You are forgiven if you barely remember this happening.
The first week of May 2020 was a little nuts. In the United States, deaths from COVID-19 were breaking new records, approximating the particularly gruesome “a 9/11 a day” metric. And if you were in the United States, there’s a good chance that you were hitting refresh on Amazon, trying to get some N95 masks, or tallying cans of garbanzo beans in your pantry. So, when a small band of misguided men attempted to overthrow the Venezuelan government—Operation Gideon, as it was called—it was quickly waved off by many as some screwy, off-the-front-page story. “The Bay of Piglets” was the gag headline, which, at least for me, inspired an “oh, yeah, this rings a bell” response when I sat down to watch Men of War.
Men of War, a 2024 documentary now streaming on most major platforms, gives this curious history footnote the spotlight that it deserves. Yes, the word “screwy” still applies, and parts of the tale seem like something from a Coen brothers movie, but directors Jen Gatien and Billy Corben approach the material as if it were a beehive, their cameras acting as a well-placed stick. The project got an assist from executive producer Adam McKay, the Saturday Night Live alum who created comedy masterpieces like Anchorman (2004) and Step Brothers (2008), as well as more political films like The Big Short (2015), Vice (2018), and Don’t Look Up (2021).
The primary figure behind Operation Gideon, and the perhaps not-entirely-reliable narrator of Men of War, is Jordan Goudreau, a Canadian kid who loves Rambo movies and joined the U.S. Army because, as he somewhat condescendingly remarked, there’s little chance of being deployed from Canada.
Goudreau wanted action and when al Qaeda attacked the United States just shortly after he’d been stationed at Fort Bragg, he found it. He renounced his Canadian citizenship so he could see combat as quickly as possible, and he soon discovered that despite some queasy feelings after initial engagements, war was really his bag.
He served in Afghanistan and Iraq as part of a group of Special Forces, also known as Green Berets, and soon discovered that returning to civilian life after thriving in such a high-adrenaline environment was simply untenable. One thinks back to the coda of the Oscar-winning movie The Hurt Locker (2008), in which William James, a bomb diffusion specialist played by Jeremy Renner, is completely out of sync with the cereal aisle at the supermarket.
Goudreau found work as a security contractor, though some might call him a mercenary. After aiding in Puerto Rico after Hurricane Maria in 2017, he created his own firm: Silvercorp USA. In time, this all leads to a ludicrous (and very confusing) scheme off the coast of Caracas, Venezuela, that is so outlandish that it seems like a punchline at first.
The scene in Lawrence of Arabia (1962) when T.E. Lawrence confesses to Gen. Edmund Allenby that he executed someone on the battlefield and “enjoyed it” still reverberates with a tonal shock of emotional frankness decades later. Goudreau, meanwhile, talks about war like an HVAC salesperson praising a new unit’s effect on your utility bills.
It could just be bravado, or he could be a genuine sociopath. Either way, Goudreau—a bald, physically fit man who looks good in T-shirts, shares an eerie likeness to actor Billy Crudup, and slips phrases like “it’s what Heraclitus says” into conversation—is the poster boy for a classroom of war.
He’s also a product of our time, which is great news for documentarians, since there is a wealth of footage of Goudreau deployed overseas and in the run-up to Operation Gideon. If only Leonidas of Sparta or John Rambo took selfies!
Soon after creating Silvercorp, Goudreau was hired to provide a security detail for U.S. President Donald Trump in North Carolina. An encounter at a Trump rally would forever tie Goudreau to Venezuela, a resource-rich nation on some rocky ground following the death of President Hugo Chávez.
Chávez’s successor, Nicolás Maduro, remained against U.S. interests but had adversaries in dismissed military leader Cliver Alcalá and political candidate Juan Guaidó. Some people believed—and Men of War deliberately leaves it unclear who specifically—that if Alcalá could be led back into Venezuela, it would set off a chain reaction of armed resistance against Maduro, eventually putting the far more U.S.-friendly Guaidó in power.
