The opposition delegation, comprising members of Primero Justicia and Voluntad Popular, sits opposite its regime counterparts during the latest round of talks. Source: Jorge Rodríguez via X.
In recent days, pressure regarding the timeline for political change has intensified, a sense of urgency that I both understand and share. To the long years of democratic struggle, we must add the dire economic and social conditions that afflict us. The urgency is real, and I share it.
This is why this sense of urgency is shared. We all want to reach democracy without any further delay. It is in no one’s interest to postpone political change. Whether one is sitting at the negotiating table, viewing it with suspicion, or opposing it entirely, we all want the same thing: to arrive at democracy as soon as possible.
Acknowledging this common ground is essential. To suggest that this shared goal divides us is untrue and undermines future stability; it is a strategic error. Who benefits from fracturing what unites us? Who gains from destroying the common ground we have built over the years?
Therefore, I believe our differences do not lie in our shared destination, but rather in the path that circumstances have allowed us to take toward it. This reflection is precisely what gives this article its title: “It’s a transition, not a revolution.”
The revolution that never was
For years, we worked toward a “clean slate.” Paradoxically, we dreamed of a revolution. We longed for the moment when chavismo would pack up its belongings and relinquish power. Perhaps this shared expectation stemmed from our tradition of seeking radical ruptures. For many reasons, we hoped that Maduro would simply fly away. But that did not happen.
Instead, on July 28, 2024, chavismo stole the election, subjected us to repression, and clung to power. We did everything in our power to defeat them, and it was not enough. We reached the absolute limit of democratic resilience and paid the price for fighting for our country. Then came January 3, 2026. On that day, a foreign military operation took Nicolás Maduro away, but left the Rodríguez faction behind. That is how it happened, and that is how it remains.
The Trump administration did what we either could not or would not do. Time will allow us to process the weight of that reality, and I do not intend to dwell on it here. For now, I will simply point out the obvious: the United States took risks, opened the door to a new political landscape, and became the most influential actor in the power equation. To put it plainly: they paid for the party, and now they are calling the tune.
The time for this “feast of bitter pills” has arrived, and we are discovering that swallowing them is far more difficult than we had imagined.
Perhaps some reader, channeling an inner Che Guevara, might accuse me of treason. Well, my dear rebellious reader, that is not the case. Acknowledging this reality is entirely compatible with a love for our country; it does not make me a sellout. The United States removed Maduro and opened the door to a transition toward democracy. It may not be the transition we dreamed of or planned for, but it is the one that is actually possible. What followed the dictator’s capture was not a revolution, but the beginning of a transition—a process of gradual, progressive change driven by institutional reforms and political consensus.
Unlike revolutions, which seek a radical break from the previous order, transitions do not start from scratch. Instead, they identify elements from the old regime that can survive and transform them to fit within the new democratic order that is being built. It is a matter of profound change without having to destroy everything, of transforming existing institutions to place them at the service of democracy. And that is what we are working on.
A feasible transition
Given this, the practical question is how to reconcile the genuine sense of urgency—which unites us—with the timeframes required for a transition. I do not have a definitive answer to this question. However, I would like to share three tasks that could contribute to the transition.
First, we must learn to swallow bitter pills.
For years, we were warned that, when the time came, we would face an extensive menu of pills—a metaphor for the unpopular measures, difficult concessions, and uncomfortable decisions that would inevitably come with a process of political change.
We listened, took note, and pressed on. Well, the time for this “feast of pills” has arrived, and we are discovering that swallowing them is far more difficult than we had imagined. Now, it is urgent that we learn how to do so—and, above all, that we create the conditions to ensure that every sacrifice is worth it.
I have no ready-made formulas for this task. Each person will have to find their own way to confront these contradictions, to process the inconveniences and the costs that must be borne. What is clear to me is that we must learn to do so without losing sight of the causes for which we have fought for so many years.
The nature of the political change now beginning to emerge demands a process of collective healing, one that will require both time and maturity.
Second, we must engage in civic education.
We need to take the time to speak to the nation and explain what is unfolding. We must also be capable of putting ourselves in the shoes of others, understanding that our distrust runs deep, nurtured by decades of deception, broken promises, and accumulated frustrations.
The leadership required at this moment must be democratic and empathetic, one willing to listen, understand, engage in dialogue, and build. More than thirty years of persecution and repression have left deep wounds in our national soul. The nature of the political change now beginning to emerge demands a process of collective healing, one that will require both time and maturity.
This process will not be resolved through staged photographs or superficial gestures. I am speaking of a profound, human, and authentic effort toward recognition, acceptance, and reparation—a task that allows us to rediscover one another as a society, take ownership of our history, and regain the trust necessary to build a shared future.
Third, we must offer certainty to everyone. Venezuelans do not lack patience; what we lack is the certainty needed to navigate the tunnel that lies ahead. We are capable of enduring sacrifices, but we need to know that these efforts will be worth it. If we can see that light at the end of the tunnel, we will have reason to remain patient and perseverant.
The certainties we can offer today must be built step by step—through actions, commitments, and results
Perhaps this is the most difficult challenge of all. Transitions toward democracy are inevitably marked by uncertainty and a lack of transparency. One need only read the memoirs or listen to the testimonies of those who lived through similar experiences to recognize ourselves in their dilemmas, contradictions, fears, and hopes. There is something profoundly human in those stories that feels familiar to us.
That is why political education, the building of consensus, and the gradual restoration of democratic dynamics are so important. They serve as ways to provide guidance amidst uncertainty, rebuild trust, and give meaning to the sacrifices we are called upon to make. The certainties we can offer today must be built step by step—through actions, commitments, and results that allow Venezuelans to recognize that we are moving toward democracy.
From desirable outcomes to real possibilities
One of our greatest challenges is to accept that the revolution we wanted to bring about for so many years was not to be, and that today we are facing a transition currently in the making. Its success will depend, in large part, on our ability to understand the nature of this process, to embrace reality—with all its possibilities and limitations—and to learn how to navigate the path that has opened up before us.
We will need to do so with intelligence, patience, generosity, and a sense of historical responsibility. Above all, we must act in unity, placing Venezuela above our differences. Because, in the end, that is what it is all about: seizing the opportunity we have to build the democracy for which we have fought so hard.