Historical context

 I. Introduction

Venezuela, once known for its prosperity and opportunity, is now in deep crisis. As Julie Turkewitz puts it: “Venezuela is now internationally isolated, reeling from a decade-long economic crisis and suffering from a gaping emotional wound: the loss of millions of citizens who have fled abroad.”[1] Today, according to The UN Refugee Agency, more than 7.9 million Venezuelans have left in search of protection and a better life[2]. Those who stay risk not getting adequate medical care, education, enough food, water, or electricity. These events shaped the lives, traumas, and choices of the characters in my stories but more importantly of all Venezuelans. To better grasp the characters’ trauma and feelings of displacement, we must understand the country’s political and economic turning points.

 II. Venezuela's Era of Prosperity (1940s–1958)

Venezuela was once a nation that attracted immigrants. At that time, over 800,000 immigrants came from southern Europe seeking economic opportunities during the country’s oil-fueled glory. Marcos Perez Jimenez, president from 1952 to 1958, fully rode the wave of the oil boom to transform Venezuela into a beacon of prosperity. Perez Jimenez was appointed as president in 1952 by the military junta who took control after a successful coup d’état.[3] His government used oil revenues to fund large-scale infrastructure projects: highways, hotels, office buildings, factories, dams[4]and the ambitious El Helicoide, a futuristic shopping center that was never completed. Today it is one of the clearest symbols of Venezuela’s dramatic decline. As Karenina Velandia and Charlie Newland explain in a BBC News article:

“El Helicoide was once the symbol of a rich and promising nation. Today, it houses one of Venezuela's most infamous jails and embodies the country's decline from Latin American powerhouse to crisis zone. […] Students, political activists, and sometimes people, including children, were swept up because they'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”[5]

This quote captures Venezuela’s tragic transformation symbolized by El Helicoide’s descent from architectural marvel to oppressive prison.

Although Perez Jimenez’s rule marked a brief period of economic growth and modernization, it was also a dictatorship characterized by censorship, repression, and corruption. He was overthrown in a popular and military uprising in January 1958 and later extradited to face charges of embezzling $200 million.[6]The contradictions of his rule, prosperity built on authoritarianism, would echo throughout Venezuelan political history.

 III. Democracy and Decline (1958–1998)

On October 31st, 1958, the main political parties signed the Punto Fijo pact to respect election results and work together to prevent dictatorship.[7] The oil profits fueled the country’s development until the collapse of oil prices of the 80’s. This led to a rise in poverty, inequality, and corruption. On February 27th, 1989, a nationwide popular rebellion took place, El Caracazo. As Julien Terrié explains : “Alors que les banques et les postes de police sont ravagés, on constate que la révolte garde une logique : les pharmacies, les hôpitaux et les écoles sont épargnés.”[8] [While banks and police stations are devastated, we see that the revolt keeps a logic : pharmacies, hospitals and schools are spared.]

By 1992, Hugo Chavez was leading a coup attempting and failing to overthrow the system in place, which the International Crisis Group define as a ‘crony democracy.’[9]

 IV. Hugo Chávez and the Bolivarian Revolution (1998–2013)

The political crisis in Venezuela today stems from a dramatic shift that began decades ago with the rise of Hugo Chavez, whose leadership promised to radically change the country’s power structure. As Julie Turkewitz said:

 “A generation ago, a charismatic former military officer swept into the highest office in Venezuela on a promise to deliver a more inclusive democracy, a system for the common man that would transfer the levers of power from the political elite to the people.”[10]

That man was Hugo Chavez who successfully became president in 1998 by electoral vote. His regime was known to be anti-elite, anti-U.S., and pro-poor messaging. On December 15th, 1999, he created a new constitution and renamed the country Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela.[11] His government used oil revenue to fund Misiones, programs to fight against poverty such as in healthcare, education, food, and housing.[12] Things started to change when Chavez shifted to an authoritarian approach; he centralized power, weakened checks and balances, and silenced the media. Phil Gunson, an analyst with the International Crisis Group wrote this:

“He was the messianic leader. He was going to lead them into the promised land, and everything in between was a nuisance to him: any checks and balances, division of powers, any kind of civil society, free press, all the rest of it. It’s just a nuisance, gets in his way.”[13]

This quote reveals how Chávez positioned himself as a savior figure, claiming to act for the people while systematically dismantling democratic institutions that limited his power.

In Steve Levitsky’s book How Democracies Die, we find the idea that Chavez’s rule is a “competitive authoritarianism […] Government abuses power and violates rights such that the opposition is playing on a tilted playing field.”[14] Levitsky highlights an important fact: there was still a playing field and an opposition, a credible threat to Chavez’s regime. This all changed when Chavez died in 2013 and his handpicked successor, Nicolas Maduro, assumed power.

 V. Nicolás Maduro & the Descent into Chaos (2013–Present)

Maduro’s main concern was the plunging oil prices and the spiraling economy extremely dependent on oil revenue. Soon hyperinflation, hunger, blackouts, and lack of medicine became the new normal. The International Monetary Fund stated that they, “are projecting a surge in inflation to 1,000,000 percent by end-2018.”[15] With hyperinflation, the Bolivar became worthless, so began the use of black-market dollars.[16]

As a result, The Guarimbas of 2014, a wave of student led protests sparked by insecurity, economic collapse, and repression, broke out all around the country. The Venezuelan Observatory of Social Conflict (OVCS) recorded at least 6,369 protests in the first half of 2014. An average of 35 protests per day across the country.[17] The human rights watch writes an article about the use of unlawful force in cases they studied.

“In most of the cases [they] documented, security forces employed unlawful force, including shooting and severely beating unarmed individuals. Nearly all of the victims were also arrestedand, while in detention, subjected to physical and psychological abuse. In at least 10 cases, the abuses clearly constituted torture.”[18]

This shows how Maduro’s government uses security forces as tools of fear rather than protection. It exposes how systemic abuse and torture have become normalized responses to protest, eroding the rule of law and basic human rights.

In 2015 a new threat to Maduro emerged: the opposition won control of the legislature. Maduro found a way to secure his power: in 2017 he called a vote for the election of a new entity that would oppose the legislature.[19] As Julie Turkewitz states “the vote for this was viewed by many as a farce, even the company that tallied the votes said the count had been altered by at least one million votes.”[20] This shows how democratic processes were clearly manipulated to keep the government in power.

