Introduction: Venezuela beyond the headlines
Most of the world knows Venezuela today through numbers that feel almost unreal: inflation in the hundreds of percent, poverty affecting nearly the entire population, and one of the largest migration crises on Earth. Yet behind those statistics are families eating arepas in cramped apartments during daily blackouts, teenagers rehearsing joropo dance steps in dusty community centers, and retired oil workers who remember when Caracas felt like one of the richest cities in Latin America.
For decades, Venezuela was a country to which others migrated, its oil money funding highways, universities, and ambitious public housing complexes, drawing workers from Colombia, Europe, and the Middle East. Today, millions of Venezuelans cross borders in the opposite direction, carrying plastic suitcases, their national ID cards, and a stubborn sense of pride that refuses to disappear even when everything else seems to slip away.
Geography and natural wealth
Venezuela sits at the northern tip of South America, facing the Caribbean Sea, sharing borders with Colombia to the west, Brazil to the south, and Guyana to the east. Its territory stretches roughly 912,000 square kilometers, encompassing coastal plains, Andean peaks, savannas, rainforests, and the tabletop mountains of the Guiana Shield.
This diversity places Venezuela among the world’s “megadiverse” countries, with ecosystems ranging from the Llanos grasslands to the Amazon Basin, coral reefs, mangrove forests, and cloud forests. The Orinoco River basin alone, flowing from the Andes toward the Atlantic, is one of the most biologically rich areas on the planet, home to endangered species like the Orinoco crocodile and the Amazon river dolphin.
Beneath this landscape lies the resource that has defined modern Venezuela: oil. The country holds some of the largest proven oil reserves in the world, concentrated in places like the Maracaibo Basin and the Orinoco Belt, and for much of the 20th century this wealth made Venezuela one of Latin America’s highest-income nations. Oil exports came to account for more than 90 percent of export earnings and a huge share of state revenue, turning the Venezuelan state into a powerful dispenser of jobs, subsidies, and patronage.
A brief history of Venezuela
Long before oil, the land that is now Venezuela was home to Indigenous peoples including the Caribes, Arawaks, and many others, each with distinct languages and cultures shaped by rivers, forests, and coasts. Spanish colonization in the 16th century imposed a plantation economy built on cocoa, coffee, and enslaved African labor, with wealth concentrated in a small creole elite while Indigenous and Afro-descendant communities endured dispossession and exploitation.
Venezuela’s most enduring political symbol emerged from the wars of independence: Simón Bolívar, the liberator who dreamed of a united Spanish America and whose campaigns helped free not only Venezuela but also Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, and Bolivia. Bolívar’s legacy—anti-colonial, nationalist, and sometimes invoked more than understood—would later become a powerful political resource for leaders across the ideological spectrum, but especially for those claiming a revolutionary mantle.
Following independence and the breakup of Gran Colombia in the 19th century, Venezuela oscillated between caudillo rule and fragile civilian governments, with power often enforced at gunpoint. Modern mass politics and oil wealth began to reshape the country in the early 20th century under authoritarian rulers who opened the door to foreign oil companies while repressing dissent.
The turning point came in 1958, when a civilian-military uprising ousted dictator Marcos Pérez Jiménez and paved the way for a new democratic pact. Leaders of the main parties—Acción Democrática (AD), COPEI, and URD—signed the Punto Fijo Pact, agreeing to respect election results, share power, and keep the armed forces loyal to the democratic system. For decades, this arrangement produced stability, regular elections, and expanding social programs, but it also entrenched a closed political elite and a patronage-driven system heavily financed by oil rents.
The oil economy and its consequences
Oil transformed Venezuela from an agrarian society to an urban, consumer-oriented one in just a few decades. The state captured a large portion of oil revenues and used them to subsidize food, fuel, and imports, creating a sense of prosperity that made many Venezuelans feel insulated from the volatility of global markets.
Yet the very success of oil deepened structural weaknesses. Manufacturing and agriculture were crowded out; it was cheaper to import food and goods with petrodollars than to produce them domestically, reinforcing dependency on oil exports and on fluctuating international prices. During boom years, politicians expanded spending and created new state enterprises; in busts, austerity measures and devaluations triggered social unrest, most dramatically in the 1989 “Caracazo,” when protests over fuel price hikes spiraled into riots and deadly repression.
