A good part of the epic episodes in the Chavista narrative have a common trigger: daybreak—perhaps because of the element of surprise, or perhaps because of the romanticism woven into the discourse. It was at dawn on February 4, 1992, with the intention of overthrowing President Carlos Andrés Pérez, that Hugo Chávez and his band of coup plotters launched the attempt that ended with 32 dead. It was also at dawn that they tried another coup on November 27 of that same year, this time killing 171 people according to official figures. They were two early mornings that warned the country of the tragic historical chapter that was beginning.

The regime liked the dawn, until the dawn took them by surprise

Whenever the topic came up—whether about the threat of a U.S. ground attack on the Chavista regime or the context of the launch of Operation “Lanza del Sur”—my answer among those of us having that political conversation about what might or might not happen, and all the hypotheses, was always the same. Nothing beyond the chats of exiled friends. I always ended those talks saying: “we’ll see what the morning brings.”

And morning came…

The capture of Nicolás Maduro and Cilia Flores on January 3rd came in the style Chavismo used to enjoy: at dawn.

One I will never forget in my entire life. That executioner who coined the “Maduro diet” (the term he used to describe the massive Venezuelan famine of 2016), that heir to totalitarianism and the repressive state, the one so many of us longed to see behind bars facing justice—was finally captured. It felt like a scene worthy of an epic ending to such a tragic story. A celebration that, inside the country, was felt in the deepest silence, since expressing joy over the fall of the head of an established tyranny is still a serious crime.

However, that action—ending with historic images of the once “untouchable” being taken away like the criminal he is by the DEA—is only the first step on a long road ahead toward the end of the tyranny and the dismantling of the narco-state.

Since then, pressure on the regime has been overwhelming. The United States has made it clear that, in the event of a new escalation, they would go after the next figures in Nicolás Maduro’s line of succession. And that from now on, they must abide by Washington’s rules of the game for a definitive transition to democracy.

But there are still many figures left to bring down if the tyranny is to be dismantled. To name just a few: Diosdado Cabello as a pillar of radical Chavismo, Vladimir Padrino López as the military backbone, and siblings Delcy and Jorge Rodríguez as the main political gears. These last two play an especially important role when one understands their background and the key part they have played in Chavismo during episodes where their trademark brazenness and political coldness have allowed the regime to survive.

Distinguishing “cooperation” from guarantees

From day one of Delcy Rodríguez’s interim presidency, the Chavista narrative of “kidnapping” has dominated official propaganda. Pro‑Chavista sectors speak of international law and refer to Maduro as a “prisoner of war,” while 687 people—as reported by the Venezuelan Penal Forum on February 6 of this year—are political prisoners, many of them captured by Venezuelan state agencies in what can only be described as actual kidnappings.

There is a myth about a violation of national sovereignty, even though Venezuela was governed under Havana’s influence for many years. It is conveniently ignored that Maduro’s personal security detail (up until the moment of his capture) was composed of Cuban military personnel. So, what sovereignty are they talking about?

But as the saying goes, “the devil is in the details.” Starting with the most recent amnesty law, which seeks to consider reconciled all acts of political violence in Venezuela since 1999 and under which the regime promises to release political prisoners. It is not the first time amnesty has been discussed in Venezuela; there was already a bill for a “Law of Amnesty and National Reconciliation” promoted by the National Assembly in 2016 when it held an opposition majority—rejected multiple times by Nicolás Maduro and other Chavista spokespeople. It took ten years for the regime to fabricate an amnesty law practically recycled from that previous legislature, but administered this time under U.S. pressure.

But the problem lies in the rest of the instruments that remain in force and that do not guarantee true “healing of wounds,” as Delcy Rodríguez puts it. The hate law is still in effect—allowing criminal penalties against dissent and the criminalization of criticism toward the regime; the anti‑fascism law, based on ambiguous and arbitrary definitions of “fascism,” which translate into persecution of opponents; the Simón Bolívar law, which penalizes those who support sanctions against the regime; and other legal tools that Chavismo has in its favor. As they release some political prisoners they now acknowledge, they can continue imprisoning people for committing a so‑called “hate crime,” very likely outside the protections of the amnesty law they are currently promoting.