In April 2017, millions of people protested against the Supreme Court stripping the National Assembly of power, a move seen as an attack on democracy. This wave of protests turned violent, prompting the human rights watch to comment:

“The government responded with widespread violence and brutality against anti-government protesters and detainees and has denied detainees’ due process rights. While this was not the first crackdown on dissent under Maduro, the scope and severity of the repression in 2017 reached levels unseen in Venezuela in recent memory.”[21]

In many cities, people couldn’t step outside without encountering violence, tear gas or police patrols. This atmosphere of repression traumatized an entire generation, forcing many into exile or subjecting them to ongoing violence.

VI. Opposition & Resistance

Maduro’s authoritarian regime has been threatened before: in 2018 by Juan Guaidó. His mission of overthrowing Maduro failed as he managed to get the support of the people but not of the military. Although he was recognized as president by other countries, his role was insignificant as Maduro never actually left the presidential palace and still had authority.[22]

Today there is a new opposition: Maria Corina Machado. Experts say her movement has been the most significant since Chavez’s. Although she has broad support, she is blocked from running for president, so Edmundo Gonzalez was chosen as unity candidate. According to Andres Izarra, the key difference is that “Chavismo coalesced around an ideological proposal for the country” while “Maria Corina’s movement revolves around the people’s weariness with Madurismo.”[23] This quote shows that Machado’s support comes mostly from how tired people are of Maduro’s government. It’s less about politics and more about a collective desire for change. Maria Corina Machado released an article with the New York Times in which she says:

“Venezuelans are putting everything on the line in Sunday’s election. Faced with President Nicolás Maduro’s intention to entrench himself in power for six more years, the democratic movement has steadily built a pathway for profound change around Edmundo González, our presidential candidate. My compatriots are fed up with all the hatred, coercion, corruption and misery brought on by 25 years of tyranny and destructive economic policies under Mr. Maduro and his predecessor and mentor, Hugo Chávez. These are the reasons that roughly a quarter of our population has emigrated across the world, including hundreds of thousands to the United States. An overwhelming majority of Venezuelans are ready for change. This sentiment is palpable throughout the country. Despite electricity and fuel shortages and relentless harassment from the Maduro regime, huge numbers of people are participating in our campaign events.”[24]

Maria Corina Machado’s words highlight the deep frustration many Venezuelans feel after decades of political and economic crisis. Unlike the ideological foundation that defined Chavismo, her movement is driven by widespread exhaustion with Maduro’s regime and a collective desire for change. Despite severe repression and obstacles, the democratic opposition continues to mobilize significant public support, showcasing the resilience of Venezuelan civil society.

On July 20, 2024, the Electoral Council (CNE) declared Maduro the winner.

“I can say in front of the people of Venezuela and the world: I am Nicolás Maduro Mora, re-elected President of the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela, and I will defend our democracy, our law and our people,”[25]he shouted.

Today as protests break out, thousands of people all around the world protest Nicolas Maduro proclaiming himself president despite all the accusations of electoral fraud. The Carter organization, a pro-democratic organization, states that “Venezuela’s 2024 presidential election did not meet international standards of electoral integrity and cannot be considered democratic.”[26] Many countries, like the United States, the UE and more, have since tried to relieve pressure, with no success, by releasing a joint statement on the Venezuelan elections.

VII. Venezuelans in the US

On May 19th, 2025, the Supreme Court allowed the Trump administration to remove TPS from nearly 350,000 Venezuelan immigrants.[27] This program had allowed them to remain in the United States without risk of deportation. As Abbie VanSickle and Adam Liptak explain:

“The Temporary Protected Status program, enacted by Congress and signed into law by President George H.W. Bush, allows migrants from nations that have experienced national disasters, armed conflicts or other extraordinary instabilities to live and work legally in the United States.”[28]

For many Venezuelans, the loss of TPS means the risk of being returned to a country still facing political persecution, economic collapse, and humanitarian crisis. Even today, thousands live in uncertainty, unsure of their legal status or future. This shows how vulnerable migrant communities can be when immigration policies shift.

VIII. The Human Impact and Conclusion

Today, Venezuelans both living inside and outside the country are living in constant instability. They fear that they or their loved ones could get arrested, that their electricity supply or access to clean water gets cut off for weeks on end. They avoid expressing their opinions due to pure fear of the military who act violently. Venezuela’s crisis is not just political, it’s personal. History in this context is not just background, it is inheritance, trauma, and longing. This reality is the emotional core of the short stories I’m writing. They reflect the emotional, historical, and social complexity behind headlines.

[1] Turkewitz, Julie. “What Happened to Venezuela’s Democracy?” The New York Times, www.nytimes.com/2024/07/30/world/americas/venezuela-election-maduro-chavez.html?searchResultPosition=30

[2] UNHCR. "Emergency Appeal, Venezuela Situation." UNHCR, https://www.unhcr.org/emergencies/venezuela-situation.

[3] Allain Graux. De Simon Bolivar à Hugo Chavez : Un panorama sur la República Bolivariana de Venezuela (Paris : Les points sur les i, 2013), 33.

[4] “PÉREZ JIMÉNEZ MARCOS (1914-2001)”, Encyclopædia Universalis, Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., https://www.universalis.fr/encyclopedie/marcos-perez-jimenez/

[5] Karenina Velandia and Charlie Newland. “El Helicoide: From an icon to an infamous Venezuelan jail” BBC News, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-latin-america-46864864

[6] Allain Graux. De Simon Bolivar à Hugo Chavez : Un panorama sur la República Bolivariana de Venezuela (Paris : Les points sur les i, 2013), 33.

[7] Graux, De Simon Bolivar à Hugo Chavez, 35.

[8] Terrié, Julien. Quoted in Allain Graux, De Simon Bolivar à Hugo Chavez : Un panorama sur la República Bolivariana de Venezuela (Paris : Les points sur les i, 2013), 42-43.

[9] Phil Gunson, quoted in Turkewitz, Julie. “What Happened to Venezuela’s Democracy?” The New York Times, www.nytimes.com/2024/07/30/world/americas/venezuela-election-maduro-chavez.html?searchResultPosition=30

[10] Turkewitz, Julie. “What Happened to Venezuela’s Democracy?” The New York Times, www.nytimes.com/2024/07/30/world/americas/venezuela-election-maduro-chavez.html?searchResultPosition=30

[11] Allain Graux, De Simon Bolivar à Hugo Chavez : Un panorama sur la República Bolivariana de Venezuela (Paris : Les points sur les i, 2013), 58.

