Caracas Chronicles

“Today I heard on the radio: ‘Our programming today will be 100% music, because music is a refuge, a safe place,’” economist Omar Zambrano tweeted a few days after the July 28th elections. In fact, for almost two weeks after the disputed results were announced by the National Electoral Council and spontaneous protests erupted throughout the country, most radio shows –including those with the largest audiences, such as journalists Shirley Varnagy’s and Román Lozinki’s– went off the air.

“These have been difficult weeks for all of us as citizens, including those of us who practice this profession”, Varnagy said in an Instagram post after two weeks of silence. “The circumstances force me to think very carefully about the words I say and write. I don’t live abroad, I’m inside.” Varnagy then announced she wouldn’t return to the radio until September 9th, more than a month after the presidential elections. Lozinski returned on August 26th. “I insist that these have not been easy days for those of us who make a living from the radio,” he said on an Instagram post announcing his return. 

But the silence, the veiled messages, weren’t limited to Venezuela’s already highly-censored radio stations – of which more than 150 have been closed down by CONATEL, the government’s telecommunications agency, since 2022 according to the National Press Workers Union (SNTP). 

As reports of detentions and passport annulments multiplied after the elections, the silence–usual in television, newspapers and most radio shows–suddenly swayed through social and online media too. 

Journalists put their accounts private or altogether stopped tweeting, political podcasts halted and Venezuelan independent media started to publish articles without bylines (as we’ve been doing in Caracas Chronicles). 

A week after July 28th, journalist Alonso Moleiro accurately described the ambiance: “The prevailing feeling is fear,” he wrote in the Spanish newspaper El País. “Politicians are hermetic. Interviews are canceled. People close to political leaders change their phone numbers. There is a huge hesitance in WhatsApp groups; Zoom conversations are rare. The police harass citizens looking for data on their mobile phones.”

The crackdown against the press ramped up before July 28th, when CONATEL ordered that public and private internet providers block a series of independent media, watchdogs and fact-checking websites. First, on early July, the government blocked anti-disinformation fact-checkers Es Paja, Cazadores de Fake News and Observatorio de Fake News alongside the media NGO Instituto Prensa y Sociedad de Venezuela (IPYS Venezuela) and VPN service Proton. Then, on July 22, the sites of watchdogs Medianálisis and VE Sin Filtro were blocked alongside independent media El Estímulo, Analítica and Runrunes. 

By July 23rd, 60 media sites and the websites of nine NGOs were blocked in Venezuela–12 were blocked during the presidential campaign–according to watchdog VE Sin Filtro. 

During the same period, Nicolás Maduro repeatedly referred to foreign media agencies –including Reuters, AFP, AP, EFE and CNN– as “garbage” and “hitmen of untruthfulness.” His legislature speaker, Jorge Rodríguez, even engaged in an online brawl with APEX–the Foreign Press Association in Venezuela.

Then, the elections came. And detentions followed. 

Terrorizing the press 

Since July 28th, 13 journalists and press workers have been detained in the country by state security forces, according to the SNTP (four have been freed, including one on parole). Three of them–including Ronald Carreño, a political prisoner with ties to opposition party Voluntad Popular who had been released last year as part of the US-Venezuela talks–were arrested for belonging to opposition parties. Other detained journalists including showbiz reporter Carmela Longo–who was released on parole afterwards, but charged with terrorism–, La Patilla journalist Ana Carolina Guaita in La Guaira, and photojournalist Deisy Peña in Los Teques, were taken for just doing their jobs.

“Our media outlet has a profile that is very different from the rest and we don’t do hard news,” says Irene (fake name), who works in a small Venezuelan digital outlet. “But in the end, as Carmela’s case shows, anyone can get in trouble for whatever reason now without you necessarily doing anything.” The pattern is changing. Before the elections, detentions were mostly focused on people helping the opposition campaign or participating in it. In fact, the three journalists detained before the elections–Gabriel González, Luis López and Carlos Julio Rojas–had ties to political parties or grassroots political movements. But, since July 28th, repression has drifted towards reporting-focused journalists. 

The role of journalists in narrating the people’s rejection of the results announced by the CNE and the coverage on their veracity led to a “policy of silencing, of siege, of persecution” against the press, SNTP Secretary General Marco Ruiz says. Similarly, he says, there’s been a policy of silencing the coverage of protests and anti-government expressions.

Following these detentions, as well as reports of lists used by state security agencies to monitor journalists, many Venezuela-based press workers have gone into hiding or even left the country. 

