In the Shadow of Empires: Chinese Lessons for America's Venezuelan Gambit

At Courage Housing, in partnership with Thrive International, I have had the privilege of working firsthand with Venezuelans who have fled to America in search of asylum. I have assisted in translating for basic services—helping families navigate doctor's appointments, secure housing, and enroll their children in local schools. These encounters stripped away the abstractions of geopolitics. Once they arrive, ideologies fade into irrelevance: a child's education cannot wait for partisan debates, and access to healthcare is a universal imperative. The healthier these newcomers become, the healthier our communities are as a whole. Some have ironclad claims for protection, grounded

in persecution and fear; others, frankly, stretch the bounds of asylum eligibility. Yet all of them have undertaken journeys of staggering heroism—trekking through the treacherous Darién Gap, enduring smugglers, starvation, and violence—to reach our porous southern border. They come not as invaders, but as survivors, driven by a primal desire to escape suffering and seize economic opportunity. In that sense, they are a boon to our robust GDP, injecting vitality into labor markets and consumer bases. But their stories also underscore a deeper truth: America's interests are best served not by perpetuating chaos in Venezuela, but by fostering a stable, productive neighbor to our south.

Venezuela's descent into authoritarianism under Nicolás Maduro has been a tragedy of epic proportions, one that has displaced millions and eroded the foundations of hemispheric security. Maduro's regime, with its brazen alignments to Cuba, Russia, and China, has invited foreign predators into our backyard, trading sovereignty for survival. Russian military advisors, Chinese loans, and Cuban intelligence operatives have propped up a faltering dictatorship, turning Caracas into a node in a network of illiberal influence. This is indefensible, a betrayal of Latin America's hard-won democratic aspirations. And yet, if the United States truly seeks to access Venezuela's vast resources—its unparalleled oil reserves, which could reshape global energy markets—must we resort to a spectacle of international drama worthy of a reality television script? The capture of Maduro on January 3, 2026, executed with surgical precision by U.S. forces, unfolded with an eerie smoothness that strains credulity. No protracted firefight, no mass defections or uprisings—just a swift extraction that hints at insider complicity, perhaps from elements within Maduro's own circle weary of his rule. Our special operators are elite, but the probability of such a seamless operation without local facilitation borders on the implausible.

So why intervene now, and in this manner? The official rationale centers on oil: President Trump's declaration that American companies will "get the oil flowing" by investing billions to revive dilapidated infrastructure, all while maintaining a temporary U.S. oversight until a "safe transition" materializes. But this is only part of the story. The deeper imperative is containment—securing the Western Hemisphere against external encroachments that could threaten our core interests. History offers a poignant parallel here. My great-granduncle, Rear Admiral Paul F. Foster, for whom the destroyer USS Paul F. Foster was named, played a pivotal role in the early 20th century in thwarting German efforts to arm Mexican rebels during the tumultuous years leading up to World War I. As an ensign aboard the USS Utah, he led a company of bluejackets ashore during the two-day Battle of Veracruz in April 1914. For his distinguished actions—marked by extraordinary heroism and leadership under fire—he was awarded the Medal of Honor, the United States' highest military decoration. This honor underscored his role in a critical intervention that prevented German influence from taking root in Mexico. At the time, his actions—part of broader U.S. naval maneuvers in the Gulf—seemed like overreach, a meddlesome assertion of Monroe Doctrine principles. Yet in hindsight, after the carnage of World War II, we can only marvel at our fortune: Imagine U-boats lurking in the Gulf of Mexico, harrying Allied shipping lanes. 

Similarly, today's Venezuelan incursion is not solely about petroleum profits; it is about preserving regional hegemony, a strategic necessity for self-preservation in an era of great-power competition. Allowing Russia or China to entrench themselves in Caracas would invite vulnerabilities—from intelligence footholds to potential missile bases—that echo the Cuban Missile Crisis. In this light, asserting dominance is sound policy, a tactical bulwark against existential risks.

But the method matters profoundly. Force, however justified in extremis, comes at a steep cost to international norms—the very rules-based order that the United States has long championed as a cornerstone of global stability. By toppling Maduro through military means, we hand adversaries a propaganda gift: China can invoke our actions as precedent when it contemplates absorbing Taiwan, framing it as a "reunification" akin to our hemispheric housekeeping. Vladimir Putin, meanwhile, might derisively label Ukraine's Volodymyr Zelensky as his "Maduro," justifying further aggression under the guise of countering Western hypocrisy. Much like our exploits in the Middle East, we are continuing to erode the fragile architecture of sovereignty and non-intervention that has, however imperfectly, restrained chaos since 1945. Why not pursue the resources through subtler channels—building alliances, wielding soft power, and trading openly—rather than shattering precedents that could boomerang against us? In an era where perceptions shape power as much as projectiles, this overt display risks branding America as the hemisphere's perennial bully, alienating potential allies and emboldening rivals who portray themselves as anti-imperialist champions.

Here, an unlikely model emerges from the rugged mountains of Central Asia: China's quiet mastery in Tajikistan, a resource-rich but impoverished nation that most Americans have never contemplated, let alone located on a map. This obscurity is precisely what makes Beijing's approach so ingenious—a blueprint for influence without fanfare, extraction without invasion. Tajikistan, wedged between Afghanistan and China, boasts significant deposits of rare earth elements (REEs), antimony, niobium, and tantalum—critical minerals essential for everything from smartphones to electric vehicles and military hardware. Yet the country, emerging from Soviet collapse and civil war in the 1990s, lacked the capital, technology, and infrastructure to exploit them. Enter China, which has methodically transformed Tajikistan into a satellite of its Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) without firing a shot.