[12]Graux, De Simon Bolivar à Hugo Chavez,80.

[13] Phil Gunson, quoted in Turkewitz, Julie. “What Happened to Venezuela’s Democracy?” The New York Times, www.nytimes.com/2024/07/30/world/americas/venezuela-election-maduro-chavez.html?searchResultPosition=30

[14] Steve Levitsky, quoted in Turkewitz, Julie. “What Happened to Venezuela’s Democracy?” The New York Times, www.nytimes.com/2024/07/30/world/americas/venezuela-election-maduro-chavez.html?searchResultPosition=30

[15] International Monetary Fund, quoted in Casey, Nicholas. "Venezuela inflation could reach one million percent by year’s end." The New York Times, 2018, https://www.nytimes.com/2018/07/23/world/americas/venezuela-inflation-crisis.html?searchResultPosition=8.

[16] Turkewitz, Julie. “What Happened to Venezuela’s Democracy?” The New York Times, www.nytimes.com/2024/07/30/world/americas/venezuela-election-maduro-chavez.html?searchResultPosition=30

[17] “Conflictividad social en Venezuela en el primer semestre de 2014,” Observatorio Venezolano de Conflictividad Social, https://www.observatoriodeconflictos.org.ve/tendencias-de-la-conflictividad/conflictividad-social-en-venezuela-en-el-primer-semestre-de-2014.

[18] Human Rights Watch, Punished for Protesting: Rights Violations in Venezuela’s Streets, Detention Centers, and Justice System, May 5, 2014, https://www.hrw.org/report/2014/05/05/punished-protesting/rights-violations-venezuelas-streets-detention-centers-and.

[19] Turkewitz, Julie. “What Happened to Venezuela’s Democracy?” The New York Times, www.nytimes.com/2024/07/30/world/americas/venezuela-election-maduro-chavez.html?searchResultPosition=30

[20] Turkewitz, Julie. “What Happened to Venezuela’s Democracy?” The New York Times, www.nytimes.com/2024/07/30/world/americas/venezuela-election-maduro-chavez.html?searchResultPosition=30

[21] Human Rights Watch, Crackdown on Dissent : brutality, torture and political persecution in Venezuela, November 29, 2017, https://www.hrw.org/report/2014/05/05/punished-protesting/rights-violations-venezuelas-streets-detention-centers-and.

[22] Herrera, Isayen, and Genevieve Glatsky. "Juan Guaidó is voted out as Leader of Venezuela’s Opposition." The New York Times, 2024, https://www.nytimes.com/2022/12/30/world/americas/venezuela-opposition-juan-guaido.html.

[23] Andrés Izarra, quoted in Turkewitz, Julie. “What Happened to Venezuela’s Democracy?” The New York Times, www.nytimes.com/2024/07/30/world/americas/venezuela-election-maduro-chavez.html?searchResultPosition=30.

[24] Machado, Maria Corina. “Venezuela is ready for change. Maduro must allow it.” The New York Times, 28 July 2024, https://www.nytimes.com/2024/07/26/opinion/venezuela-elections-gonzalez-maduro.html.

[25] Nicolás Maduro, quoted in Vanessa Buschschlüter. “Venezuela election: Maduro declared winner in disputed vote,” BBC News, July 29, 2024, https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/cz5rj2mzgevo.

[26] The Carter Center. “Carter Center statement on Venezuela Election”, 30 July 2024, https://www.cartercenter.org/news/pr/2024/venezuela-073024.html.

[27] VanSickle, Abbie, and Liptak, Adam. "Supreme Court lets Trump lift deportation protections for Venezuelans," The New York Times, May 19, 2025, https://www.nytimes.com/2025/05/19/us/politics/supreme-court-protected-status-venezuelans.html.

[28] VanSickle, Abbie, and Liptak, Adam. "Supreme Court lets Trump lift deportation protections for Venezuelans," The New York Times, May 19, 2025, https://www.nytimes.com/2025/05/19/us/politics/supreme-court-protected-status-venezuelans.html.

Blending Fiction and History:

Literature’s role in writing truth through lies

"Fiction is the lie that tells the truth."[1]

This paradox defines literature’s most powerful genre. Fiction is commonly understood as the genre of literature that portrays imagined characters and events. Although fabricated, fiction is often used as a tool to convey deeply real, concrete ideas. A good example of this is The Hunger Games: no one has ever heard of a real-life Katniss Everdeen or a game where children from thirteen districts are sacrificed for entertainment. Yet we can all recognize clear parallels to the society we live in, from the show of violence in the media to economic inequality. Suzanne Collins evokes truths that might have lost their emotional resonance in a non-fictional format. As Tim O’Brian puts it, “That's what fiction is for. It's for getting at the truth when the truth isn't sufficient for the truth.”[2] Through our imagination we gain a deeper understanding of what the author is portraying.

[1] Gaiman, Neil. Art Matters: Because Your Imagination Can Change the World. Illustrated by Chris Riddell, Headline, 2018.

[2] O’Brien, Tim. The Things They Carried. Houghton Mifflin, 1990.

While fiction can reflect social truths, its use becomes even more impactful when interwoven with actual historical events. As James Johnson and David Ebert explain, “Historical fiction does the work that almost no biography or textbook can do. It livens the story, bringing it to a fully engrossing level of engagement.”[1] According to Britannica, historical fiction is “a novel that has as its setting a period of history and that attempts to convey the spirit, manners, and social conditions of a past age with realistic detail.”[2] Literary scholar Hayden White invites reflection on the role of narrative not just in historical writing, but in human culture at large. He argues that storytelling is a universal method of making sense of experience, bridging gaps between cultures and translating knowledge into meaning. Building on White’s point, Barthes underscores the universality of narrative, describing it as “simply there like life itself … international, transhistorical, transcultural.”[3] The universal quality of narrative explains how historical fiction makes real events more emotionally accessible or relatable, how it fills the undocumented gaps of history especially when the record is incomplete, biased, or traumatic.

As Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie shows in her collection of short stories, The Thing around your Neck, personal narratives and history are intertwined. By highlighting the human aspect, she manages to arouse emotion and inspire reconciliation with the past.

In Adichie’s TED talk “The danger of a single story” she states: “stories have been used to dispossess and to malign, but stories can also be used to empower and to humanize. Stories can break the dignity of a people, but stories can also repair that broken dignity.”[4] This quote highlights the dual power of storytelling: destroying or rebuilding. Naturally there are ethical implications with blending fiction with historical truth. Readers might not distinguish between fact and invention. This can be powerful or misleading as real events are complex and nuanced. Fiction may flatten or romanticize them. This begs the question: when fiction meets history, where is the line between storytelling and distortion? Authors like Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie and Gaël Faye push this boundary carefully and intentionally.

