Op-Ed published in The New Context, The New School
Hands off my Oil
This weekend, David Sanger and Tyler Pager examined the Venezuelan conflict for the New York Times, arguing that Donald Trump’s actions — removing a foreign leader and threatening further intervention — are pushing the United States into a “new era of risks.” They place these actions within a broader effort to reclaim oil rights Trump has called “stolen,” signaling what seems to be a new phase in American nation-building.
They are not mistaken. Military intervention on this scale is not just about security; it’s about restoring an economic order, often at the expense of weaker states. The idea that Venezuela “took our oil” only makes sense if access is equated with ownership—a concept rooted in the Washington Consensus and years of U.S. neoliberal policies. Trump isn't making a legal argument here; he's promoting an imperial-economic view wrapped in nationalist rhetoric.
The Washington Consensus refers to a set of economic policies promoted in the late 1980s by Washington-based institutions such as the U.S. Treasury, the IMF, and the World Bank. These policies focused on fiscal discipline, privatization, deregulation, and opening domestic markets to foreign investment. During the 1990s, many Latin American countries — including Venezuela under Carlos Andrés Pérez — adopted these reforms, reducing state control over key sectors. Over time, however, they faced widespread criticism for increasing inequality and weakening national autonomy, leading to political backlash and the rise of anti-neoliberal movements like Hugo Chávez’s Bolivarian Revolution, which Nicolás Maduro later inherited. Trump’s claim that Venezuela “took our oil” is based on three assumptions that influence his administration’s foreign policy: entitlement to foreign market access, confusing corporate loss with national loss, and the persistent logic of the Monroe Doctrine.
First, under the Washington Consensus, U.S. access to Venezuela’s energy sector —through companies like Exxon and Chevron — was considered legitimate and protected, with guarantees of profit repatriation and minimal government interference. When Venezuela re-nationalized its oil industry under Chávez and Maduro, that action was legal under international law but was viewed as illegitimate within neoliberal ideology. Trump’s grievance reflects Venezuela’s rejection of an imposed economic order, not the theft of American property.
Second, U.S. foreign policy often mixes corporate losses with national harm. Venezuela’s oil has always belonged to Venezuela under international law, yet limited access for U.S. companies has almost always been framed as damage to “America” itself. This confusion helps justify sanctions and the need for regime change as part of a needed “recovery” process in Venezuela. In this view, the interests of multinational corporations are treated as equivalent to those of the American people.
And third, the logic of the Monroe Doctrine has never entirely disappeared from the country’s leadership conscience. Latin America is still seen as a controlled zone, where sovereignty is allowed only when it aligns with U.S. interests. When Venezuela claims control over its resources and political independence, those actions are portrayed as hostile and illegitimate. Sovereignty, in this perspective, is conditional.
These assumptions reveal a fundamental contradiction. Either Venezuela owns its natural resources, or the United States claims de facto control through economic and political influence. Trump’s rhetoric highlights this contradiction: if Venezuela can “steal” oil located within its own territory, then its sovereignty was never fully acknowledged to begin with.
When Trump says Venezuela “took our oil,” he is not discussing law; he is asserting dominance. What was previously lost was not American property, but American dominance. From this perspective, independence is tolerated only when it aligns with Washington’s economic interests. That logic helps explain not only the language used about Venezuela but also the willingness to enforce it through coercion and force.
This is why Trump’s property claim is so crucial. It matters more now than ever because when access is seen as a right, opposition can turn hostile, and enforcement can seem justified. This shift is more than just rhetoric; it sets a precedent that views national intervention as a normal political act, redefining sovereignty by lowering the barriers that prevent free states from entering future conflicts.
By laying this logic bare, Trump may have revealed more than he intended: not that Venezuela took “our oil,” but that the rules surrounding sovereignty and economic independence were never as neutral as they appeared.