I would like to say that Nicolás Maduro is the only one who has aged. He has more gray in his hair than when he first stood in his prisoner’s suit before the Southern District of New York’s federal court almost three months ago, having been forcibly transported there by a U.S. military operation and accused of crimes related to drug trafficking, weapons possession and corruption. He puts on his reading glasses to examine documents and take notes at the second hearing, which focused on whether the U.S. should allow him to use Venezuelan funds to pay for his private defense.
It has been more than 25 years since we first met, a quarter of a century since his party started to govern my country, Venezuela, together with the military. I was 23 when I met Nicolás Maduro and Cilia Flores. Both were members of the National Constituent Assembly that was established in Venezuela in 1999 while I was working as a political reporter for the Venezuelan press. Seeing them again in person during the hearing on March 26 in Manhattan, now that I am almost 50, I was struck by the mixture of disbelief, loss and bitterness that has been building for a long time.
Over the years, I have witnessed the rise and fall of the couple, who carved a niche for themselves in Hugo Chávez’s inner circle, inheriting the presidency after his death and turning the screws of Chavismo further at the expense of Venezuelans’ freedom while plundering the nation’s oil wealth. Their dynasty lasted thanks to repression until January 3 this year when they were seized by the U.S., with Maduro replaced by his vice president, Delcy Rodríguez, under the tutelage of the U.S. Although the country is still governed by the same regime, Maduro’s fall has offered hope for political change, especially to Venezuelans in the diaspora who have suffered persecution and exile and who turned up to see him in court.
Some of the Venezuelans seeking asylum—who traveled from various cities across the United States and managed to enter the courtroom—see this process as their first chance to experience a measure of justice. Since taking office in 2013, Maduro has intensified his crackdown on dissent. “A spark that ignites, a spark that goes out,” he even ordered the armed groups defending the government—the “colectivos”—as well as the Battle Units and Community Councils, which maintain a complex system of denunciations and social control that even today can send dissidents to prison on the flimsiest of pretexts: for protesting, for posting a tweet against the regime. The Bolivarian National Intelligence Service (SEBIN) and the General Directorate of Military Counterintelligence (DGCIM) also set about investigating and arresting hundreds of civilians and military personnel accused of being rebels.
A mission of the Human Rights Council and the United Nations has investigated and documented human rights violations committed by the state since 2014. In the U.S., the Treasury Department’s Office of Foreign Assets Control (OFAC) has also issued a series of sanctions against Maduro together with dozens of officials and entities aligned with the government. These measures have led to restrictions on the Venezuelan oil sector, freezing assets and blocking transactions with U.S. entities. And although Maduro is not charged with human rights offenses, César Coello, a young activist from an opposition party who sought asylum in the U.S. in 2019, is optimistic: “I hope to see something new in Venezuela. In three months, things have happened that have not happened in more than 20 years. This is surreal, we are witnessing living history.”
Maduro and Flores’ influence within the Chávez regime was built gradually through obedience. Both were part of the political movement started by Hugo Chávez, a military officer who had attempted two coups d’état and who, after a brief stint in prison, was voted in as president in 1998. The couple met while visiting Chávez in prison, according to Nicolás Maduro in an interview he gave me in November 2003 for the Venezuelan newspaper El Mundo. “Cilia was a professional, a housewife who had never been involved in politics, and a lawyer for Chávez and several prisoners (…) We met in the process and got closer. We have a deep relationship and a clear identity,” said Maduro, who was a deputy by then and president of the ruling party’s National Assembly.
At that time, Flores was also a lawmaker. She and Maduro presented themselves as an affable couple who talked to journalists and shared details of their personal and spiritual lives with a certain candor. They said they had met in politics and while following Sathya Sai Baba, whom they visited a couple of times in India. “Things that should not be talked about much,” Maduro said during the same interview, while showing a medallion etched with the guru’s face that he wore around his neck on a gold chain, along with a crucifix. The pair became speakers of the Venezuelan Parliament and promoted the transfer of legislative powers to President Chávez, which helped Chávez build the legal framework of the regime through the approval of dozens of laws giving him control of the economy among other public powers in the midst of an unprecedented oil bonanza.
Maduro then resigned from parliament to join the executive cabinet, first as foreign minister and then as vice president, and became an almost untouchable political figure. “Look where Nicolás, the bus driver, is headed. He was a bus driver, and how they make fun of him,” said Chávez, who had just been declared president for a fourth term in October 2012. Maduro was one of the president’s most trusted men. During that last election campaign, Maduro occasionally drove the vehicle in which Chávez, already ill with cancer, toured the country. He was one of the few figures who accompanied him during his hospitalizations in Havana. And when the end was imminent, the founder of Chavismo named him his successor during a message broadcast on all radio and television stations.