The oil sector itself became tightly intertwined with politics. Control of PDVSA, the state oil company, was not only an economic prize but also a political one, as governments used oil income to fund party machines, infrastructure, and clientelist networks. In this sense, oil was not just a commodity but the foundation of a political order that would eventually face a profound legitimacy crisis.
The Chávez era and the Bolivarian Revolution
Out of that crisis emerged Hugo Chávez, a former army officer who had led a failed coup attempt in 1992 before rebranding himself as an outsider committed to refounding the republic. Riding a wave of anger against corruption and the old party system, he won the 1998 presidential election with promises to end the Punto Fijo order and build a “Bolivarian Revolution” rooted in social justice, participatory democracy, and national sovereignty.
Chávez’s government rewrote the constitution, centralized power in the presidency, and forged a new political movement that blended leftist ideology, anti-imperialist rhetoric, and intense personal leadership. High oil prices in the 2000s allowed him to launch ambitious social programs known as misiones, which targeted poverty, health, education, housing, and food security in marginalized neighborhoods long ignored by previous governments.
Programs such as Mission Robinson (literacy), Barrio Adentro (community clinics, often staffed by Cuban doctors), and Mercal (subsidized food) significantly expanded access to basic services for millions, and supporters credit them with reductions in extreme poverty and illiteracy in the early Chávez years. Critics, however, point to their heavy dependence on oil revenue, weak institutional design, politicization, and poor long-term sustainability, arguing that they bypassed existing state institutions and concentrated power in presidential hands.
Polarization deepened at home and abroad. Domestically, Chávez’s supporters saw him as a leader who finally put the poor at the center of politics, while opponents accused him of undermining checks and balances, intimidating independent media, and packing state institutions with loyalists. Internationally, he cultivated close ties with Cuba, Russia, China, and Iran, presented himself as a champion of a multipolar world, and clashed frequently with the United States, which he accused of imperial designs on Venezuela’s oil.
By the time of his death in 2013, Chávez had reshaped Venezuela’s political landscape, but many of the underlying economic vulnerabilities remained and, in some cases, had worsened. The state was more dependent than ever on oil, public spending had surged, and the economy was increasingly exposed to a looming collapse in oil prices and production.
Venezuela under Nicolás Maduro
When Nicolás Maduro, Chávez’s chosen successor, took office in 2013, he inherited both the Bolivarian political project and a fragile economic model. Oil prices soon fell sharply, and years of mismanagement, underinvestment, and corruption in PDVSA caused production to plummet by more than 1.5 million barrels per day, severely reducing export earnings. As a result, a country that once supplied more than 800,000 barrels per day to the United States now exports a fraction of that, with much of its oil sold at discounts through opaque routes, especially to China.
The government responded with money printing, currency controls, and price regulations that soon fueled one of the worst hyperinflation episodes in modern history. Inflation reached extraordinary levels—BCV and independent estimates show annual rates in the hundreds of thousands percent at the peak—before gradually receding to still extremely high levels, with recent figures around the low hundreds of percent annually. Ordinary wages were pulverized, and the value of savings evaporated, forcing millions into survival mode.
At the same time, U.S. and European sanctions escalated, particularly after contested elections and crackdowns on opposition protests. Sanctions targeted Venezuelan officials, financial transactions, and eventually the oil sector itself, freezing assets, restricting PDVSA’s access to markets, and further constraining government revenue. While defenders of sanctions argue they respond to democratic backsliding and human rights abuses, many analysts and humanitarian organizations note that they compounded an already severe economic crisis and complicated efforts to import food, fuel, and medicine.
The political crisis has been equally intense. Opposition victories in the 2015 legislative elections were followed by a series of institutional confrontations, including rulings by the Supreme Court that stripped the National Assembly of key powers, the creation of a parallel Constituent Assembly, and disputed presidential and regional elections. Multiple opposition figures have been jailed, disqualified from running, or driven into exile, and mass protests have at times been met with lethal force.
By the early 2020s, Venezuela’s social indicators reflected a profound collapse. Independent surveys such as ENCOVI reported that more than 94 percent of the population lived in poverty and that over three-quarters were in extreme poverty, with Venezuela becoming the poorest country in Latin America by income measures. Multidimensional poverty—capturing deprivations in education, housing, services, and employment—climbed above 65 percent of households.
