Since the January 3, 2026, US assault on Venezuela, the course being set by the country’s acting president Delcy Rodríguez has been at the center of a debate, both among the Venezuelan people and among those around the world — especially in the United States — who oppose US imperialism’s hegemonic designs in the hemisphere.
Is the Rodríguez government carrying forward the legacy of the social reforms that characterized the presidency of Hugo Chávez?[1] Is the working class the motor force behind change in present-day Venezuela, or have workers and peasants been demobilized and demoralized? Do the many deals being made with Washington represent a necessary retreat or are they a betrayal of the country’s working people?
World-Outlook has touched on this debate, first in a two-part polemic with the Party of Socialism and Liberation (PSL), which countered PSL’s claim that Rodríguez was continuing the Bolivarian Revolution’s forward march toward “socialism in the 21st century,” and again in a recent article on the deal that handed one fifth of the country’s oil reserves to Washington.
The debate, which sharpened with the recent oil deal, was further fueled by Rodríguez’s appearance at the United Nations on September 23.
Addressing the UN general assembly, Rodríguez made a point of thanking US president Donald Trump for “resuming diplomatic relations and cooperation” with Venezuela following the January 3 abduction of the country’s president Nicolás Maduro and his wife Cilia Flores — an act that led to Rodríguez assuming the presidency with Washington’s blessing. At the same time, Rodríguez did not utter a word about Maduro or Flores, who are illegally incarcerated in a US prison near the UN, let alone demand the Venezuelan president’s and his wife’s release.
One of the hottest topics on social media recently has been a photograph of the meeting between Rodríguez and Trump in New York during the UN session. Many point to the smiling and triumphal duo and argue that this showed Rodríguez’s capitulation to the White House. Others defend her demeanor at the UN as a necessary part of the protocol of diplomacy and negotiations between two sovereign states.
Among those who joined the discussion was Argentine writer Diego Molinas. His column, which first appeared in Spanish on his digital media platform Barrio Adentro Argentino, has been shared widely on social media. It was also published by Resumen Latinoamericano — an Argentine-based media outlet, which is also published in Cuba and other countries — in its section Pensamiento Critico (Critical Thinking).
World-Outlook is publishing below Molina’s column, “What you see is what it is,” for the information of our readers. The headline and text below are from the Spanish-language original. The English-language translation, photos, and notes are by World-Outlook.
— World-Outlook editors
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At a time when speeches can try to transform the perception of the facts, the photograph of Delcy Rodríguez with Donald Trump forces us to look at a scene that is far from what Chavismo once represented
What you see is what it is
By Diego Molinas
A photo as evidence
There is a photograph that is a piece of evidence: Delcy Rodríguez and Donald Trump, together, smiling, in New York. Hundreds of stories can be built around that photograph; diplomatic, tactical or strategic explanations can be crafted; one can talk about pragmatism, power relations, negotiation or political necessity. All of this can be discussed.
But there is something that remains before any story is told: the photograph is evidence and shows a specific scene. And that scene is difficult to reconcile with much of the political tradition from which Delcy Rodríguez comes.
There is another image from the same day that completes the scene: Delcy Rodríguez approaching Pedro Sánchez[2] while he is talking on the phone, waiting for him to finish so she can greet him. The image conveys something difficult to reconcile with the power of the historical leadership of the Bolivarian Revolution: an eagerness for kinship, almost that of a student waiting for the other to put down the phone so that she can greet him; an attitude that appears very far from the dignity and authority with which Chavismo once stood up to the powers of the world.
And a few hours later the photograph with Trump appears. Two images of the same day that speak for themselves, because diplomacy is one thing and the position from which it is exercised is another; it is one thing to negotiate and another to show subordination. That is what you see.
What Chavismo once represented
And what is seen is a far cry from Hugo Chávez’s “fuck you, fucking Yankees.” It is far from that rebellious Chavismo that could confront the king of Spain, that could publicly confront the United States, and that built much of its political identity around an idea of sovereignty, dignity, and resistance against imperial power. There was political power there, an ability to stand up to authority, a way of exercising leadership that today is difficult to find in these images.
