By: Ricardo Abud.
For years, part of the political and media discourse outside of Venezuela has revolved around the promise or threat of an alleged foreign military intervention that would be "about to begin" in a matter of hours, days, or weekends.
This narrative, repeated ad nauseam, has become a mechanism that fuels the hope of some, the terror of others, and the confusion of almost everyone. Its persistence, despite the complete lack of evidence, reveals much about the emotional fragility of a country subjected to prolonged crises and about the irresponsibility with which certain actors manipulate expectations to accumulate political or media relevance.
In Venezuela's deeply polarized communications ecosystem, rumors wield a power that surpasses verified information. When diaspora figures, politicians, influencers, or commentators spread messages claiming that a military intervention will begin "tomorrow" or "this weekend," they activate an emotional machinery whose main consequence is constant anxiety for those of us still living in the country. The repetition of this message not only erodes the audience's critical thinking skills but also instills the notion that the extraordinary is always on the verge of happening. Those who live in Venezuela, subjected to the daily pressures of economic decline, job insecurity, and collapsed services, receive these narratives with a mixture of disbelief and anxiety. Although most know that such claims are baseless, the daily insistence creates an internal noise that affects emotional stability. The mind becomes accustomed to expecting the unexpected, to living on high alert, to postponing decisions, or to suppressing emotions for fear that what has been predicted will actually come to pass. This psychological strain constitutes a form of symbolic violence that deepens collective exhaustion.
An intervention would face particularly complex conditions: dense urban geography, significant military institutions, the risk of protracted civil war, and the possibility of territorial fragmentation. The cost in civilian lives would be catastrophic, with no guarantee of political success. However, some spokespeople downplay these risks or consider them "necessary sacrifices," revealing a worrying dehumanization: it is easy to advocate for war when one will not face its direct consequences, when the mangled bodies will be others, when the destroyed homes will belong to distant families.
A central element in this dynamic is the role of digital platforms and algorithms (technofeudalism), which manage content visibility. On social media, the most sensationalist, alarmist, or emotionally intense messages are rewarded by recommendation systems, which disseminate them massively because they generate more interaction than sober or verified posts. This creates echo chambers where predictions of invasion are endlessly repeated, amplified by users who share content without verifying it and by platforms whose algorithms prioritize what elicits strong reactions. Thus, rumors acquire the appearance of trends, fiction disguises itself as imminence, and the narrative of "tomorrow" becomes a self-generated phenomenon, fueled by the very logic of networks that prioritize emotional impact over truth.
There is also a sector of the opposition, albeit a minority, that, faced with the frustration accumulated from years of political stagnation, has placed its hopes in the arrival of a foreign military force to depose the Venezuelan government. For these people, each weekend without an invasion represents a new cycle of disappointment. The narrative of intervention becomes a kind of military messianism: the belief that the solution will come from outside, implemented by actors who would assume the risks that the citizenry or local leadership are not in a position to face. The paradox is that many of those who yearn for this solution are fully aware of the devastating human cost that a military operation on Venezuelan soil would entail. Every intervention implies civilian casualties, mass displacement, destruction of infrastructure, and social wounds that can last for decades. The contradiction between desiring intervention and fearing its consequences creates an emotional terrain eroded by frustration, where the discourse of “tomorrow” functions as temporary relief, almost as a compensatory fantasy in the face of political impotence.
War narratives play a specific role in contexts of instability: they channel overwhelming emotions, offer simplified explanations for complex realities, and allow for the identification of visible or imagined enemies. Those who promote them gain immediate attention, followers, engagement, and sometimes political capital. But those who consume them become trapped in an emotional loop that exhausts patience, diminishes hope, and distorts the ability to imagine viable solutions. From an ethical perspective, reproducing messages that suggest imminent wars without evidence is a profoundly irresponsible act. In times of crisis, words can be tools of cohesion or destruction. When used to stir up unrealistic expectations, they fuel collective fears that have a real impact on mental health and social stability. Furthermore, the discourse of intervention perpetuates a dangerous idea: that Venezuelans cannot resolve their conflicts on their own and must wait for the arrival of an external agent to restore order.
Despite its obvious impracticality, the expectation of military intervention persists. This doesn't demonstrate its possibility, but rather the depth of the collective trauma. The promise of abrupt, external change acts as an emotional release valve for those who feel trapped in a dead-end scenario. Furthermore, sensationalist content gains more traction than responsible analysis. This narrative is also fueled by the leadership vacuum, where the lack of clear strategies leaves room for extreme rhetoric that offers fictitious certainties. Its persistence demonstrates the extent to which desperation can transform the improbable into the desirable, and the impossible into an everyday occurrence.
Building a healthier communication space involves fostering media literacy to strengthen citizens' critical thinking skills; promoting content focused on internal solutions that reinforce the notion of collective agency; encouraging communication ethics among those who influence public opinion, reminding them that their words have real repercussions; strengthening pluralistic dialogue that allows for building consensus without resorting to fanciful mechanisms; and openly acknowledging the emotional pain accumulated over years of crisis, without exploiting it as fuel for confrontational narratives.
The narrative of “the invasion will happen tomorrow” is more than a repeated lie: it reflects an emotionally wounded country and a media ecosystem where sensationalism outweighs responsibility. Its effect is corrosive because it keeps society in a state of constant alert, fuels recurring disappointment, and normalizes the idea of war as a political solution. Overcoming this cycle requires sober, humane, and peace-oriented communication; communication that doesn't exploit vulnerability but rather contributes to healing. The path to genuine solutions begins when we stop waiting for a savior invasion and recognize that lasting and legitimate transformation will spring from within, not from without.
THERE IS NOTHING MORE EXCLUSIONARY THAN BEING POOR
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