U.S. Grabs the Reins: Rubio's High-Stakes Gamble With Venezuela's Oil

Paul Riverbank, 1/30/2026The U.S. now controls Venezuelan oil revenue through a monitored foreign account, promising oversight and aid for citizens. Yet, questions linger over sovereignty, transparency, and whether this approach can truly deliver relief to ordinary Venezuelans.

In a scene that felt as much like diplomacy as it did triage, Secretary of State Marco Rubio sparred with some unconvinced senators over the Biden administration’s revised approach to Venezuelan oil. “The funds from that will be deposited into an account that we will have oversight over,” Rubio explained, his words measured but hinting at the unease beneath the surface. Only, the U.S. won’t touch the money directly. Instead, the Treasury will supervise its dispersal—medicine, policing, and the essentials on a short list, nothing else—Rubio emphasized. Regular audits, he promised.

The oil in question is no trifling sum—Venezuela’s reserves outstrip those of any other country. Once a river of cash for a select few in Maduro’s camp and foreign backers, now the U.S. wants oil revenue to flow in a different direction. But whether American oversight translates into genuine benefit for ordinary Venezuelans remains, at best, uncertain. Senator Chris Murphy (D-Conn.) didn’t mince words: “You are taking their oil at gunpoint... deciding how and for what purposes that money is going to be used in a country of 30 million people. I think a lot of us believe that that is destined for failure.” It wasn’t grandstanding—just a candid expression of the skepticism that pervades Capitol Hill.

Rubio, quick to clarify, insisted these arrangements were a “stopgap”—the word hung in the air as both concession and rationalization. The cash itself, he said, is kept in a Qatar-based fund, ostensibly shielded from both American creditors hungry for payouts and legal limbo arising from the U.S. government’s refusal to recognize Maduro’s fallen administration. In his words, “It’s an account that belongs to Venezuela, but it has U.S. sanctions as a blocking mechanism.” So far, hundreds of millions have been parked there, and another $3 billion isn’t out of the question.

Half a continent away, in Venezuela’s hospitals, the difference between intention and reality could not be starker. A mother stands in a dim corridor holding a vial of antibiotics she purchased herself; her nephew’s x-rays won’t be done until his family pays the technician directly. It is here, in these everyday struggles, that much rests on whether this financial experiment takes root.

Delcy Rodríguez, Venezuela’s interim president, appeared on local television with a reassuring tone, saying some of the oil money would go to health care, some to keeping the lights on—literally. The power grid, battered by years of neglect, needs a lifeline. There’s talk in Caracas of overhauling energy laws to tempt foreign investors back into the sector, a pivot away from dogma and toward desperation-driven pragmatism.

Still, the move is watched with suspicion by many, both inside and outside Venezuela. The ghosts of past corruption linger, and critics fear that bureaucratic machinery—no matter how well intentioned—might not keep dollars from slipping through the cracks. Supporters counter that, at minimum, it creates a buffer against systemic collapse while longer-term solutions are sought.

Washington insists it won’t bankroll Venezuela’s oil industry expansion, only guide the sanctioned exports as the country finds its feet. That interim phase could well set the stage for a new chapter, or become another footnote in a long history of missed opportunities. For now, with billions waiting in the wings, both skepticism and fragile hope run in parallel.

In the halls of the U.S. Senate last week, a familiar tension resurfaced: how to balance American influence abroad with the daunting task of aiding a troubled nation. Venezuela, long shackled by sanctions and battered by deep economic woes, now stands at the center of Washington's latest attempt to manage a transition period after the tumultuous end of President Nicolás Maduro's rule.In a scene that felt as much like diplomacy as it did triage, Secretary of State Marco Rubio sparred with some unconvinced senators over the Biden administration’s revised approach to Venezuelan oil. “The funds from that will be deposited into an account that we will have oversight over,” Rubio explained, his words measured but hinting at the unease beneath the surface. Only, the U.S. won’t touch the money directly. Instead, the Treasury will supervise its dispersal—medicine, policing, and the essentials on a short list, nothing else—Rubio emphasized. Regular audits, he promised.The oil in question is no trifling sum—Venezuela’s reserves outstrip those of any other country. Once a river of cash for a select few in Maduro’s camp and foreign backers, now the U.S. wants oil revenue to flow in a different direction. But whether American oversight translates into genuine benefit for ordinary Venezuelans remains, at best, uncertain. Senator Chris Murphy (D-Conn.) didn’t mince words: “You are taking their oil at gunpoint... deciding how and for what purposes that money is going to be used in a country of 30 million people. I think a lot of us believe that that is destined for failure.” It wasn’t grandstanding—just a candid expression of the skepticism that pervades Capitol Hill.Rubio, quick to clarify, insisted these arrangements were a “stopgap”—the word hung in the air as both concession and rationalization. The cash itself, he said, is kept in a Qatar-based fund, ostensibly shielded from both American creditors hungry for payouts and legal limbo arising from the U.S. government’s refusal to recognize Maduro’s fallen administration. In his words, “It’s an account that belongs to Venezuela, but it has U.S. sanctions as a blocking mechanism.” So far, hundreds of millions have been parked there, and another $3 billion isn’t out of the question.Half a continent away, in Venezuela’s hospitals, the difference between intention and reality could not be starker. A mother stands in a dim corridor holding a vial of antibiotics she purchased herself; her nephew’s x-rays won’t be done until his family pays the technician directly. It is here, in these everyday struggles, that much rests on whether this financial experiment takes root.Delcy Rodríguez, Venezuela’s interim president, appeared on local television with a reassuring tone, saying some of the oil money would go to health care, some to keeping the lights on—literally. The power grid, battered by years of neglect, needs a lifeline. There’s talk in Caracas of overhauling energy laws to tempt foreign investors back into the sector, a pivot away from dogma and toward desperation-driven pragmatism.Still, the move is watched with suspicion by many, both inside and outside Venezuela. The ghosts of past corruption linger, and critics fear that bureaucratic machinery—no matter how well intentioned—might not keep dollars from slipping through the cracks. Supporters counter that, at minimum, it creates a buffer against systemic collapse while longer-term solutions are sought.Washington insists it won’t bankroll Venezuela’s oil industry expansion, only guide the sanctioned exports as the country finds its feet. That interim phase could well set the stage for a new chapter, or become another footnote in a long history of missed opportunities. For now, with billions waiting in the wings, both skepticism and fragile hope run in parallel.