Caracas Chronicles

A few weeks before the presidential election, Venezuela and its diaspora came to a standstill during the Copa América. For many countries, it was just another tournament won by Argentina. For us, it was a collective therapy session that gave fans moments of joy, allowing them to briefly forget the hardships of being migrants, of living trapped in the day-to-day grind, of enduring a government that, the more it tries to cleanse its image with sports, the dirtier it becomes.

Anyone who lived through those four matches knows that the national feeling of euphoria (and ultimately, sadness) was unforgettable. With strokes of luck and flashes of great play, La Vinotinto finished the group stage in first place, taking maximum points for the first time in history. Venezuela managed a late comeback against Ecuador, held on against Mexico thanks to stellar performances from Rafa Romo and Jon Aramburu, and outplayed Jamaica with glimpses of its next generation. In the locker room, players danced salsa and sang old school Venezuelan rap after matches. Oscar D’León’s Llorarás became an anthem for Venezuelan centennials—millions of whom make ends meet on the streets of Bogotá or Lima; others who now, more than ever, consider leaving the country.

La Vinotinto fell to Canada in a penalty shootout in the quarterfinals. A stunning goal from Salomón Rondón—a 35-meter lob—couldn’t save Venezuela from the usual chaos stirred by its brand of cocuy-style football, where unforced errors are sometimes (though not always) offset by moments of absurd brilliance. 

Today, La Vinotinto is once again seeking its first World Cup qualification. A cruel irony: the national team of a country suffocated by authoritarianism will play for the first time since July 28 with little oxygen, at 4,150 meters above sea level in Bolivia’s El Alto.

The challenge isn’t just to beat Bolivia and stay in the automatic qualification spots for the upcoming World Cup in North America.

The team, a totem of Venezuelan identity, is often the only thing that brings joy to over 30 million people at once. It needs to do so again now, at a critical moment for a regime that the players themselves have accused of lying and killing.

La Vinotinto’s squad is far from detached from the unfolding situation, nor from the whirlwind of corruption and cronyism that plagues the Venezuelan Football Federation and its ties to chavista clans. The players’ social awareness—having grown up in the depths of the country—and the risk to any dissident friends or family have revealed the helplessness of the Venezuelan footballer.

The SEBIN detained Carlos Chancellor—father of Vinotinto defender Jhon Chancellor—on August 7. Chancellor, a member of the labor party Causa R and former mayor of Sifontes municipality in Bolívar state, was arrested for the third time. Former opposition lawmaker Américo de Grazia stated that Chancellor, now a political prisoner again, was Hugo Chávez’s first political prisoner in the southern region of Guayana. The federation announced that his son, Jhon, will not be available to play the next two matches due to injury.

Several players on the team have made their stance clear. At least 12 players have sent messages condemning Maduro & Co. for election fraud and repression. Among them are the veterans, Rondón and Tomás Rincón; key players like Yangel Herrera, José “Brujo” Martínez, and Eduard Bello; and rising stars like Aramburu and Kervin “Tuti” Andrade.

“It hurts me deeply to see what’s happening in our country. We cannot continue shedding the blood of our brothers; no more valuable Venezuelan lives should be lost,” Rincón said on July 29 in an Instagram story. Rondón posted an image with the words “all eyes on Venezuela” and wrote: “No more deaths, please. My heart is with my people.”

The team, a totem of Venezuelan identity, is often the only thing that brings joy to over 30 million people at once. It needs to do so again now, at a critical moment for a regime that the players themselves have accused of lying and killing.

Goalkeeper Joel Graterol called out Maduro’s fraud after the first bulletin was announced by Venezuela’s electoral authority. Brujo Martínez declared, “I am a footballer, but above all, I am a VENEZUELAN (…) I want the will of an entire country to be respected.”

With state terrorism unleashed after July 29, two of the youngest players echoed the slogan of opposition leader María Corina Machado. “Being outside your country, seeing everything that’s happening, and having to continue with your life while people are being repressed and killed. What an awful feeling,” said Andrade, just 19 years old. “My body is here, but my mind, heart, and soul are in Venezuela. With tears in my eyes, a lump in my throat, and a broken heart, we must keep going hasta el final. I love you, Venezuela. I want to see you free.”

“If anyone knows what it means to fight, it’s us Venezuelans. What a great pride to defend the colors of this wonderful nation. I’m with you hasta el final, Venezuela,” said Aramburu, 22. “Strength and faith. Our country needs all of us. No more violence, no more deaths.”

Perhaps it was Deyna Castellanos—a national icon who captains the women’s team—who published the most powerful message: “There can always be consequences [for being an athlete and speaking publicly about politics], but I’m willing to face them. Venezuela wants change, and it made that clear through its vote. I hope all relevant national and international bodies will bring justice to the truth. I also call for the lowering of arms and for the people to be allowed to express their discontent in peace and democracy. Yes, I’m an athlete, but first and foremost, I’m Venezuelan.”

The elephants in the room of Venezuelan football are also in plain sight. A figure close to the Vice President and Minister of Oil controls the Venezuelan Football Federation (FVF). Domestic clubs have been stagnant for years, making no impact in international tournaments. Meanwhile, an elite group throws lavish events, organizing showcase tournaments at the new Monumental Stadium of Caracas—inviting local footballers, retired legends, and global stars like Ronaldinho, Luca Toni, and Clarence Seedorf.

Jorge Giménez’s arrival as president of the Venezuelan Football Federation (FVF), in the midst of a chavista attempt to straighten out the body, came after FIFA sanctioned the successors of Rafael Esquivel, a kleptocrat who ruled Venezuelan football for 27 years. The appointment of José Néstor Pékerman as the first milestone of this so-called “Futve is fixed” era ended in scandal, leading to the takeover of Fernando Batista (known as “Bocha”). The Argentine manager seems to be winning over the fans, with the team currently in fourth place in the CONMEBOL qualifiers. He also seems to be rebuilding cohesion in a locker room that saw seven different coaches in the past decade.

That locker room now includes Matías Lacava, a key player from the youth ranks waiting for his moment with the senior team. Matías is a skillful attacking midfielder currently playing in the Brasileirão. He is also friends with several players who have criticized the regime, a teammate of Jhon Chancellor (whose father remains jailed in Puerto Ordaz) and the son of a powerful football enthusiast, Carabobo Governor Rafael Lacava. Can’t the governor protect Matías’ teammates and their relatives while the same sports leadership tries to silence them?

Through it all, Batista knows he has something much bigger than the game in his hands: a source of hope, balance, or connection for an entire nation, however you want to put it. Football isn’t just football. Bocha said this past summer that what fills him most is “seeing people happy because we won a match. Having the power to bring joy to a family or someone going through a tough time just by winning. That’s beautiful.”Watching La Vinotinto stay alive and keep adding points, little by little in these times, is an immense act of rebellion. We won’t ask for more. But in any case, mano, we won’t stop having faith.