By: Ricardo Abud
A woman in Caracas sits at her kitchen table before dawn. In a worn notebook, she jots down sums and subtractions: the price of a kilo of flour, bus fare, the cost of medicine that rises every week. A few kilometers away, in the offices of Washington and the corporate towers of Houston, discussions rage on about 65 billion barrels of oil, discount rates, mature fields, and deposit funds in the U.S. Treasury.
That distance between the kitchen table and the negotiating table defines the great national dilemma. Having the resource underground does not mean that its fruit will feed those who walk upon it.The debate over Venezuelan oil has devolved into a battle of words: Washington speaks of control, while Caracas responds that Venezuela retains its sovereignty. At first glance, these seem like contradictory statements, but they may both be true. The real issue lies in asking the right questions: who controls the oil, who controls the money it generates, and who truly benefits from it? For months, one undeniable truth has been repeated: the oil still belongs to Venezuela. Legally, the nation's ownership of its oil reserves remains enshrined in the Constitution. However, economic history is replete with examples of legal owners who ultimately became mere bystanders in their own businesses.
A country doesn't live off having oil underground, but rather off what it earns after extracting, selling, and collecting payment. The White House decree introduced a key mechanism: Venezuelan natural resource revenues are deposited into special accounts at the U.S. Treasury ( Foreign Government Deposit Funds ). Although it's argued that this protects them from creditors, the money generated enters a financial circuit whose rules are dictated by Washington. When infrastructure is destroyed, the urgent need for production forces countries to enter into alliances where foreign capital not only provides the technology but also defines the commercial terms, dictates marketing, and manages financial flows across distant borders.
This completely changes the nature of the problem. Sovereignty is not simply about planting a flag over an oil field. It involves deciding what is produced, who produces it, how much is sold, at what price, what the costs are, what the state receives, and what the final destination of the revenue is. It is not enough to retain formal ownership of a well if the levers that determine the fate of dividends, reinvestments, and operating timelines are pulled from abroad.
That's why simply saying "the oil is still Venezuelan" is insufficient. Of course, it can remain so on paper. The uncomfortable question is how much power Venezuela retains to decide on this resource and how much economic value it manages to capture from it. The recent agreement on seventeen oil fields introduces a dynamic that goes far beyond a simple sale of crude. If the extraction conditions grant extraordinary advantages to North American buyers—by linking prices to marginal cost or guaranteeing preferential supply—the risk is clear: that the crude will serve to safeguard the energy security of the industrialized North while the local productive sector receives only accounting crumbs.
Herein lies the most delicate issue: the price at which the US obtains the oil and the formula for distributing the benefits. If the crude reaches the US under highly favorable conditions, this would not be a simple commercial transaction, but rather a scenario where Venezuela uses its resources to lower the energy costs of a major power while its own population awaits the benefits. That would be the most brutal paradox. A country with enormous reserves could contribute to the energy security and well-being of a wealthy nation while its people face meager wages and deteriorating services. The question ceases to be whether the US "took over" the country; it becomes much more concrete: Is Venezuela receiving fair compensation for allowing others to control the value chain? Even retaining ownership of the subsoil, it could end up with a minuscule portion of the wealth generated.
Added to this are the timeframes involved. While Caracas casually speaks of twenty-five years, reports indicate rights of up to a century for certain strategic assets. A quarter of a century is the time it takes for an entire generation to grow up without opportunities; a century means mortgaging the economic future of great-grandchildren who haven't even been born yet. Yet, the contracts remain shrouded in secrecy. The public witnesses a clash of ideological slogans while being denied the basic right to review the fundamental figures: extraction costs, effective royalties, profit margins, tax rates, sales prices, and operating expenses. Without transparency, any official or foreign conclusion is premature.
The most dangerous trap is believing that an increase in the volume of exported barrels automatically equates to an improvement in the quality of life. A nation can double its daily crude oil production while its hospitals remain under-resourced, its schools crumble, and wages barely cover basic needs. Oil revenue that is poorly distributed or siphoned off by a cost structure disproportionately favoring foreign partners does not generate development; it creates enclaves of modernity surrounded by widespread poverty.
No sensible Venezuelan opposes the arrival of international investment and technology. The national oil industry has been reduced to rubble and needs global partners to get back on its feet. But there is a very clear line between cooperation and subservience. Partners are those who contribute capital and share risks under transparent rules; guardians are those who impose monopolistic conditions, taking advantage of the temporary weakness of a country desperately in need of cash.
The woman who today reviews her accounts in the kitchen doesn't understand presidential decrees or semantic debates about whether control is political or commercial. Her barometer of sovereignty is direct and painful: it's measured by the ability to buy what's necessary to live with dignity, by the stability of the electricity supply, and by access to healthcare.
That's why the central discussion shouldn't focus on shouting who nominally owns the subsoil. The real test is determining who holds the true value of the business. Sovereignty can survive intact on paper while economic dependence takes hold relentlessly in reality. Venezuela can retain ownership of its reserves and completely lose its decision-making power. If, at the end of the day, the wealth generated serves to subsidize the consumption and well-being of citizens in another country while the local population remains trapped in precariousness, we won't be facing a legal dispute, but an economic and moral tragedy where a rich country ended up subsidizing the well-being of a more powerful one. At the end of every barrel, there's a question no flag answers: Whose life does that oil actually improve?
THERE IS NOTHING MORE EXCLUSIONARY THAN BEING POOR.
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