When the narrative takes the place of reality
At the same time, we live in a dystopian world in which artificial intelligence, technological advances, and algorithms often lead us to ignore reality or to experience it from a place other than what is actually verifiable. We can craft stories, narratives and entire universes around a scene until the narrative ends up taking the place of reality. While the rich of the world talk about going to live on Mars or colonizing other planets, perhaps the biggest debate we have is much more elementary: to make the stories, narratives, and algorithmic currents coincide with reality.
To consider that reality is something different from what is seen often leads us to ideas, utopias, or even political positions from a vantage point that is increasingly distant from what is really happening. And perhaps today it would take a revolutionary leap to make reality coincide with what is being stated or chronicled. Ideas, utopias, and political positions need to start from reality and not from a reality constructed to coincide with what we need to believe. When a story begins to take the place of the facts, we stop interpreting reality and we begin to accommodate it to our needs.
Power is in what you see
That is why the power is in what you see. And what you see is not just a photograph of Delcy Rodríguez and Donald Trump.
That photograph appears after a US military intervention in Venezuela, after the capture of Nicolás Maduro and Cilia Flores, and after Trump publicly claimed responsibility for the operation. What you see is Delcy Rodríguez in front of the man who claims to be the one responsible for that intervention and who presents the outcome as a victory. And this matters because the photograph is not floating in a vacuum: it has a context, it involves deaths, it involves a military intervention, it involves a captured Venezuelan president, it involves negotiations over strategic resources, and it includes a US president taking credit for that operation.
In these hours, paradoxically, surprisingly, there is a whole epic about triumph, about the diplomacy of peace, a grandiloquence around a supposed victory. And the important thing is to say something very simple: the defeat is not an epic tale. A defeat can be a defeat. It is possible to discuss how we should face it, what position we should adopt in the face of it, and what dignity can be preserved under adverse conditions. But a defeat is not transformed into a victory simply because we build a grandiloquent narrative around it. Reality retains a dimension that discourse cannot erase.
The words of the victor
What we see is a Delcy Rodríguez who tolerates Trump saying the barbarities he said. Trump spoke of the US operation in Venezuela in terms of victory and as the winner; he excused the use of force and even spoke of the benefits that accrue to the victor. That is an offensive opprobrium to the dead, who are not only Venezuelans, but also Cubans, fundamentally all killed in an intervention on Latin American territory. That context does not disappear because a diplomatic photograph is broadcast later or because a strategic explanation is found for each gesture.
This happened. And it is incomprehensible that Delcy Rodríguez later appears with a victorious attitude, smiling, in the face of that demonstration of power and in front of the one who has captured the president of Venezuela, Nicolás Maduro, and Cilia Flores. We can discuss the reasons for the negotiations, the relationship of forces, the tactical needs, the circumstances and the alternatives. All of this is part of politics and can be analyzed. But there is something that stands in front of all these explanations: what actually happened.
Tactics and internal consistency
And there appears a question that we should not dodge: what is the difference between Milei’s[3] attitude and Delcy Rodríguez’s attitude? Surely, after all this, explanations will appear aimed at establishing profound differences between one and the other, and we will be told that one responds to one logic and the other to another, that one expresses subordination and the other a tactic, that one expresses a political perspective and the other a historical necessity.
All of this can be discussed. But it is important to look at the attitude concretely, because if politics can always be explained as a tactic, then internal consistency begins to have no specific weight. And when internal consistency loses all relevance, almost anything can become a strategy: a concession can be presented as a victory, subordination as pragmatism, a defeat as peace diplomacy, and a photograph as an epic achievement. Reality, however, is still there.
A point of reference for dignity
If today we have to look at a point of reference, what we saw on January 3 was the dignity of the Cubans, who fought to the end against US troops and gave a very tenacious, very dignified response, despite inferior means and under inferior conditions in many respects. And yesterday, it was the Cuban delegation that got up and left.[4] This is a reference point for dignity, a standard from which to fight and from which to look at ourselves. There are moments when politics requires reestablishing the ability to set a limit in the face of power.
