A little girl can’t go to the park with her parents. A mother trembles while taking out the trash. A father peeks through the blinds to see if anyone is watching. Years earlier, this family faced persecution in Venezuela, but now they’re living in terror in the United States. They traveled thousands of miles on the most treacherous migration path in the world to seek asylum in the US, but following the legal pathways didn’t matter amid Trump’s anti-immigrant crackdown. Jose, one of the primary providers for the extended family, was taken by ICE. For the safety of the family, we’ve changed their names and concealed identifying details. Like many Venezuelan asylum seekers, they are stuck in a lose-lose situation. The Trump administration has specifically targeted Venezuelan immigrants for deportation, while simultaneously bombing their home country, abducting Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro, and leaving behind a nation of instability. It’s true that many Venezuelans loathe Maduro for his brutal regime that weaponized fear and terror to horde power. However, despite Trump’s claims that US intervention is helping Venezuelan people, Maduro’s allies remain in power and have already started to crack down on civilians.  The Trump administration continues to claim that it is safe to return back to Venezuela after its illegal attack. But in reality little has changed, and the threat of persecution remains, as does the crippling US naval blockade. There’s no certainty for immigrants back in Venezuela, but there is one thing for certain: They escaped one regime of terror for another. “I depend so much on him,” Maria says of her husband Jose, the man who was taken. “We were a team. If he was here, he could take care of my son. I could go to work. It has been very complicated and I am so scared to go outside.” Jose was sent more than 1,000 miles away from his family and spent months in detention. He describes being treated like an animal: Detainees were left to soil themselves while shackled in transit, and were medically neglected at the detention facility. Detainees were obliged to climb onto top bunks despite serious back pain, and were left completely in the dark as to what might be in store for them. Meanwhile, the family struggles to survive. Maria faced debilitating mental health episodes after Jose’s abduction, kids are missing out on school, and they can barely leave the house to take out the trash for fear they could be snatched at any moment. They also say their family back in Venezuela still relies on them to send money back—between Jose’s abduction and the extreme fear of going outside, that’s become increasingly difficult. His family, meanwhile, struggles to survive. Maria faced debilitating mental health episodes after Jose’s abduction, their kids are missing out on school, and they can barely leave the house, even to take out the trash, for fear they could be snatched at any moment. Their family back in Venezuela still relies on them to send money back, but between Jose’s abduction and their limited mobility, that’s become increasingly difficult. Maria and the others held out hope for his release, as they had followed the proper legal pathways to obtain asylum, but the Department of Homeland Security had Jose deported to Mexico the day before the US military attacked Venezuela. For days, he had nothing but the clothes he’d worn in detention, and has been struggling to survive in a country where he has no connections.  His family has stayed put despite the constant threat of further separation and deportation. Returning to Venezuela now would put them at the mercy of a government that considers them traitors. It would mean walking right into the chaos the Trump administration has inflamed.  “We were happy people,” Maria says. “We didn’t have any doubt in the process. But now that we’re going through this, we feel terror.”

N ell’estate di otto anni fa, la metropoli del Venezuela mostrava almeno tre anime. Con Nicolás Maduro attaccato da destra e anche da sinistra, ma ancora saldamente sul suo piedistallo tra i palazzi governativi; gli assembramenti a plaza Altamira delle classi più elitarie; la crisi umanitaria e le speranze tradite, ma sempre vive, della gente povera dei ranchos. A distanza di quasi un decennio, osservate da più lontano, le faglie che spaccavano il Paese emergono più nitide e chiare. Mentre, nella canicola estiva del luglio 2017, le televisioni italiane si concentravano sulle immagini dei cassonetti in fiamme, sugli scontri di strada e sulle manifestazioni ‘oceaniche’ per le vie della capitale ‒ in un frame ossessivo e ipnotico ‒ Caracas ‒mostrava almeno due volti, anzi tre. Ognuno incardinato in un’area della città, lungo una mappa aderente alla morfologia storica e sociale del Venezuela. Nella grande capitale sudamericana, edificata su decine di pendii lussureggianti, tra ranchos poveri ‒ identici alle favelas di Rio de Janeiro ‒ e lussuosi condomini protetti da altane e filo spinato, c’era la Caracas della protesta contro Nicolás Maduro, degli scontri di strada sanguinari, che dall’Europa sembravano totali e invasivi, ma che si addensavano a est, nel quartiere Altamira, la parte orientale della città, quella più abbiente, dei colletti bianchi. Ma c’era anche un’altra Caracas, quella a ovest, dove si concentravano i palazzi governativi e le centrali amministrative d’apparato, i monumenti e i poli della vita culturale. Ed era lì che Maduro restava sul suo piedistallo e Hugo Chávez continuava a essere un faro nella notte. > Mentre nel luglio 2017 le televisioni italiane si concentravano sulle immagini > dei cassonetti in fiamme, sugli scontri di strada e sulle manifestazioni > ‘oceaniche’ per le vie della capitale Caracas mostrava almeno due volti, anzi > tre. Tutt’intorno c’era la terza Caracas, quella degli slum fitti di chiaroscuri, dove speranza e rabbia si mescolavano indissolubilmente lungo le tortuose stradine di mattoni traforati, sotto la pressione delle rivolte interne al Paese e degli embarghi e delle sanzioni internazionali. Ed è da questo orizzonte ‒ le strade popolari di La Guaira, cittadina satellite di Caracas, affacciata sull’aeroporto Simón Bolívar e sull’Atlantico ‒ che