Another supposed sign of cooperation, according to their narrative, is the closure of the Helicoide—the largest torture center in Latin America and former headquarters of the Bolivarian National Intelligence Service (SEBIN, the secret police)—to convert it into a commercial, sports, and social space. The reality is that the Helicoide is indeed a symbol of torture in the country, but it is not the only operational center. From the basement of SEBIN’s main headquarters in Caracas, where “La Tumba” is located, at least 90 torture sites have been documented in Venezuela. There can be no guarantee of reconciliation or “healing of wounds” as the Chavista narrative insists if the machinery of torture, disappearances, and kidnapping remains active—no matter how much that symbol of terror is allegedly being dismantled.

There are still unanswered questions regarding the armed colectivos created by Chavismo—paramilitary groups tasked with acting as shock forces, surveillance units, and part of the regime’s persecution apparatus. They continue to be the most active armed wing, free to attack the civilian population indiscriminately. There are also unanswered questions about the looting of the nation carried out by the regime’s own leaders, and about guarantees that this issue will not be reduced to internal purges or damage control to mask the corruption that has plundered the country’s resources.

Time is gold for the Rodríguez siblings

As the president of the regime’s National Assembly, Jorge Rodríguez, stated when the 2026 amnesty law was approved: “we don’t have much time.” Both he and the interim president of Venezuela have been key pieces of the Chavista tyranny in past negotiation tables and dialogue processes with the opposition—processes the regime never honored. A recurring pattern in these supposed negotiations for governance, free elections, and other demands is that the only party that ends up benefiting is the regime, depending on how much time they can buy to plan their next moves to cling to power.

They may fear new actions being taken against them, but as the regime’s political operators, I am sure they have plenty of cards left to play to prolong the timeline the Trump administration set for a democratic transition in Venezuela.

Let us remember that President Donald Trump faces midterm elections this year. Should the results be unfavorable, it is likely that the U.S. Congress will limit, among many things, the administration’s actions regarding Venezuela. A precedent for such limits was the narrow January 2026 congressional vote rejecting a resolution that would have restricted the White House from conducting military operations in Venezuela without authorization. This hypothetical scenario of institutional friction is perfect for the regime led by the Rodríguez siblings—not to escalate the situation, but to roll back every signal of cooperation and return to a stalemate.

The starting point

The panorama seems defined by time: while some are running out of it, others aim to stretch it as much as possible to avoid being the next in line to be captured by foreign justice or eliminated by internal purges. What appears certain in the current scenario is that the Rodríguez siblings need their old strategy—obtaining “oxygen” through supposed gestures of cooperation—to buy themselves months to continue their plan and once again strengthen the regime if the political winds shift in their favor.

What this event at the beginning of this turbulent 2026 should remind us—especially the victims—is the renewed opportunity to raise our voices and dismantle the narratives that distract from the facts. It has been 27 years of abuses, persecution, destruction of national identity, rejection of history, torture, and deaths—the largest exodus in the history of the Western hemisphere, a nation stolen and replaced by a narco‑state. Despite the first step taken, Venezuela still needs many guarantees to ensure there is no return to the dark chapter of the Bolivarian revolution. This requires continued international pressure and civic action; understanding both the power of resistance and civil disobedience in times when tyrannies falter, and the importance of support from allied nations—as well as recognizing the danger of “fishing in troubled waters” when the Chavista machinery also deploys its own complacent opposition, one that demands “due process and respect for institutions” while horrors are concealed. It is the duty of the citizenry to expose these truths so that, through historical memory, future generations commit to never repeating this chapter. A true transition will be one in which Chavismo—as a structure incompatible, harmful, and dangerous to the democratic principles of a republic—is fully purged from the political and social life of the Venezuela that seeks to rediscover itself.

I witnessed Venezuela’s collapse at the hands of Chavismo, watching the dreams of millions fall into ruin. I survived an assassination attempt by the regime for raising my voice against their barbarity and calling for non‑violent resistance. I survived to see the fall of the man who danced while the nation’s youth were being killed; I survived to tell my story—one among millions—as a testament to the darkest period in our history, one whose end still seems a bit far off, but one I hope to live long enough to see conclude.

I write this article from a place of relief: as long as Maduro continues waking up behind bars, I will wake up with the certainty that good can still triumph over evil, and that justice always arrives—sooner or later. And without losing my realistic perspective, as I have said, this is still just one step in a long road ahead. But having survived long enough to see the tyrant fall, unlike the many who died unjustly for a better country, I cannot help but feel that perhaps, in the dark historical era called Chavismo, we are finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel: freedom.

In the meantime: Dawn will come, and we shall see…