Lisa Sullivan, 30 year-resident of Venezuela and organizer of over 20 delegations to the country, shares an update since the July 28, 2024, election.
The following article was published in the September-October 2024 issue of NewsNotes.
Many news stories have been written about the recent presidential election in Venezuela. Mine is written with heart in hand, suitcase half-packed, woven by conversations with friends from barrios and towns where I worked as a Maryknoll Lay Missioner for over 20 years. Most of us gave the best years of our lives to build the dream of what we thought was the Bolivarian Revolution.
The past few years left us in a boxing ring, ungloved and pummeled by assailants on all sides: attacked on the left by an autocratic leader, on the right by global greed for oil, and in the gut by devastating U.S. sanctions. Out of sheer survival, many exited the ring to join the largest migration ever in Latin America. Eight million and counting. Most of us believed a new page might finally turn on July 28.
We were wrong. A few days later, with 27 dead and 2,500 jailed, mostly from poor communities, we saw how the original revolutionary superpower—the vote—could be smashed to pieces by those who touted it as the touchstone of the Bolivarian Revolution’s “participatory democracy.”
One young friend who embodied this momentary hope was Katerin. She was ecstatic when I spoke with her on election day. The return of her husband from Colombia felt so close. She had just come from voting for the opposition candidate at the local school where the mood was electric. Neighbors were lining up to vote for what she termed as “the return of our families.”
Her exuberance brought me back in time to when, along with her Venezuelan folk troupe, Katerin danced tamunangue for U.S. delegations that came to witness the Bolivarian Revolution’s hope. Katerin’s dance was a fitting celebration of the new century unfolding before our eyes: shiny new homes, new health posts, new education diplomas, new free pharmacies, visible expressions of so much hope for those left behind in Venezuela’s century-long oil frenzy. Newly elected President Hugo Chavez drew upon Venezuela’s boundless oil reserves to fund these projects. There seemed no limit to what his Bolivarian Revolution could achieve.
But of course, there was. Chavez died. China’s economic boom flattened, and oil prices plummeted. Chavez’s knighted successor, Nicolas Maduro, eked out his first win. His corrupt and autocratic rule led to mass protest that met with brutal repression. Sweeping U.S. sanctions were imposed, plunging 90% of Venezuelans into poverty. Widespread hunger, 100,000% inflation and dollar-a-day wages unleashed the flood gates, and over a fourth of the population left.
Katerin was 18 when hunger drove her out of the country. She walked her way to neighboring Colombia. By then, Venezuela, the world’s biggest reserve of petroleum, had no gasoline. Frightened but determined, she worked odd jobs, sent tickets for family, and fell in love.
Then last year, with two small children, she decided to pave the way for her family’s return. Change was in the air as the U.S. dangled sanction relief in exchange for free and fair elections. Maduro took the bite, hungry for money and acceptance. For once, the opposition converged around one figure, Maria Corina Machado, whose mantra of “bring our families home” resonated like a sonic boom. Machado, a long-time ally of the U.S., would certainly usher an end to sanctions and open the country to foreign investment.
Through convoluted political maneuvering, Machado was disqualified to run in the election but remained the de facto leader. For achieving the impossible, uniting the opposition while attracting disaffected chavistas, she was shoved aside by Maduro’s government. But the new coalition overcame huge roadblocks to place a last-minute surrogate on the ballot: Edmundo González – a retired diplomat. Candidate and leader toured the country together. Despite government efforts to silence, jail, deface and threaten supporters, crowds grew, hope snowballed, and anticipation mounted. González was doubling Maduro in the polls.
The evening of July 28, my phone was on fire with texts from around Venezuela. Younger friends were universally elated. Some older friends deeply loyal to Chávez’ legacy were worried. A Chavista friend who headed her polling station in a poor neighborhood reported that the opposition had doubled Maduro’s votes there. Her hope was that Caracas would buck the trend. But texts came from Chavista strongholds there too, reporting similar results.
The Venezuelan voting system had been touted by the Carter Center as the best electoral system in the world 12 years ago. Each voting location prints a paper receipt with a unique QR code showing results that must be signed by a witness from each party. Throughout the country, these receipts were posted, showing an insurmountable victory for Gonzalez.
For a brief window of time, I could taste my return to my beloved adopted country. I could smell the mangoes ripening on trees I had planted; I could hear the joyful beat of tambores of the children in our cultural center. My own departure, long after Katerin’s, came unexpectedly. After thirty years, my resident visa met its unglamorous demise at the hands of a corrupt bureaucrat. I joined my Venezuelan children in scattering across the globe. My family of five now lives in five different countries.
Suddenly, the night of July 28, voting result transmissions were halted. The National Electoral Council (CNE) went silent for hours as nighttime fell. Venezuelans who were celebrating the night before woke up to a declaration by the CNE director proclaiming Maduro victorious with 51% of the vote. Even in the most populous barrios there was no celebration, only shock.
The opposition took two days to gather paper tallies and post results for over 80% of voting tables, showing González nearly doubling Maduro’s votes. Even if every single unreported vote went to Maduro, it was mathematically impossible for Maduro to win. Meanwhile, no data was offered by the CNE to support the proclamation of Maduro’s victory as is required by Venezuelan law. The Carter Center, one of a handful of independent international observers declared: “Venezuela’s 2024 presidential election did not meet international standards of electoral integrity and cannot be considered democratic.”
Frustration and anger unfurled in spontaneous protests throughout the country, especially in Caracas. The collective nonviolent effort to achieve relief for a suffering people was demolished in the blaze of police bullets and the slamming of jail doors. A furious Maduro took to the air waves to declare that there would be no justice for any protester, only decades in the nation’s most dangerous prison.
As fear quelled protest in the streets, social media became the only space where people could vent. Soon, X, formerly known as Twitter, was banned, WhatsApp denounced, and police were sent into the barrios to force residents to show their phone content. Katerin’s 15-year-old niece was buying food on the main avenue when a truck carrying armed police and colectivos, the independent, government-aligned militias, burst onto the scene, grabbing cell phones and shoving those with dissident photos into their truck. She narrowly escaped in a moto taxi, then promptly erased her phone’s memory. At that point, texts from friends halted.
Countries responded in predictable ways. Most of Latin America and democratic countries refused to recognize Maduro and demanded the real election results. Russia, China, North Korea, and Iran formed a tight coalition of support. Many turned to Maduro’s allies: Brazil, Colombia and Mexico to forge a solution. All were disappointed by their suggestion of an election re-do.
Maduro’s final appeal to legitimacy was tasking the Supreme Court—all appointees of the government’s party, none of whom had ever issued a single ruling against it—with certifying Maduro’s victory. After much pomp and decorum, they did precisely that.
The streets are quiet now. The Venezuela news cycle has stopped. And Katerin is packing her bags to leave the country again.
Image of protests in Caracas shared with Lisa Sullivan via WhatsApp.