il racconto di quanto visto e incontrato nel luglio 2017, nel corso di un reportage, vuole partire. La Guaira Sull’uscio delle case riverniciate di colori carnosi, negli occhi delle persone si agitavano bagliori contraddittori quando si chiedeva loro cosa ne pensassero dei continui scontri di piazza che stavano lacerando una parte di Caracas. Un’inquietudine racchiusa nella risposta lapidaria di Carmen, insegnante: “Ma se torneranno a governare le destre, noi poveri finiremo per essere abbandonati un’altra volta”. La donna, un’energica e aggraziata cinquantenne, era anche volontaria dei CLAP (Comités Locales de Abastecimiento y Producción), istituiti dal governo nel 2016 per far fronte alla carenza di cibo e alla crisi economica che stava attanagliando il Paese. E che già allora si stavano rivelando contaminati, nei vertici organizzativi, dal malaffare di amici e collaboratori di Maduro. Carmen era una militante di base, la sua speranza era trascinante lungo le piazzette e i mercati del sobborgo di Caracas, fra le piccole abitazioni realizzate grazie all’aiuto dello Stato, che per anni aveva fornito mattoni e vernici a prezzi calmierati affinché la gente dei ranchos potesse costruire le proprie case, in un disegno di edilizia popolare autoprodotta. La donna portava esempi su esempi dei programmi educativi che negli anni del chavismo erano stati messi a servizio delle classi più povere. “La rivoluzione bolivariana ha dato modo di iscriversi all’università anche agli orfani, ai disabili nullatenenti”. Ma ormai la crisi era entrata spietata e feroce nel microcosmo del suo quartiere, dove la gente aveva sempre vissuto di nulla. “Sì, la situazione è insostenibile. Il sacco di mangime per polli che serve ogni settimana è arrivato a 85.000 bolívar”, praticamente quanto l’assegno di pensione sociale destinato ai nullatenenti, 96.000 bolívar, ammetteva lei stessa, mostrando un allevamento tra due baracche. Nei cortili sghembi che galleggiavano soprattutto di microeconomia informale, sopravvivere era sempre più difficile.   File ai negozi nei quartieri popolari di Caracas, 2017 / fot. Marco Benedettelli. Caracas Ovest Scendendo dai ranchos rossi di mattoni, si arriva alle strade pianeggianti della parte occidentale di Caracas, quella governativa, dove, in quei giorni di proteste tempestose, il regime di Maduro e le sue centrali di potere continuavano a mostrare, almeno in superficie, una solenne compostezza. Palazzo Miraflores, la sede del governo, circondata da alberi color smeraldo, era presidiata da giovani militari della Guardia nazionale. Sulla sommità di una bianca scalinata, in cima a una collina, svettava il monumento di Hugo Chávez. Nei murales, forme morbide celebravano l’epica della Rivoluzione bolivariana, unendo in un’unica saga il libertador Simón Bolívar, il comandante Chávez e il continuatore del percorso, Nicolás Maduro. > Lo Stato per anni aveva fornito mattoni e vernici a prezzi calmierati affinché > la gente dei ranchos potesse costruire le proprie case, in un disegno di > edilizia popolare autoprodotta. I negozi e le librerie intorno a plaza Bolívar diffondevano musica caraibica, più festosa di qualsiasi crisi. Nei teatri, come il Centro cultural Chacao, giovanissime volontarie esponevano orgogliose la programmazione degli eventi per la gente. Ma il fulcro di quel diffuso mantra filogovernativo stava sotto un semplice tendone, nell’Esquina caliente, letteralmente “angolo caldo”, il gazebo informativo dove una dozzina di militanti presidiavano la piazza, per discutere appassionatamente con chiunque porgesse loro la parola. “È colpa della congiura internazionale. Ci stanno sabotando, vogliono affossare la nostra rivoluzione popolare perché il nostro petrolio fa gola alle élite imperialiste”, dicevano, mentre anche in quelle ore le proteste ribollivano nell’altra parte orientale della capitale. “Le cause della crisi monetaria sono pilotate dalla destra, che controlla i mezzi di produzione e distribuzione. È tutto spiegato nel libro di Pasqualina Curcio, La mano visible del mercado”, argomentava un’altra militante. Sul tavolo del gazebo spiccavano libri e giornali filorivoluzionari, tra cui il Correo del Orinoco, quotidiano governativo che in epigrafe si definiva “L’artiglieria del pensiero”. Tutti raccontavano orgogliosi della loro instancabile militanza politica, fatta di riunioni, comitati e assemblee, di misiones, i progetti sociali voluti dal Comandante. “Chávez è stato avvelenato. Il suo cancro è un’invenzione”, spiegava un uomo. “Andare a nuove elezioni politiche? No, non si può. I risultati verrebbero truccati dalle destre, è già successo. In Venezuela è in atto un attacco dei ricchi contro i poveri. Il Paese non è il quartiere Altamira”, diceva un altro, alzando le braccia per la rabbia. La fotografia della crisi Da una parte la speranza, il desiderio di riscatto. Dall’altra un elenco di dati che già in quei giorni di luglio del 2017 indicavano come la crisi economica avesse assunto le proporzioni di un’emergenza umanitaria, soprattutto per le fasce più vulnerabili. L’Osservatorio Caritas Venezuela parlava dell’82% della popolazione in povertà e del 52% in povertà estrema; nel 2016 erano morti 11.000 bambini per carenza di medicinali, una piaga aperta dall’embargo americano. A Caracas, sugli scaffali delle farmacie, le scatole erano piazzate ad ampie distanze, in desolanti allestimenti pensati per colmare i vuoti. > Nel 2016 erano morti 11.000 bambini per carenza di medicinali, una piaga > aperta dall’embargo americano. Il Venezuela, allora come oggi, nuotava sul petrolio, venduto a un prezzo inferiore a quello di una bottiglia d’acqua o di un grammo di cocaina. Ma, crollata in quei mesi la produzione e il prezzo di mercato ‒ su cui lo Stato caraibico aveva sempre fondato la propria economia di rendita ‒ l’inflazione era esplosa all’800%. Servivano 9.000 bolívares per il cambio di un dollaro, il costo di un pieno era attorno ai 5 centesimi di dollaro, un grammo di “neve bianca” era quotato meno di un dollaro e lo stipendio mensile di uno statale alzava in media 20 dollari. Il salario minimo, pari a 160.000 bolívares, bastava appena per comprare un pezzo di pane al giorno. Le code agli empori sociali riempivano i