Nicolás Maduro was declared president of Venezuela in the April 2013 elections, with a 1.49% advantage over the only opposition candidate, Henrique Capriles. He formed a cabinet full of officers from the Armed Forces and, despite being a civilian, began to wear camouflage jackets and field uniforms himself.
The last time I was able to work in Caracas as a reporter was between April and May 2017. Chávez had been dead four years, but the state-run Venezolana de Televisión station was still broadcasting the old editions of the program Aló, Presidente – clips of speeches in which Hugo Chávez asked for revolutionary loyalty to overcome difficult times. Inflation that year was 438% and there were swarms of people in the streets rummaging through the garbage in search of food. At that point, the protests of the previous month had resulted in 29 deaths and more than 1,200 injured.
On May 1 of that year, Nicolás Maduro convened another National Constituent Assembly (Decree 2830), and dissolved Parliament again where the opposition had held a majority since 2015. The aim was to rewrite the 1999 Constitution to incorporate the Communal State and popular power structures. The state became more and more involved in operations such as the distribution of food and gasoline in the midst of fierce shortages. Maduro also continued with the policy of seizing assets that Chávez had initiated, but now not only of large companies but also of small enterprises: “Company stopped, company expropriated.”
Even before assuming the presidency, Maduro flagged up more than a dozen alleged conspiracies to overthrow him. He provided no concrete evidence, but was convinced the military would be on his side, “knee to the ground,” to defend him. Like Chávez, he led the military parades every year, showing off his investment in arms, tanks and anti-aircraft batteries bought from Russia, which in theory were to be used in the event of a foreign invasion. They were not, however, resorted to on January 3 when the U.S. launched their operation to take Maduro and his wife into custody. According to the U.S. Attorney Office’s indictment with which President Donald Trump justified his intervention, Nicolás Maduro has used these weapons to threaten U.S. security and manage foreign policy in Latin America.
“This is a case that is beyond the normal,” said 92-year-old judge Alvin Hellerstein, during the hour-long hearing that discussed the blocking of Venezuelan funds as a result of OFAC sanctions. It is these sanctions that prevent the current regime of Delcy Rodríguez from paying for the private lawyers chosen by Maduro and Flores. The Prosecutor’s Office alleges that the circumstances in which the sanctions were issued persist in Venezuela, but the judge considers that now that Maduro and Flores have been locked up in the U.S. for almost three months “the Venezuelan government is no longer implicated in the kinds of atrocities we’re talking about now. We corrected that.” This is despite the fact that arrests and reprisals against dissidents who dare to celebrate the U.S. intervention continue, and that almost none of the exiled Venezuelans attending the hearing are clear how they might return to their country without suffering consequences.
With Rodríguez at the helm in Venezuela, OFAC has granted licenses that have allowed the country to generate revenues of up to $18 billion from oil sales at prices that will be under U.S. control. Maduro’s lawyers believe that money could pay for Maduro and Flores’ legal fees for a judicial process that could take years. This idea enrages the Venezuelan exiles in the courtroom who are hoping for reparation for damages unlikely to be considered in an eventual trial against Maduro and his wife. “How long are they going to put their hand in our pockets! The money they have is stolen and it is also ours. They have no right to spend more of the country’s money. We have to keep applying pressure,” rails one Venezuelan at the end of the session surrounded by a small group of demonstrators who have gathered in front of the courthouse to follow the process.
But there are also those who say, “Sometimes we have to be thankful and content with what God is giving us, even though they deserve more [punishment].” Meanwhile, helicopters fly over the courthouse and a motorcade of armored cars escorts the defendants back to their cells at the Metropolitan Detention Center in Brooklyn, where they will remain until they appear before the judge again.
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El anuncio de la presidenta de Venezuela, Delcy Rodríguez, de que ampliará el salario mínimo por primera vez en una década a partir del 1 de mayo, entre otras medidas, no ha aplacado el malestar de los gremios del país que han convocado para este miércoles una serie de protestas y que ha llevado al chavismo a contraprogramarlas con una movilización que no estaba prevista.
