Russia’s no-show in Venezuela weakens its bad-boy image

When the Kremlin announced that Vladimir Putin would make an “important statement on international affairs” on January 15th, the first since America’s military intervention in Venezuela and the mass protests in Iran, most observers braced themselves for a barrage of his typical belligerence. Instead Russia’s president sounded like a peacenik. He lauded co-operation and lamented disregard for international law and infringements on small countries’ sovereignty. “Instead of having states engage in dialogue with one another, there are those relying on might-makes-right…to impose their will,” he told foreign diplomats, four years after his full-scale invasion of Ukraine.

Mr Putin praised Russia’s constructive role in Latin America and the Middle East. He made no mention of America’s armed forces having abducted Nicolás Maduro, Venezuela’s president, a Russian ally whom he had welcomed in the Kremlin eight months earlier—much less of how easily they had knocked out Venezuela’s Russian-built air defences. He said nothing about American naval vessels commandeering Russian-flagged shadow-fleet tankers sailing from Venezuela. Criticism of American “aggression” was delegated to Sergei Lavrov, the foreign minister, while Mr Putin kept mum.

The silence was telling because of Mr Putin’s contempt for leaders who desert their allies. He is known to consider the abandonment of fellow communist regimes by Mikhail Gorbachev, the last Soviet leader, as a betrayal that spelled the demise of the empire. It was Mr Putin’s desire to restore Russia’s global power that led him to court Venezuela at the outset of his presidency in 2000. Russia sold Venezuela weapons, offered multi-billion-dollar credit lines, invested heavily in its oilfields (seized from American firms) and helped it circumvent sanctions.

Commercially, it did not pay off. But the alliance flattered Mr Putin’s vanity and gave him a foothold in America’s backyard. He believed Venezuela was an asset that could be traded in the geopolitical game. Fiona Hill, a former American national-security official, testified in 2019 that during Donald Trump’s first term Russia had offered to drop its support for Venezuela if America gave it a free hand in Ukraine. Yet in the end Mr Trump simply grabbed Mr Maduro, disregarding Mr Putin’s ego.

This was not the first time Mr Putin failed to defend a strategic partner. In 2024 he watched as Bashar Assad was overthrown in Syria. Last summer he stood by while America bombed Iran, an ally in his war against the West. Alexander Gabuev and Sergei Vakulenko of the Carnegie Russia Eurasia Centre, a think-tank in Berlin, argue that Mr Maduro’s ousting revealed the hollowness of Russia’s promises to provide a hedge against American power, and dispelled any illusion of its influence over Venezuela. Yet the damage went deeper. Mr Trump’s brazenness stripped Mr Putin of his main competitive advantage: his image as the world’s gangster-in-chief.

Mr Putin’s revanchist assault on the post-cold war security order relied not so much on Russian military or economic strength, but on his confidence that the West was in decline and that America aimed to preserve the status quo. This gave him “escalation dominance”: the ability to raise the stakes in ways his opponent could not counter, whether because of scruples or expense. As one American strategist put it, “it is easier and cheaper to destroy and sow chaos than to stabilise and rebuild.”

By abandoning America’s commitment to liberal values and the rules-based order, Mr Trump has left Mr Putin exposed (hence his newfound nostalgia for international law). America now seems to be playing a similar game to Mr Putin’s, but with more resources. The speed and efficacy of America’s operation in Venezuela highlighted the failure of Mr Putin’s “special military operation” in Ukraine, which was conceived as a lightning invasion to replace the government in Kyiv but turned into an endless bloodbath.

The contrast was not lost on Russia’s military bloggers. America maintains its vast armed forces “not for parades and taking one village in two years, but for the sake of efficiently giving [someone a] thrashing”, wrote one. The demonstrations in Iran, a country that has been a model for Russia in its ability to evade sanctions and preserve ideological control, were another worry. That America’s bombing of Iran last year was ultimately followed by mass protests emphasised to Mr Putin the link between military failure and popular unrest.

To reassert his power, Mr Putin doubled down against Ukraine and its European allies. Unable to make significant progress on the ground, he stepped up drone and missile strikes on energy infrastructure and cities. On January 8th he struck Lviv, a city close to the Polish border, with an Oreshnik, a nuclear-capable hypersonic missile. Evgeny Buzhinsky, a retired Russian general used as a talking head for the army, spelled out the message to the West on Russian television: European countries’ offers to put troops in Ukraine to guarantee a notional peace deal are unacceptable.

The Kremlin has also tightened control over Russia’s internet. It is experimenting with mobile-internet blackouts that force people to use state-controlled messenger services which double as tools of surveillance. But Mr Putin needs to regain the initiative internationally too. So he will no doubt seek to exploit the rift between America and Europe over Greenland and test NATo’s cohesion.■