marciapiedi. Un’emergenza che lo Stato cercava di tamponare con un governo composto in parte da ministri militari e in parte da civili. Sotto di loro, altri diciotto generali erano incaricati di occuparsi ciascuno di un singolo prodotto base della disastrata economia: olio, riso, zucchero, farina di mais, ma anche carta igienica, introvabile in alcune zone del Venezuela. Più di due milioni e mezzo di venezuelani erano già emigrati nel 2017 (e nove anni dopo, all’arresto-blitz di Maduro, erano diventati quasi 8 milioni). Secondo quanto raccontavano le persone incontrate in quei giorni nelle strade di Caracas, tra i manghi rigogliosi e i palazzi scorticati, la paura si faceva sempre più cupa. Con 119,87 omicidi ogni 100.000 abitanti nel 2016, la capitale del Venezuela era divenuta la città più violenta del mondo: una metropoli dove era d’obbligo chiudersi in casa al coprifuoco, quando le strade venivano invase dai colectivos, bande di motociclisti in origine legittimate da Hugo Chávez come strumento di presidio nelle periferie altrimenti impenetrabili, ma poi mutate in gang fuori controllo. Affinità e divergenze Nell’aprile del 2017 le proteste erano state aperte dal corteo del MUD (Mesa de Unidad Democrática), la coalizione di opposizione politica della destra populista venezuelana; ne facevano parte anche quattro movimenti di ispirazione progressista: Acción democrática, Un nuevo tiempo, Voluntad popular ‒ parte dell’Internazionale socialista ‒, e Primero justicia. Quattro mesi dopo, nell’afosa Caracas del luglio 2017, erano evidenti le mille contraddizioni di un Paese che cercava di restare aggrappato alle riforme economiche e sociali dei decenni precedenti, messe in atto da Chávez, capaci di livellare le profonde disparità con cui il Venezuela aveva attraversato il Novecento. Dal secondo dopoguerra, infatti, si erano susseguiti una decina di colpi di Stato, spesso appoggiati dallo scomodo vicino nordamericano, funzionali ad addomesticare élite compiacenti attraverso giunte militari guidate da autentici fantocci in divisa, piazzati a capo di regimi dittatoriali. > L’eterogeneo fronte della protesta dell’epoca era composto non solo da > politici di destra, spesso prezzolati dalla Casa Bianca, ma anche da una larga > fetta di chavisti scontenti. L’ultimo colpo di Stato del millennio precedente, quello del 1998 messo in atto proprio da Chávez, rappresentò un vero e proprio terremoto politico. Il primo tentativo di rovesciamento degli anni Duemila risale invece all’11 aprile 2002, durato appena 47 ore, con l’obiettivo di rimuovere proprio l’allora caudillo. Gli Stati Uniti, come un pugile suonato, impiegarono almeno un decennio prima di riprendersi e tornare a occuparsi del loro “cortile”. Nel frattempo Chávez era morto, ma il chavismo era rimasto in vita, seppur poco e male rappresentato dal suo delfino, Nicolás Maduro. Non è un caso che l’eterogeneo fronte della protesta dell’epoca fosse composto non solo da politici di destra, spesso prezzolati dalla Casa Bianca, ma anche da una larga fetta di chavisti scontenti. I veri nostalgici, costretti a passare dall’alba di una nuova speranza per le fasce più deboli e invisibili della popolazione ‒ incarnata dall’ex militare dell’esercito venezuelano, ispirato a Che Guevara e influenzato dagli scritti di Antonio Gramsci ‒ a una deriva del suo verbo e delle sue azioni. Secondo i sondaggi clandestini che circolavano in Venezuela nel 2017, il presidente Maduro poteva contare su uno zoccolo duro di consensi pari al 15-20%, a cui si sarebbe potuta aggiungere una quota del 20-25% di chavisti delusi e critici nei suoi confronti. Tra questi figuravano la procuratrice generale del Venezuela, Luisa Ortega Díaz, protagonista di una rocambolesca fuga in moto verso la Colombia nell’agosto del 2017, e suo marito Germán Ferrer, deputato dell’Assemblea nazionale, chavista e volto noto di Globovisión, la televisione di opposizione. Del vecchio “cerchio magico” attorno a Maduro rimasero il fedelissimo Diosdado Cabello, presidente del Parlamento venezuelano, indagato per traffico internazionale di droga dalle autorità statunitensi e accusato di distrazione di fondi pubblici, e Tareck El Aissami, vicepresidente del Venezuela, di origini libanesi e ritenuto vicino a Hezbollah. Caracas Est Gli impiegati che anche in quei giorni assolati si affaccendavano lungo i marciapiedi di avenida Francisco Solano López, gli esponenti della borghesia imprenditoriale e anche tanti studenti, ogni pomeriggio si ritrovavano a plaza Francia, cuore del ricco quartiere di Altamira. Da qui partivano le manifestazioni; poi alcuni creavano i primi avamposti, allestivano i blocchi del traffico, i cosiddetti trancazos, ed esplodeva la guerriglia contro le forze dell’ordine. Ad incendiarla erano gruppi di giovanissimi che, con scudi di legno, molotov, biglie di ceramica e maschere antigas, sfidavano gli agenti della Guardia nacional appostati sui cavalcavia dell’autostrada che taglia in due la città. Lo svincolo dell’autopista Francisco Fajardo, tra La Merced e Chacaíto, era l’epicentro degli scontri. > Dal secondo dopoguerra si erano susseguiti una decina di colpi di Stato, > spesso appoggiati dallo scomodo vicino nordamericano, funzionali ad > addomesticare élite compiacenti attraverso fantocci in divisa piazzati a capo > di regimi dittatoriali. I cortei si dividevano, con la parte pacifica che si disperdeva subito, ricacciata indietro dalle bombe lacrimogene e dai proiettili di gomma sparati ad altezza d’uomo. I giovani lanciavano sassi, si proteggevano con tappetini trasformati in giubbotti antiproiettile e usavano ante di scaffali come scudi. Uno di loro, colpito da un proiettile di gomma all’avambraccio, veniva soccorso dalle squadre volontarie di paramedici. Intanto, nelle retrovie, gli antimaduristi più moderati scandivano slogan come: “Non c’è più pane, non c’è più farina, ci sono solo i soldi per trafficare in cocaina”. La polizia era schierata in massa tra Chacaíto e avenida Francisco de Miranda, impedendo al plotone di manifestanti violenti di oltrepassare il limite territoriale imposto dai vertici militari. Eppure, in un’arteria parallela a breve distanza, tra avenida Casanova e il boulevard Sabana Grande ‒ una lunga isola pedonale