Caracas Chronicles

Let’s imagine for a second that the ruling PSUV party is no longer in power. How that could happen doesn’t matter for the sake of this exercise.

Let’s just assume that both the high command and the Supreme Court also step down, and their replacements come from the current Armed Forces and Judiciary. Let’s also suppose that PSUV continues to exist as a political party, renewed with leaders who have not been involved in national government so far.

What would this post-chavista Venezuela look like in political terms? And what could this image tell us not just about today’s Venezuela, but also the opposition’s failure to defeat chavismo politically?

The end of ideology

The first thing to note is that the opposition would likely fragment for good. To this day, there is no meaningful ideological unity between the many parties that have formed anti-chavista coalitions (the MUD, the Frente Amplio, the Unitary Platform, etc.). The only glue binding them together has been their shared opposition to chavismo. So if chavismo were to disappear from the scene, what incentive would they have to remain united?

Ideologically, very little, if at all. One of the consequences of 27 years of chavismo is the hollowing out of the ideological identity of opposition parties. Does anyone know today the ideological principles of Voluntad Popular, Primero Justicia, Un Nuevo Tiempo or Acción Democrática? Of Avanzada Progresista or La Causa R? Encuentro Ciudadano? Cuentas Claras? Or the rest of the small “chiripa” parties? Any reference to their ideological roots is just a ghost of what those doctrines once meant. Today, they mean nothing. They no longer form part of an opposition whose only identity is being against Maduro.

When was the last time an opposition figure had to haggle over the fine print of a bill with someone who held a different view?

What about Vente Venezuela or Alianza Bravo Pueblo? María Corina Machado’s party may be easier to place ideologically, given its ties to conservative right-wing factions and its self-proclaimed liberalism. But even then, its doctrinal principles are blurry. As Machado positions herself as a potential head of government, she finds herself in increasingly gray areas. Is she a staunch advocate of privatization or in favor of some state management of key industries? Does she support expanding social rights for minorities or will she always align with conservative interests?

At the other end of the spectrum is Fuerza Vecinal, a party whose ideology is pure pragmatism—framed around localist interests and the day-to-day concerns of the municipalities where it operates. The same goes for the hijacked acronyms of historic opposition parties like AD and PJ, now led by local figures who used internal splits to free themselves from national leadership and form their own organizations.

A legislature in the next Venezuela

Party fragmentation is the result of the absence of big political debates. The only explanation for the current disunity is the pettiness of egos. Since ideology no longer defines Venezuela’s party system, and the only existing divide is officially “Democracy vs. Dictatorship” (while it is actually “chavismo vs. anti-chavismo”), what keeps these parties so far apart? And what has caused their ongoing fragmentation over the past 27 years, with repeated splintering and the rise of new minor parties?

The only viable explanation lies in organizational disputes. Parties split because leaders can’t agree on tactics and strategy—or because the erosion of democracy in the country has also affected internal party democracy, blocking generational renewal and fueling the frustrations of younger leaders whose turn never came.

So they break off and form their own parties, just as local leaders have launched new political ventures to avoid submitting to the old leadership and to test whether a fresh approach might earn them political capital.

In the end, political organization revolves around loyalty to local or national caudillos. But in a post-Maduro electoral context—say, a National Assembly election—these parties will no longer know how to campaign without the anti-chavista/chavista narrative. In that first vote, when there’s no looming fear of the PSUV’s return through undemocratic means, parties won’t be able to run “against” something. And that means the incentive for coalition-building will vanish.

The president could bypass this democratic path—which requires time, effort, and yes, ideological debate—and try to shield the executive from the party system’s dysfunction.

Parties will then be forced to engage in the debates they’ve long avoided—starting with how to rebuild Venezuela without Maduro. They’ll have to dust off outdated ideological language and it won’t come naturally. Party platforms will likely be indistinguishable, and voters will no longer choose based on ideology but rather based on who they’ve always liked, which leader “seems prepared,” or who “speaks well.”

The resulting National Assembly will inevitably be fragmented. The Peruvian legislature serves as the best comparison. Not all minor parties will make it in—perhaps one or two might win a single-member district. But in the list vote, smaller parties will likely be punished due to the sheer number of competing groups. Most will win only a handful of seats.

This new Assembly won’t be red versus blue but a chaotic rainbow. This is not only due to opposition fragmentation but also because in post-Chavista Venezuela, new forms of Chavismo will emerge. Pragmatic, de-ideologized Chavistas—who’ve spent years building personal political brands and local power bases—will break free from PSUV once the national leadership collapses. Think of a popular figure like Rafael Lacava in Valencia, or an organized platform like the Héctor Rodríguez-led Movimiento Futuro in Miranda.

