PostMaduro

Even if we aren’t yet in a place where we can say that a democratic transition has begun, election talk is back, and with it, the activity of political parties, as many political prisoners are being released and some being granted full freedom. The old reflexes of electoral politics, that constitute the backbone of all political forces in Venezuela, are kindling again after the long, hard night of brutal repression that came with the steal of the July 2024 presidential election. The unsaid assumption is that Edmundo González Urrutia already did his historical role, and that fresh elections with a new CNE and a new TSJ must come to effectively start a democratic transition and put in place an essential component that has been missing for years, and is still missing after January 3: the people’s will.

A recent poll by Gold Glove Consulting, based on 1,000 in-person interviews on the ground, found that María Corina Machado would capture 67% of the vote against Delcy Rodríguez in a hypothetical head-to-head, although the latter’s tenure in office isn’t met with complete rejection by many respondents. The idea of that matchup remains a cherished possibility among Machado’s staunch supporters, who would love to see her being allowed to run in a presidential election against PSUV for the first time. But with the opposition leader still in Washington DC, and a domestic political ban still in place, others have emerged from the opposition dugout to stir up the yearning for change that the 2024 electoral campaign awakened.

People have seen how presidential pre-candidate Delsa Solórzano and Primero Justicia leader Juan Pablo Guanipa, visible members of Machado’s campaign entourage in 2024, have come back to give press conferences and even stir the pot, challenging the newly enacted amnesty law and demanding more releases (which initially earned Guanipa a few days in house arrest). In a new effort to embody a non-aligned or centrist lane, former presidential candidate Enrique Márquez showed up at the US Congress in a seemingly staged TV moment meant to let Trump boast about the success of his Venezuela operation. There has been speculation about whether Márquez was being considered as the White House’s favorite for a transition, and the Zuliano politician started to speak like a man with a mission, even if he got only a tiny fraction of the vote in 2024 (minor runners including Márquez, Antonio Ecarri, and the faux AD candidate Luis Eduardo el Burro Martínez together garnered 2%).

The most coherent voice in the Trump administration, Secretary Marco Rubio, said last week during a summit in St. Kitts and Nevis that “ultimately, in order for them [us Venezuelans] to take the next step to truly develop that country and to truly benefit from that country’s riches for the benefit of their people, they will need the legitimacy of fair, democratic elections.” Other US officials had mentioned that the US expects to see elections taking place in Venezuela around 2027. They know that a legitimate government—and Delcy Rodríguez’s local management is not one—would not only give more confidence to foreign investors, especially if such a government is not burdened with a history of expropriations as chavismo is. It would be free of sanctions and have access to multilateral organizations, financial aid, international arbitrage, commercial treaties, and diplomatic and commercial relations with everyone. Machado’s message last weekend, announcing plans to return to Venezuela in the coming weeks, revitalized electoral spirits in parts of the country and gave opposition parties fodder to build suspense on social media.

Could Vente be Venezuela’s largest movement? Potentially. Machado remains undisputed as the country’s dominant political leader.

As calls for the release of political prisoners evolve into a broader push for a true democratic transition, the country’s political heat map is beginning to warm up. Let’s examine how party movements are re-emerging: who the opposition is coalescing around, the numbers that might back each group, and which players are positioned to exert influence.

Vente Venezuela

Machado’s party was founded in 2012, and after a decade being a marginal group in the anti-Maduro coalition, it managed to exploit María Corina’s 2023-2024 electoral marathon by catching a wave of new recruits, which is not uncommon when a party with a suddenly popular leader takes the reins of the opposition. But this transformation is not just a product of public disaffection with the mainstream G4 parties (the interim government of Guaidó being the latest, crucial example). The Machado phenomenon and her connection with deprived Venezuelans produced the country’s most formidable electoral force since Hugo Chávez, and its performance in 2024 can put Vente among the strongest parties in the country. Except for a minor detail: the CNE has never allowed it to register as a political party—if elections were held in Venezuela tomorrow, its candidates would need to use the MUD slot to run (unless the likes of Capriles and Rosales also decided to support them).

Could Vente be Venezuela’s largest movement? Potentially. Machado remains undisputed as the country’s dominant political leader (with a 52% approval rating according to the Gold Glove Consulting survey) and her party saw significant growth two years ago. Of course, these organizations don’t disclose their actual membership numbers, and if they did so (even before an internal audience) they would almost certainly inflate the figures. Whatever the scale of the actual growth, Machado is faced with two realities. Number one: Vente’s human capital is unable to cover the country’s 30 thousand polling stations, and as in 2024, it would need help from other experienced parties and regional platforms to attempt a repeat of the 28J feat. And number two: Venezuelan politics is waking up from a calamitous hangover lasting from the last presidential vote to the US intervention on January 3rd, a period where Machado’s party bore the brunt of State terror.