di un paio di chilometri, costellata di negozi e ristoranti ‒ migliaia di persone passeggiavano e facevano shopping come se nulla stesse accadendo. Non sembrava affatto di trovarsi nella città più pericolosa del Sud America. Ma chi c’era dietro il movimento di protesta che in quei mesi del 2017 infiammava parte del Venezuela? A livello politico, dalle elezioni del 2014 ‒ in cui Maduro aveva sconfitto Henrique Capriles, non senza le consuete accuse di brogli ‒ una figura era emersa con particolare forza rispetto alle altre: María Corina Machado. Un personaggio non del tutto limpido già all’epoca, che nessuno avrebbe immaginato, otto anni dopo, insignito del Nobel per la Pace. Durante quelle manifestazioni, più d’una volta arrivò nei luoghi di ritrovo della fronda antimadurista: pochi minuti per stringere mani, elargire sorrisi, arringare la folla, spuntando dal tettuccio apribile di un SUV dai vetri oscurati oppure, in un’altra occasione, a bordo di una moto. “Questa è l’ora zero delle proteste, non ci fermeremo”, era lo slogan del suo comizio lampo, prima di schizzare via scortata da altri centauri. > A livello politico, dalle elezioni del 2014 una figura era emersa con forza: > María Corina Machado. Un personaggio non del tutto limpido già all’epoca, che > nessuno avrebbe immaginato, otto anni dopo, insignito del Nobel per la Pace. Emiliano Terán, all’epoca giovane docente di sociologia all’Universidad Simón Bolívar di Caracas, incontrato in una tranquilla pasticceria di una zona residenziale, non aveva espresso dubbi sul fronte anti-Maduro: “L’opposizione paga i gruppi violenti per estremizzare la lotta e li assolda nei ranchos, le bidonville di Caracas dove la gente non ha nulla”, spiegava, per poi precisare: “Non posso che essere critico dell’operato del governo Maduro, visto dove sta portando il Paese, ma l’opposizione non è unitaria e non ha idea dei rischi che si stanno correndo”. E ancora: “Le comunità, le organizzazioni popolari e i movimenti sociali si trovano di fronte a un progressivo annullamento del tessuto sociale. Un’irruzione mediatica internazionale esagerata nasconde il ritorno delle ingerenze straniere divise in blocchi: l’asse Russia-Cina da una parte e la Casa Bianca dall’altra, oggi con Trump [allora al primo mandato, ndr] e ieri con Obama, che nel 2015 ha emesso un ordine esecutivo secondo cui il Venezuela rappresenta una minaccia per la sicurezza nazionale degli Stati Uniti”. Per il giovane ricercatore venezuelano era ormai in atto il declino del ciclo progressista in America Latina, avviato da Chávez e proseguito poi con Lula in Brasile, i Kirchner in Argentina, Morales in Bolivia, Mujica in Uruguay, Correa in Ecuador e altri ancora. “Ma oggi, in Venezuela, non c’è una dittatura, perché il controllo del potere non è solo nelle mani di Maduro. Esistono gruppi che si alleano a seconda degli interessi; non c’è una dominazione totale dall’alto verso il basso. Se il conflitto va fuori controllo, il caos diventerà ingovernabile”. Giovani manifestanti si dirigono verso gli scontri alle manifestazioni di Caracas est, 2017 / fot. Marco Benedettelli. Le imprese degli italo-venezuelani Nelle retrovie della protesta che divampava pochi isolati più in là, sotto il cavalcavia oltre plaza Francia, non era affatto trascurabile la presenza degli italo-venezuelani, soprattutto quelli di estrazione imprenditoriale, vicini all’alta borghesia. Molti di loro, all’ombra della monumentale fontana al centro della piazza, criticavano aspramente papa Francesco “per le sue parole troppo indulgenti verso il regime madurista”. > “L’opposizione paga i gruppi violenti per estremizzare la lotta e li assolda > nei ranchos, le bidonville di Caracas dove la gente non ha nulla”. Il simbolo più importante del Belpaese a Caracas era il Centro italiano venezuelano, costruito nella metà degli anni Sessanta dagli italiani di prima generazione. Dalle sue terrazze si godeva di una vista invidiabile sulla città e sulle verdeggianti colline dominate dal monte Ávila. All’epoca contava quasi 3.700 soci azionisti (la quota mensile era di 30.000 bolivares, poco più di tre euro). Mentre Caracas era preda di scontri e blocchi stradali, nelle stanze di quella sorta di torre d’avorio i bambini sguazzavano nelle cinque piscine ‒ una olimpionica ‒ e si sfidavano nei numerosi campi e campetti da calcio; gli anziani giocavano a burraco o a domino, a bocce o a stecca. Fino ad allora l’ex presidente Chávez e il chavista Maduro avevano sostanzialmente tollerato gli italiani, che con circa 120.000 residenti ufficiali, tra immigrati, nati e successivi trasferimenti, dopo quella spagnola (300.000 registrati) sono la seconda comunità del Paese, in grado di vantare almeno un paio di presidenti della Repubblica di chiara origine italiana. Una presenza legata ai grandi movimenti migratori del secolo scorso. Eppure si aveva la sensazione che le cose potessero cambiare presto. In quei giorni, l’aggressione al deputato italo-venezuelano dell’Assemblea nazionale, Américo De Grazia, sembrava solo un antipasto. “Non è ufficiale, ma le voci corrono: vogliono azzerare le proprietà, portarci alla fame e costringerci a lasciare il Paese”, raccontavano con preoccupazione alcuni imprenditori riuniti in una stanza per testimoniare la loro esperienza. Molti erano già stati bersaglio di estorsioni, rapimenti e violenze da parte di una malavita sempre più a briglia sciolta. “L’Italia e il suo governo ci hanno abbandonato al nostro destino. I nostri genitori hanno creato sviluppo lavorando con onestà. Rischiamo di dover tornare in Italia da rifugiati, se non fosse per il doppio passaporto”. “Quanto durerà questo Eden?”, si chiedeva il proprietario di un’azienda di pizze surgelate per supermercati. “La produzione è ferma: lo Stato mi impedisce di comprare la farina, dà la precedenza alle panetterie popolari; se la prendo dai privati o in forma illegale, mi arrestano”. Fuori, oltre le vetrate e il muro di cinta, uno slum scendeva come una colata di cubicoli fino alle propaggini del ricco e scintillante centro. Caracas si dispiegava tra grattacieli e baracche, sospesa nell’incertezza, in attesa del suo futuro. L'articolo Caracas 2017: una mappa urbana e politica proviene da Il Tascabile.