The mechanics of this engagement are a masterclass in patient, multifaceted diplomacy. Beginning in the early 2000s, Chinese state-owned enterprises like China Nonferrous Metal Mining Group and Zijin Mining secured mining leases through joint ventures with Tajik firms, often holding majority stakes while allowing local partners a nominal share to foster buy-in. By 2023, Chinese companies controlled nearly all rare-earth operations in Tajikistan and neighboring Kyrgyzstan, producing about 25 percent of the world's antimony—a metal vital for flame retardants and alloys—with the bulk exported to China for advanced processing. This is no mere plunder; Beijing invests heavily in onshore infrastructure, constructing beneficiation plants for copper and iron ore, upgrading roads and power grids, and even funding non-mining projects like a $1.5 billion government complex in Dushanbe. These efforts are underpinned by resource-backed loans: Tajikistan repays debts through mineral concessions, creating a symbiotic dependency that aligns incentives without overt coercion. Beyond extraction, China extends its soft power through social investments, such as building schools and medical clinics across the country. These initiatives, combined with educational exchanges via Confucius Institutes and proposed international universities, not only improve public health and literacy but also cultivate generations of Tajiks fluent in Mandarin and attuned to Chinese culture, embedding Beijing's influence at the grassroots level.

Crucially, China's strategy emphasizes technology transfer and capacity building, albeit on its terms. While Beijing prohibits the export of its proprietary REE processing technologies to maintain global dominance—controlling 70 percent of mining and 85-90 percent of refinement—it shares enough know-how to make Tajik operations viable. This has boosted Tajikistan's economy: gold production, 75 percent of which is now Chinese-managed, generates jobs and tax revenue, while antimony exports to China account for 78 percent of the total. Diplomatic ties deepen the bond; annual summits, cultural exchanges, and border security pacts frame the relationship as a "strategic partnership," insulating it from Western criticism. Even amid U.S. and EU efforts to diversify supply chains—through initiatives like the Minerals Security Partnership—China has doubled down, using export restrictions on gallium and germanium in 2023 to remind the world of its leverage. The result? Tajikistan's elite view China not as an exploiter, but as an indispensable ally, while global attention remains elsewhere. No headlines scream of "Chinese imperialism"; instead, Beijing quietly consolidates control over resources that underpin the green transition and high-tech economy. This velvet-gloved approach reveals a cutting insight: In the multipolar contest of the 21st century, true hegemony often flows from economic entanglement rather than military entanglement, allowing powers to extract value while masking dominance as mutual prosperity—a subtlety that eludes Washington's more theatrical playbook.

Imagine, then, if the United States adopted a parallel playbook in Venezuela, eschewing our president’s reality TV version of military intervention for the subtlety of economic integration. Rather than "running" Caracas from afar, Washington could negotiate joint ventures with a post-Maduro transitional government—perhaps one inclusive of opposition figures like María Corina Machado—to revive the oil sector. American firms like ExxonMobil or Chevron, backed by federal incentives, could invest in upgrading refineries and pipelines, much as Chinese companies built processing facilities in Tajikistan. In exchange for access to Venezuela's Orinoco Belt reserves—the world's largest proven oil deposits—the U.S. could offer debt relief tied to production shares, channeling revenues into Venezuelan infrastructure: schools, hospitals, and renewable energy projects to diversify beyond fossil fuels. This would mirror Beijing's resource-backed loans, fostering mutual benefit without the stigma of occupation.

Soft power would amplify the gains. Educational exchanges could train Venezuelan engineers in U.S. universities, echoing China's capacity-building in Tajik mining. Cultural diplomacy—joint art festivals, sports leagues, or tech incubators—might rebuild trust eroded by years of sanctions. And crucially, this approach would sideline foreign rivals: by outbidding Chinese and Russian loans with transparent, conditional aid, the U.S. could pry Venezuela from their orbit, much as China has edged out Western miners in Central Asia. The parallels extend to discretion: No need for triumphant press conferences or viral videos of troop movements. Instead, quiet diplomacy through organizations like the Organization of American States could normalize relations, allowing oil to flow without global uproar. Venezuela's stability would enhance U.S. security—reducing migration pressures at our border while denying adversaries a foothold—while boosting our GDP through cheaper energy imports. Yet herein lies another insight: America's democratic constraints—public scrutiny, congressional oversight—make such opaque dealings harder to sustain, potentially turning soft power into a double-edged sword if corruption scandals erupt.

Of course, this path demands nuance absent from the current drama. Venezuela's corruption and institutional decay pose risks that Tajikistan's smaller scale does not; American firms would need safeguards against expropriation, perhaps through international arbitration clauses. And ideological hurdles loom: Trump's "America First" ethos might resist the long-term investments that China's state capitalism enables. Yet the rewards—sustainable hegemony with limited hypocrisy—outweigh the challenges. By emulating Beijing's Tajik model, we could secure resources, stabilize our neighborhood, and uphold norms that protect us all. In the end, true power lies not in the thunder of intervention, but in the whisper of influence that reshapes the world unnoticed.