Venezuela and the Comforting Illusion of Political Agency

Reports that the United States has conducted military strikes on Venezuela have triggered a familiar cycle of commentary: urgent analysis, heated debate, moral positioning and calls to action. Television panels fill airtime, social media polarises, and the same question is posed repeatedly: what does this mean, and what should we do next?

After hours of listening to speculation and expert opinion, I found myself with a disquieting realisation. What I was participating in was not political agency, but its performance.

Events of this magnitude do not emerge overnight. Military action by a state with the reach and capacity of the United States is almost certainly the product of months, if not years, of planning, modelling and scenario-testing. What appears to the public as a sudden rupture is, in institutional terms, often a delivery phase rather than a decision point. The script, in essence, has already been drafted.

History makes this difficult to ignore. US intervention in Latin America has followed recognisable patterns for decades. From Guatemala in 1954 to Chile in 1973, from Nicaragua in the 1980s to Panama in 1989, American military and covert involvement have repeatedly reshaped political outcomes across the region. These interventions were rarely reactive; they were strategic, patient and embedded in wider geopolitical calculations.

Venezuela does not sit outside that history. It is part of it.

Nor does it sit outside the contemporary global moment. The past few years have offered a series of live case studies in the use of military force by powerful states: Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, Israel’s repeated strikes beyond its borders, and China’s calculated pressure over Taiwan. These conflicts are not isolated. They inform one another. States observe, learn and adapt in real time, refining both military tactics and political messaging.

In this context, it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that the post–Second World War international order is no longer quietly eroding but openly challenged. Military superiority is again being asserted as a primary instrument of political resolution. Legal and moral constraints still exist, but they are increasingly thin, flexible or selectively applied.

Against this backdrop, much public engagement with geopolitics takes on a curiously theatrical quality. We argue fiercely about meaning and intent, as though the conflict were still malleable to our declarations. We choose sides, amplify narratives and express certainty, even when the material decisions have already been taken elsewhere.

This is not a criticism of caring. It is an observation about how agency is experienced.

Humans need to feel a sense of control over their lives. Psychologists have long linked agency to mental well-being, resilience and motivation. When people feel powerless, anxiety and anger rise. Politics, particularly in moments of crisis, offers a way to restore that sense of control: by forming opinions, taking positions and aligning with causes.

But there is a gap (often a wide one) between felt agency and actual influence.

In conflict and peace studies, this gap is sometimes described as an “illusion of control”: a tendency to overestimate our ability to shape complex systems, especially under conditions of threat. In geopolitical conflict, this illusion can be emotionally comforting. Clear narratives and decisive actions provide a sense of order in situations defined by uncertainty.

The danger is not that people believe they matter. The danger is that the agency is misplaced.

Public outrage, media debate and moral alignment rarely alter the immediate trajectory of military action. Where agency does remain powerful is elsewhere: in how violence is understood, justified or resisted; in how fear and loss are absorbed into collective memory; in whether future reconciliation is made easier or harder by the stories we tell now.

This is why the urge to immediately “nail colours to the mast” should give us pause. Certainty feels reassuring, but it often serves conflict better than it serves peace. Staying curious about sources, motivations and interests is not neutrality. It is a refusal to be pulled into simplified narratives that make future violence easier to rationalise.

None of this suggests indifference. It suggests discipline.

Nothing we encounter in rolling news or social media should provoke aggressive or violent reactions. That does not mean events should not trouble us. It means troubling information demands restraint rather than escalation.

Agency still matters, profoundly so. But not in the ways we are most encouraged to exercise it. We are unlikely to influence the deployment of force in Venezuela. We are far more likely to influence how such force is remembered, normalised or challenged in the years that follow.

Recognising the limits of control is not defeatism. It is the beginning of responsibility.

Frazer

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