“Rodríguez, María Fernanda” and her people are a microcosmos of poverty in Venezuela, telling us how life got so much worse. Still, defeat is rare in the Caribbean: despair and joy go hand in hand.
May 1st gave Caracas a crowded chavista march and a constellation of anti-regime protests severely repressed. Four young Venezuelans have been killed so far since Tuesday morning. The unrest, again, is nationwide and people look determined to resist.
On Easter, Venezuelan barrios and villages choose a prominent political figure, build a doll, and burn it to mark the end of the Holy Week. The press usually covers it because the custom registers who the population is blaming for its problems. This year, Guaidó had his baptism of fire, along with Maduro and Trump.
This is Caracas before Night 4 of the blackout: a ghost town where behavior is increasingly similar to those of apocalyptic novels and movies. Ordinary citizens feel completely abandoned by the State and have no clue of what to expect. The US dollar takes over the survival economy, cash only.
Venezuelans stranded on the other side of the closed Colombian border are torn between the desire to see their families again, and fear of regime violence.
Venezuela Aid Live brought up the best of people, regardless of which side of the border they come from, while it helped to make our problems visible to the world. But the event, from that marginalized, strange place, also showed the strength we Venezuelans have built, even under the threat of war.
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