Caracas Chronicles

Some time ago, a friend interviewed me for his thesis related to the 2017 Venezuelan protests, in which I participated. Years later, he referred me to Nick Pehlman, a political science professor at New York University who was working on an academic publication with Serhii Bahlaii, a student at the Kyiv School of Economics. I was interviewed about the protests again, I increasingly offered context about the situation and helped to find other interviewees. Finally they asked me to contribute as a co-author in their research project. Last year we achieved its publication and, for the first time, the opportunity arose for the three of us to meet in person in Kyiv. “Why not?”, I thought: it wasn’t every day that you had the opportunity to visit Ukraine. That’s how I visited Kyiv for a week, almost accidentally.

I have always been keen to learn about other countries and cultures, but I developed an interest in Ukraine in 2014, in the midst of the Euromaidan movement, which were already culminating at the time of the protests in Venezuela. 

I was struck by the photo taken of the banner of Ukrainian and Venezuelan flags together in the Maidan Square, and found hope in the outcome of the demonstrations—a pro Russian autocrat was ousted—and for our own future. 

It gave me some hope that political change and democracy could be achieved through organized protests. However, Ukraine faced a major obstacle to its freedom when Russia—a major military and commercial ally of the Maduro regime—invaded and annexed the Ukrainian territory of Crimea that same year.

A city turned into a war museum

Due to the closure of airspace since the Russian invasion in January 2022, the most common way to enter Ukraine is by train, usually from Poland. I learned a little of Cyrillic on Duolingo to machucar my Ukrainian, followed the travel recommendations, and flew from Spain to Poland in early May. In Rzeszów, I took a train to Przemyśl, in the east, closer to Ukraine’s border. The last leg of the journey, directly to Kyiv, took eleven hours on a sleeper train, so I snoozed over half of the trip in a bunk bed.

Kyiv welcomed me with a kaleidoscopic architecture: czarist, Soviet, and modern times could all be found with a simple stroll through its streets. For me, the most interesting thing is that their brutalist designs reminded me of Caracas. I couldn’t help but to think of the Centro Comercial Ciudad Tamanaco (CCCT) when I saw the mall near where I was staying, and both the Observatory Square and Chacaíto’s Plaza Brión seemed like “twins separated at birth” to me.

Being so far from home, the city brought me an unexpected familiarity. I was able to try the perepichkas, sort of sausage empanada. Across the street from Maidan Square there is a sculpture marking Kyiv’s kilometre zero, “The Winged Globe”, as well as the distance with other cities, including Caracas: “Kapakac”, 9,626 kilometers. 

I knew that the situation was more dangerous in the east, near the frontlines, but even then I never forgot the ongoing war. There is a curfew between midnight and 5 am. In some areas electricity is rationed, and you cannot buy alcohol past 11 pm. Cultural landmarks and statues were covered in containers to protect them from bombings, and some buildings had sandbags to cover windows at the ground level. 

Nick gave me a useful piece of advice: remembering the word “Укриття”, Ukrainian for “shelter”, if I heard an air raid siren.

There were several museums closed, presumably as a protective measure as well, but I was fortunate to be able to visit the National Museum of the History of Ukraine in the Second World War and the Chernobyl Museum (or better said, Chornobyl). The latter has a digital registry of liquidators, the first responders who arrived at the nuclear plant to mitigate the disaster, including firefighters and cleaning crews. One of the people I went with was the grandson of one of those liquidators, and asked a guide to search for his grandfather’s name. Another exhibition recounted all the cultural and heritage devastation that Russia had inflicted on Ukraine, mostly through the destruction of churches and other sites of worship. 

Saint Michael’s Square, in front of a monastery, currently has an exhibition of the Bucha Massacre in four different languages, as well as destroyed Russian military vehicles. The Heavenly Hundred Alley, near the Maidan Square and where tens of demonstrators were killed by snipers on 20 February 2014, now has photos and candles in tribute to those killed. When I stopped in Lviv for a day on my trip back, before crossing the Polish border and returning to Przemyśl, I found a similar memorial and a park where each of the trees has the name of a victim. 

Lessons on Venezuela

I see Ukraine as a country that seeks to preserve not only its past, but also to remember the present. The shield of one of the largest and most distinctive statues of Kyiv, Mother Ukraine, was modified to remove its Communist sickle and hammer, representing its past, and to add the trident of Ukraine’s coat of arms, reinforcing its current identity. I think a lot about how much we can learn, about our similarities. About the work we must take to address our wounds, and about the memorials we have yet to erect for our own victims.

People are understandably afraid to travel to Ukraine. Most of the foreigners visiting were aid workers or journalists. Some Ukranians, in the train or shops, asked me: “Aren’t you afraid?” When I said that I was Venezuelan, a few of them seemed to better understand my decision or “lack of fear”, because of our current crisis and violence. Yes, Venezuela has had chronic crime and a dangerous police force, but in Caracas I never had to fear falling bombs or missiles. Like us, in Ukraine people continued with their routine. Life could not stop because of an invasion: people celebrate birthdays, get married, shop and do laundry. Reminding ourselves every day of the problems at hand and the sword of Damocles hanging over us is a recipe for insanity. 

Even during a war, Kyiv gave me the impression of being a welcoming city; one that looks forward to opening up to the world after the war. “Kyiv is waiting for you after the victory!” was a text from signs I found often in the streets. In a way, I saw a possible future for Venezuela after a transition. I left Ukraine yearning I could visit it again, wishing with all my heart that my return comes in more peaceful times. I was lucky during my visit: only two months later, Kyiv’s Okhmatdyt Children’s Hospital was bombed by the Russians, not far from the places I visited.

I also found that several Ukrainians comprehended the situation in Venezuela better or faster than people in Western Europe, even if they knew little about it at first. 

It seems that shared first-hand experience, whether living in post-Soviet countries or those that still have authoritarian systems, offers much more understanding and empathy than news alone can offer, no matter how informed one is. We share this feeling with Cubans and Nicaraguans, for example, but it is not limited to the region: this bond can be felt with exiles from Hong Kong to Iran, and Ukraine is no exception.

Almost a year later, the situation in Ukraine is still quite present in my mind. When talks to end the war in Ukraine are being held, paradoxically, without Ukraine, and when U.S. special envoy Richard Grenell meets in public with Nicolás Maduro, it looks like the U.S. is getting closer with autocracies, or at least is normalizing them. The following week, the Trump administration revoked Chevron’s license to operate in Venezuela and began working on a trade agreement with Ukraine for the extraction of rare earth minerals. At the same time, during Volodymyr Zelenskyy’s visit to the White House, Trump accused him of not wanting peace and risking a Third World War.

Should we Venezuelans expect the same volatility? Or for the White House to treat Russia with the same gentleness when discussing our country? In the pursuit for democracy and peace, we need steadfast alliances. Just as we Venezuelans have suffered many disappointments, Ukrainians are no strangers to them either: after the dissolution of the Soviet Union, they agreed to surrender their nuclear weapons in the 1990s and to integrate with the international community, with the guarantee that Ukraine would not be invaded. After Russia violated this agreement, Ukrainians ask themselves: why should we trust Vladimir Putin now? This question was repeated each time that Russia repeatedly violated the ceasefires known as the Minsk Agreements, after Crimea was annexed. We fully understand this skepticism. A lasting peace in Europe requires empathy, which is just as important as commitment and effort.

Anne Applebaum has made it clear to us that autocrats stick together. Those of us who want democracy and peace must strive to do the same and support each other wherever we are. We must denounce abuses as if they were against ourselves, because at the end of the day, they are.