In The Thing around your Neck, Adichie uses fiction to explore Nigerian history. She focuses on emotional truths by portraying the lived experiences of women, migrants and their trauma. By setting their stories in real social and historical contexts, Adichie challenges the idea of a “single story of Nigeria”. In “The Headstrong Historian” Adichie reclaims the stories and culture erased by colonial narratives through the character Afamefuna. Although Afamefuna is a made-up character and her story is imagined, she represents many real people whose stories were silenced, showing how fiction can give a voice to the past in a way that respects, honors it and completes it.

Gaël Faye takes a similar approach in his fictional autobiography, Petit Pays. He depicts the coming-of-age story of Gabriel, a Franco-Rwandan boy growing up in Burundi during the 1990s, as civil war breaks out and the neighboring Rwandan genocide casts a shadow over his life. He explores how children process war, how memory is shaped, and how fiction becomes a way to heal. In an interview Faye says that he wants to “retrouver les sensations de l’enfance […] la guerre avait chassé ce souvenir-là de l’enfance heureuse et je voulais retrouver ces sensations-là”[5] (“rediscover the sensations of childhood […] the war had driven away that memory of a happy childhood and I wanted to recover those sensations”). Through his fictive writing, Faye reconnects and reconciles with his past showing how fictional literature can retrieve lost history.

In conclusion, fiction, though imagined, often holds deeper truths than factual formats can. The Hunger Games critiques modern lack of empathy and inequality through a dystopian lens. Adichie gives voice to the silenced through emotional truth and postcolonial reflection. Faye uses fiction to reclaim lost memories and process personal and collective trauma. Unlike non-fiction, fiction allows for empathy, emotional resonance and makes history more accessible and human because it transcends international, transhistorical, and transcultural barriers. But blending fiction with history must be done responsibly, to honor not distort. In a world of half-truths and incomplete memories, fiction remains a powerful space to explore, preserve, and humanize history.

[1] Johnson, James M., and David J. Ebert. “Using Historical Fiction to Make History Engaging.” Hamline University Capstone Projects, 1992, accessed June 26, 2025, digitalcommons.hamline.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1781&context=hse_cp.

[2] Encyclopaedia Britannica, “Historical Fiction,” accessed June 9, 2025, https://www.britannica.com/search?query=historical+fiction&ct=

[3] Roland Barthes, "Introduction to the Structural Analysis of Narratives," Image, Music, Text, trans. Stephen Heath (New York, 1977), 79.

[4] Adichie, Chimamanda Ngozi. “The danger of a single story”, uploaded by TED, Oct. 7, 2009, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D9Ihs241zeg&list=TLPQMTcwNTIwMjUTTKccFCGyDA&index=.

[5] “Interview de Gaël Faye pour son nouveau roman Petit pays”, Oct. 5, 2016, l’actu littéraire, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=42t-f8qnL0I

My role in this fight

All my life I’ve been told that I speak “too Spanish” or been asked where I was from because people don’t recognize my accent. Truth is, I have never really had one place I was from, I belong everywhere and nowhere. I was born in Barcelona to a Spanish dad and a Venezuelan mom. My mom left Venezuela in 2003 and moved to Spain where she met my dad and had me. The three of us had to leave Spain in 2009 when both my parents lost their jobs due to the economic crisis. We lived in Geneva, then Lausanne, then in 2015 we all moved to Washington DC for my dad’s work. In 2019 we moved back to Lausanne where we have lived ever since. I come from Barcelona and Caracas and DC and Lausanne; they are all my homes. Today one of my homes is on fire.

My mom has always kept me connected to my Venezuelan roots through stories, songs, dancing and food. We have arepas for breakfast every couple of weeks and eat allacas on Christmas. I remember her telling me ever since I was a little girl how beautiful and diverse the landscapes are, the beaches, the mountains, the jungle and the plains.  She promised me we would one day climb up the Auyán-tepui mountain and see the Angel Falls. We’ve visited my family in Venezuela a couple of times, notably for Christmas two years ago and the year before. This does not alter the reality that I have a home I can’t truly return to.

Living outside of your home is both a blessing and a curse. I am forever grateful that my mom was able to leave and give me a better life but at the same time I feel guilty that others didn’t get the same chance. I feel guilty that I get to live such a privileged life all while others can barely afford basic necessities. The worst part is that people are suffering, and too little people know or do anything about it.

I may not be able to control where I was born or what privileges I have, but I can speak up and raise awareness to make Venezuela’s crisis impossible to ignore.

Issue

The purpose of my TM is to explore how political and economic crises throughout history have shaped the lives of Venezuelans both living inside and outside Venezuela. My aim is to raise awareness on what is currently happening in Venezuela and how it got to this point. By giving a voice to the human experiences behind the headlines I’m hoping to shine a different light on the underreported and almost unheard-of war we are fighting. I will do this through short stories that are fictional but inspired by real events and testimonies and set in a real historical context, taking major inspiration in Petit Pays by Gaël Faye and The Thing around your Neck by Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche for themes and technique, all while conveying a message of hope.

The following four short stories are fictional narratives inspired by real historical events and testimonies from the Venezuelan crisis. They explore themes of exile, memory, trauma, and cultural identity through personal, intimate lenses. Together, they form the creative core of my TM.

V.V.

Venezuelan Victims

The rain tapping against your window woke you up this morning. You groan. You walk to the kitchen. As you pour yourself a cup of coffee you catch a glimpse of the calendar. You see a big black blob of anger in the place of a little square that’s supposed to say 18th of March 2018. If only the calendar knew that a year ago today was the day … You can’t even say it. You check the time and realize you’re late, per usual, so you grab your bag frantically and practically run out the door. You make it to the bus stop on time, thank God. You take the last empty seat there is. The guy sitting next to you is staring and you wonder what the hell he wants. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re still in your pajamas, last night’s mascara smudged on your eyelids or that your bag is half open. He smiles, hands you a card and gets off the bus. You read it. You understand why he was staring, he recognized you from the article. Ass. You should have never given that testimony. You don’t know why but instead of tearing the card up in a thousand little pieces, you read it and keep it in your bag. You sit in class all morning, your mind is elsewhere, you’re thinking about the card. It read Venezuelan Victims, a support group for people affected by the crisis, all day, any day. You try to concentrate on the lecture but the feeling of the card staring at you from your bag is eating away at you.