“Los factores políticos estamos apoyando a los trabajadores. Exigimos un salario digno, la libertad de los presos políticos y elecciones”, comentó María Escalona, dirigente del partido Alianza Bravo Pueblo, parte de la coalición que respalda a la líder opositora María Corina Machado. Un hueso de res pelado es el símbolo común de las protestas. Para comprar esa pieza, un trabajador necesita tres salarios mínimos de 130 bolívares, que se mantiene en el mismo monto desde hace cuatro años.
Las promesas de mejora de la mandataria han sido interpretadas como un intento de poner paños calientes a una crisis más grande y aun reclamo que no es solo laboral. “Nosotros no queremos a los Rodríguez”, comentó José Oropeza, un jubilado de 70 años. “Y llegaremos a Miraflores”, agregó mientras esperaba para arrancar la caminata.
DIRECTO | Trabajadores de VENEZUELA protestan por AUMENTOS SALARIALES | EL PAÍS
Un manifestante durante la protesta de este jueves.
A menos de 500 metros, el chavismo organizó una concentración para celebrar 20 años de la aprobación de la Ley de Consejos Comunales. A primera hora de la mañana estaba visiblemente más llena que la de los opositores, con empleados públicos y militantes del PSUV movilizados en autobuses desde el interior del país. Por años, cada vez que la oposición ha anunciado una movilización, Diosdado Cabello, como jefe del partido de Gobierno, ha convocado una contramarcha. Esta también tiene como destino ir a Miraflores, donde ya se ha instalado una tarima para recibirlos y que por décadas ha estado vetado a las protestas opositoras.
La manifestación se ha mantenido pese a los anuncios de la noche anterior por parte de la presidenta. Delcy Rodríguez aseguró que habrá un incremento del salario mínimo a partir del 1 de mayo que no concretó, pero lo calificó de “responsable”. Rodríguez intenta rebajar un malestar creciente ante las expectativas de mejoras económicas que trajo la intervención estadounidense después del pasado 3 de enero y que no se han visto reflejadas en los bolsillos de los ciudadanos.
Rodríguez reconoció por primera vez la responsabilidad del Gobierno en la debacle de la hiperinflación y el desabastecimiento del país —vocablos que el alto gobierno chavista evita—, e incluso la emigración que ha sacado del país a cerca de ocho millones de venezolanos, la cual calificó de “inducida”. También reconoció las debilidades. Para Rodríguez, el comentado desplome venezolano de estos años es responsabilidad del “bloqueo económico”. La mandataria encargada reconoció —acaso, también, por primera vez en 12 años— “la política equivocada en materia de aumentos salariales”, que produjo enormes distorsiones monetarias y fiscales.
A new legal development in a New York court reveals a possible collaboration between the lawyers representing the government of acting Venezuelan president Delcy Rodríguez and attorneys working for the opposition that controlled the National Assembly in 2015. The key is that these opposition members, represented by Juan Guaidó, took control of some of Venezuela’s assets in the United States in 2019, when Donald Trump was in his first term as U.S. president and did not recognize Nicolás Maduro during Venezuela’s presidential crisis of 2019-2023. Instead, Guaidó was recognized as interim president by 88 countries, including the U.S., although this recognition was revoked in January 2023.
Representatives from both sides asked Judge Sarah Netburn for a 45-day suspension of a case in which creditors are seeking to seize U.S. funds linked to the state-owned oil company Petróleos de Venezuela (PDVSA), while it is determined who will represent Venezuela’s interests. The judge granted the stay until May 21 to facilitate the coordination of legal defenses.
Analysts warn that it is a move that warrants attention. If it succeeds, it would demonstrate legal cooperation between previously irreconcilable factions, thus improving Venezuela’s position in the litigation.
Washington currently considers Delcy Rodríguez to be the “sole head of state” of Venezuela, with the capacity to act on behalf of the country, in a letter sent to the Department of Justice. According to Reuters, following this recognition, Rodríguez is preparing to take over the boards of directors of PDVSA subsidiaries in the United States.
Venezuela’s most important asset in the United States is the Citgo refinery, run by an American fuel production and refining company. However, it has been under threat from some 20 international creditors, including large and medium-sized companies, who are demanding $21.3 billion from Venezuela for expropriations and defaults during the Chavista era.
To recover their debt, the creditors requested that the refinery be auctioned off, and a Delaware judge approved its sale last November. This transaction has not yet been finalized because it requires authorization from the Treasury Department’s Office of Foreign Assets Control, which since 2019 has prevented the Chavista regime from appointing Citgo’s management. The office did, however, authorize the appointments made by Guaidó when he was acting as self-proclaimed interim president. Holders of Venezuelan debt have also sought to seize this and other assets.
