Caracas Chronicles

February 4, 1992, stands as one of the most controversial dates in modern Venezuelan history. Although the coup attempt failed, some argue that it indirectly led to the downfall of the democratic system established in 1958. In government party narratives, Hugo Chávez’s insurrectionist figure continues to be glorified, while on the opposite side, Carlos Andrés Pérez, the then-unpopular president who was attacked, is vindicated. Caught between these two perspectives is Rafael Caldera, a third key figure who receives criticism from both sides. It is Caldera’s role that I wish to reflect on as thirty-three years have passed without an apparent resolution to this issue.  

Since the early 2000s, opinions—often aggressive and dishonest—have frequently targeted two fundamental decisions made by Caldera in relation to the 1992 coup: his speech before the National Congress on that very day and the dismissal of charges against Chávez and other rebel officers when he returned to the presidency in 1994.  

Philosopher Luis Castro Leiva described the speech as “timely” rather than “opportunistic.” Meanwhile, the young Alberto Barrera Tyszka was more critical and ironic about Caldera’s “messianic image,” who would have performed “a coup more effective than Commander Chávez’s.” However, Caldera’s words were consistent with positions he had already expressed in previous years—during the Caracazo in 1989 or when he called for government reforms during the 1990 bicentennial session honoring José Antonio Páez, in the presence of Pérez himself. Once again, from the congressional podium, Caldera became the voice of the democratic opposition, condemning the coup while offering a critique that went beyond automatic solidarities.

In CAP’s final years, some of the rebels began to receive pardons and were reinstated into the armed forces. This process continued under the interim presidency of Ramón J. Velásquez.

Rather than reviving his political career, this speech solidified Caldera’s image as a guardian of the system he had co-founded. During his presidency, he advocated for a constitutional reform that, had it succeeded, might have preempted Chávez’s future campaign for a Constituent Assembly.  

Caldera, along with Pérez’s generation, understood the enthusiasm that once existed in defending the word “democracy”—a system that promised freedoms, economic improvements, and social progress. Three decades later, that enthusiasm had faded. Many sought to dismantle democracy, and at best, it was taken for granted as an irrevocable right.  

The full sequence of events must be remembered. In CAP’s final years, some of the rebels began to receive pardons and were reinstated into the armed forces. This process continued under the interim presidency of Ramón J. Velásquez.  

During the 1993 presidential campaign, most candidates supported the release of the remaining officers. Claudio Fermín, Andrés Velásquez, and Oswaldo Álvarez Paz viewed it as a step toward normalizing the country. Whoever won the election sought to gain popularity points, and reintegration seemed aligned with Venezuela’s democratic tradition, historically marked by reconciliation.  

For Caldera, there was a precedent—his “pacification” measures during his first presidency, which included pardons for leftist guerrillas. However, he remained cautious during the 1993 campaign, never explicitly promising to dismiss the charges against the 1992 coup plotters. Calls for their release also came from the Catholic Church, while Congress debated a possible amnesty law. Meanwhile, public opinion romanticized the coup plotters, portraying them as “rebel angels,” carnival superheroes, and charismatic figures in political cartoons. During an event at the Central University of Venezuela (UCV), José Ignacio Cabrujas himself asked, “What kind of soldiers are these? They read poetry!”  

Venezuela’s democratic system failed to reinvent itself. Were the last two democratic presidents to blame? They bore their share of responsibility, of course. But so did the broader political, academic, media, and civil society leadership.  

The final releases took place under Caldera’s second presidency. His government prioritized restoring presidential authority—severely weakened after CAP’s resignation and the interim leadership of Lepage and Velásquez—and addressing the financial crisis that had erupted. Thus, while freeing Chávez and his allies was not an inevitability, the circumstances strongly pointed in that direction.  

The dismissal of charges against Chávez might have been a mere historical footnote—similar to when Caldera pardoned Miguel Silvio Lanz, a jailer from the Pérez Jiménez dictatorship who had imprisoned Caldera himself. But that was not the case. Despite polling at just 4% in 1997, Chávez capitalized on widespread discontent—discontent that had erupted in CAP’s time as social and military uprisings and later manifested in Caldera’s tenure as political disengagement and apathy.  

Venezuela’s democratic system failed to reinvent itself. Were the last two democratic presidents to blame? They bore their share of responsibility, of course. But so did the broader political, academic, media, and civil society leadership.  

Democracy is more than just voting; its fragility lies in its unfinished nature—it is always a work in progress.  

In 1998, with financial backing, media support, and a direct message about dismantling the political elites, eradicating corruption, refounding the republic, and restoring order, Chávez secured overwhelming popular support in the presidential elections. He received a blank check to reshape Venezuela. Instead of deepening and improving what had already been achieved, the country reverted to its long-standing tradition of authoritarianism—only this time, in a 21st-century version.  

As Caldera warned in 1987:  

“The myth of Sisyphus looms over us—it must be defeated. The path moves upward, but it would be a tragic mistake to descend into the abyss before attempting the climb.”