Power Struggle Erupts: Cabello Under Fire Amid Maduro’s Downfall

Paul Riverbank, 1/23/2026Cabello faces betrayal allegations amid Venezuela’s post-Maduro chaos—power, intrigue, and fragile control.

When Reuters published its recent bombshell—alleging Cabello’s clandestine talks with the Trump administration prior to Maduro’s ouster—pundits, the street, and even diners in arepas stalls paused. The source: “multiple people familiar with the matter.” The implication: betrayal at the heart of Venezuela’s ruling socialists. Such charges landed with a thud—and rather than duck, Cabello counterpunched. On his brash weekly program, Con el Mazo Dando, Cabello dismissed the story out of hand. “Produce a shred of proof!” he demanded, firing off his usual barrage of taunts, this time directing invective at Reuters and local journalists like Leopoldo Castillo. For viewers, his indignation was familiar theater. The show, a blend of populist messaging and winking threats, has for years served as a pulpit for Cabello’s ridicule of critics as well as for the airing of dubious leaks from so-called “patriots.” This time, he even brandished a sycophantic letter affectionately calling him “my mango compote,” a moment equal parts absurd and chilling.

But Cabello’s rage wasn’t for Reuters alone. He fingered the opposition, accusing them—almost ritualistically—of “betrayal, corruption, murder, and theft.” Their infighting, he insisted, was the true scandal. By contrast, the regime, according to Cabello, stood firm. The real intent of these stories, he claimed, was to sow discord within Venezuela’s revolutionary leadership. In the hours that followed, government channels flooded social media with affirmations of unity and readiness, posts clearly designed to echo the fast, hardboiled style seen on official U.S. social platforms.

Of course, beneath all this posturing, power—and the ability to wield force—remains the real currency. Cabello continues to preside over Venezuela’s notorious security apparatus, including the intelligence agencies DGCIM and SEBIN, as well as the colectivos, armed civilian groups known for mixing ideology with intimidation. The night after Maduro vanished from the public eye, Cabello was spotted overseeing military checkpoints in eastern Caracas, a visible reminder that while presidents might change, the levers controlling the streets haven’t moved far.

Then, as if guided by some unspoken script, the intrigue deepened. Not long before the Reuters story broke, Delcy Rodríguez, elevated to acting president in this crisis, met with CIA director John Ratcliffe right in Caracas. President Trump, punctuating the moment, reported that his phone call with Rodríguez was “very good.” Rodríguez, adopting the stance of the embattled but unbowed leader, called it “long and cordial,” all while insisting from the National Assembly dais that she would meet Washington’s power standing upright, not in supplication.

As official commentaries reiterated a united front, Cabello’s rhetoric echoed Rodríguez’s plea: “This revolution governs; we guarantee peace. Delcy leads, Venezuela negotiates, but never kneels.” Still, anyone watching the streets of Caracas or scanning Venezuelan WhatsApp groups could sense the cracks stretching behind the public façade.

Elsewhere across Latin America, chaos simmers—an unsettling mirror for Venezuela’s own political turbulence. In Haiti and Guatemala, police find themselves in nightly standoffs with gangs. Meanwhile, in Caracas, anxious families wait on cold pavement outside prisons, listening for the names of newly freed political detainees, the air thick with uncertainty and cautious celebration.

On another front, the legal struggle over Venezuela’s fate plays out in U.S. courtrooms. The Justice Department, pushing for accelerated deportations of suspected members of the Tren de Aragua—a notorious gang with links to the deposed Maduro—argues these are not mere criminals, but part of an organized predatory threat. Lawyers for the government invoke arcane statutes such as the Alien Enemies Act, a legislative relic, while exasperated judges question if the gang’s violence reaches the level of a true invasion.

But for most Venezuelans, these courtroom battles and high-level diplomatic chess games feel remote. Their reality is painted in grayer hues: shortages, blackouts, and the ever-present hum of rumor. Maduro’s removal may have redrawn lines on the political map, but on the ground, changes are slow and fragile. The regime projects strength—on televisions, through patrols, and in the flashes of its security forces—but even the smallest cracks in that armor let both fear and hope seep in.

