In a lavish Caracas hotel, breakfast conversations revolve around Venezuela’s historical and future trajectory, punctuated by discussions on electoral strategies, political divisions, and oil-driven economic development. However, the participants of these discussions are not Venezuelan officials reflecting on the nation’s direction post-President Nicolás Maduro’s abduction; instead, they are North American diplomats, officials, and intelligence agents who have assumed significant influence in the region following Donald Trump’s controversial military action on January 3. Nearby, tables are filled with U.S. Marines, their muscular physiques adorned with tattoos, baseball caps shielding their heads, and walkie-talkies clipped to their belts.
“What’s the duration of your stay, sir?” a hotel receptionist inquires as a U.S. government guest checks in. “About 26 or 27 days,” he replies in a heavily accented Spanish. Since Trump’s decision to apprehend Maduro in January and reset relations with his successors, this upscale hotel has transformed into the hub of Washington’s initiatives aimed at managing a country that some now refer to as a U.S. protectorate, with Trump even expressing aspirations for it to become the 51st state.
Phil Gunson, a political analyst based in Caracas for Crisis Group, remarked, “This hotel is effectively serving as the U.S. embassy. I doubt anyone will be working at the actual embassy.” The embassy itself has been shuttered for seven years due to a breakdown in diplomatic ties since 2019, and Gunson noted that the building is currently overrun with pests and undergoing fumigation.
The dialogues overheard at the JW Marriott’s restaurant reveal significant insights into Venezuela’s struggles as it attempts to emerge from over a decade of economic turmoil and authoritarian governance under Maduro. One afternoon, an energy expert from North America participated in a conference call discussing the dire conditions of Venezuela’s electrical infrastructure, which has led to frequent blackouts, even in the capital. “The distribution is chaotic; that’s the primary issue… the wiring, the transformers, and the software are all problematic,” he stated, adding frustration about the ineffective involvement of Chinese contractors.
On another occasion, diplomats engaged in discussions about the possibility of new elections, which opposition leaders hope will be scheduled soon, while interim president and former vice-president Delcy Rodríguez appears unhurried to initiate the electoral process. Throughout the day, English-speaking officials and opportunists are seen traversing the 17-story hotel, which features nearly 300 rooms, a fitness center, and a pool adorned with palm trees. Outside, armored SUVs are poised to transport high-profile guests, including John Barrett, Trump’s leading diplomat for Venezuela. Not far away, a large propaganda poster of a smiling Maduro remains displayed on a government building near the stock exchange.
Within the hotel’s dining area, hallways, and meeting spaces, visitors strategize about what some locals describe as the “corporate takeover” of Venezuela, accompanied by the soothing sounds of Brazilian bossa nova. One particular tune, Tom Jobim’s “Triste,” serves as a cautionary tale for any outsiders presuming to dictate the future of the South American nation: “It’s sorrowful to acknowledge that no one can thrive on fantasies that are unattainable; the dreamer must awaken,” the song advises.
Across the street, the Juan Sebastian Bar, a nightclub featuring jazz and salsa, provides a venue for international visitors to unwind. If the JW Marriott, sometimes referred to as “the spooks hotel” by journalists, stands as the command center for the U.S. presence in Venezuela, significant financial transactions are taking place at another luxury hotel a few miles away. Since the ousting of Maduro, affluent international businesspeople have flocked to the Cayena, where room rates hover around $600 a night, betting on a prosperous economic future for Venezuela, regardless of whether Rodríguez remains in power and democracy does not materialize.
A deal-maker who frequents the Cayena noted encounters with at least four recognizable foreign billionaires, while suspecting others remained incognito. “They never exchange business cards or share their last names… what intrigues me is that they all inquire about the same topics: mining and privatization,” they shared.
The assertive U.S. approach has sparked unease, even among nationalistic members of Venezuela’s elite who welcomed Maduro’s removal but resent the notion of their country morphing into a U.S. colony. Following his endorsement of Rodríguez in January, Trump cautioned that she could face a fate worse than Maduro’s if she did not comply with U.S. expectations.
Public sentiment is also fraught with anger. During a Workers’ Day demonstration on May 1, socialist economist Oswaldo Pacheco confronted riot police while holding a white banner that criticized the government’s “neocolonial collaboration” with Trump. “It’s a total capitulation,” Pacheco, 53, lamented, accusing the new regime of adhering to U.S. directives “meticulously.” He asserted, “Clearly, these demands are not about establishing democracy but rather about looting our resources and exacerbating worker exploitation.”
Amidst the capitalists venturing to Caracas, optimism persists, even as uncertainties loom over the nation’s future and its democratic principles. At another upscale hotel, the Renaissance, a Venezuelan oil executive enthusiastically discussed the potential for the country to rebound in a post-Maduro era, proclaiming, “This is going to be the best country…”