The new reality after January 3, when the United States captured Maduro during a military intervention in Caracas, presents a new scenario for the dozens of legal disputes and unpaid debt left behind by the years of Chavista control. Trump has outlined a transition leveraged by oil, and it is precisely in this sector where the greatest number of changes are taking place, following the full restoration of relations between Washington and Caracas. Trump has recognized Rodríguez and even removed her from the list of sanctioned Chavista officials.
For now, the most evident transformations are the oil and mining licenses, as well as the new hydrocarbon laws (already approved) and mining laws (under discussion) that have generated new expectations among foreign investors.
A group of environmental and human rights organizations warned a few days ago that oil and mining licenses could “become a global mechanism for laundering illegal gold, by allowing the sale of minerals from areas controlled by criminal networks.” Gold, in particular, is extracted in Venezuela amid serious human rights violations, smuggling, and corruption, according to reports from organizations such as the United Nations and Transparency International.
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In June, Spain will end a program that has allowed tens of thousands of Venezuelans to regularize their legal status almost automatically since 2018. The Spanish government will stop systematically granting residence permits on humanitarian grounds to this group, thereby terminating one of the most unique—and least debated—mechanisms of the Spanish asylum system.
After years of internal debate over what to do about Venezuelans, who have ended up monopolizing the system, the government has decided to return them to the standard immigration process that all other migrants must follow.
The decision has taken shape in the middle of preparations for a special regulation to grant legal status to undocumented migrants. Under the terms of this project, individuals who can prove they were in Spain before December 31, 2025, have no relevant criminal record, and have been in the country for at least five months at the time of application will be eligible.
Government sources argue that this is a change in form but not in substance. “Applications based on humanitarian grounds from Venezuelans or individuals of any other nationality will be processed through a new channel,” these same sources explain. In practice, this decision is not good news for Venezuelans who were planning to emigrate to Spain. For them, the process will become more complicated, since in practice authorizations on humanitarian grounds are rare and are usually linked to very specific circumstances, such as medical ones; therefore, a privileged pathway they previously enjoyed within the system is now gone.
Since this specific pathway was opened in 2018, Spain has granted approximately 240,000 such permits to Venezuelan citizens. In some years, they accounted for more than 95%—and in others, nearly 100%—of all permits granted on humanitarian grounds. The figures have fluctuated, but for years they hovered around 40,000 per year. By 2025, the number had grown to 50,000.
A bottleneck
The process worked in a relatively straightforward way. Venezuelans would apply for asylum and enter the international protection system. Instead of being granted refugee status, they were issued a residence permit on humanitarian grounds. It was not asylum in the strict sense, but it operated within the same system. This permit was valid for 12 months, renewable for another 12, and allowed them to work and reside legally in Spain.
In practice, it served as an administrative solution for thousands of cases that did not fit the classic definition of a refugee but could not be resolved through deportation either. Those two years of legal residency also paved the way for a more stable path to legal status and, over time, to citizenship.
The main problem is that what began as an exception for thousands of people—justified by the government due to the deteriorating situation in Venezuela—ended up becoming a structural mechanism. And it eventually collapsed.
In addition to the tens of thousands of applications received each year, there was a lack of resources to process them. The system was strained at every level: from scheduling appointments to processing applications. Over time, the Venezuelan case ceased to be just another episode in the complex and slow asylum process and became one of its main bottlenecks.
This nationality has accounted for a significant proportion—at times, more than 60%—of the international protection applications filed in Spain. Without Venezuelans, that percentage dropped to around 5%–12%, which placed the figures below the European average.
The decision by the government of Pedro Sánchez, a socialist, comes in a context shaped by several factors. On the one hand, the evolving political situation in Venezuela following the capture of Nicolás Maduro on January 3, which has altered the circumstances that originally justified this exceptional treatment. But there is also the need to adapt to the new European framework, which is more restrictive regarding asylum and will take effect in June 2026.
Spain’s welcoming policy has made it one of the main destinations for the Venezuelan diaspora outside the Americas. The community has grown exponentially in just a few years. According to the INE statistics bureau, in 2018 there were just over 255,000 Venezuelan-born individuals living in Spain. Now there are nearly 700,000, of whom more than 250,000 hold Spanish citizenship. In 2024 alone, 35,403 Venezuelans acquired citizenship.
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