A heavy tension still grips Caracas. The city, already accustomed to uncertainty, finds itself teetering after the dramatic capture and removal of Nicolás Maduro and his wife by an unexpected U.S. mission on a January night in 2026. Since that jarring event, Venezuela’s corridors of power have resembled a chessboard strewn with pieces: some discarded, others still making bold moves in shadows and on screens. Standing nearest the center of this delicate storm is Diosdado Cabello—a figure whose influence stretches far beyond his public persona, and whose name stirs both dread and speculation among Venezuelans.When Reuters published its recent bombshell—alleging Cabello’s clandestine talks with the Trump administration prior to Maduro’s ouster—pundits, the street, and even diners in arepas stalls paused. The source: “multiple people familiar with the matter.” The implication: betrayal at the heart of Venezuela’s ruling socialists. Such charges landed with a thud—and rather than duck, Cabello counterpunched. On his brash weekly program, Con el Mazo Dando, Cabello dismissed the story out of hand. “Produce a shred of proof!” he demanded, firing off his usual barrage of taunts, this time directing invective at Reuters and local journalists like Leopoldo Castillo. For viewers, his indignation was familiar theater. The show, a blend of populist messaging and winking threats, has for years served as a pulpit for Cabello’s ridicule of critics as well as for the airing of dubious leaks from so-called “patriots.” This time, he even brandished a sycophantic letter affectionately calling him “my mango compote,” a moment equal parts absurd and chilling.But Cabello’s rage wasn’t for Reuters alone. He fingered the opposition, accusing them—almost ritualistically—of “betrayal, corruption, murder, and theft.” Their infighting, he insisted, was the true scandal. By contrast, the regime, according to Cabello, stood firm. The real intent of these stories, he claimed, was to sow discord within Venezuela’s revolutionary leadership. In the hours that followed, government channels flooded social media with affirmations of unity and readiness, posts clearly designed to echo the fast, hardboiled style seen on official U.S. social platforms.Of course, beneath all this posturing, power—and the ability to wield force—remains the real currency. Cabello continues to preside over Venezuela’s notorious security apparatus, including the intelligence agencies DGCIM and SEBIN, as well as the colectivos, armed civilian groups known for mixing ideology with intimidation. The night after Maduro vanished from the public eye, Cabello was spotted overseeing military checkpoints in eastern Caracas, a visible reminder that while presidents might change, the levers controlling the streets haven’t moved far.Then, as if guided by some unspoken script, the intrigue deepened. Not long before the Reuters story broke, Delcy Rodríguez, elevated to acting president in this crisis, met with CIA director John Ratcliffe right in Caracas. President Trump, punctuating the moment, reported that his phone call with Rodríguez was “very good.” Rodríguez, adopting the stance of the embattled but unbowed leader, called it “long and cordial,” all while insisting from the National Assembly dais that she would meet Washington’s power standing upright, not in supplication.As official commentaries reiterated a united front, Cabello’s rhetoric echoed Rodríguez’s plea: “This revolution governs; we guarantee peace. Delcy leads, Venezuela negotiates, but never kneels.” Still, anyone watching the streets of Caracas or scanning Venezuelan WhatsApp groups could sense the cracks stretching behind the public façade.Elsewhere across Latin America, chaos simmers—an unsettling mirror for Venezuela’s own political turbulence. In Haiti and Guatemala, police find themselves in nightly standoffs with gangs. Meanwhile, in Caracas, anxious families wait on cold pavement outside prisons, listening for the names of newly freed political detainees, the air thick with uncertainty and cautious celebration.On another front, the legal struggle over Venezuela’s fate plays out in U.S. courtrooms. The Justice Department, pushing for accelerated deportations of suspected members of the Tren de Aragua—a notorious gang with links to the deposed Maduro—argues these are not mere criminals, but part of an organized predatory threat. Lawyers for the government invoke arcane statutes such as the Alien Enemies Act, a legislative relic, while exasperated judges question if the gang’s violence reaches the level of a true invasion.But for most Venezuelans, these courtroom battles and high-level diplomatic chess games feel remote. Their reality is painted in grayer hues: shortages, blackouts, and the ever-present hum of rumor. Maduro’s removal may have redrawn lines on the political map, but on the ground, changes are slow and fragile. The regime projects strength—on televisions, through patrols, and in the flashes of its security forces—but even the smallest cracks in that armor let both fear and hope seep in.