Inside Venezuela, the shockwaves were immediate, raw, and deeply unsettling. The state apparatus that revolved around Maduro’s authority suddenly found itself spinning without a center. Vice President Delcy Rodríguez appeared on state television demanding proof of life, her tone defiant but strained, accusing Washington of kidnapping and promising that the “Bolivarian Revolution” would endure. Senior military officers issued carefully worded statements affirming loyalty to the constitution rather than to any individual, language that analysts immediately flagged as a hedge against uncertainty. Within hours, rumors spread through Caracas: some claimed units had gone to ground, others that rival factions were maneuvering behind closed doors. In neighborhoods long accustomed to scarcity and fear, ordinary citizens spoke in hushed voices about what might come next. For some, the name María Corina Machado surfaced not as a concrete plan but as a symbol of possibility, a whispered hope that the collapse of Maduro’s personal power could open space for genuine political change. Yet fear traveled alongside hope. Many Venezuelans remember past moments when anticipated transitions collapsed into chaos, repression, or deeper hardship. With institutions hollowed out by years of politicization, the absence of a clear succession plan raised the specter of infighting among elites, fragmentation within the armed forces, and the potential for violence as competing groups sought to fill the vacuum left behind.
