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How Maduro’s capture went down – a military strategist explains what goes into a successful special op

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R. Evan Ellis, The Center for Strategic and International Studies, surmises in this article that the predawn seizure of Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro on Jan. 3, 2026, was a complicated affair. It was also, operationally, a resounding success for the U.S. military.

Operation Absolute Resolve achieved its objective of seizing Maduro through a mix of extensive planning, intelligence and timing. R. Evan Ellis, a military strategist and former Latin America policy adviser to the U.S. State Department, walked The Conversation through what is publicly known about the planning and execution of the raid.

How long would this op have been in the works?

U.S. military fighter jets sit on the tarmac at José Aponte de la Torre Airport in Puerto Rico, on Jan. 3, 2026. Miguel J. Rodriguez Carrillo / AFP via Getty Images

Operation Absolute Resolve was some months in the planning, as the Pentagon acknowledged in its briefing on Jan. 3. My presumption is that from the beginning of the U.S. military buildup in the Caribbean and the establishment of Joint Task Force Southern Spear in the fall, military planners were developing options for the president to capture or eliminate Maduro and other key Chavista leadership, should coercive efforts at persuading a change in the Venezuelan situation fail.

A man in a blindfold holds a bottle of water.
An image of a captured Nicolás Maduro released by President Donald Trump on social media. Truth Social

Prior to Southern Spear, U.S. military activities in the region were directly overseen by Southern Command – the part of the Department of Defense responsible for Central America, South America and most of the Caribbean. But establishing a dedicated joint task force in October 2025 helped facilitate the coordination of a large operation, like the one conducted to seize Maduro.

Planning for the Jan. 3 operation likely became more detailed and realistic as the administration settled on a concrete set of options. U.S. forces practiced the raid on a replica of the presidential compound. “They actually built a house which was identical to the one they went into with all the same, all that steel all over the place,” President Donald Trump told “Fox & Friends Weekend.”

Why did the US choose to act now?

The buildup had been going on for months, and the arrival of the USS Gerald R. Ford in November was a key milestone. That gave the U.S. the capability to launch a high volume of attacks against land targets and added to the already huge array of American military hardware stationed in the Caribbean.

It joined an Iwo Jima Amphibious Ready Group, which included a helicopter dock ship and two landing platform vessels. An additional six destroyers and two cruisers were stationed in the region with the capability of launching hundreds of missiles for both land attack and air defense, as well as a special operations mother ship.

Trump’s authorization of CIA operations in Venezuela was probably also a key factor. It is likely that individuals inside Venezuela played invaluable roles not only in obtaining intelligence, but also in cooperating with key people in Maduro’s military and government to make sure they did – or did not do – certain things at key moments during the Jan. 3 operation.

With the complex array of plans and preparations in place by December, the U.S. military was likely ready to execute, but it had to wait for opportune conditions to maximize the probability of success.

What constitutes the opportune moment?

There are arguably three things needed for the opportune moment: good intelligence, the establishment of reliable cooperation arrangements on the ground, and favorable tactical conditions.

Intel would have been crucial. Trump acknowledged his authorization of covert CIA operations in Venezuela in October, and evidently, by the end of the year, analysts had gathered the information needed to make this operation go smoothly. The intelligence would have had to include knowing exactly where Maduro would be at the time of the operation, and the situation around him.

Over the past few months, according to media reporting, the intelligence community had agents on the ground in Venezuela, likely having conversations with people in the military, the Chavista leadership and beyond, who had crucial information or whose behavior was relevant to different parts of the operation – such as perhaps shutting down a system, standing down a military unit or being absent from a post at a key moment. A report from The New York Times indicates that the U.S. had a human source close to Maduro who was able to provide details of his day-to-day life, down to what he ate.

The more tactical conditions that were needed for the opportune moment involved things like the weather – you didn’t want storms or high winds or cloud cover that would put U.S. aircraft in danger as they flew in some very treacherous low-level routes through the mountains that separate Fort Tiun – the military compound in Caracas where Maduro was captured – from the coast.

How did the operation unfold?

Gen. Dan Caine, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, has given some details about how the plan was executed.

We know the U.S. launched aircraft from multiple sites – the operation involved at least 20 different launch sites for 150 planes and helicopters. These would have involved aircraft for jamming operations, some surveillance, fighter jets to strike targets, and some to provide an escort for the helicopters bringing in a special forces unit and members of the FBI.

A cloud of black smoke is seen above a building.
Smoke is seen billowing above the Port of La Guaira on Jan. 3, 2026, in Venezuela. Jesus Vargas/Getty Images

As an integral part of the operation, the U.S. carried out a series of cyber activities that may have played a role in undermining not only Venezuela’s defense systems, but also its understanding of what was going on. Although the nature of U.S. cyber activities is only speculation here, a coherent, alerted Venezuelan command and control system could have cost the lives of U.S. force members and given Maduro time to seal himself in his safe room, creating a problem – albeit not an insurmountable one – for U.S. forces.

