How Rescinding My Congratulations to María Corina Machado Was the Right Thing to Do

Why It’s an Essential Lesson for Deconstructing

Frankly, I was just sick of hearing about it.

Trump practically begging for the Nobel Peace Prize was unbearable. Jimmy Kimmel showing a video collage of the numerous times Trump mentioned it was comic relief. But for me, nothing was going to be as satisfying as watching his disappointment at not receiving the Peace Prize yet again.

I’ll admit that in years past, I haven’t given much attention to the Nobel Prizes. I can only recall a few award recipients, and I am aware that controversy surrounds some of them. Even President Barack Obama’s award has faced criticism, within the Nobel committee itself, when ex-secretary Geir Lundestad said that he regretted awarding the prize to Obama because, “the prize failed to achieve what the committee hoped it would.”

Based on that article alone, where former Secretary Lundestad shares the nuances behind their voting, it’s clear that politics and possible repercussions do factor into some of the committee’s decisions.

I knew none of that when I waited to hear who would be awarded this year’s Nobel Peace Prize. I posted early in the morning, asking the Nobel committee not to bow to pressure. Not that I had any delusions of grandeur that anyone influential to the Peace Prize would see that post. It simply felt cathartic to post and show that I was lending a sympathetic ear to those whose anxiety was mounting as Trump’s rhetoric ramped up about being a stable peace-generating hero, none of which is true, was being shared.

Why This Matters?

Some may think writing about this is petty and childish for a minister who helps people unpack toxic religious beliefs and find their spiritual path after leaving church. To that I say, “Stay here. You might learn something valuable for anyone who was raised on this side of American Christianity.”

Many of you know the side that I’m talking about. The side that convinced us of our moral superiority simply because we believed we were the chosen ones. We felt justified in judging others who did not look like, love like, or believe as we did. We were unashamed of our “exclusive Christian club,” as a friend once called it when I had invited her to a Sunday brunch at church, and she politely declined, saying she’d never be a part of a club so hateful. Up until that point, I had never considered how my faith sounded to others. I certainly had my own inner struggles by that time, wrangling with myself to stay in church when everything inside me was saying, “leave.”

That side of Christianity is one of the most challenging ones from which to deconstruct. Some may say it’s because it’s a cult. Some feel that the label of “cult” is too harsh, but it is inarguable that the cult-like tactics were prevalent, evidenced by the years it takes for some of us to untether from toxic beliefs in how we view ourselves and the world around us.

So here I was, early Thursday morning, waiting to see who would be awarded the Peace Prize. I may have directed my “don’t bend the knee” post to the Nobel committee, but in my mind were the global leaders, who sat silent in the U.N. General Assembly as Trump spewed lie after lie about ending wars that never existed, holding himself up as the only leader who can solve world problems, and insulted them by saying their countries are “going to hell.” It seemed we’re witnessing a world capitulating to the Trump regime in terrifying ways.

When will it end?

When I first heard that María Corina Machado had won the Nobel Peace Prize, I was elated. I read the description that the Nobel committee offered about Machado and believed I was solid in congratulating someone whose defense of democracy was indisputable. That the Nobel Committee hadn’t caved to Donald Trump’s desperate lobbying for recognition gave me hope that there were people left who were not catering to the whims of a petulant man-child who has relied on bullying to gain power his entire life.

I mean, how bad do you have to be for a former executive of the NBC show, The Apprentice, to say:

“At the very least, it was a substantial exaggeration; at worst, it created a false narrative by making him seem more successful than he was.”

The eventual commander in chief, Miller said, might have been the “perfect choice” to
star in the show, because “more successful CEOs were too busy to get involved in reality TV and didn’t want to hire random game show winners onto their executive teams. Trump had no such concerns.”

For just a brief moment, it seemed the world had chosen democracy over demagoguery.
Like many, I celebrated.
And then, I deleted it.

Not because the trolls came for me, or because I feared losing followers. I deleted it because I learned I was wrong, and because I was willing to listen when those most harmed by systems of oppression told me why.

When Celebration Becomes Complicity

Minutes after my post went live, messages began pouring in.

The messages weren’t from people looking to argue. They were from people I deeply respect—members of Black and Brown communities who have long endured the global reach of white supremacy and colonial violence. When one person invited me to understand why Marco Rubio nominated Machado for the Peace prize, I knew I needed to dig deeper and understand who Maria Corina Machado was.

In messages and in my research I learned about Machado’s alliance with Netanyahu. Her silence on the genocide in Gaza. Her support of Trump’s false narrative that he “solved eight wars.” Her embrace of leaders like Jair Bolsonaro and Nayib Bukele, men whose authoritarian playbooks mirror Trump’s own. Her support of the Trump regime bombing of suspected drug boats in the Caribbean.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, her dedication of the Nobel Peace Prize to Donald Trump, a man whose current plan for Gaza involves ethnic cleansing disguised as redevelopment.

According to The Guardian, Trump has proposed that the United States “take over” Gaza, “clean out” its people, and “own it.” His son-in-law, Jared Kushner, called Gaza’s ruins “very valuable waterfront property.” They see colonization as opportunity and genocide as a justifiable cost for an investment. And standing beside him when he announced this plan? Benjamin Netanyahu—quietly smiling.

This is the company Machado hopes to keep.

When I read that, my relief turned to nausea.