Around 150 members were arrested soon after the CNE declared Maduro the elected president, while Machado had to hide and her top aides were besieged in the Argentinean Embassy in Caracas. Since Delcy took power, however, Vente Venezuela and other parties have turned the release of political prisoners into a public celebration, which is both a challenge to the security apparatus still in place, and a recognition for much-needed activists (and their families) after months of despair, where it was natural for many of them to question whether being in politics was worth the risk. Reassured by the level of American surveillance on the interim post-Maduro management, Vente activists have started to meet again, and you can see how they are summoning small groups in places like Margarita municipality Antolin del Campo, Guama in Yaracuy or Monay in Trujillo. In Portuguesa, María Oropeza, the local leader who became famous when she broadcasted her detention in Acarigua, has openly spoken about how to rebuild a true democracy. In Mérida, they gathered an even larger crowd, while Machado summoned party supporters in the US for a meeting in Washington DC. She has insisted she is ready to lead a genuine transition, offering her own timeframe and reform goals to challenge other stakeholders in the current political process. On February 5, she told Politico that elections could be organized within nine to ten months, not with the existing electronic machines, but by shifting to a manual voting system that for over a decade she has claimed would make domestic elections more effective and transparent.

Acción Democrática, Primero Justicia & Voluntad Popular

Acción Democrática is a historical party in a permanent state of survival-through-maneuvering; the other two (Primero Justicia and Voluntrad Popular) were once led by charismatic young figures meant to be a new generation of politicians that would lead the country into a new era and failed because dictatorship. Today, they all seem to be placing their cadres at the service of a Machado-led democratic transition. Two days ago in Valencia, AD’s Henry Ramos Allup said in front of his national leadership board that the party would endorse Machado in a presidential election—“with a dedicated and generous campaign”—if that’s what it took to get rid of the Delcy Rodríguez regime. Party Vice President Édgar Zambrano didn’t look too happy and didn’t applaud, but Ramos Allup is the boss, one that knows very well that AD could again fall to irrelevance if Maria Corina gave him the Capriles treatment (bear in mind that Acción Democratica was the last mainstream party that decided to boycott the May 2025 regional vote, where Capriles and Un Nuevo Tiempo formed an ephemeral alliance that could not win a single governorship while Machado called for abstention, something she later labelled an outright victory).

It’s no wonder that Primero Justicia members are relieved to know they have a national leader that has the charisma to be a presidential contender at some point.

The other two parties were also hit hard during the post-election crackdown, with leaders from recent years like María Beatriz Martínez and Paola Bautista from PJ still in hiding or exiled, or Freddy Superlano as an emblematic victim of forced disappearance and abuse. But these organizations will benefit from having Juan Pablo Guanipa and now Superlano roaming the streets again. In the case of Guanipa, who María Corina considers a dear friend (not just an ally), he has the potential to be more than a supporting actor in a democratic transition. Many opposition supporters see him as a brave, honorable figure that never bent the knee before chavismo, with tons of energy to address crowds and journalists whenever he has a chance, even instants after setting foot outside El Helicoide for the first time in eight months.

The re-arrest episode a few weeks ago only showed he’s still a man eager to talk truth to power sin medias tintas, like demanding the release of all political prisoners and the return of fellow politicians in exile. It’s no wonder that PJ members are relieved to know they have a national leader that has the charisma to be a presidential contender at some point—somewhere Julio Borges couldn’t get to, and a position a now-ostracized Henrique Capriles couldn’t cement—but we’ll see where that leaves him as long as María Corina tries to land in Miraflores. Machado will require the organizational structures these leaders command once an electoral process begins to unfold. In turn, these leaders recognize that Machado represents their best chance to be part of (or at least influence) a democratic national government that would allow them to capitalize on decades of anti-chavista struggle and serve as core components of a new era’s party system.

Bancada Libertad: the Capriles-UNT faction

Capriles and Tomás Guanipa finally broke away from Primero Justicia last year, having negotiated with the regime to lift their individual political bans. This allowed them to run in the parliamentary elections and secure an official CNE slot for their fledgling platform, Unión y Cambio. The former PJ figures are not the loudest voices in the National Assembly presided over by Jorge Rodríguez; that role has been assumed by their Un Nuevo Tiempo partners—Stalin González, Nora Bracho, and Luis Florido—alongside occasional interjections from former presidential candidate Antonio Ecarri, whom Rodríguez silences from time to time.

