Caracas Chronicles

It’s Friday night in Choroní, the jewel of Venezuela’s Aragua coast. Music seeps from half-empty bars, drums pulse along El Malecón, and a handful of sunburned tourists in beachwear wander the narrow streets. Offshore, though, another story is unfolding. Just days earlier, the United States deployed warships to the Caribbean as part of President Donald Trump’s show of force against Latin American cartels. Washington singled out Venezuela’s own: the Tren de Aragua and the Cartel de los Soles, accused of moving cocaine north.

La Flaca, a local guide from nearby Cuyagua, explains that the slow night has a simple explanation: “It’s the moonless sky,” she says. Someone teases her: “Not the warships?” She laughs: “I wouldn’t know much about that, and honestly, nobody here really cares.”

Since then, the U.S. government has deployed more ships and planes to patrol the Caribbean, even launching a controversial airstrike against a Venezuelan vessel Trump claimed was carrying drugs. It was an unprecedented move that killed 11 people, but officials have yet to say who was on board, what drugs were allegedly being transported, or even how the strike was executed. The victims’ identities only became known when grieving families in Unare, Sucre, reported their loss.

In Caracas, few people seem genuinely concerned about the possibility of a military intervention in Venezuela. 

Curiosity is high, and the events unfolding in the Caribbean spark interest, but with scarce information, government disinformation, and limited access to reliable sources, most of what circulates is rumor.

“I’m aware of how little we actually know,” says Marcela, a photojournalist who has covered Venezuelan politics in the past, “and I don’t think the Marines will land in Venezuela. My family, though, is invested in the idea of ousting Maduro. Still, they’re not nervous or afraid about what that could mean. Their take is that anything would be better than Maduro. But Trump is absolutely unpredictable, and things are definitely changing. Who knows?”

Some still hold out hope for a military intervention that could oust Nicolás Maduro. “Every morning I wake up, certain his fall is getting closer. It feels like a countdown, and I don’t think he’ll make it past December,” says Marcos, a 58-year-old car mechanic from Catia. He follows several private Facebook groups and Telegram channels that share anti-Maduro content and, he insists, “they seem to have information about an imminent attack.”

When asked about Trump’s claim that the operation is aimed at drug trafficking rather than regime change, Marcos is dismissive: “A true leader never reveals his strategy—that’s the only way to win.” 

Marcos refuses to share the Facebook and Telegram groups he follows, adding: “What matters now is protecting ourselves from the real threat we live with every day: Maduro and his people.”

Marcos pauses as he recalls what he has endured since the stolen 2024 presidential elections: a relative was detained in Falcón, and from that moment, everything began to shift. “Everyone was terrified. Then we had to step in to support my cousin’s family, because his mother couldn’t work while caring for him in prison. Then the prices skyrocketed. Less money, more problems.”

In La Urbina, near Petare, supermarkets are reportedly running as usual. “We haven’t noticed people buying extra food or water as if something were to happen,” says Yara, a cashier at Supermercado Luz. “When tensions rise and people start stocking up, we usually add two extra staff per shift. We haven’t done that since the presidential elections.” She points out that, despite rumors of a possible military intervention, no one seems to be preparing: there’s no panic, no stockpiling. “It’s probably because of money,” she adds.

We’re dealing with two insane governments that don’t care about people. If something happens, it’ll be a problem for the future.

Since the 2024 presidential elections, the bolívar has plummeted and prices have skyrocketed, leaving a large part of the population, most still reeling from the humanitarian emergency, without access to necessities. In this context, panic buying would be unusual, even if the rumors were serious. But are there other ways people might be preparing?

Jesús, a human rights and community advocate, is traveling to Europe this week. “I don’t think it’s the best time to travel,” he admits. “If something were to happen, I wouldn’t be able to return and be with my family. But there’s really not much anyone can do. No one can prepare for this. We’re dealing with two insane governments that don’t care about people. If something happens, it’ll be a problem for the future. We seem to be saying that a lot lately, right? ‘If something were to happen.’ And then… nothing ever does.”

