I was in Miami, watching my country unravel from afar. The Venezuelan presidential elections had just taken place, and everyone knew that Nicolás Maduro had lost. As late dictator Hugo Chávez’s handpicked successor, Maduro has remained in power for years, clinging to his position through multiple fraudulent elections. This time, Edmundo Gonzalez and María Corina Machado, opposition leaders representing a united front for democracy, swept the votes. It was a moment that could have marked a turning point for Venezuela, a victory for democracy after decades of corruption. Instead, we watched in disbelief as Maduro shamelessly declared himself the winner, manipulating the results and disregarding the people's will. The election was stolen, with allegations of fraud, voting manipulation and control of the National Electoral Council (CNE) by pro-Maduro forces. From thousands of kilometers away, I felt utterly powerless.
My parents were back in Caracas, voting, doing everything in their power to make a difference, while I was stuck in Florida, unable to cast my ballot. Then the protests began. I watched as my people took to the streets, demanding that our voices be heard. This time, unlike all the times before, María Corina Machado isn’t calling for chaos in the streets. For the first time in years, it feels like there is a plan — something organized and strategic. The fight is ongoing.
For 25 years, my brothers and sisters have protested against this government. Hugo Chávez, the man who led Venezuela into authoritarianism, wrongfully came back to power in 2002 after briefly being ousted during a coup. Despite a temporary removal, Chávez reclaimed his presidency through manipulation and military backing, solidifying his control over the country. From that moment on, the Venezuelan people’s fight for freedom intensified. In 2004, 2007, 2013, 2014, 2017, 2019 and now again in 2024, we have taken to the streets, demanding change. Year after year, we’ve watched our freedoms — such as the freedom for laymen and journalists to speak openly, to protest without fear and to vote in free and fair elections — slip away under the grip of Chávez and, now, his successor, Nicolás Maduro.
What’s different about this election is that everyone voted. The slums of Petare, a region long known for its loyalty to Chavismo, voted overwhelmingly for Edmundo. The poorest Venezuelans in rural regions, those who have traditionally supported Maduro, finally rejected him.
Machado and her team didn’t leave it to chance. They spent months preparing for this moment, organizing a network across the country to ensure that we could prove the truth about who won. Thousands of volunteers — los comanditos — were trained to gather and transmit the voting records (actas) directly from polling stations, working alongside tech experts abroad who designed platforms to handle the incoming data. This immense effort allowed them to gather undeniable proof of our victory, despite the government’s attempt to silence us once again. María Corina’s strategy ensured that the world could see what we’ve known all along: Venezuela voted for change.
But now, the government’s assault on freedom of speech has intensified in terrifying ways. They created an app that allowed Chavistas to report their neighbors if they suspected them of being opposition members. The app was quickly taken down, but the damage was done. The message was clear: speak out, and we’ll find you, we’ll silence you.
One of my friend’s friend’s family members, a 22-year-old, was sentenced to 25 years in prison. His crime? Having photos from a protest on his phone. Twenty-five years for documenting the truth. Children as young as 13 are being sentenced to years behind bars for protesting. The government doesn’t just want to silence us; they want to break us, to strip us of hope.
Every protest is a risk. Every post on social media could be a death sentence.
In the United States, people often take their freedom of speech for granted. They can criticize their government, protest in the streets, and voice their opinions without fear of being thrown in prison. They can gather in public squares, wave signs and challenge those in power without disappearing into a jail cell for decades. But in Venezuela, the stakes are different. The price of dissent can be your freedom, your family’s safety or your life. We live in constant fear, but we refuse to stay silent.
When I talk to people in the U.S., I realize how often they don’t understand what’s at stake when freedom of speech is eroded. In Venezuela, we’ve watched it disappear over nearly three decades. And once it’s gone, getting it back feels insurmountable. The government wants us to be afraid, to stop posting, to stop speaking. But we can’t, and we won’t.
Edmundo Gonzalez, who should be celebrating victory, had to flee to Spain because he couldn’t stay in Venezuela safely. María Corina Machado remains in Venezuela, still fighting. Her bravery gives us hope — hope that one day, our country will be free again. We won the election. We will claim our country. But it’s going to take more than protests — it’s going to take international support.
The tactics used in Venezuela mirror those of dictatorships throughout history. Imprisoning political opponents, silencing dissent, controlling the narrative — it’s the same playbook used by the most oppressive regimes, from Nazi Germany to Stalinist Russia. The world has seen these tactics before and should recognize them for what they are: a terrifying threat to freedom and democracy.
And while we fight, we are facing an exodus like never before. Over 7 million Venezuelans have fled, seeking safety abroad. We’ve left behind homes, families and our country in search of a future. I am one of the millions living outside my homeland, watching from afar as my countrymen continue the fight. But we haven’t left our love for Venezuela behind. No matter where we are, we feel the pain. That’s why we speak out.
As a Venezuelan outside of my country, I feel a deep responsibility to speak out and to educate those around me. Freedom of speech can disappear in the blink of an eye. In Venezuela, we’ve learned the hard way that once it’s gone, getting it back isn’t just a fight — it’s a war.
I believe in my country. I believe in the power of my people. We will rise again.
We’re smarter this time. We’re angrier this time. We’re more organized, and we know that the battle for freedom doesn’t end in the streets. It ends with reclaiming our voices, our country and our right to speak without fear.
We need the world to stand with us and to help us win this fight. Because this isn’t just about Venezuela — it’s about the future of freedom everywhere.
Barbara Cardenas is a Trinity senior. Her pieces typically run on alternating Fridays.
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