So, naturally, there were meetings at a WeWork in Florida.
Goudreau said that he was one of several security firms interviewed by a lobbying group commanded by a longtime Trump associate to see if they’d bite at this task. (The associate is quoted as telling investigators that he was only there to talk about supplying foreign aid to a troubled nation, and any plans of a military incursion must have happened while he was “in the bathroom or getting coffee.” Fair enough!)
With a plan in place, Silvercorp went to Colombia to strategize with Alcalá and his fighters. Then, the money failed to show up. Goudreau was flat on his rear, but he had recognized the soldier spirit in the Venezuelan expats by that point. He felt connected to their cause and wanted to continue the work.
His continued interest led to another meeting in Florida—this time at a Dunkin’ Donuts. A cousin of Guaidó, who had declared himself the true president of Venezuela, wanted Silvercorp to get the ball rolling again on the planned coup. Money—real money—changed hands, though the legal documents included deniability clauses straight out of the Mission: Impossible franchise.
Goudreau’s encounters led him to J.J. Rendón, an eccentric Venezuelan businessman, who was based in Florida and whose interview footage in Men of War is the most likely to be misconstrued as a comedy bit.
Rendón’s resources and Guaidó’s buy-in meant Goudreau had—as he claims in the film—direct contact with people in the White House, specifically then-U.S. Vice President Mike Pence’s associate director of policy, Drew Horn (whose name, incidentally, came up in recent reporting about “covert influence operations” in Greenland). The texts between Goudreau and Horn that are shown in the movie maintain a bro-like vernacular that may seem more suited for relaying football statistics than discussing the overthrowing of a foreign nation, but not everyone can write like John and Abigail Adams.
Despite increasing setbacks in 2020, the operation continued. Goudreau rooked two of his old Special Forces chums to lead approximately 60 people in boats from Colombia to Venezuela—just enough to ignite a spark that they seemed to believe would lead to a revolution.
It was over before it even started, thanks to simple navigation issues at first. Goudreau, not on the boats himself, pulled every lever he could to help his team, which meant posting on social media and asking Trump for help. (At this point, most of the world, including Trump, was focused on the rapidly spreading COVID-19.) Eight people died. Goudreau’s comrades were captured. Everyone in government denied that they had anything to do with this crackpot plan.
It’s around this time that Men of War slyly reveals that Goudreau’s time in the army concluded with a traumatic brain injury and a diagnosis of post-traumatic stress disorder. One wonders if others in the scheme saw that as a bug or a feature.
After some time, Goudreau was visited by the FBI. He darted out of a backdoor, hopped on a motorcycle, and used all his Special Forces skills to make his way to Mexico, where he hid for a year. No spoilers as to where he, Alcalá, or Guaidó are today. Maduro, of course, is still in power.
Men of War is deceptively simple. Initially, it seems just like any typical “talking head” nonfiction film. Goudreau practically comports himself like a reality television star explaining why he’s been voted off the island. But his is a world of satellite phones and video surveillance. The editing is choppy and digitized, leading to a glitchy brain sensation over time. The narrative can seem like satire, the footage can look like a video game, but when actual people end up hurt, it quickly gets a lot less funny. The larger point has less to do with the baffling specifics of the Venezuelan operation and more to do with wondering what expertly trained warriors are supposed to do with themselves once they’ve been dismissed from service. Teach gym class?
Though there are a few counterviews to Goudreau’s included in the film—mostly from a brother of one of the captured Silvercorp Green Berets—Men of War is a fascinating portrait of how someone fit, strong, well-trained, and eager to drop military jargon perceives themselves. Oftentimes, these are just the people you want in high-pressure situations. (One hopes that Goudreau’s first security gig after Hurricane Maria hit Puerto Rico was more of a help than a hindrance.)
But one comes away from Men of War wondering, “Where the hell are all the adults?” It’s fair to assume that we’ll be getting many more documentaries like it in the years to come.
The post The Coup That Started in a WeWork appeared first on Foreign Policy.
