Caracas Chronicles

There’s a complex paradox among Latino voters, especially Venezuelan supporters of MAGA—a group that has long intrigued me. How is it that individuals who witnessed firsthand the rise of populist leaders like Hugo Chávez. Figures who steered their nations into collapse, can now rally behind a politician echoing similar populist rhetoric, albeit from a different ideological stance? 

In the recent election, it has become increasingly evident that typical assumptions about Latinos predominantly voting for the Democratic Party no longer hold, as Donald Trump received significant support from this voting bloc. Many assumed that Latinos, given their experiences as immigrants, minority status, and the GOP’s history of demonizing them, would be unlikely to support him. 

While it’s wrong for politicians to assume Latinos vote as a monolithic group, the issue runs deeper. It’s rooted in a sense of Christian values and a notion of exceptionalism that often influences the political leanings of many Latinos, including “Magazuelans.” These beliefs shape voting patterns and forge a distinct, complex political identity. 

Knocking doors and finding the truth

I vividly remember watching Barack Obama’s victory speech in 2008 sitting with my dad in Baltimore, who told me to pay attention because it was a historic moment for America—the election of the first Black president. I also remember the disappointment of Hillary Clinton’s loss in 2016, I sat on the couch with silent tears for fears of what was to come. In 2020, I channeled that memory into action, working on door-knocking efforts and phone banking for President Biden, driven by a deep commitment to prevent Trump’s re-election.

During one campaign I worked on in Maryland, I canvassed with an older Puerto Rican woman who shared a striking perspective with me. She noted that many Latinos, after finding stability in America, see themselves as exceptions to the immigrant narrative. They believe they’re somehow different—an exception to the stereotype. They view others as overstaying visas, entering illegally, or committing marriage fraud, yet believe that they, themselves, did not –even if they indeed acquired citizenship through merky means. This sense of exceptionalism distances them from their own migration story and community, leaving the door open just long enough to pass through before firmly shutting it behind them. 

I’ve come to understand the complicated relationship many immigrants have with identity, politics, and their place in American society. Forced immigration carries an undeniable trauma that affects everyone involved, even if they may not fully acknowledge it. 

There is a profound and innate desire to belong in one’s new home and to be welcomed by a community after losing one’s own. However, that desire to belong can be damaging if taken to the extremes. 

Upon obtaining U.S. citizenship, many Venezuelan-Americans seem to distance themselves from their origins, adopting the belief that they are now fully assimilated as white, Caucasian Americans—a perception that, despite their new status, remains untrue. 

I believe this stems from a combination of a deeply ingrained caste system that much of South America was built upon, where individuals with darker skin were considered undesirable, and the myth of racial mixture in the region allows some to deny the existence of racism. In Venezuela, race is particularly tied to class; typically, the darker someone is, the poorer they are.

Immigrants who come from upper-class echelons and are white or have lighter skin now find themselves in a country where they are grouped with lower-class latinos, whom they often dislike. Suddenly, the social hierarchy that once favored them and their perceived status in society collapsed. These groups of individuals feel the need to integrate themselves into these  perceived upper echelons, and in America, that means being white, conservative and Christian. 

Having spent over a decade in the U.S, I speak with an East Coast accent, and I blend in seamlessly—so much so that people are often surprised to learn I’m not from here. Yet I understand that a piece of paper will never change the fact that I was not born here or that I am not and will never be a white Caucasian woman. This does not bother me, I like my past being able to inform my future, but others sometimes see it differently.

The populist addiction

It’s fascinating to consider how the allure of populism can still captivate those who have already lived through its far-reaching consequences.

I draw deep parallels between Chávez’s rise to power and that of Trump’s. Alienation politics is central to this comparison. Chávez’s rhetoric emerged from widespread dissatisfaction with economic disparities in late 1990s Venezuela. He successfully rallied the underprivileged masses, channeling their discontent into loud and collective resentment toward the upper and middle classes. This rhetoric proved so powerful that it led to the infamous “pink wave,” revitalizing socialist policies across the region and deepening anti-American sentiment.

In a similar way, Trump—a New York billionaire—harnessed alienation politics to fuel resentment. He tapped into underlying frustrations among white Americans who felt marginalized by progressive ideals that emphasized inclusivity and uplifted minority voices. Like Chávez, Trump gave a voice to a demographic that felt sidelined, though in his case, it was largely white men and women who believed their concerns were being overlooked.

Chávez rose to power after a failed coup attempt, and his successor, Maduro, has repeatedly claimed victory in elections he did not legitimately win. Similarly, Trump, after his failed presidential bid in 2020, continues to deny his loss, displaying the same disregard for democratic outcomes. Trump even incited an attack on the U.S. Capitol—an event previously seen only in fiction, now shockingly real on American soil. This action stands as a testament to the anger and danger surrounding him.

The parallels between these two leaders are undeniable. Both represent a profound threat to democracy, exploiting its mechanisms to undermine its very foundations. Their trajectories reveal the dangers of leaders who leverage democratic systems not to uphold but to dismantle them.

Alienation politics is among the most dangerous and corrosive forces driving a nation toward polarization and fragmentation. It poisons the social fabric, fostering distrust among people and creating fixed enemies who are unable—or unwilling—to find common ground. This was the very force that ruptured Venezuelan society.

The Trump era signifies a reassertion of alienation politics, embedding this divisive rhetoric even deeper into the fabric of American society. When such polarization is endorsed by the leader of the free world, it not only legitimizes these tactics domestically but also sends a troubling message to the world. 

Alienation politics will not fade once a figure like Trump assumes and leaves office; rather, it gains traction. Many Latinos in America may believe they are immune to its effects, but history has shown that they are not.

History serves as our greatest teacher, yet too often, we neglect its lessons. The belief in exceptionalism undermines unity, and forgetting or erasing one’s origins risks losing a foundational part of one’s story. Joining a movement that fundamentally disregards or even despises your heritage does not allow you to rewrite your origin to suit your preferences.

To my fellow Venezuelans who now have the privilege of calling the U.S. home, I urge you to remember the lessons we carry from the country we left behind. Recognize the familiar rhetoric, no matter which side of the aisle it comes from, and understand that division is the true adversary. This country was founded in pursuit of a “more perfect union”—let us not forget that. Unity, above all, is our strength in preserving the freedoms we sought in this new home.

I believe in the greatness of America—a greatness rooted in its diversity and in the resilience of its people to strive for a better future. Today, I am afraid to say that vision is under threat.