You get up suddenly, without thinking, like a reflex. You rush out of class and start walking. Where? You know where.

You open the door and see a bunch of people sitting in a circle listening to each other talk. Your heart is racing, all you want to do is run away but the guy from the bus notices you come in, smiles and grabs a chair for you. You hate his guts for bringing you here. Still, you give him a half smile. You sit. “Who wants to go next? Our newest member, maybe?” says the mediator, looking at you. Yeah, no way. You turn to look at the guy from the bus, your eyes saying, you betrayed me. He notices your unease, so he steps in.

“I can go! Hi everyone, I’m Samuel. I’ve been coming to meetings for a little over a year now. I was struggling to put words to the worst days of my life, but I’ve finally come to terms with telling my story. Here goes nothing. So, the last thing I remember was a military officer shouting at my friend. Then nothing. When I woke up, damp, cold air filled my lungs. The stench of rust and bleach burned my nostrils. Everything was silent except for the pounding in my head. I still can’t tell if it was from the blow that knocked me out or pure fear. We had been peacefully protesting in the guarimbas of 2014. Maduro had just assumed power, and inflation was at record-breaking levels. A group of us students had decided to go out and fight for our future. We were on the front lines. The military officers got the order, use force. That’s when I was knocked out and got robbed of eight months of my life. When they finally let me go, I applied for a transfer to UCLA, I left and never looked back. Until recently I had totally cut ties with who I was back then, everything, everyone I knew. All except for my mom. I’m trying to reconnect and being at peace with what happened is the first step.” His words hit you like acid in the throat. You swallow but it doesn’t go away. Your chest tightens. You blink, frantically. It rises, hot, unbearable. You bolt out of there and puke on the sidewalk.

This year it’s your neighbor’s loud music that wakes you up. You roll out of bed, throw your clothes on a chair and head towards the shower. You turn it on and let it heat up while you tidy up a few things. Suddenly you’re not in your steamy bathroom but you’re there again, covered in her warm blood. You freeze. Your chest tightens. Then you snap back into reality and turn the shower cold. You’re eating breakfast: last night’s pizza, a piece of mango and a cup of coffee. You feel the calendar’s eyes on you as you finish getting ready. It’s that day again. You grab your bag, lock the door and walk towards the bus stop. For once you get there before the bus does, so you sit on the bench next to an elderly woman. She’s the chatty type. She asks if you’re heading to class, you nod and say you go to UCLA. She gets excited and says that maybe you know her granddaughter. She has brown hair, tall, she’s studying psychology. She has a sister that’s in Biomedical sciences. “Do you have a sister?”  You freeze. “Me? I- I do yeah.” Your throat tightens. “Does she also go to UCLA?” she asks. “Something like that.” You remember the bus. The card. Him.

All day, her voice rattles in your head. Her granddaughter. Her sister. Your sister. That guy on the bus. That card. When your last lecture ends you pack up and start heading home. But when you leave the building, you don’t walk to the bus stop. You start walking and you find yourself here again. You hesitate to go in. This is stupid, you think, and as you turn around to go home, the guy from the bus appears out of thin air. “I wasn’t sure you’d come back. I’m Samuel by the way.” You jump with fear, before you can even think about bolting out of there, he grabs you by the shoulder and guides you to the meeting. Your mind is telling you to get out of there, but you find that your feet are moving towards the door.

You sit in the circle and imagine saying something. You imagine their faces nodding, waiting. You hear your own voice say: ‘It was my sister, we were at the hair salon when-’ Then you delete the whole scene from your mind, like a file you’re not ready to open. You listen carefully to everyone’s stories and thoughts. “How is it that every time I think I’ve finally made progress moving on, the universe makes me fall flat on my face?” A feeling you know all too well. Everyone is talking, exchanging thoughts, and suddenly you don’t know why you do it. Your hand raises like it belongs to someone else. You start to explain what happened that day. You were at the hair salon with your older sister getting your hair done when suddenly military officers came in looking for protesters that had run away and hid. “I was having my hair washed and what happened next changed my life forever.” The smell of her blood clings to your every thought. Every time you close your eyes you hear the gun go off.  

This year you are peacefully sleeping when you feel the morning sun on your face. Shit. You’re late again. You quickly change, grab something to eat, and rush out the door. You forgot your keys inside, so you go back in and frantically scan your apartment for a sign of them. You spot them on the kitchen table, under the calendar. You smile nostalgically at today’s date, a single tear streaking down your cheek. A feeling of pride rushes over you. You realize in this moment how far you’ve come. You lock the door and run to the bus stop and by some miracle you don’t miss it.

You’re walking to the meeting and spot a coffee cart on the way. You stop to get an iced latte and feel a tap on your shoulder. “Hey Samu! It’s been so long!” you say hugging him. You had become friends after having exchanged numbers. He even invited you a couple of times to hang out. You met many of his friends and girlfriend that all go to UCLA too. You even took classes with a few of them. “You ready?” he asks. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” you answer a nervous laugh slipping out.

“Welcome everyone, I’m Samuel. I’ve been coming to V.V. meetings for a while now and I’ve recently become a mediator because I want to give back to the program that gave me and many others a safe space to grieve, connect and remember.” He says this whilst looking at you proudly. “Who would like to start?” You take a breath.

This time, you raise your hand willingly.

22nd of December

“Attention please, this is the final boarding call for flight UX78 to Caracas. Please board the plane immediately.”
I hadn’t heard those words in a long time. Too long.

“Traveling alone?”
“Yeah, you?” I asked, gazing at him.
“With my family. They’re over there in the back,” he replied, pointing towards the back of the plane. “So, you go back often or what?”
“Not really, it’s a one-time thing. I don’t know chamo, it feels risky, but I don’t really have a choice, my mom is sick.”
Chamo, I hadn’t said that word in ages.

As I watched the minutes until landing slip away, I felt my hands get clammier and my heart pound. Endless “what ifs” took over my mind. As I rushed through the Simon Bolivar airport, I couldn’t escape the ringing in my ears. The hallways I had once passed through hopeful for a new beginning now seemed to accuse me, condemning me for leaving home.
“Samuel! Ay, mi amor, I’ve missed you.”
The sound of her voice pulled me out from the thoughts flooding my head. I ran to my mom. She was the home I carried with me, in a special place in my heart.
“How was the trip? Did you sleep? How was the food? Are you hungry? Come, come let’s go home.”
Her constant worry had once annoyed me, but now it was oddly comforting.  