Human stories: life inside Venezuela
Behind those statistics are concrete, intimate stories. In many low-income neighborhoods, families skip meals, rely on remittances sent by relatives abroad, or stretch subsidized food boxes delivered by state-linked committees, never knowing if the next box will arrive on time. Parents describe choosing which child gets protein on a given day; teachers report students fainting in class from hunger or dropping out to search for work or food.
The health system, once a point of pride for the Bolivarian project, has been hammered by shortages of medicines, equipment, and staff. Hospitals struggle with intermittent electricity and water; doctors leave the country in large numbers, and those who remain improvise treatments amid scarcity, often relying on donations. Chronic conditions that are manageable elsewhere—diabetes, hypertension, HIV—become life-threatening when supplies run out, while preventable diseases reemerge in neglected areas.
Education, too, has deteriorated. ENCOVI data show that more than a million students left the school system in just a few years, driven by economic hardship, transport problems, and the need to work informally. Teachers’ salaries eroded to the point where many juggle multiple side jobs, from street vending to private tutoring, just to survive.
Yet it would be a mistake to see only despair. In barrios and rural communities, neighbors organize communal kitchens, barter networks, and collective farming plots to buffer against shortages. Local churches, NGOs, and informal groups coordinate distribution of food and medicine, share information on safe migration routes, and create small spaces of solidarity that exist parallel to polarized politics.
The migration crisis
When the state can no longer guarantee basic security or livelihoods, people move. Since around 2015, more than 6–7 million Venezuelans have left the country, making this one of the largest displacement crises in the world and the largest in Latin America’s recent history. UN and academic estimates suggest the total number of Venezuelan migrants and refugees surpassed 7.9 million in the years corresponding to Maduro’s time in power, roughly a quarter of the pre-crisis population.
The reasons are painfully simple: low wages that do not cover food, hyperinflation, scarcity of basic goods, insecurity, and a pervasive sense that opportunities have dried up. The majority of Venezuelan migrants have settled in neighboring Latin American countries—Colombia, Peru, Ecuador, Chile, and Brazil—often working in informal jobs, facing xenophobia, and struggling to regularize their legal status.
For host countries, the influx is both a challenge and a potential opportunity. Studies by international financial institutions indicate that if migrants are integrated into formal labor markets, they can boost GDP growth in host economies by several percentage points over the medium term, bringing skills and entrepreneurial energy. But for Venezuelan families, the calculus is more intimate: parents separated from children, grandparents raising grandchildren, spouses trying to keep relationships alive across WhatsApp calls and remittance transfers.
At bus stations along the Colombian border, one often sees the same scene: people hugging tightly before boarding, promising to return once things “get better,” unsure when or how that will be. The emotional cost of displacement—nostalgia, guilt, and a lingering attachment to home—has become part of the Venezuelan experience, shaping identity both inside and outside the country.
Culture, identity, and national pride
Despite everything, Venezuelan culture remains exuberant, inventive, and deeply rooted in a sense of belonging that transcends political divides. The country’s musical landscape spans joropo llanero with its fast harp and cuatro rhythms, Afro-Venezuelan drumming along the central coast, salsa and merengue in urban neighborhoods, and a rich tradition of protest songs and folk ballads. Festivals such as Carnival, regional fiestas patronales honoring local saints, and celebrations like the Feria de la Chinita in Maracaibo fill streets with processions, dance, and communal food despite economic hardship.
Food is a powerful thread of identity. Arepas stuffed with cheese, beans, or shredded beef, cachapas made from sweet corn, hallacas prepared painstakingly at Christmas, and pabellón criollo—the national dish of rice, beans, plantains, and meat—are not just meals but rituals of family and memory. Even in exile, Venezuelans recreate these dishes in cramped apartments in Bogotá, Lima, Madrid, or Miami, keeping a piece of home alive in every plate shared.
Sports also channel national pride. Baseball has long been a national passion, with Venezuelan stars in Major League Baseball serving as symbols of international success, while football (soccer) has grown in popularity as the national team, La Vinotinto, strives for regional recognition. In barrios, children play in makeshift fields, their dreams floating somewhere between a professional contract abroad and a more modest hope: a future less constrained than that of their parents.