I realized that, in my eagerness to celebrate what felt like a moral victory, I had placed my trust in a system that has too often rewarded the powerful for their proximity to whiteness and Western ideals of “freedom.”

How Indoctrination Keeps Us Silent

This is what deconstruction continues to teach me:

Even after years of peeling away the layers of religious indoctrination, patriarchy still whispers,

Trust authority. Trust power. Don’t question it too much—it’s probably right.

For those of us raised in Christianity’s white patriarchal structures, this reflex runs deep. We were trained to trust the pastor, the president, the father, the “man in charge.” To assume that institutions like the Nobel Committee—made up mainly of people who look like us—hold moral clarity that we somehow lack.

It’s humbling to admit how easily that conditioning still operates.

Because my instinct was to believe that the Nobel Committee’s decision meant Machado was worthy of global celebration. I didn’t pause to ask who was celebrating her, and who was grieving because of her silence.

That is how complicity hides in plain sight.

Learning to Listen and Apologize

When I deleted my post, I didn’t craft a long apology. I simply wrote from my heart, assuming it would garner a few likes and be forgotten within a few hours. I wrote:

“I have deleted my post recognizing Maria Corina Machado. After hearing that she dedicated the prize to Trump, reading press releases from the Council on American/Islamic Relations, listening to you and your concerns, learning of Machado’s support of Netanyahu and her silence on the g-cide in Gaza, it is obvious that her reputation poisons her award. It sickens me to read that she is being held as a beacon for democracy when she aligns so openly with tyrannical rule. This is such an essential part of deconstructing/decolonizing for me and others who were indoctrinated to believe that what is presented as truth should not be questioned. Christian patriarchy relies on people who will not question authority, and on this one, I thought I was on solid ground. I believed that the Nobel Committee would hold such a high standard as to never award this prize to someone with so many views and beliefs that clearly harm humanity. I was wrong and am deeply sorry.”

The response stunned me. I gained 3,000 followers overnight. Many of my mutuals thanked me for listening and doing the work and moving past “performative allyship.”

They said I did something many white people still resist: I listened, I learned, and I apologized.

When I saw how much support that post was getting, I had a moment of regret for not taking the time to craft a more eloquent apology. The risk in that, however, is that it could have easily become something more performative and less apologetic. White people must remember that authenticity, even when it is short and lacking context, is better than over-explaining in a way that centers our voices.

Trust me when I say there is plenty of pushback on deleting my support of Machado and disagreement that my apology was even necessary. Those comments are coming from primarily white people who simply cannot see that advocacy’s first lesson is humility. When we’ve been indoctrinated to believe that white saviorism is an inherent right, it’s a bug that will sneak in when we least expect it and undo the progress we have attempted to make.

What Deconstruction Really Demands

Deconstruction isn’t just about questioning scripture or rejecting church.

It’s about unlearning every reflex that tells us to protect our comfort at the expense of truth.

It’s about naming the indoctrination that taught us that “authority” equals morality. It’s about realizing that good intentions don’t absolve harm. And it’s about practicing humility so deep that apology becomes an act of sacred resistance.

When I publicly rescinded my support for Machado, some accused me of “abandoning Venezuela.” But I have never spoken as an expert on Venezuelan politics. And while I have learned a great deal over these past 48 hours, it would be irresponsible to pretend that I could be. My platform centers the people I serve: those healing from religious trauma, those standing for human rights, those learning that faith without accountability is just another form of oppression. That is why I was comfortable speaking on the intersection of the betrayal the historically oppressed in America feels with Machado’s win.

To my critics, I say this:
It is not betrayal to withdraw support when a new truth emerges.
It is growth.

The Spiritual Work of Doing Minimal Harm

I often say that our goal as spiritually conscious people who are deconstructing from Christian patriarchy isn’t to never cause harm—it’s to learn to do minimal harm. When we shift our mindset to accept that indoctrinated beliefs are embedded in our lived experiences, we become open to change and view them not as flaws but as opportunities for growth. The only time we create significant harm is when we are offered a mirror to see what is harming the ones we profess to care for, and we double down on our assertion that we are right.

That phrase “learn to do minimal harm” has become a mantra for me in this work. Because I did cause harm by celebrating someone whose alliances uphold the very systems I spend my life helping to dismantle.

And if there’s one thing my deconstruction journey has taught me, it’s that integrity always costs something—followers, comfort, certainty. But it also gives something back: credibility, trust, humanity.

In a world addicted to certainty, admitting you were wrong is an act of rebellion. In a system built on white ignorance, listening to the oppressed is an act of repair. And in a culture that rewards pride over humility, apology is a radical form of peacekeeping.

The Nobel Committee may not understand that on the same level as I do, and I may never understand their reasons behind awarding the Peace Prize to Machado.

But those of us deconstructing from Christian patriarchy must seek this level of understanding.

Because when we choose truth over ego—when we are willing to say, I was wrong, I have learned, and I will do better—we model the very peace that prizes like these claim to honor.

That, Beloved, is the real work of liberation.

References:

The Guardian — “Waterfront Property: What Are Trump’s Real Estate Interests in Palestine?” (Feb. 2025), detailing Trump’s proposed U.S. “takeover” of Gaza and its economic and colonial implications.

The Planet on Substack — “The Controversy Around María Corina Machado,” summarizing Machado’s complex record of alliances, her ties to Trump, Bolsonaro, and Netanyahu, and her controversial advocacy for military intervention in Venezuela.