In terms of numbers, none of these figures know their true vote count from 2025. While CNE Rector Carlos Quintero claimed they got 5% of the total (roughly 300,000 votes), they did not demand the physical tally sheets as the Edmundo González coalition had done in 2024 (which both Capriles and Stalin were part of). That silence has to do with the fact that Jorge Rodríguez granted them approximately ten more seats than a correct application of the seat-allocation method would have yielded, but that’s that.

Delcy fares better in terms of popularity than security chiefs like Cabello and Vladimir Padrino, or even Capriles.

Are Capriles et al a significant political force? Not in the slightest. Their relevance is derived from being the only non-chavista group currently permitted to participate in elections, opposite to Vente Venezuela and others. They serve as a useful ‘legitimate’ counterpart for Delcy Rodríguez when sanctioning laws or naming new public officials, like we just saw with the appointment of Larry Devoe as Chief Prosecutor and the passage of the amnesty law (the latter featured a poor simulation of a debate with the Libertad fraction, while the critical fine print was being negotiated exclusively among chavistas who control the National Assembly). María Corina Machado views this group as irrelevant to any effort to influence the Rodríguez siblings’ agenda. However, political calculus shifts when elections appear on the horizon. A pivotal reform to the Organic Law of Electoral Processes, now in preliminary stages, may be enough to set old political gears back in motion.

Delcy Rodríguez and the chavista amalgam

The unpopular Diosdado Cabello continues to represent the eternal revolution (even if his characteristic aggressiveness has toned down after the capture of his boss), taking part in PSUV events or attempting to lead a lacking PSUV youth. The Rodríguez tribe might be looking for an electoral rebrand that creates some distance between a discredited PSUV and the technocratic style they want to project.

They know that their status is being reassessed by an electorate that wants quick economic reforms and sees compliance with the United States as favorable. As both the Gold Glove Consulting poll and a February study from Latam Pulse show, Delcy fares better in terms of popularity than security chiefs like Cabello and Vladimir Padrino, or even Capriles. The obvious strategy for the Rodríguez siblings is to capitalize on their time in power by tethering their image to potential improvements in the economy and quality of life, pressing concerns that (they hope) would cushion demands for democratic elections. In other words, they would reasonably try to rule long enough for the public to associate them to a limited recovery, and not the horrors they were part of, eventually running in future elections under banners no longer synonymous with devastation. Delcy may have some of that infrastructure: eight years ago, she founded a progressive political party under the revolutionary umbrella, Movimiento Somos Venezuela, and the Héctor Rodríguez-led Movimiento Futuro (the Chávez-era golden boy, unrelated to Delcy and Jorge) waits in the wings to finally break through with a sanitized version of chavismo claiming to foster youth sports and cultural activities within the framework of the Communal State.

We might see old-school, Siberia-based chavistas like Miguel Rodríguez Torres joining this camp. Old supporters of the former interior minister and political prisoner (2018-2023) are already promoting him as a reasonable acquisition for the Delcy cabinet. And he seems to have a tailwind compared to folks like Cabello, who look condemned, with no place in the future. Tensions that became evident during the amnesty bill’s saga might be early signs: the alliance we have known as the Gran Polo Patriótico could split, sooner or later.

The information cycle in Venezuela following Maduro’s capture by the US on January 3rd has moved at a stunning pace. In just weeks, the discussion of an amnesty law, the release of political prisoners, including high-profile figures such as Juan Pablo Guanipa, or the closure of El Helicoide have generated a steady stream of headlines that suggest plenty of movement.

Yet in Venezuela’s political history, first glances rarely tell the full story. A closer look reveals the traps embedded within those headlines: “liberations” that are in fact conditional releases, an amnesty bill that excludes many political prisoners and leaves key demands unmet, and the looming threat of new detentions, materialized in Guanipa’s re-arrest less than twelve hours after his release.

These gestures are not improvised. Since January 3rd, the leadership now headed by Delcy Rodríguez has invested heavily in projecting moderation and pragmatism abroad, positioning itself as the most viable partner for stability.

In that effort, the regime has often benefited, sometimes unintentionally, from the structure of international reporting itself. Part of this dynamic stems from the regime’s tight control over access, including restrictions on foreign correspondents and selective granting of exclusive interviews to chosen outlets. But it is also structural. In a polarized and fast-paced media environment, initial announcements often receive more attention than their aftermath, making it harder to trace how events unfold within the broader structure of power.

The regime understands this dynamic, and operates within it.

Confuse and conquer

What connects these episodes is not coincidence, but method. The regime frequently generates overlapping announcements, partial concessions, and selective gestures that make it difficult to follow the full sequence of events.

Over time, the regime’s leadership has learned that generating visible actions works. These actions do not need to be structural or transformative, they simply need to be striking enough to become discrete headline events. Once reported, the action itself becomes the story, while the broader context and sequencing often fade from view.

