated plan for Venezuela’s political transition has raised concern among policy experts. Key questions remain unanswered: Who will govern during an interim period? How and when will elections be organized? And what role, if any, will the United States play in shaping Venezuela’s post-Maduro future?

Opposition figures such as María Corina Machado, widely regarded as a leading democratic voice, remain in exile, and there has been no official announcement regarding the structure of a transitional government. Without a detailed roadmap, critics warn that regime change risks creating a power vacuum rather than a sustainable democratic outcome.

The debate also touches on broader historical lessons. Past U.S. interventions, from Iraq to Afghanistan, have demonstrated the difficulty of translating military or legal action into long-term political stability. Analysts argue that legitimacy cannot be imposed from outside and that durable governance must emerge from domestic consensus.

As celebrations and protests unfold within Venezuela’s diaspora communities, attention is shifting from the operation itself to what comes next. Whether the intervention ultimately advances accountability, energy security, or democratic reform—or instead deepens uncertainty—may depend less on the indictment that justified it than on the plans, or lack thereof, for the day after.