Driving down the highway shocked me. I had expected to find bodies, accidents, horrors like the headlines had warned. All I saw was the vegetation spilling over the bumpy highway. The warm wind on my face, like a soft blanket, brought me back to all those times I was in my jeep on the way to university or back from a night out. The smell of petrol reminded me of the day my friend and I had wanted to go to the beach. We had gone to fill up my tank first and when we arrived at the gas station, the wait was so long the cars lined up around the block twice. I laughed, remembering how we had wasted our whole afternoon sweating under the scorching sun. Not on a white-sanded beach but waiting for gas. It was absurd, and yet, in its own way, familiar. Even comforting.
How strange, to miss what once made me so angry.

“¿De qué te ríes?” asked my mom.
“Nothing, I was just thinking about a happy memory.” The nostalgia found its refuge in my heart. But the lighthearted feeling quickly soured as the guilt settled in my stomach.
“I’ve missed you; you know?” she said softly, almost as if she were speaking to herself.
“I know, Ma. I’ve missed you too. What did the doctors say?”

“I actually didn’t go to the appointment.” What? Why? I thought. “I’m… not really sick.”

“You lied!!?? That’s so messed up-”
“You woke up one day and left. We haven’t seen you since 2014! That’s like five years! It was the only way you’d come back,” she erupts, cutting me off.
“More like four but that’s not the point. I can’t believe you would lie to me like that. That’s messed up, even for you mom.”
“When you left, you didn’t just leave me, you left a piece of yourself too! You used to fight for this country, our rights, your future but once it got hard, you abandoned everything! When you left you closed the door behind you, you forgot where it is you came from. The people, the culture you betrayed! You can barely call yourself Venezuelan anymore and you know it.”

“I don’t think that’s fair. I know it hurt you, but what was I supposed to do? After the … incident, I felt trapped here. I was suffocating! So, when I got a full ride scholarship to go study at UCLA, I couldn’t not go. It was my way out! Also, last time I checked I am a grown man; I wanted to go so I went.”
“You’re right Samuel. You are grown,” she muffled, looking out the window.

Stepping into my childhood home was like walking through a time portal. The same picture frames covered the walls, the same flowers peeked through the living room windows, the same terracotta-colored floors stained my white socks. I took off my shoes and left my bag on the living room couch where gaitas were playing softly in the background, their rhythm filling the room with memories. I walked to the kitchen and the smell of hallacas flooded my nose. The smell of Christmas hugging me lovingly. The bowl of shredded chicken reminded me of all the times I had to desmenuzar chicken as a kid. You separated a chunk, ate a piece discreetly and put the rest in the bowl. “¡No te comas todo el pollo, mijo!” I quickly stole a piece before my mom came into the kitchen.
I opened the fridge to get a glass of water and saw a big bowl of strawberry Jello, my favorite. I scooped some into a bowl and drizzled some sweetened condensed milk on top. I took my snacks outside and sat on the dented couch.

Maybe Mom was right. Who was I kidding? Of course, she was. When I left, I shut everything out. But in doing so, I disconnected from my roots, from my very self. From the outside, Venezuela seemed dark. Everything I heard made me think of Venezuela as a sad, broken place. Returning was a huge shock. I remembered how beautiful everything still is, despite the problems. I remembered the music, the food, the people, our resilience but also protesting for what we think is right. I remembered that it’s home. I had to make peace with what happened to me to finally be able to reconnect to what I had lost. I found a program that helps Venezuelan immigrants cope with their trauma. Slowly, I felt a shift. I started coming back home more often and convinced my mom to visit too. Like a healing scar, my country, my home stopped scaring me. I started cleaning the house to the sound of merengue, like my mom did, and making arepas every Sunday. Later I found friends, and my amazing wife, who remind me every day what it means to be Venezuelan. That Christmas was a wake-up call. I wanted to return, not just to my country, but to the complicated, beautiful self I had almost lost.

Guaguancó

A term used to describe a contagious mix of charisma, rhythm, energy, sazón (that special flavor and flair), and cultural pride. A vibe that makes you feel connected, alive, and instantly at home.

The music from the bar is thumping in my chest, but all I can focus on is my date’s loud chewing. His chewing. Half-masticated food peeks out every time he opens his mouth to talk. Naturally, all we talked about was him. His job. His hobbies. His friends.
The waitress drops off the dessert menu, and it feels like a breath of fresh air. As she walks away, my date checks her out.
Typical.
I really can’t take it anymore, so I mutter something about needing the bathroom and leave.

“I’m hooooooome!” I drop my bag on the floor and join my sister on the couch.

“So soon? Oh no, what went wrong this time?” my sister says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You were right. I never should’ve gone on that date. It’s just… I don’t know, I thought maybe this one would be different.”

“Girl, I get it. I haven’t had a decent date with an American guy. Like ever.”

“I mean, I’m sure there are some good ones out there. But I swear, I keep picking the worst of the bunch.”

“Andrea, I’m telling you; gringos don’t compare to Venezuelan guys. They’re just more generous, more intense, more… manly.”

“Sofi!” I say wide-eyed.  “There is literally no way you just said that!” I yell as I playfully throw a pillow on her.

“Come on, the night is young, and you could use a drink.”

“Ughhh but I’m tiiireeed,” I groan as she pulls me up.

The smell of sweat and cheap perfume fills my nostrils as I step into the dim-lighted bar. The flickering karaoke sign sputters out taking its last breath. My headache worsens as two drunk girls screech into the mic, absolutely murdering a Taylor Swift song. I notice just how sticky the floor is as my sister pulls me towards the cute bartender.

“Two ron con limón please!”

 “Women with taste. I like it,” says the bartender flirtingly to my sister. I’m looking around while they’re talking, and I lock eyes with a finance bro. He starts coming up to me. Shit.

“Hey,” he licks his lips. “Where you from? Brazil?”

“Venezuela actually,” I reply dryly.

“So ... you got any cocaine?” he laughs.

What an idiot. If only he knew the shit I’ve been through.

“Epa chamo,” My head turns instantly. My smile widens as I discover the guy is wearing a Vinotinto jersey. He is dabbing up one of his friends who is drinking a Polar. No way. I turn to face my sister who’s already looking at me with wide eyes.

“You hear what I hear?”

“Come on, let’s goooo,” she laughs, pulling me by the hand. “This is fate!”