sopravvivere è un atto di proliferazione

Journalist Mariana Zúñiga woke up in the middle of the night to the sounds of explosions and military planes in Caracas, Venezuela. Her WhatsApp chats flashed the news: The ruling dictator, Nicholás Maduro, had just been captured by the US military. She was surprised and felt uneasy about what was to come. In the days that followed, Zúñiga would go into the field, despite the dangers journalists face, to report on what the country feels like at this tumultuous moment.  Subscribe to Mother Jones podcasts on Apple Podcasts or your favorite podcast app. This week on Reveal, we speak with Venezuelans about witnessing this moment of history from up close and afar. For Freddy Guevara, an exiled Venezuelan opposition leader living in the US, there is little confidence in the country’s new leadership.  “They are not moderate at all,” Guevara says. “They are super radical, and they believe they are smarter than everyone.”  And historian Alejandro Velasco explains the role Venezuela’s most valuable resource—oil—has played in the country’s history and relations with the US.

President Trump’s plans for Venezuela’s oil industry, insofar as there are concrete plans, appear to be solidifying. On Wednesday, Energy Secretary Chris Wright indicated that the United States will control the flow of Venezuelan oil “indefinitely.” The announcement came hours after President Trump revealed that Venezuela would be “turning over” up to 50 million barrels of oil to the US, with revenue he intended to personally control. “The Oil will be sold at its Market Price, and that money will be controlled by me, as President of the United States of America, to ensure it is used to benefit the people of Venezuela and the United States,” he wrote on social media. With oil trading at roughly $56 per barrel, the initial sale could be worth up to $2.8 billion. Speaking at an energy event hosted by Goldman Sachs, Wright said that the US will first sell Venezuela’s stored oil—stuck in the country in part due to the US sanctions on its exports—and then market all oil coming out of Venezuela moving forward. The revenue from those sales will then be “deposited into accounts controlled by the US government” and then “flow back into Venezuela to benefit the Venezuelan people.”  “We’ll enable the importing of parts and equipment and services to kind of prevent the industry from collapsing, stabilize the production, and then as quickly as possible, start to see it growing again,” Wright explained. The plan signals a stark contrast to the strict US sanctions on Venezuela’s oil before the capture of Maduro. The dual announcements came as the US military on Wednesday seized a Russian-flagged oil tanker and apprehended a “stateless” tanker it accused of “conducting illicit activities in the Caribbean Sea.” Chevron, ConocoPhillips, and Exxon Mobil—the three largest US oil companies—are reportedly scheduled to meet Trump on Friday to discuss how to invest in Venezuela. (For context, according to the US Energy Information Administration, the US produced about 13 million barrels of oil per day in 2023, and world oil consumption was around 103 million barrels per day in 2024.)  Meanwhile, Secretary of State Marco Rubio is escalating Trump’s vision to take over Greenland despite international warnings to drop the threats, reportedly telling lawmakers on Monday that Trump intends to buy the territory. As I reported on Tuesday, European leaders have repeatedly defended Greenland in the wake of Maduro’s capture, writing that the country “belongs to its people.” Their joint statement, released Tuesday, named the United States as a NATO ally that must uphold “principles of the UN Charter, including sovereignty.” But in Venezuela, the EU has largely been quiet. A joint statement issued on Sunday stopped short of condemning the Trump administration and even upheld its justification for attacking Venezuela: “The EU shares the priority of combating transnational organised crime and drug trafficking, which pose a significant security threat worldwide.”  So why the tepid response in regards to Venezuela? Read my colleague Inae Oh’s conversation with Abe Newman about neo-royalism for a potential answer.