And the July 28th elections have not only unleashed detentions. “We have recorded campaigns of hate and criminalization against journalists in different states like Aragua, Portuguesa, Carabobo, Zulia, Bolívar, Táchira,” Ruiz says, “Many of them are now in safekeeping. In other cases, we have had to use extraction procedures and they are outside the country because they were at risk of arrest.”

The situation has also changed the content and internal dynamics of Venezuelan outlets. “Everything we had planned to publish during the rest of the year is now paralyzed,” Irene says, “because now we are not publishing anything that doesn’t have to do with what’s happening, because we think there’s nothing more important.” Some of her colleagues, she says, have also stopped tweeting because of the emotional toll. 

Similarly, outlets –including Caracas Chronicles– have faced difficulties to find sources willing to speak on the record or contribute with their analyses. “I can’t find voices willing to give a testimony on what’s happening in Venezuela, they are taking a lot of care”, says veteran Venezuelan journalist César Miguel Rondón, who hosts a radio program in Miami, “No one wants to end up disappeared, in a jail, because of some henchman’s whims… I think we had never seen a situation as ugly and dangerous as this one.”

In fact, many journalists have been affected by the massive annulment of passports that social activists, politicians and NGO members have also reported. “I know of correspondents who had their passports annulled,” says Nancy (fake name), who works as a stringer in Caracas for an international outlet and decided to leave the country after the elections. “I know of other journalists who also left the country under the radar, I know of photojournalists who have decided not to publish political pictures on their social media or asked for credit to be removed, I know of international media outlets who are now solely doing remote work to avoid the risk of going to their offices.” 

This is why so many outlets are publishing articles without bylines and the alliance Venezuela Vota resorted to creating the AI avatars of Operación Retuit to broadcast news summary videos without risking their staff.

“We put safety of the team and staff as the top priority of the media outlet where I work and lead,” said Carlos (fake name), the director of a Caracas-based digital outlet. His site is not publishing bylines and has avoided sending journalists to cover protests “due to the risk of arbitrary detention.” The team is also using alternative messaging applications like Signal (blocked in Venezuela after the elections) and working remotely. Carlos says they have also designed a protocol to offer a safehouse to any journalist in his team who is threatened and even to be extracted from the country “in coordination with international networks of journalists specialized in this type of actions.”

For Nancy, journalists in national and regional outlets are at more risk but she doesn’t rule out the possibility of crackdowns on correspondants and stringers. “Now I have an enormous terror I had never felt,” she says, “especially because of how random the decisions seem and how unclear the rules of the game are. It’s basically a roulette and you never know when your turn will be.” 

The war on social media

The State has also cracked down against social media and digital communications beyond the work of the press. Checkpoints where officers check people’s phone for pro-opposition content, usually leading to detentions or thousand-dollars extortions, have become common throughout Caracas and the rest of the country after July 28th. In fact, the government has called on Venezuelans to stop using Whatsapp and even blocked X–originally for ten days, but the deadline passed on and the network continues to be inaccessible in Venezuela without a VPN. 

“The underlying problem is that WhatsApp is the platform that people used to efficiently disseminate information horizontally” and without censorship during the campaign and post-electoral protests, human rights activist Rafael Uzcátegui says. “Censorship in social media is not only to try to avoid people from expressing themselves, or being afraid to do so, but also to neutralize their autonomous capacity to establish links with others that bypass the state” and its media ecosystem. 

In fact, the government has even threatened influencers who publicly supported María Corina Machado.

“You have to decide whether you want to continue your careers, first of all, with your families in Venezuela”, Maduro said, addressing celebrities–particularly Miami-based Youtube humorist Lele Pons–and social media stars that hosted lives and podcast episodes with Machado. 

Maduro even accused Pons of conspiring to “impose” a government in Venezuela. 

In fact, on July 31st during a press conference with international media, Maduro said “TikTok and Instagram are in the hands of imperialism” and “they are manipulating [people] to bring a civil war to Venezuela.” He then lambasted international agencies: “Do not insist on your agenda to bring war to Venezuela,” he said, “you, the international media, are responsible for the death and wars in Afghanistan, Iraq and Libya.”

A month after the elections, Maduro charged against the media again: this time, he accused local outlets TalCual, Efecto Cocuyo and El Pitazo of receiving USAID funds and of being part of the alleged conspiracy that the government blames for the recent nationwide power outage. 

“This is an informal curfew against journalists, imposed de facto,” Ruiz says, “to dismantle the journalistic profession and the media in practically all the states of the country.”

“What I fear the most is the government’s level of evilness. I know they are capable of going against children and the elderly alike, and I will die if they touch my parents or my child,” says Nancy, who is unsure about returning to Venezuela, “this changed. And very quickly.” 

Illustration by Cristina Estanislao