And this matters especially for those of us who think of ourselves from a tradition of the left, of sovereignty, of emancipation, and of change. Because we cannot lose the ability to recognize a reference point when we see it. We cannot build a make-believe saga around that which does not offer us any point of reference. And we cannot turn a scene of subordination into a revolutionary one simply because we need to preserve a certain narrative.
Delivery is also conceptual
Because if we fall into this pragmatic, tactical logic, where internal consistency does not seem to matter much and reality can be disrupted through grandiloquent discourse, we lose something much more important than a conjunctural political discussion: we lose the ability to think. What we see is a Delcy Rodríguez who is very comfortable with Trump. What we see is a Venezuelan historical process that we have admired but that no longer serves as a reference, because today it is part of the machinery that strengthens Donald Trump and part of a strategic delivery of resources, not only natural but also conceptual and ideological.
And the latter is perhaps even more important, because it is not only about oil, natural resources, or economic agreements. Symbols, references, words, and political traditions are also being handed over. A tradition that for years was built around resistance to imperialism can end up being used to legitimize a new relationship of subordination. And when that happens, the surrender is not only material: it is also conceptual. What is surrendered is a part of what for years allowed us to build a view of the world, a way of interpreting sovereignty, and a way of understanding emancipation.
Do not betray the intellect
So, there is no turning back. As a matter of dignity, as militants, it is important not to betray the intellect and to realize what it is that we are seeing.
Some will come out even now to say: “No, it’s a tactic.” Well and good, but no revolutionary process unfolded that way. Can you imagine Fidel Castro celebrating with Kennedy after the Bay of Pigs?[5] It would be more or less like that. The comparison may seem brutal, but it allows us to understand exactly the problem: it is one thing to negotiate with the adversary and another to build a scene of celebration with someone who has just claimed responsibility for a military intervention; it is one thing to manage a defeat and another to build an epic tale out of defeat.
Back to reality
And perhaps the problem of our time is precisely that: we have learned to construct narratives capable of modifying our perception of reality. Artificial intelligence can do it, algorithms can do it, political narratives can do it, great powers can do it, and we ourselves can do it when we need reality to resemble what we want to believe. That is why perhaps today a revolutionary leap would be something much more elementary and, at the same time, much more difficult: to return to reality, to make the narrative and the story coincide with what exists; not to abandon utopias but to prevent utopias from becoming an excuse for ignoring the facts; not to abandon politics but to prevent politics from forcing us to deny what is in front of us; not to stop thinking strategically but to recover internal consistency as one dimension of a strategy.
And perhaps the first obligation of those of us who still believe that politics can transform reality is not to betray the intellect in order to save the story. To look at reality, to do our thinking based on it, and to sustain ideas in the face of what actually happens. Because before any explanation, before any epic tale, and before the construction of any narrative, there is something that is still in front of us.
What you see is what it is.
NOTES
[1] The Bolivarian Revolution refers to the process of social reform in Venezuela initiated in 1998 when Hugo Chávez was first elected the country’s president. It is named after Simón Bolívar, a Venezuelan military officer who led the fight for independence from Spain in the early 1820s in the region encompassing what today is Bolivia, Colombia, Ecuador, Panama, Peru, and Venezuela. The defiance of US imperialism that characterized Venezuela’s policies under Chávez and the mobilizations of the country’s workers and farmers of that period (1998-2013) are often referred to as “Chavismo.”
[2] Pedro Sánchez has been Spain’s prime minister since 2018 and the Spanish Socialist Workers Party (PSOE) secretary general since 2017.
[3] Javier Gerardo Milei is an ultra-rightist, who is an economist and has been Argentina’s president since 2023.
[4] During US president Donald Trump’s speech at the opening of the 81st General Assembly of the UN on September 22, 2026, both the Cuban and Iranian delegations walked out as their countries were insulted and threatened from the podium. For more information see Obscene Display of Imperial Power at the UN.
[5] On April 17, 1961, a US-organized invasion of Cuba was launched, with 1,500 mercenaries — armed, trained, and supported by Washington under the leadership of then-president John F. Kennedy — landing near the Bay of Pigs (Playa Girón). In less than 72 hours of combat, Cuba’s revolutionary militias, police, and armed forces defeated the assault.
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Categories: World Politics