In conversations, one hears a recurring phrase: “Somos un país rico con un pueblo pobre”—we are a rich country with a poor people. It captures both frustration and resilience: a conviction that the national story could be different and that, despite the current suffering, Venezuela is more than its crisis.
Venezuela’s global role and foreign relations
Venezuela’s vast oil reserves and strategic location have long given it an outsized role in global geopolitics. During the Chávez years, Caracas repositioned itself as an anti-U.S. pole in the Americas, strengthening ties with Cuba, Russia, China, and Iran and using oil diplomacy to build alliances and influence.
China extended tens of billions of dollars in loans, often to be repaid in oil, and became one of Venezuela’s top trading partners and major buyers of its crude exports. Russia deepened military and energy cooperation, selling arms, investing in oil projects, and providing diplomatic cover in international forums where Western powers criticized Venezuela’s internal politics. These relationships have continued under Maduro, even as the economic crisis has limited the country’s capacity to honor commitments and maintain infrastructure.
Relations with the United States deteriorated sharply over disputes about democracy, human rights, and regional security. Washington imposed successive waves of sanctions, targeted officials, and recognized opposition leaders as interim authorities during moments of heightened confrontation, particularly around contested elections. Sanctions on PDVSA and an oil embargo dramatically reduced Venezuela’s access to U.S. markets, prompting Caracas to look even more to China and other partners, though often at steep discounts and under less favorable terms.
Within Latin America, Venezuela’s role has shifted from that of a regional benefactor—through initiatives like Petrocaribe—to that of a country whose crisis spills across borders via migration, informal trade, and political controversy. Governments in the region have oscillated between solidarity, calls for democratic reforms, and efforts to manage the practical impact of Venezuelan displacement on schools, hospitals, and labor markets.
Current situation and future outlook
In recent years, Venezuela’s economy has shown glimpses of stabilization, but from an extraordinarily low base and with stark inequality. Hyperinflation has subsided into more “conventional” but still very high inflation, aided by a partial dollarization of daily transactions, some relaxation of price controls, and pragmatic reforms, while poverty and precarious work remain overwhelmingly widespread.
Official and unofficial talks have intermittently sought political agreements, including negotiations over electoral conditions, sanctions relief, and humanitarian access. International actors—ranging from the United Nations and regional organizations to individual states like Norway and Mexico—have tried to mediate, with mixed results and periodic breakdowns amid mutual distrust.
Internally, the central question is whether the country can rebuild a sense of shared rules: credible elections, independent institutions, and space for opposition and civil society without repression or revenge. Economically, any sustainable recovery will require diversifying beyond oil, restoring PDVSA’s capacity under transparent governance, attracting investment without repeating past patterns of corruption, and addressing the staggering levels of poverty and inequality documented by ENCOVI and other surveys.
Many Venezuelans remain skeptical of grand promises, whether revolutionary or technocratic. Their hopes are more modest and more concrete: stable electricity, affordable food, schools that function, hospitals with medicines, a job that pays enough to stay in the country rather than leave. Whether Venezuela can meet those expectations will depend not only on leaders in Caracas but also on decisions made in Washington, Beijing, Moscow, Bogotá, and beyond, given how entangled the country’s fate has become with global geopolitics.
Conclusion: the soul of Venezuela
Venezuela’s story is not linear. It moves between boom and bust, democracy and authoritarianism, hope and disappointment, but always with a stubborn, human core that refuses to disappear under the weight of statistics and slogans. In barrios where people share the last of their rice with a neighbor, in migrant shelters where families trace imaginary maps back to their hometowns, in classrooms where a teacher stays after hours because one student is still struggling to read, the soul of this country continues to assert itself.
To speak honestly about Venezuela is to acknowledge both the pain and the possibility. It is a nation of extraordinary natural and cultural riches, battered by mismanagement, corruption, external pressure, and structural dependence on a single resource, yet sustained by an everyday resilience that no government, no crisis, and no border has yet managed to extinguish. Whether the future brings renewal or further decline, the people of Venezuela—those who stayed and those who left—carry within them memories of a different country and the quiet determination to ensure that its story is not over.
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