“Don’t get any ideas… yet.”

She pulls me by the arm. Again. I feel my heart racing with excitement.

“No jodaaaa. Where did you find Polar? I can’t find it in any Latino shop in the L.A. area” I ask one of the guys flirtingly.

“No valeeeee. De donde son ?” I didn’t need to ask what he meant. That question always carried more than geography, it meant you’re one of us, right?

“Caracas. You?” we say in harmony.

“Chamaaa there’s no way me too! I’m Samuel,” he says while he palms my hand and kisses it softly.

“I’m Andrea and that’s my older sister, Sofi.”

For a second, the noise of the bar fades. It’s just laughter, accents crashing into each other, that familiar way of standing close, of looking deep in your eyes when they talk. He hands me a cold bottle like it’s sacred. I laugh and I take a sip. Tastes like home. Two minutes in and we’re swapping numbers, neighborhoods, memories of summer in Los Roques and missing arepas in Margarita. A song starts playing and the lyrics hit too close to home: “I should have taken more photos of when I had you, I should have given you more kisses and hugs as many times as I could.”  We all look at each other and understand without uttering a single word.

The Talk

I was scrolling on my phone when I saw a video of a crowd running from tear gas. The caption said, ‘#SOSVenezuela.’ I frowned. So, I asked mamá. She paused, looked at me, and then said, ‘Let’s talk.’

“I thought you put parental controls on her phone!” I heard mamá yell at my dad. “I don’t know what to tell you Sofi, I did! It’s about time we tell her what’s going on.” What’s going on? “She deserves to know.” To know what? After what felt like hours my parents finally come in my room. They sit beside me on my bed.

She looks at me, then to my dad, then to me again. What is taking her so long? She clears her throat.

“Remember that time I told you the story of how auntie Andrea and I came to live to the US?” asked my mom hesitantly.

“Yeah, for university. She wanted to study here in California, and you came with her right?” She nods.

“Well, what I left out was that the university we were going to in Caracas had been shut down for almost a whole year.” I frowned. “Because of budget cuts the teachers weren’t getting paid. They were on strike, so the classrooms were empty. We all thought it was like a short vacation. Some of us even went on a trip to Los Roques. But time went on and the university was still a ghost town. They even recommended we switch to somewhere else, or we would have to repeat the year. Most of us protested, we weren’t going to let the government force us out. But then, it started becoming ... you know.”

“Becoming what? I ask confused. I didn’t know what she meant. She started explaining the protests and everything.

“By then, things had already been getting worse for a while,” she added. “It wasn’t just the universities. Supermarkets were empty, people were lining up at 5 a.m. just to find diapers or insulin. It felt like we were all waiting in line for a future that never came.”

As mamá talked, my eyes drifted to the stuffed blue bear sitting on my bookshelf. I hadn’t touched it in years.

“You know,” she said, noticing where I was looking, “that bear used to be mine. I took it with me when we left Caracas.”

I turned toward her.

“Andrea once said I looked like a bear in the middle of an anthill. Clueless, vulnerable and surrounded by things that could sting.”

“Like what?”

She paused. My dad gave her a reassuring nod saying you can do it. “Like everything. The tear gas. The shouting. The arrests. Students trying to speak out, getting silenced. Electricity would cut off without warning, sometimes for days. We’d study for our finals by candlelight, if we could even afford the candles. We were just trying to live, but it felt like being powerless in a swarm of danger. Like if you spoke too loudly, you’d get crushed. It wasn’t much easier when we got to the U.S., everything felt upside down. Andrea and I shared a mattress in a studio apartment, worked night shifts, and barely spoke English. But at least we could breathe.”

My throat tightens. I can tell it’s not easy for her to tell me this. I never knew my mom went through all of that. It’s like hearing about a whole other person. I wanted to give her a hug, but I was hungry for more explanations.

“Were you ever arrested, like before moving here?” I ask hesitantly.

“I wasn’t but many of my friends were. Your uncle Samuel was arrested for 8 months, I think. In the Helicoide.”

I think my dad could hear my internal monologue how could anyone hurt innocent people?

“I don’t know sweetie. We’re all as confused as you are. The human mind is full of mysteries.”

I wasn’t satisfied with that answer.

Later that night I googled “Venezuela protests” on my phone. All I found were articles and pictures I wish I had never seen. But then again, they are a part of who I am. I need to know it all, good and bad. I glanced back to the blue bear. It looked tired, exhausted even. Like it shared our burdens. I’ll never see it the same. Maybe that’s what she wanted to protect me from all this time not just the violence, but the feeling that the whole world could disappear, and no one would come to help.

Bibliography

Adichie, Chimamanda Ngozi. “Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: The danger of a single story,”

uploaded by TED, 7 October 2009, Accessed June 6, 2025. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D9Ihs241zeg&list=TLPQMTcwNTIwMjUTTKccFCGyDA&index=1.

Adichie, Chimamanda Ngozi. The Thing Around Your Neck. London: 4th Estate, 2009.

KAKIKA. Voces Venezolanas: Explorando Nuestras Conexiones e

Historias. Google Forms, Accessed June 6, 2025. https://docs.google.com/forms/d/124pSXoOPox4G8M_yNAX2rLf2u3m5SzdTHEl0iPD36C8/edit#responses.

Bad Bunny. "DtMF." DtMF, Rimas Entertainment LLC, 2025.

Bunschschlüter, Vanessa. "Venezuela’s Maduro declared winner in disputed vote." BBC

News, July 29, 2025. Accessed June 6, 2025. https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/cz5rj2mzgevo.

Casey, Nicholas. "Venezuela inflation could reach one million percent by year’s

end." The New York Times, July 23, 2018. Accessed June 6, 2025. 2018, https://www.nytimes.com/2018/07/23/world/americas/venezuela-inflation-crisis.html?searchResultPosition=8.

“Conflictividad social en Venezuela en el primer semestre de 2014.” Observatorio

Venezolano de Conflictividad, July 17, 2014. Accessed June 6, 2025. Social. https://www.observatoriodeconflictos.org.ve/tendencias-de-la-conflictividad/conflictividad-social-en-venezuela-en-el-primer-semestre-de-2014.

Council on Foreign Relations (U.S.). "Venezuela’s Chavez Era." Council on Foreign

Relations. Accessed June 9, 2025. https://www.cfr.org/timeline/venezuelas-chavez-era.

"My grandmother’s memories." Personal testimony.

Faye, Gaël. Petit Pays. Paris: Éditions Grasset & Fasquelle, 2016.