There was also, according to Trump, a U.S.-generated interruption to some part of the power grid. In addition, it appears that there may have been diversionary strikes in other parts of the country to give a false impression to the Venezuelan military that U.S. military activity was directed toward some other, lesser land target, as had recently been the case.

U.S. aircraft then basically disabled Venezuelan air defenses.

As U.S. rotary wing and other assets converged on the target in Caracas – with cover from some of the most capable fighters in the U.S. inventory, including F-35s and F-22s, as well as F-18s – other U.S. assets decimated the air defense and other threats in the area.

It would be logical if elite members of the U.S. 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment were used in the approach to the compound in Caracas. Their skills would have been required if, as I presume, they came in via the canyon route that separates Caracas from the coast. I have driven the road through those mountains, and it is treacherous – especially for an aircraft at low altitude.

Once the team landed, it would have have taken a matter of minutes to infiltrate the compound where Maduro was.

Any luck involved?

According to Trump, the U.S. team grabbed Maduro just as he was trying to get into his steel vault safe room.

“He didn’t get that space closed. He was trying to get into it, but he got bum-rushed right so fast that he didn’t get into that,” the U.S. president told Fox & Friends Weekend.

Although the U.S. was reportedly fully prepared for that eventuality, with high-power torches to cut him out, that delay could have cost time and possibly lives.

It was thus critical to the U.S. mission that forces were able to enter the facility, reach and secure Maduro and his wife in a minimal amount of time.

R. Evan Ellis, Senior Associate, Americas Program, The Center for Strategic and International Studies

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Commentary

Authentic Voices, Foreign Narratives and the Fortune Madondo Case | By Joseph McCarthy

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This article by Joseph McCarthy, an analyst and researcher focusing on governance, security, and political transitions in the Sahel, argues that modern influence in Africa often spreads not through propaganda but through credible African voices that carry narratives aligned with the interests of external powers. Read the full article below.

Authentic Voices, Foreign Narratives and the Fortune Madondo Case

How Russian narratives are travelling through authentic African voices, and what the Fortune Madondo case reveals about it

By Joseph McCarthy

For years, the word disinformation conjured a familiar picture: troll farms, fake accounts and automated bots flooding the internet with crude propaganda. Those methods still exist, but influence operations have matured. The most effective messenger today is rarely an anonymous account. It is a real person, with a real name, a credible public profile and convictions he appears to hold sincerely.

The case of Fortune Madondo illustrates the shift. He is no online provocateur hiding behind a pseudonym; he is a Zimbabwean teacher and the founder of a youth organisation, with a documented life in his community. He writes under his own name, identified in his byline only as an “African Teacher,” with no institution given, and his views seem consistent with his stated beliefs. What matters is less who he is than what he carries. Across more than fifty articles in twelve months, most of them on Pan-African platforms, the line never wavers: praise for the military juntas of the Sahel, attacks on Western governments and on AFRICOM, condemnation of France’s role in Africa, and the celebration of resource sovereignty against foreign plunder. Whether by design or by conviction, these themes closely align with the narratives Moscow has sought to amplify across the continent.

That alignment, not the man, is the point. Influence no longer requires recruitment, payment or instruction. A foreign power’s objectives can be served just as well by people who believe every word they write, because the force of the message lies in its local authenticity. A reader will trust an African voice discussing African problems far sooner than a communiqué from Moscow. So the useful question is not whether Fortune Madondo is a Russian agent; there is no public evidence that he is. The question is who benefits when local voices, sincere or not, repeatedly reinforce narratives that happen to serve a foreign strategy.

Consider how this interacts with Pan-Africanism. Russia has spent years presenting itself as a champion of African sovereignty and an enemy of colonialism, language that resonates because it draws on real historical wounds. Madondo’s writing sits comfortably within that tradition, and many African intellectuals share his instincts. Yet the scrutiny runs in only one direction. The West is relentlessly interrogated; Moscow, despite its expanding military, mining, and political footprint, is almost never asked the same questions. If Pan-Africanism is the defence of African sovereignty against all external control, the principle must apply evenly. When French deployments are called neo-colonial, Russian military contractors deserve the same examination; when Western extraction is condemned, so should Russian mining concessions. When he co-signed an appeal in late 2024 demanding both that Russian troops leave Ukraine and that French troops leave Africa, the false symmetry itself did Moscow’s work. A Pan-Africanism that suspects only one power risks sliding from a doctrine of independence into an instrument of another’s ambition.