The Illusion of Firepower

While Venezuelans remain largely unimpressed by Trump’s offensive, many fail to grasp the full gravity of the airstrike on the vessel. Some see it as a justified effort to combat government-linked drug trafficking, while others point to the lack of evidence and others interpret it as an excuse to oust Maduro for his alleged involvement in Cartel de los Soles. Very few recognize it as an unprecedented action that could fundamentally alter U.S.-Venezuela relations. Contributing to this limited understanding are the widespread lack of transparency, disinformation, misinformation and propaganda surrounding the incident.

While Maduro claims he will mobilize the full force of the armed forces if the U.S. enters Venezuelan territory—a threat he said this week would involve around 12.7 million people—and launched operation Independence 200 on Thursday morning, he also insisted that the airstrike video shared by Trump on Truth Social was AI-generated. 

Cabello condemned the incident and accused Trinidad and Tobago’s Prime Minister Kamla Persad-Bissessar of bearing “great responsibility” for authorizing the action and warning the U.S. that the country is prepared for a prolonged war: “Our people must be prepared and alert, in every instance, on every front, in every way and form.”

In other words, Maduro’s government is simultaneously amplifying the war narrative while trying to downplay its reality.

Maduro also claims that militia registration was activated nationwide the day after the announcement of the U.S. deployment. On September 5, 2025, he presided over a ceremony at the Venezuelan Military Academy dressed in camouflage, announcing that 4.5 million people had registered, adding to the 8.2 million he claimed were previously enlisted. In reality, reports of long lines or widespread participation are nonexistent. As Rafael Uzcategui notes, “those numbers are inflated, and the MNB’s actual firepower remains unknown.”

Aura, a long-time chavista in her seventies living in Bellas Artes, explains that she firmly believes that the U.S government is interested in Venezuela’s oil: “If it came to it, I would fight for Venezuela. I think we’ve been preparing for an attack like this for a long time”. 

It is highly unlikely that Maduro has been able to mobilize such numbers, given that he commands the weakest popular support of his tenure. After losing the 2024 presidential election by four million votes, he refused to recognize the results and forced Venezuela’s elected president into exile. The following year saw a peak in human rights violations, including forced disappearances and political persecution. 

Maduro is deeply unpopular, a reality that becomes clear whenever Venezuelans discuss him: “No one will fight for him, everyone wants him out” says someone at a dinner party. 

Before 2024, the militia was not a conventional army. It operated as a massive civil-military structure, juggling military support, territorial control, political mobilization, and social programs. More a mechanism of internal power and propaganda than a force prepared for real combat, it reflected the regime’s priorities over strategic military effectiveness.

Special training for the militia began shortly after the announcement of the U.S. naval deployment. A close source, who wishes to remain anonymous, says they know people who are currently practicing shooting and survival skills for an upcoming war. “Their take is that the war is definitely happening,” the source adds.

Aura, a long-time chavista in her seventies living in Bellas Artes, explains that she firmly believes that the U.S government is interested in Venezuela’s oil: “If it came to it, I would fight for Venezuela. I think we’ve been preparing for an attack like this for a long time”. 

Outside the high-stakes political chessboard, ordinary Venezuelans carry on with daily life, weighed down by inflation, the threat of sudden arrests, and the slow tightening of a police state after the disputed election. On top of that, a swirl of disinformation and opacity from both governments leaves them navigating a world where fact and fiction blur, and anything is possible.

Take Beatriz, an older woman living in a family apartment in Los Palos Grandes, one of Caracas’s wealthiest neighborhoods, who asks for money on the street to buy medicine for her arthritis. When asked if she’s heard about or is worried by a possible military intervention, she laughs: “All of that is just a joke. It’s just like in the movies!”

Names were changed to protect the sources.