Venezuelans have a tradition that at midnight on New Year’s Eve, we eat 12 grapes and make a wish for each grape. For the last 27 years, many of my wishes have been directed at a free and democratic Venezuela.
I’m a Venezuelan emigrant, one of millions who have had to leave our country, families and friends behind in hope for a better future, but with the desire to one day return to a democratic Venezuela to help rebuild it.
In the early hours of January 3rd, when I was half awake, half asleep at home here in Ireland, my phone started vibrating with multiple messages coming in. This was unusual, a sign that something was up. As I started seeing messages from my family members – videos and images of what was happening in the capital – my first response was panic. I rushed out of the room screaming to my husband that there were bombs exploding in Caracas. With the news blockade in Venezuela, our family members there were messaging to ask us for information about what was going on, but everything was very unclear. There were few citizens or even journalists on the streets.
The news brought a rollercoaster of emotion: confusion, anxiety, fear and a sliver of hope. When the first reports of Nicolás Maduro being captured came out, it also brought many more questions: what’s next; who’s in power; what does this mean for the country, for Venezuelans, for the region and for the international community?
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All week, people have been getting in touch to ask how I feel and what I think (I am sure many Venezuelans here are getting asked the same question). There is joy at the idea that our jailer is gone and the hope of a free country. There is nothing more human than hope. But we have been here before. I remember when Hugo Chávez died, I felt it was the beginning of the end. Surely now that the head was gone, it would trigger a domino effect and we would have democratic elections again. I was wrong then.
I recognise that joy and hope in what we are experiencing now, in the US promise to oversee a democratic transition and help rebuild the oil infrastructure – the main source of Venezuela’s wealth – which sounds like a fairy tale.
For those who are out of Venezuela, there is still light at the end of the tunnel, but as the days roll on, anxiety is taking the place of hope.
The reality in the country is unchanged: the same local authorities, military and institutions continue to exercise control. Delcy Rodríguez, Maduro’s former deputy, was almost immediately sworn in as leader. All the Venezuelan government leaders, including Rodríguez, have defied the US statement and called the people to fight, though she later toned down her confrontational remarks and said she would work with the US. The US has completely bypassed the popular democratic opposition leader, Nobel peace prize-winner María Corina Machado, despite her repeated praise for Donald Trump.
For ordinary Venezuelans, all of this creates fear rather than reassurance. This is not an abstract concern. Media unions said this week that 14 journalists and media workers – including 11 from foreign outlets – had been detained for hours before being released. A state of emergency announced last Monday forbids Venezuelans from showing support for the US raid. If there are any celebrations, they are happening in private.
The Venezuelan regime has a long history of crimes against civil rights. There is no freedom of speech, and any indication of disagreement with the government is seen as treason. “Collaboration” with international groups is offered as justification for repression. Even WhatsApp messages between family members discussing the situation can be used by the local police as an excuse to imprison and torture people. For those who live outside the country, fear is about the longer term implications.
The fact that only Maduro and his wife were taken, leaving his supporters in place, raises a lot of concerns about a real democratic transition. This creates destabilisation, increases radicalisation – including from those who do not support Maduro but who also don’t want their country “managed” by external powers.
Conflicting and incomplete narratives open the door for growth of misinformation and erosion of trust and narrow the possibilities of dialogue. The idea that dramatic external actions automatically bring a democratic transition closer is horribly misplaced. Transitions are not only about removing figures of authority; they are about legitimacy, social trust and participation. These cannot be imposed from outside, nor can they be sustained without the involvement of Venezuelans themselves in the slow and painful work of rebuilding a deeply fractured society.
Venezuelans have long called for international support in pursuing a democratic transition. But support is not military extraction. When external actions appear to sideline internal actors or blur the lines of sovereignty, they risk undermining the legitimacy on which any future transition would depend. In Panama, Haiti and Iraq, the removal of leaders did not, on its own, produce stability or legitimate political renewal. In Venezuela, there is an additional level of complexity because the Venezuelan military has always been on the side of Chávez and Maduro and beset by accusations of corruption and narco-trafficking, all of which makes a democratic transition more complicated.
The regional and global implications are equally unsettling. Latin America is already divided over the relationship with western powers. There is no secret that the Cubans, Russians and Chinese have competing interests in Venezuela.
For the international community more broadly there are serious implications too. What precedent does this set? Might it encourage other states to take similar actions elsewhere? Will international norms and relations continue to weaken, and where does all this leave the UN Security Council?
These concerns are more pressing in smaller states, because when these international rules become flexible for some – for those with powers, influence – the result is chaos and uncertainty.
For smaller countries, these questions are not theoretical, as Ireland’s own history demonstrates too well. I feel guilty that I am not more joyous and celebrating like many others. But then I tell myself that this is self-preservation. Too many times, hope has been glimpsed and then snatched away. Right now, Venezuelans are waiting, cautiously and anxiously trying to understand whether this moment brings us closer to the future we long for – or whether it pushes it even further out of reach.
Claudia Fracchiolla is a Venezuelan living and working in Ireland