The Madondo question also points to a place: Ghana. Over the past two years, the country has drawn growing attention from foreign actors keen to enter its media space, and the reason is structural. Ghana is one of Africa’s most respected democracies and a heavyweight in anglophone media; what is published in Accra travels across West Africa and beyond. In December 2025, Ghanaian journalists attended a SputnikPro seminar co-organised by the Russian Embassy and the Ghana-Russia Centre, led by Vasily Pushkov of Rossiya Segodnya, the state group behind the Sputnik news agency. Other moves followed, among them a cooperation agreement with Ghana’s main journalism university and the opening of a Russian cultural centre. None of this is illegal. But influence secured in Ghana enjoys a multiplier effect that few other markets offer.

The mechanism is quieter than propaganda and more durable. People do not trust propaganda; they trust outlets they already consider credible. A publication earns that trust through genuine local reporting, and the reader then assumes that everything on the page has cleared the same editorial bar. That is where credibility is transferred: from the newsroom’s real work to syndicated columns, opinion pieces and, on some platforms, verbatim Russian state material set at the same level as a story on local agriculture. Repetition completes the effect. Ten near-identical articles across ten outlets read as an independent consensus; the reader concludes that everyone is saying this, when in truth, the same viewpoint is simply circling back. Influence here comes not from proving a claim, but from normalising it.

The significance of the Madondo case, then, is not the unmasking of an operative; the evidence does not support that, and the chase would miss the point. It is the growing difficulty of telling sincere conviction apart from narratives engineered to serve someone else’s strategy, in an environment where influence travels through authentic voices, trusted platforms and ideas that genuinely resonate. The defence is not a hunt for enemies but the slower work of critical thinking, editorial transparency and media literacy. The question is no longer simply who is speaking. It is whose interests are served when the same narrative is amplified, again and again, across the continent.


Joseph McCarthy is an analyst and researcher focusing on governance, security, and political transitions in the Sahel. He writes on geopolitics, development, and African diplomacy. Email: joecarthy30@gmail.com

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5 Reasons Ghana’s Floating Dock Could Reshape West Africa’s Maritime Economy

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Ghana has inked a £215 million ( $287. 5 million) deal with the United Kingdom, anchored by a £101 million ($135.05 million) floating dock in Takoradi.

If successful, it will become the Gulf of Guinea’s first modern, commercially operated ship repair facility.

Here is what is at stake.

1. The Gulf of Guinea Loses Millions While Ships Sail Elsewhere for Repairs

The Gulf of Guinea is one of Africa’s busiest shipping corridors, crowded with oil tankers, cargo vessels, and offshore support ships. Yet almost all major repairs happen outside the region, often in Namibia, Spain, or beyond. Every vessel that bypasses West Africa carries away not just steel but also jobs, technical knowledge, and national revenue. The region pays the repair bill elsewhere and receives none of the associated economic ripple effects.

2. A Floating Dock Is Only the Beginning – The Real Prize Is a Maritime Services Cluster

The dock itself is just hardware. The true opportunity lies in building a complete ecosystem around it: logistics, steel fabrication, waste management, security, crew training, catering, and port-side supply chains. Without these supporting industries, the dock becomes an isolated asset rather than an engine of local employment.

3. Ghana Already Has Indigenous Firms Ready to Scale

Homegrown players such as Rigworld have proven capabilities in marine and industrial services. The pivotal question is whether this project allows those firms to grow or whether foreign operators will absorb the most valuable contracts. Local-content policies will determine the answer.

4. Success Depends on Transparent, Proactive Government Measures

Infrastructure alone guarantees nothing. Authorities must publish tender opportunities clearly and early, establish a centralized supplier portal, offer certification support to local businesses, and ensure that Ghanaian small and medium enterprises can access affordable working capital. Without deliberate rules, international firms may capture the entire supply chain while domestic companies watch from the shore.

5. If Ghana Succeeds, Takoradi Becomes a Blueprint for African Value Retention

Should Ghana get this right, the floating dock could become a template for how African economies retain more value from their own geographic advantages. If it fails, the region will simply have acquired another expensive piece of imported equipment with little local benefit. The Gulf of Guinea offers no shortage of ships. Whether Ghanaian businesses—not just foreign firms—will profit from them remains the only question that truly matters.

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Africa Forward: Is Europe Finally Learning to Treat Africa as an Equal Partner?

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Did the Africa Forward Summit in Nairobi mark the end of Europe’s paternalism toward Africa? With €23 billion in new commitments, joint chairing on African soil, and business at the centre of talks, analyst Joseph McCarthy argues the old script may finally be changing—but warns that partnership without concrete industrialization remains just rhetoric.

Read the full analysis below.

Africa Forward: Is Europe Finally Learning to Treat Africa as an Equal Partner?