Word of the US military operation that captured Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro reached Mayra Sulbaran while on vacation in Canada. Sulbaran—who fled Venezuela in September 2018 and lives in Washington, DC—was in Montreal to reunite with her brother, who she had not seen in nine years. “I was hugging him when we found out,” she told me over a Zoom on Monday morning. Soon after Sulbaran heard the news, she joined other Venezuelans to celebrate what so many have prayed for and thought they might never see happen: the downfall of Maduro. > “Until there is true justice in Venezuela and the economic means to return and > rebuild the country, I don’t believe Venezuelans can go back.” Last weekend, US forces executed a months-in-the-making incursion into the presidential compound in Caracas to extract the Venezuelan strongman and his wife, Cilia Flores, who are now being held in a Brooklyn jail facing drug trafficking charges. President Donald Trump declared the United States would “run the country until such time as we can do a safe, proper, and judicious transition.” What happens next remains unclear. At first, Trump hinted at “boots on the ground,” while Secretary of State Marco Rubio talked of “leverage” to control the country.The US president also warned Maduro’s Vice President Delcy Rodríguez, who has been sworn in as interim leader, that she would pay a bigger “price” than the removed president “if she doesn’t do what’s right.” For so many Venezuelans like Sulbaran—a lawyer and pro-democracy activist who founded Casa DC Venezuela, a cultural center for the Venezuelan diaspora in the Washington, DC area—this fraught moment is filled with a complex mix of relief, dread, and expectation. “It’s a very contradictory situation because we understand that [President Donald Trump] has a goal and we appreciate it…,” she said, “but we’re also very afraid because we don’t know what’s coming and whether a democratic process will truly be respected.” Sulbaran is one of 8 million Venezuelans who have fled the country since 2014, part of the largest exodus in Latin America’s recent history and one of the world’s worst forced displacement crises. For Venezuelans living in exile and scattered across the hemisphere and beyond, this juncture has sparked hope of one day returning to a Venezuela freed from Maduro’s oppressive grip. But it has also instilled anxiety among the thousands of Venezuelans—even those cheering the US operation—facing deportation to a nation now influx where their safety is all but guaranteed. “Until there is true justice in Venezuela and the economic means to return and rebuild the country, I don’t believe Venezuelans can go back,” said Sulbaran, now a US permanent resident. “It’s not just about changing a government, it’s about addressing an economic, social, and moral structure.” With the Maduro regime’s chain of command still ruling the country, she said the United States should offer protection to Venezuelans. Since retaking office, Trump has done the opposite. He has vilified and singled out Venezuelan migrants as a threat, accusing them of being gang members and taking over American cities. Last year, his administration ended Temporary Protected Status (TPS)—a discretionary reprieve from deportation for immigrants from countries stricken by natural disasters, wars, and other circumstances—for Venezuela, claiming conditions in the country had improved and allowed for people’s safe return. As I wrote then, that move impacted more than 600,000 Venezuelans and represented the largest de-legalization campaign in modern US history. It threw thousands of people into a legal limbo, with many losing legal status and the ability to work. Now, amidst the ousting of Venezuela’s sitting president and a nationwide crackdown by the regime, there appears to be no plan to halt the deportation of Venezuelans. In an appearance on Fox News on Sunday, Department of Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem was asked if the administration would continue to send Venezuelans back to the country. “Venezuela today is more free than it was yesterday,” Noem said, adding that the Venezuelans who were stripped of TPS have “the opportunity to apply for refugee status.”  But the refugee program, which the Trump administration has gutted, is intended for people who apply for protection from outside of the United States, not those present in the country already, like one-time Venezuelan TPS holders. In response to questions from Mother Jones, a DHS spokesperson conceded that “applicants are only eligible for refugee status prior to entering the country,” which excludes the people Noem said could qualify. “Secretary Noem ended Temporary Protected Status for more than 500,000 Venezuelans and now they can go home to a country that they love,” the spokesperson said. “[Deportation] Flights are not paused.” (In 2025, the US government deported 14,310 Venezuelans back to their home country, according to a flight tracker initiative kept by Human Rights First.) Adelys Ferro, executive director of the Venezuelan-American Caucus, called on the Trump administration to restore TPS for Venezuelans. “This is not the right time to keep deporting law-abiding Venezuelan immigrants,” she said. “All of these vulnerable people that have already been hunted, discriminated against, and victims of all of these xenophobic and racist immigration decisions are in more danger than ever before.” Ferro pointed to a decree by the Venezuelan regime ordering the police to identify and arrest “everyone involved in the promotion or support for the armed attack by the United States.” There are reports of armed gangs patrolling streets and setting up checkpoints to question residents and look through their phones. On Monday, fourteen journalists were detained, according to the National Press Workers Union. If Venezuela descends into further instability, it could also push more people to leave the country. In that climate, Ferro expressed concern about what might happen to Venezuelans who celebrated the operation on the streets of the United States if they were deported back. “People are more terrified than before,” she said. “The ultimate hope is that there is a real goal of bringing back democracy for Venezuela and, as a consequence, the Venezuelans that are willing to go back can do it in a safe manner. But that’s not the case right now.” At first, Ferro said she felt relief, joy, and a “sense of justice” to see Maduro removed from power. But following President Trump’s initial press conference, and Rodríguez ascent, that was overtaken by “disbelief, shock, frustration, devastation.” She took issue with the US government’s sidelining of opposition leader and Nobel Peace Prize winner María Corina Machado and backing of Rodríguez. (Machado, who the Venezuelan regime barred from running in the 2024 presidential elections when Maduro declared victory despite evidence that the opposition candidate Edmundo González was the legitimate winner, has said she plans to return to Venezuela “as soon as possible.”) “At the end of the day, we’re not free,” Ferro added. “The opposition leadership was asking for the construction of a transition to democracy, not a long-term negotiation with a dictatorship.” Ferro said she had questions about what it means for the United States to “run” Venezuela, too—even if temporarily, as Trump promised. “What I know for sure is that the people of every country have the right to decide their own future,” she said. “Venezuelans have been waiting for more than a decade—if you talk about Chavismo, 27 years—and fighting to decide our own future. We have voted. We have protested. We have been killed. We have been persecuted. We have been imprisoned. We have been tortured. We have done everything in our power to have a path to democracy, and we deserve that opportunity.” Nathaly Maestre, who lives in Maryland with her partner and six-month-old baby, said there’s “a lot of tension and fear” in Venezuela right now. Her mother avoids leaving the house in an area where the pro-government armed civilian groups known as colectivos are active. They worry about having their conversations monitored and have stopped exchanging messages over WhatsApp, using phone calls instead. “The situation is worrisome because they’re intimidating people,” she said. After fleeing Venezuela, Maestre sought asylum in the United States and later applied for TPS as another layer of protection. Since the Trump administration ended the program, she’s now reliant on her pending asylum case. Some of her relatives lost their full-time jobs as a result of not having legal status. But despite their vulnerable position, she said they have no plans to leave because Venezuela isn’t safe, perhaps even less so now. “I think we’ve awakened a monster that will now turn against civil society and against anyone who expresses an opinion,” Maestre said. She thinks, at best, it’ll take time for the country to really change. During our call, Sulbaran also rejected a simplistic narrative that paints the reactions of Venezuelans to Maduro’s capture in broad strokes. She described Chavismo—the political movement of socialist leader Hugo Chávez—and the authoritarian government of his successor as a “farce.” Maduro, she said, is a “dictator” who oversaw a money-laundering “narco-state” as the Venezuelan people fell into extreme poverty and faced political oppression and violence. “We experienced firsthand, as a couple and as a family, what it meant to leave Venezuela to preserve our lives and the lives of our children,” she said. But Sulbaran also tries to remain clear-eyed about the risks that may lie ahead. She worries that the result of the United States’ intervention in Venezuela and ousting of Maduro could just be the exchange of one “executioner” for another. Her hope is that Rodríguez will engage in a peaceful transition period before handing the reigns of the country to the duly elected González. “Yes, we’re nervous,” she said. “But we’ve come from the worst, from rock bottom.”