Ferré-Sadurní, Luis, and Juan Arredondo. "5,000 miles, 8 countries: The path to the U.S.

through one family’s eyes." The New York Times, July 8, 2024. Accessed June 9, 2025. https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2024/07/08/nyregion/immigration-us-border-family.html.

Glatsky, Genevieve, and Julie Turkewitz. "Venezuela’s autocrat, accused of stealing

election, seizes third term." The New York Times, January 10, 2025. Accessed June 9, 2025. https://www.nytimes.com/2025/01/10/world/americas/nicolas-maduro-venezuela-president.html.

Graux, Allain. De Simon Bolivar à Hugo Chavez Un panorama sur le República

Bolivariana de Venezuela. Paris : Les points sur les i, 2013.

Herrera, Isayen, and Genevieve Glatsky. "Juan Guaidó is voted out as Leader of

Venezuela’s Opposition." The New York Times, December 30, 2022. Accessed June 9, 2025. https://www.nytimes.com/2022/12/30/world/americas/venezuela-opposition-juan-guaido.html.

“How fiction can change reality – Jessica Wise,” uploaded by TED-Ed, 23 August 2012.

Accessed June 9, 2025. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ctaPAm14L10.

Human Rights Watch.  “Crackdown on Dissent : brutality, torture, and political

persecution in Venezuela.” November 29, 2017. Accessed June 9, 2025. https://www.hrw.org/report/2017/11/29/crackdown-dissent/brutality-torture-and-political-persecution-venezuela

Human Rights Watch. “Punished for Protesting: Rights Violations in Venezuela’s Streets,

Detention Centers, and Justice System.” 5 May 2014. Accessed June 9, 2025. https://www.hrw.org/report/2014/05/05/punished-protesting/rights-violations-venezuelas-streets-detention-centers-and.

“Interview de Gaël Faye pour son nouveau roman Petit pays”, L’actu

Littéraire. October 5, 2016. Accessed June 9, 2025. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=42t-f8qnL0I.

Johnson, James M., and David J. Ebert. Using Historical Fiction to Make History Engaging.

Hamline University Capstone Projects, 1992. Hamline University Digital Commons. Accessed June 26, 2025. https://digitalcommons.hamline.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1781&context=hse_cp.

Machado, Maria Corina. "Venezuela is ready for change. Maduro must allow it." The New

York Times, July 26, 2024. Accessed June 9, 2025.https://www.nytimes.com/2024/07/26/opinion/venezuela-elections-gonzalez-maduro.html?searchResultPosition=2.

Nicas, Jack. "How do you topple a Strongman?" The New York Times,

August 4, 2024. Accessed June 9, 2025. https://www.nytimes.com/2024/08/04/world/americas/maduro-regime-venezuela.html.

One Day. Created by Nicole Taylor, performance by Ambika Mod and Leo Woodall,

Netflix, 2024.

Otis, John. "In Venezuela, covering the fallout of a tainted election." The New York Times,

July 30, 2024. Accessed June 9, 2025. https://www.nytimes.com/2024/07/30/insider/in-venezuela-covering-the-fallout-of-a-tainted-election.html?searchResultPosition=8.

Patiño, Roberto. "This is Venezuela’s moment. It needs the world’s help." The New York

Times, July 19, 2024. Accessed June 9, 2025. https://www.nytimes.com/2024/07/19/opinion/venezuela-elections-maduro.html.

“PÉREZ JIMÉNEZ MARCOS (1914–2001).” Encyclopædia Universalis. Encyclopædia

Britannica, Inc. Accessed June 9, 2025. https://www.universalis.fr/encyclopedie/marcos-perez-jimenez/.

Robles, Frances, John Otis, and Alejandro Cegarra. "Protests erupt in Venezuela as

nations denounce elections results." The New York Times, July 29, 2024. Accessed June 9, 2025. https://www.nytimes.com/2024/07/29/world/americas/countries-concern-venezuela-election-results.html?searchResultPosition=39.

Robles, Frances. "Venezuelan election denounced by international monitoring

group." The New York Times, July 31, 2024. Accessed June 9, 2025. https://www.nytimes.com/2024/07/31/world/americas/venezuela-election-carter-center-democracy.html?searchResultPosition=4.

Strout, Elizabeth. Olive Kitteridge. London: Pocket Books, 2008.

The Carter Center. "Carter Center statement on Venezuela Election." The Carter

Center, July 30, 2024. Accessed June 9, 2025. https://www.cartercenter.org/news/pr/2024/venezuela-073024.html.

Turkewitz, Julie, and Isayen Herrera. "The ‘iron lady’ of Venezuela threatens to unseat its

autocrat." The New York Times, July 24, 2024. Accessed June 9, 2025. https://www.nytimes.com/2024/07/24/world/americas/venezuela-election-opposition-machado.html.

Turkewitz, Julie. "In record numbers, Venezuelans risk a deadly trek to reach the U.S.

border." The New York Times, October 7, 2022. Accessed June 9, 2025. https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/07/world/americas/venezuelan-migrants-us-border.html.

Turkewitz, Julie. "What happened to Venezuela’s democracy?" The New York Times,

July 30, 2024. Accessed June 9, 2025.  https://www.nytimes.com/2024/07/30/world/americas/venezuela-election-maduro-chavez.html?searchResultPosition=30.

U.S. Department of State. "Joint statement on Venezuela Election." U.S. Department of

State, August 16, 2024. Accessed June 9, 2025.  https://2021-2025.state.gov/joint-statement-on-venezuela-election/.

UNHCR. "Emergency appeal, Venezuela

situation." UNHCR, May 2025. Accessed June 9, 2025.  https://www.unhcr.org/emergencies/venezuela-situation.

VanSickle, Abbie, and Adam Liptak. “Supreme Court Lets Trump Lift Deportation

Protections for Venezuelans.” The New York Times, 19 May 2025. Accessed June 9, 2025. www.nytimes.com/2025/05/19/us/politics/supreme-court-protected-status-venezuelans.html.

Velandia, Karenina, and Charlie Newland. “El Helicoide: From an Icon to an Infamous

Venezuelan Jail.” BBC News, 24 January 2019. Accessed June 6, 2025. https://www.bbc.com/news/world-latin-america-46864864.

White, Hayden. The Content of the Form: Narrative Discourse and Historical

Representation. Johns Hopkins University Press, 1987.

Yorke, John. Into the Woods. London: Penguin Books, 2013.