This dynamic is particularly visible in the management of the opposition. The regime has fostered divisions through multiple mechanisms, weakening cohesive action while presenting itself as conciliatory. The current National Assembly, for instance, includes figures labeled as opposition lawmakers despite significant opacity surrounding the electoral processes that brought them there, allowing the regime to project pluralism.

Shortened contextual memory, where events are reported but patterns are not continuously revisited, ultimately works to the regime’s advantage.

Similarly, dialogue initiatives involving individuals described as “moderate” opposition leaders are framed as evidence of a political opening, even when those actors lack a clear or broad mandate. In contrast, María Corina Machado and others who decline to participate are often portrayed as “radical”, not necessarily because of ideological extremism, but because they refuse to legitimize mechanisms that function primarily to buy time and reinforce the regime’s image.

The amnesty bill seems to show the same dynamic: it not only leaves many political prisoners out, but also risks fracturing victims’ groups by rewarding accommodation and penalizing refusal. However, once the “amnesty” headline circulates, the broader exclusions become secondary, and from the regime’s perspective, the immediate narrative gain may already be sufficient.

This tactic operates within a broader structural reality. Venezuela is politically complex and has been in crisis for decades. For international media outlets managing multiple global crises, sustained contextualization is difficult. Shortened contextual memory, where events are reported but patterns are not continuously revisited, ultimately works to the regime’s advantage.

Bias and competing agendas

International coverage has long interpreted Venezuela through familiar frameworks—authoritarianism, sanctions, polarization—rather than through the specific institutional degradation that defines the regime. This does not imply sympathy for the government. It simply flattens the crisis. When Venezuela is treated as another authoritarian state negotiating political transitions, the depth of institutional collapse and the entanglement of state power with coercive and illicit structures often receive less attention.

After January 3rd, this dynamic became more visible. Coverage focused heavily on the legality and geopolitical implications of Maduro’s capture, with comparatively less emphasis on the regime’s documented record of abuses. In a strongly polarized media climate, scrutiny of US actions often eclipsed scrutiny of the regime itself. That asymmetry contributed to a subtle relativization of the regime’s trajectory.

Separately, competing priorities within Washington shaped the policy debate and media coverage around Venezuela. Some actors emphasized engagement and economic opportunity, particularly regarding oil, presenting gestures such as prisoner releases as signs of rapid progress. President Trump echoed that framing, stating that political prisoners were being released at a rapid rate, at a time when Foro Penal had documented roughly 250 releases out of more than 800 detainees, most under restrictive conditions.

Differences in tone do not necessarily create media bias, but contribute to a fragmented narrative environment in which signals of progress and signals of caution circulate simultaneously.

Others adopted a more cautious position. During his deposition before the Senate, Secretary of State Marco Rubio stated that Delcy Rodríguez’s leadership would be judged not on rhetoric but on actions, stressing that pace, conditions, and follow-through mattered.

These differences in tone do not necessarily create media bias, but contribute to a fragmented narrative environment in which signals of progress and signals of caution circulate simultaneously. That fragmentation has at times extended to portrayals of opposition figures themselves. Reports citing unnamed US officials have described frustrations with María Corina Machado’s positioning, implicitly framing her stance as complicating broader strategy. When unnamed officials are cited to express frustrations, rather than to disclose substantive policy shifts, the line between reporting and narrative shaping becomes blurred.

Judging by actions, and what follows

Rubio’s standard to judge by actions is reasonable. But in Venezuela, actions cannot be read in isolation. A release, a meeting, or a legislative proposal may be factual. Yet without context, timing, sequencing, and what unfolds around them, tactical adjustments can resemble structural change.

The case of Juan Pablo Guanipa makes this tension visible. His release contributed to the narrative of progress. The quick re-detention that came hours later disrupted it. The regime does not want mass mobilization in the streets, yet it also needs to project moderation abroad. When Guanipa mobilized, he forced the regime to choose between sustaining its international image and reasserting control at home, and it chose control.

Moments like this strip the strategy bare. There is no calibrated messaging capable of reconciling a re-arrest with claims of normalization. No sequencing trick can disguise it. While the regime can often manage headlines through partial gestures, episodes like Guanipa’s expose the underlying logic too clearly to blur.

That is also where the agency of Venezuelans becomes visible. When citizens and opposition figures test the boundaries of controlled concessions, they reveal whether those gestures signal transformation or merely delay. If the regime responds with repression, the narrative of change collapses. In that sense, the limits of the illusion are not determined only by media framing, but by how far Venezuelans are willing to push against it.

In Venezuela, actions do matter, but only when understood within their full context. Without that context, they risk becoming headlines that obscure more than they clarify.