By Joseph McCarthy

For decades, Africa’s summits with external powers have followed a familiar script. African leaders fly to Paris, Brussels, Washington, Beijing, Moscow or New Delhi; their hosts roll out the red carpet, deliver speeches about partnership, announce ambitious initiatives and pose for the customary family photograph. Communiqués are issued, declarations adopted, and everyone returns home—yet little changes. Investment gaps stay wide, trade stays lopsided, industrialisation crawls, and Africa keeps exporting raw materials while importing finished goods.

That is why the Africa Forward Summit, held in Nairobi on 11 and 12 May 2026, deserves attention; not because Africa needs another summit, but because it signals a possible shift in how Europe, and France in particular, sees the relationship. The symbolism was hard to miss. For the first time, a summit between Africa and France was jointly chaired on African soil with an anglophone African state. President William Ruto of Kenya and President Emmanuel Macron of France stood not as host and guest, but as partners on the same platform. Africa was not summoned to Europe; Europe was invited to Africa. Yet symbolism is not changed. Nairobi will matter only if equality and genuine reciprocity outlast the communiqué.

The more telling shift was in the cast. Summits between Africa and Europe have long belonged to presidents, diplomats and development agencies, with the private sector seated politely at the back. This time, business sat at the centre. The Inspire and Connect forum gathered heads of state alongside scores of African and French company chiefs to discuss industrialisation, value chains, energy and human capital. The message was blunt: the future should rest less on aid and charity between states, and more on investment, entrepreneurship and industrial partnership. African governments no longer seek the role of recipients; they want capital, technology, expertise and market access. Where old summits asked what Europe could do for Africa, this one asked a sharper question: what can African and European firms build together?
There were numbers to match the rhetoric: roughly €23 billion, about $27 billion, in fresh commitments, comprising some €14 billion from French public and private actors and €9 billion from African investors, aimed at energy, digital technology, artificial intelligence, agriculture, health and industry. More striking than the figures was the emphasis. French and European firms voiced interest in investing and producing alongside African companies inside Africa, rather than merely selling into its markets. The most concrete example came from Nigeria, where Accor and the African energy and infrastructure group Shoreline signed a letter of intent for the country’s first national hotel platform: a $300 million project of ten hotels across eight cities, more than 1,200 rooms by 2030, with a training academy to build local skills.

If such partnerships multiply across manufacturing, agriculture, energy, health and digital technology, Africa could enter a new phase of competition. Unlike the scramble of the nineteenth century, driven by extraction and conquest, this one would turn on investment, production, and market opportunities, with Europe, China, the Gulf, India, and Türkiye all competing for a seat at the table. African governments may be better placed than ever to play these suitors against one another in their own interest. The question is no longer who claims to be Africa’s best friend, but who will invest, produce, transfer technology and create jobs.

Here lies the lesson Africa keeps relearning: a good partner is not the one you like most, but the one who brings you the most advantage. France’s history on the continent is singular, not because of a colonisation now decades past, but because the relationship that followed it never truly ended. Several capitals took the easy road, leaning on Paris for their security and quietly surrendering a slice of their sovereignty, while Paris was content to play suzerain. In 2013, Mali hailed France as its saviour when French troops drove back the jihadists closing on Bamako; a few years later, its junta cast that same France as worse than the seven plagues of Egypt. Such incestuous, melodramatic attachments had to end. External powers are neither saviours nor devils; they are partners pursuing their interests, as African states pursue theirs.

That is why Africa can no longer tolerate the old arrangements: military protectorates dressed up as protection; the abuses of foreign mercenaries in its conflict zones; or the economic colonisation that surrenders strategic assets, ports, airports, and railways to whichever state writes the cheque. The withdrawals from Mali, Burkina Faso and Niger were not merely a rejection of France; they marked the exhaustion of a framework inherited from colonial times that no longer fits African aspirations. If Nairobi means anything, it is that Paris may finally grasp that the age of the suzerain is over. France matters here for one further reason: it is a gateway to the wider European market. Should its approach shift from paternalism to brokering business between African and European firms, that would be welcome news for both continents.

Africa’s most urgent task is economic transformation. With millions of young people entering the labour market each year, the world needs productive capital, industry, technology transfer, and jobs; aid alone has never delivered these. What it seeks now is straightforward: investment without domination, cooperation without dependency, partnership without paternalism. Like Saint Thomas, Africans will believe what they eventually see rather than what they are promised. The elegance of its communiqué will not judge the summit, but by visible progress: in artificial intelligence, where Africa must become a creator and not merely a consumer; in infrastructure, the roads, railways, ports, power and connectivity that carry an economy; in food systems, through higher local output and lighter dependence on imports; and in industry, the move beyond raw exports toward manufacturing and value addition.

History will not remember what was promised in Nairobi. It will remember what was built, what was transformed, and what was delivered. Until then, Africa will watch carefully.


Joseph McCarthy is an analyst and researcher specialising in governance, security, and political transitions in the Sahel. He writes on geopolitics, development, and African diplomacy. Email: joecarthy30@gmail.com

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