*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM
One evening, after finishing her reading, my daughter Juliana Rizalhea looked up from her book and asked me a question that lingered long after the conversation ended. She had just finished The Art of War, and with the honesty that only a child can bring to serious ideas, she asked, “Doc Dad, does winning always mean fighting?”
I paused—not because I lacked an answer, but because the truth behind the question was heavier than it first appeared. I told her that sometimes the most decisive victories happen without a single shot fired, without a battlefield, without even an announcement that a war has begun. Some wars are won through patience, timing, and the quiet exhaustion of the other side. That thought stayed with me, and it led my reflections inevitably to Venezuela—and further still, to how China and the United States have shaped the fate of weaker states in ways we seldom stop to analyze deeply.
Venezuela did not collapse overnight. It unraveled slowly—worn down by years of corruption, economic mismanagement, and the steady erosion of institutions meant to protect its people. When sanctions tightened and international patience ran out, the government under Nicolás Maduro stopped thinking in terms of reform and began thinking only in terms of survival. I imagine that moment clearly—the doors closing one by one, allies growing distant, choices narrowing until even sovereignty itself became negotiable.
The turning point came not just in diplomatic isolation but in a transformation of the conflict into something the United States regarded as criminal. Washington did not only impose sanctions and demand democracy; it charged Maduro and key figures in his government with narco-terrorism, conspiracies to import cocaine, and related drug trafficking offenses—accusations so grave that U.S. authorities concluded this was no longer a political dispute but a criminal enterprise with transnational impact. This indictment, originating from U.S. federal law enforcement and tied to alleged operations of state institutions facilitating cocaine trafficking into U.S. markets, reframed Maduro from a regime leader into a fugitive from international law.
In early January 2026, that redefinition manifested in a dramatic and controversial action. In an operation officially called Operation Absolute Resolve, the United States launched precision strikes and deployed special operations forces into Caracas, engaging defenses and ultimately capturing Maduro and his wife, Cilia Flores, at a residence in the Venezuelan capital. Both were flown out of Venezuela and brought to New York to face the U.S. criminal charges in federal court, where they pleaded not guilty.
This event marked an unprecedented moment—a sitting head of state seized by U.S. forces and transferred to face domestic charges in a foreign legal system. The justification offered by Washington was that Maduro’s alleged conduct placed him outside the protective canopy of sovereign immunity, framing the operation as law enforcement backed by military force rather than outright war. Yet this nuance was lost on many: international actors condemned the action as a violation of sovereignty and international law, while others saw it as an extreme assertion of extraterritorial power.
The consequences were immediate and profound. Venezuelan acting President Delcy Rodríguez denounced the seizure as a kidnapping and declared a period of national mourning for the soldiers killed during the operation. Regional tensions spiked as neighboring countries and allies of Venezuela condemned what they saw as a U.S. assault on a sovereign nation.
While the United States pursued justice through indictments and direct action, the Venezuelan people were left to grapple with chaos and uncertainty. The regime recessed into defensive nationalism. The economy, already shattered, braced for further instability. And in that tightening grip, China found an opening.
China did not arrive in Venezuela with lectures about democratic reform. It arrived with loans when others refused to lend, with markets when doors were closed, and with diplomatic cover when condemnation grew loud. In practical terms, Beijing’s posture was often framed as pragmatic engagement, unfettered by political conditionality. But that very pragmatism translated into leverage: long-term contracts, prioritized resource access, and influence over decisions that once belonged exclusively to Venezuelans. No invasion. No occupation. Yet influence grew.
Venezuela’s oil—once a symbol of its potential—became the instrument of its confinement. Loans were repaid not with money, but with barrels of crude. As production declined and infrastructure decayed, the debt remained. Control shifted quietly. China did not need to conquer Venezuela; it simply waited until Venezuela had nowhere else to turn.
What makes this story particularly unsettling is geography. Venezuela lies in a region once considered part of America’s strategic backyard. As the United States relied on sanctions and distance, China relied on presence and patience. One power spoke loudly about values; the other spoke softly about interests. And in moments of desperation, interests proved more persuasive than ideals.
China’s language of non-interference amplified this effect. Against the backdrop of U.S. condemnation, Beijing appeared calm, pragmatic, and respectful. But silence is never neutral. When no questions are asked, it is often because the answers no longer matter. Sovereignty, once traded for survival, becomes painfully difficult to reclaim.
Venezuela’s tragedy feels less like an anomaly and more like a warning written in advance. When my thoughts turn homeward to the Philippines, they do so with unease—not out of fear of invasion, but out of recognition.
The flood control scandal here—where billions meant to protect communities vanish into substandard projects, ghost infrastructure, and recycled contracts—is not just a governance failure. It is a quiet national security risk. Every collapsed embankment, every flooded barangay, every evacuation center filled after a predictable storm reminds us that corruption is not abstract. It is vulnerability made official.
Rampant corruption does more than steal public funds. It narrows a nation’s choices. When infrastructure fails, foreign loans begin to look like rescues rather than risks. When accountability disappears, long-term consequences are ignored in favor of short-term survival. This is how sovereignty thins—not through invasion, but through necessity.
Venezuela teaches us a hard truth: corruption does not merely impoverish a nation; it prepares it for capture in the geopolitical sense. China understood how to benefit from that reality. The United States underestimated how costly absence could be. Venezuela paid the price.
The lesson for the Philippines is not about choosing China or choosing the United States. Great powers will always act in their own interests. The real danger lies in what happens when a nation weakens itself from within—when corruption becomes normalized, when institutions erode, and when survival politics replaces reform. At that point, foreign influence becomes inevitable, regardless of whose flag it carries.
Maduro’s capture and the U.S. military action in Venezuela illustrate that geopolitics today is not just about ideology, sanctions, or alliances. It is about how power is exercised when legality, strategy, and force intersect. When my daughter asked whether winning always means fighting, she unknowingly asked a question about the world we now inhabit. Venezuela proves that the most decisive battles are often invisible—fought in courtrooms, in contracts, in sanction lists, and in silence. And as a father, a citizen, and a Filipino, I am left with a question that matters more than ideology or alignment: will we recognize the quiet war while we still have choices, or will we only understand what we lost when the silence has already done its work?
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Dr. Rodolfo “John” Ortiz Teope is a distinguished Filipino academic, public intellectual, and advocate for civic education and public safety, whose work spans local academies and international security circles. With a career rooted in teaching, research, policy, and public engagement, he bridges theory and practice by making meaningful contributions to academic discourse, civic education, and public policy. Dr. Teope is widely respected for his critical scholarship in education, management, economics, doctrine development, and public safety; his grassroots involvement in government and non-government organizations; his influential media presence promoting democratic values and civic consciousness; and his ethical leadership grounded in Filipino nationalism and public service. As a true public intellectual, he exemplifies how research, advocacy, governance, and education can work together in pursuit of the nation’s moral and civic mission.