This story was originally published by Popular Information, a substack publication to which you can subscribe here. In a Saturday morning military raid ordered by President Trump, US forces captured Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro. After Maduro was apprehended and transported to New York to face criminal charges, Trump announced that the United States would “run” Venezuela for the indefinite future. The extraordinary attack, which legal experts said violated US and international law, has set up a potential windfall for a prominent Trump-supporting billionaire, investor Paul Singer. In 2024, Singer, an 81-year-old with a net worth of $6.7 billion, donated $5 million to Make America Great Again Inc., Trump’s Super PAC. He donated tens of millions more in the 2024 cycle to support Trump’s allies, including $37 million to support the election of Republicans to Congress. He also donated an undisclosed amount to fund Trump’s second transition. This past June, when Trump sought funds to bankroll a primary challenger to Thomas Massie (R-KY), who had raised his ire by supporting the release of the Epstein Files, Singer contributed $1 million, the largest contribution. Since Trump was first elected in 2016, Singer has met personally with Trump at least four times. “Paul just left and he’s given us his total support,” Trump declared after meeting with Singer at the White House in February 2017. “I want to thank Paul Singer for being here and for coming up to the office. He was a very strong opponent, and now he’s a very strong ally.” (Singer had initially supported Marco Rubio, who is now Trump’s Secretary of State.) In November 2025, Singer acquired Citgo, the US-based subsidiary of Venezuela’s state-run oil company. Singer, through his private investment firm, Elliott Investment Management, bought Citgo for $5.9 billion. The sale to Amber Energy, a subsidiary of Elliott Investment Management, was forced by creditors of Venezuela after the country defaulted on its bond payments. Elliott Investment Management is known as a “vulture” fund because it specializes in buying distressed assets at rock bottom prices. Citgo owns three major refineries on the Gulf Coast, 43 oil terminals, and a network of over 4,000 independently owned gas stations. By all accounts, Singer acquired these assets at a major discount. Advisors to the court that oversaw the sale valued Citgo at $13 billion, while Venezuelan officials said the assets were worth as much as $18 billion. Maduro’s government had sought to appeal the court’s approval of Singer’s bid for Citgo. But now that Maduro has been ousted, it seems unlikely that appeal will continue. Singer acquired Citgo at a bargain price in large part due to the embargo, with limited exceptions, on Venezuela oil imports to the United States. Citgo’s refiners are purpose-built to process heavy-grade Venezuelan “sour” crude. As a result, Citgo was forced to source oil from more expensive sources in Canada and Colombia. (Oil produced in the United States is generally light-grade.) This made Citgo’s operations far less profitable. Trump has sought to justify military action against Venezuela as an effort to disrupt narcotics trafficking. But Venezuela produces no fentanyl and is a minor source of cocaine that reaches the United States. Trump also recently pardoned Juan Orlando Hernández, the former president of Honduras, who was convicted of drug trafficking. Further, Trump has long made clear that he was interested in Venezuela for the oil. In remarks to the North Carolina Republican Party in 2023, Trump said that when he left office in 2021, Venezuela was “ready to collapse.” Trump said, had he remained in office, the US “would have taken [Venezuela] over” and “gotten all that oil.” In remarks on Fox News Saturday, Trump made clear that one of the motivations for Saturday’s attack was to increase the production and export of Venezuelan oil. Venezuela has the largest proven reserves of crude oil in the world. Trump said that, moving forward, the US would be “very strongly involved“ with the Venezuelan oil industry. Industry observers anticipate “a rapid rerouting of Venezuelan oil exports, re-establishing the US as the major buyer of the country’s volumes.” Jaime Brito, an oil analyst at OPIS, said access to Venezuelan oil imports “will be a game changer for US Gulf Coast…refiners in terms of profitability.” If that happens, Paul Singer, thanks to a well-timed transaction, will be one of the largest beneficiaries.

