By: Ricardo Abud
Political history is replete with examples where the ambition for power becomes dangerously intertwined with the desire for revenge. This phenomenon, which transcends borders and eras, raises fundamental questions about the nature of leadership and the motivations that drive those who aspire to lead nations in crisis
When a political leader shows signs of desperation to attain power, doubts inevitably arise about the true nature of their intentions. Desperation, that state of urgency that clouds judgment and distorts priorities, can transform even the noblest causes into questionable endeavors. A leader who seeks power with such intensity that they are willing to make any concession, any alliance, perhaps reveals more about their own needs than about their commitment to the common good.
This urgency to govern takes on even more worrying dimensions when it is suspected that it is motivated, at least in part, by the desire to settle scores. Political revenge, that age-old temptation, represents one of the most corrosive poisons for any democratic project. When the yearning for redress is confused with the desire for retribution, when justice becomes a euphemism for revenge, the cycle of political violence perpetuates itself indefinitely.
María Corina Machado's political subservience to Donald Trump represents one of the most shameful episodes of opportunism in contemporary Latin American politics. The words of the Norwegian analysts, "pathetic" and "absolutely desperate," are not flippant judgments but precise diagnoses of a moral degradation that deserves to be examined without euphemism.
To watch a political figure fawn over foreign powers, beg for recognition, and prostitute their discourse to align themselves with whoever can offer them a path to power is to witness the death of political dignity. We are not talking about strategic diplomacy or the legitimate pursuit of alliances. We are talking about pure and simple sycophancy: the willingness to say, do, or promise whatever is necessary to curry favor with those in power.
When Machado grovels before Trump, a figure of dubious democratic reputation, convicted in court, accused of inciting insurrection, and implicated in pedophilia, she is not engaging in foreign policy. She is making a transaction: her dignity and the sovereignty of her eventual political project in exchange for a pat on the back and perhaps a supportive tweet.
Particularly revealing is the detail of how Trump received her: through the back door, as one receives someone undeserving of the dignity of the main entrance. The symbolism is devastating. Even in her moment of "triumph," when she presented him with the plaque and medal she had won in Oslo, Machado had to accept the affront of the service entrance.
And why did Trump agree to receive it? The answer is cynically simple: because he knew he would obtain symbolic accolades that feed his insatiable ego at no cost. A plaque, a medal, trinkets for a photo op that don't commit him to anything substantial. Trump collects these vanity trophies like someone who accumulates entries in children's tournaments.
But here's the real masterstroke of cynicism: "Machado kept the $10 million prize." She's no fool. She handed Trump the symbolic trinkets, the shiny plaque, the medal for his narcissistic display case, while she pocketed the hard cash. It's the perfect deal for both of them: Trump gets ego fuel and propaganda material, Machado gets the photo op with the powerful man and, incidentally, $10 million.
This transaction perfectly encapsulates the nature of Machado's calculated opportunism. She accepts the humiliation of being snubbed, stoops to servile spectacle, and hands over the empty symbols that Trump so values, but she secures the financial spoils. It is pragmatism without principles: shrewd enough not to give away the money, desperate enough to accept any degradation in order to gain the validation of the powerful.
What is truly perverse is how Machado cloaks this personal obsession with power in the language of democracy and freedom. Every servile gesture is sold as a "fight for Venezuela." Every concession to foreign interests is disguised as an "international strategy." Every act of subservience is marketed as "courage."
This perversion of political language is not accidental. It is calculated. It allows unbridled ambition to be presented as heroic sacrifice, opportunism to be disguised as pragmatism, and desperation for power to be sold as passion for the cause.
What Norwegian analysts correctly identify is a pattern: Machado doesn't build autonomous power, he begs for it. He doesn't generate legitimacy from solid social bases, he imports it from external validations. He doesn't articulate a sustainable political project, he manufactures media spectacles.
This pattern reveals something fundamental: "the absence of real political substance." Those who have genuine popular support, who have built a true social movement, who possess a solid political project, do not need to grovel before controversial foreign figures begging for crumbs of recognition.
The desperation the Norwegians observe is not circumstantial; it is structural. It is the symptom of someone who knows their political capital is fragile, their domestic support is insufficient, and that without international crutches their project will crumble. They conclude they have made a mistake.
What kind of ruler would someone be who comes to power through servility, external dependence, and personal obsession? The answer is obvious: someone who would govern in exactly the same way they came to power.
Revenge would be inevitable. Not out of ideological conviction, but out of psychological necessity. Those who have had to humiliate themselves, grovel, beg, and wait desperately for years accumulate a resentment that will eventually explode. And when it explodes, they will not distinguish between guilty and innocent, between justice and retribution, between transformation and destruction. Their hatred for Venezuela and its people is absolut
Latin American history has been cyclically marked by figures who rise to power under the promise of democratization, but who, driven by resentment and personal obsessions, end up simply reversing the polarity of authoritarianism. Machado fits this pattern, exhibiting extreme personalism where everything revolves around her figure instead of strengthening institutions or collective movements. This tendency is complemented by a constant dependence on external saviors, from the Bush administration to the Trump administration, and a messianic discourse that positions her as the only possible savior for Venezuela. Furthermore, her stance is characterized by a complete lack of self-criticism and a marked intolerance of questioning, where any criticism of her strategy is immediately labeled as a betrayal of the cause.
There is something deeply degrading about watching someone so transparently willing to do anything for power. Machado's sycophancy toward Trump is not an isolated incident; it is the culmination of years of political strategy based on identifying who holds power and subservient to it completely.
This moral flexibility, or more precisely, this absence of moral red lines, is incompatible with genuine democratic leadership. Those who flatter Trump today will flatter whomever is necessary tomorrow. Those who promise democracy today will sacrifice it tomorrow if it hinders their hold on power.
Equally responsible are those who, knowing all this, continue to validate and legitimize this farce: the media outlets that portray her as a heroine, the politicians who offer her platforms without critical questioning, and the analysts who treat her personal obsession as if it were a serious political project.
This complicity transforms individual perversion into a systemic political phenomenon. It normalizes servility, legitimizes opportunism, and paves the way for an authoritarian government that, should she ever come to power, will already have the infrastructure of justification in place. She will never come to power.
If María Corina Machado were genuinely committed to Venezuelan democracy and not to her personal ambition for power, wouldn't she have stepped aside long ago to allow for less polarizing, less dependent, less self-serving leadership?
Wouldn't he have built solid opposition institutions instead of personality cults? Wouldn't he have developed diverse political cadres instead of demanding unconditional loyalty to himself? Wouldn't he have articulated collective projects instead of campaigns focused on his personal martyrdom?
The fact that none of these things have happened answers the question about their true priorities.The Norwegian analysts are right: it's pathetic. It's desperate. And it's deeply dangerous. Venezuela does not need messianic figures obsessed with power and willing to do anything to obtain it.
What it needs are leaders with enough dignity not to grovel before anyone, with a political project solid enough not to depend on external saviors, with enough humility to build collectively instead of monopolizing the spotlight, and with enough integrity to put principles above personal ambition.
María Corina Machado has consistently demonstrated that she possesses none of these qualities. Her desperation for power, visible even to distant European observers, is not the behavior of a stateswoman but of an aspiring leader willing to engage in any servility, even selling her soul to the devil, to achieve her goal.
And that, indeed, is pathetic.
THERE IS NOTHING MORE EXCLUSIONARY THAN BEING POOR.
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