Such a pluralistic Assembly will, like in Peru, be powerless. Opposition leaders haven’t just forgotten how to debate ideology, they’ve also lost the art of legislative negotiation. When was the last time an opposition figure had to haggle over the fine print of a bill with someone who held a different view?

Opportunities to do so with chavismo were rare, if they existed at all. And those involved two dominant forces. But are opposition leaders ready for a legislative system so fragmented that small parties can block bills unless their demands are met, demands that may overlap or outright contradict each other?

This Assembly would be one of gridlock. It would stall frequently and struggle to push through the legal reforms the country needs. And if it does pass reforms, they’re likely to be poorly written and badly designed. Instead of being based on clear ideas about the country’s direction, laws would reflect a patchwork of demands from dozens of small-time politicians, each wanting to be heard and recognized, threatening to block the entire process if they’re not.

What about the president?

Faced with a stalled legislature, there are two possibilities: either a moderate, conciliatory president—probably the least objectionable candidate the opposition coalition could agree on—ends up governing as a symbolic figure with no real power (essentially, what an Edmundo González Urrutia presidency would have been). Or the presidency goes to the figure perceived to have the strongest popular mandate.

This leader—riding the ghost of popular mobilization—might be the only one capable of setting a national agenda. But it wouldn’t be easy with such a fragmented Assembly.

For starters, that “popular support” might be an illusion. Take María Corina Machado, for example. In the 2023 opposition primaries, she appeared to be the undisputed leader of the opposition, winning 92.35% of the vote. But those 2.44 million votes only accounted for 11% of the Electoral Registry.

Machado’s popularity doesn’t stem from policy successes or deep grassroots support. It’s not that Venezuelans suddenly embraced liberalism and became “right-wing.” Rather, she was the only opposition leader whose political capital remained intact—having distanced herself from past failures—and became the final vessel for a desperate public yearning for redemocratization, or simply for chavismo’s defeat.

If Machado were president, the illusion of popular backing might hold for a while. Democratic transitions are often celebrated like spring festivals, with packed squares and joyful citizens. But that euphoria fades quickly if results don’t come.

Anti-chavismo must exercise this muscle again. It must stop defining itself solely by what it opposes and start seeing itself as a positive alternative to Maduro.

And what results can a president deliver if they have to build the entire executive branch from scratch, inheriting a public bureaucracy forged in chavismo? How can they govern with a vague policy program hashed out among former opposition parties—one lacking clear definitions—and then get it through a dysfunctional legislature without it being gutted or neutered?

To avoid impotence—and the resulting punishment at the next election, likely to resemble Peru’s system of electing presidents with no majority—a president would have three options.

One, the genuinely democratic path: build strong grassroots organizations to pressure the legislature into action. This could crystallize into a new major party capable of ending fragmentation after some time, though it would likely create a new national divide: for or against the new president.

Alternatively, the president could bypass this democratic path—which requires time, effort, and yes, ideological debate—and try to shield the executive from the party system’s dysfunction. That would mean overpowering checks and balances and asserting dominance over a paralyzed legislature. In essence, Venezuela would get another Nicolás Maduro—this time from the right.

The third path is a middle ground: a Bukele-style president who uses democratic tools to erode liberal and plural checks on power—with plaudits from Venezuelans eager to end chavismo and radically change the economic model, no matter the cost.

Let’s return to debates about the future

Some may question the need to return to ideological debates about Venezuela’s future. Who needs ideology when the priority is to defeat Maduro and restore democracy?

But the truth is, the opposition’s failure to develop doctrine and vision is precisely what could make any transition to democracy fragile and easily undone.

Anti-chavismo must exercise this muscle again. It must stop defining itself solely by what it opposes and start seeing itself as a positive alternative government to Maduro.

This means asking: What kind of country do we want? What models of democracy and popular organization are viable in Venezuela today? What role should unions play? What should be done with social movements and existing communal structures? What kind of economic development do we want—what kind of industry, agriculture, and how should a future democracy engage with the elite class Maduro will leave behind?

These questions are essential. Without a doctrinal diagnosis of the country and a clear ideological direction for the nation, the opposition is bound to fail. For now, it will keep launching disconnected political actions without grounding them in Venezuela’s actual conditions for change, and without any real goal beyond simply toppling a president.