Il 2026 inizia con l'attacco al Venezuela, chiaramente motivato dal petrolio. Cosa si può dire di Taiwan? Quanto incide la produzione di chip sull'isola sugli equilibri geopolitici? Partiamo da lì, passiamo dai costi della RAM, e proviamo a fare qualche ragionamento sul tanto temuto (o auspicato?) scoppio della bolla dell'intelligenza artificiale. Notiziole: * In Uzbekistan, un leak nel sistema di sorveglianza delle automobili ne mostra il funzionamento e la pervasività * TikTok diventerà a guida Oracle, e le personalità più in vista sono decisamente schierate con il sionismo * L'Europa si accorge di essere alla mercé delle norme statunitensi (in particolare il Cloud Act) sull'accesso ai dati. Sarà la volta buona per sviluppare soluzioni alternative a quelle fornite dalle Big Tech statunitensi? * L'antitrust italiana sanziona Apple per delle regole sull'App Store riguardanti la privacy; e ordina a Meta di ammettere anche chatbot concorrenti su WhatsApp

Even some Republican lawmakers criticized the Trump administration’s assertion that it is engaging in a military campaign in Venezuela to block fentanyl trafficking into the US. Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene (R-GA), who is resigning from Congress on Monday following a split from Trump, said on Sunday that the president should target Mexico if he wants to stop fentanyl.  “The majority of American fentanyl overdoses and deaths come from Mexico. Those are the Mexican cartels that are killing Americans,” Greene told NBC’s Meet the Press. “If this was really about narco-terrorists and about protecting Americans from cartels and drugs being brought into America, the Trump administration would be attacking the Mexican cartels.” Greene compared the capture of Venezuela president Nicolás Maduro and his wife, Celia Flores, to the US capturing Saddam Hussein and the war in Iraq, calling it the “same Washington playbook” that only “serves the big corporations, the banks, and the oil executives.”  According to the Drug Enforcement Administration’s 2025 National Drug Threat Assessment, Mexico is the primary mass producer and exporter of fentanyl into the US, while China is a leading manufacturer.  The UN Office of Drugs and Crime World Drug Report from 2025 only considers Venezuela as a minor transit center for cocaine. Rep. Thomas Massie (R-KY) also condemned the Trump administration’s narrative on Venezuelan drugs on Sunday. “Wake up MAGA. VENEZUELA is not about drugs; it’s about OIL and REGIME CHANGE. This is not what we voted for,” Massie wrote on X.  But Vice President JD Vance defended Trump’s military operation, arguing that combating cocaine trafficking in Venezuela will weaken cartels.  “If you cut out the money from cocaine (or even reduce it) you substantially weaken the cartels overall,” Vance posted on X. “Also, cocaine is bad too!” He also weakly maintained the link between Venezuela and fentanyl—“There is still fentanyl coming from Venezuela (or at least there was)”—and acknowledged Mexico’s role in fentanyl and considered it “a reason why President Trump shut the border on day one.” But pinning fentanyl on Venezuela avoids a broader point on health policy. My colleague, Julia Lurie, wrote in April that the Trump administration was using the “name of reducing fentanyl overdoses” to levy tariffs against Canada, Mexico, and China and list cartels as terrorist organizations.  > The dramatic proclamations gloss over a glaring reality: The administration is > slashing funding for state and federal agencies that provide addiction > treatment and overdose prevention programs. And these cuts are likely just the > beginning. And Julia was right.  Since then, Trump signed the One Big Beautiful Bill Act, which includes nearly $1 trillion in cuts to Medicaid, which provided coverage to about half of all non-elderly adults with opioid use disorder. Health care subsidies on Obamacare have also lapsed, more than doubling the average cost for health insurance premiums. Trump’s attack on Venezuela is for himself and even his own party is beginning to realize it.

The US attack on Venezuela relies on the same deception that justified the war in Iraq: the idea of self-financing wars with oil. President Trump said Saturday that the US will run Venezuela following the capture of Venezuela President Nicolás Maduro and his wife, Cilia Flores. “It won’t cost us anything because the money coming out of the ground is very substantial,” he said at a Saturday press conference at Mar-a-Lago following news of the US attack. But we’ve been down this road before. “There’s a lot of money to pay for this. It doesn’t have to be US taxpayer money,” Deputy Secretary of Defense Paul Wolfowitz claimed about Iraq in March 2003, the same month as the US invasion. “We are dealing with a country that can really finance its own reconstruction, and relatively soon.” He said oil revenues could bring $50-100 billion over the first years of the invasion. That wasn’t the case, and just like what would happen in Iraq, the military campaign in Venezuela is likely to have steep costs. On Saturday, General Dan Caine, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, described the operation to capture Maduro and Flores using more than 150 aircraft from 20 different bases. Members of law enforcement were involved in the extraction force, and according to Trump, ran through scenarios in a replica building of Maduro’s safe house. At the Saturday press conference, Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth said that the raid lasted less than 30 minutes—a smooth process following months of planning and preparation.  But, according to what a senior Venezuelan official told the New York Times, at least 80 people, including civilians and military personnel, were killed. The Times also reported that about half a dozen US soldiers were injured. Photos show massive damage from bombings in Venezuela’s capital of Caracas. Removing Maduro from power could have been achieved by taking what then-vice president, and now-acting president Delcy Rodríguez and other senior Venezuelan government officials offered to the US as a “more acceptable” version to Maduro’s administration last year. According to an October 2025 report by the Miami Herald, Rodríguez would lead a peaceful transition by “preserving political stability without dismantling the ruling apparatus.” The Trump administration rejected the proposal and continued to carry out deadly strikes on alleged drug boats, killing at least 115 people.  Secretary of State Marco Rubio said on NBC’s “Meet the Press” on Sunday that the US continues to “reserve the right to take strikes against drug boats.” He also suggested that Cuba could be the Trump administration’s next target. Previously, US war planners vastly underestimated the cost of fixing Iraq’s oil infrastructure to fund its invasion and occupation. Linda Bilmes, a public policy professor at Harvard University, wrote in a 2013 research paper investigating the financial costs of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan that one of the most significant challenges for future US national security policy “will not originate from any external threat” but “simply coping with the legacy of the conflicts we have already fought in Iraq and Afghanistan.” Prior to the US invasion of Iraq, Bush’s economic adviser, Lawrence Lindsey, said that it may cost $100-200 billion. He was fired. Lindsey was wrong, but in the opposite way than Bush anticipated—a more accurate number is around $2 trillion.  In her research, Bilmes pointed to long-term costs like medical care and disability compensation for service members, veterans, and their families, as well as debt servicing of borrowed funds.  Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer (D-NY) said on Sunday that the Senate will vote on whether to formally block Trump’s military campaign in Venezuela when Congress returns to session this week. But we are already paying dearly for the damage done.