A Week that Feels Like a Month

The UN Independent International Fact-Finding Mission Report on Venezuela published on Tuesday, September 17, is categorical in describing the “machinery of repression” of the Maduro regime. Deaths, detentions, violations of due process. That’s part of what the ONG Foro Penal has also been documenting. This timeline shows how lawyers volunteering for the latter organization have been overstretched with work after the elections of July 28, and how the number of prisoners has reached an all-time high.

PHOTOS: EFE / COURTESY OF FORO PENAL

Day 1.
July 29, 9:00 p.m.
1 dead, 46 detained.

Gonzalo Himiob’s little son doesn’t understand why his dad is getting home at later than usual hours. The thing is that it is an unusual day. The first of many. Presidential elections were held yesterday in Venezuela and the National Electoral Council (CNE) announced that Nicolás Maduro was the winner. The results are yet to be published on the CNE’s website. Just after 6:00 p.m. today, María Corina Machado, the opposition’s leader, made it clear that, despite the many hurdles that their witnesses had had to overcome, she had managed to get a hold of 73 percent of the tally sheets printed by the voting machines, and that the victor was not Maduro but Edmundo González, the opposition candidate.

It has been a challenging day. Thousands of Venezuelans protested across the country. As soon as they took to the streets, repression ensued. Foro Penal, the ONG led by Himiob and Alfredo Romero, one that provides free legal assistance and support to the families of the victims of arbitrary detentions, decided to focus their attention on the detainees.

Before today, he arrived at the office at 8:30 a.m. and had coffee, discussed things, planned activities for the week, and checked and updated the information and status of political prisoners with the organization’s team. They would help two to three people every day and at about 4:00 p.m. they would head home until the following morning.

Today, it is 9:00 p.m. and they are still working. They had just released their first post-election report: one dead, 46 people detained.

Himiob, who has been a human rights defender for more than two decades now, cannot help but feel that this time repression seems different. He will know it for sure soon enough, as he himself will be part of the team of lawyers charged with defending the new political prisoners.

Tonight he will be back home late, worried, preoccupied, and a little apprehensive. Over the next days, his family will see less and less of him, and his little son will constantly wonder why.

Day 2.
July 30, 10:00 a.m.
6 dead, 132 detained.

In the span of twelve hours, almost 100 more people have been imprisoned. Also, five more people have been killed, including two teenagers aged 15 and 16. As always, but this time like never before, the Foro Penal defense attorneys are sent reports on detentions. Both in Caracas and elsewhere in the country, they follow the guidelines that had earned the organization credibility internationally.

First, they receive the reports from the victims’ family members. Then, a defensor activo, or “active defender”, as they call their pro bono lawyers and non-lawyer activists and volunteers, goes to the detention center to verify the identity of the individuals detained and their condition. Next, they provide them and their families with legal support and counsel as required and prepare the case’s file. Reports are processed on a case-by-case basis, and confidentiality is guaranteed.

There is a lot of work to do in such a short time. More volunteers add to the list. In 2015, they had near 4,000 active defenders; just before the elections, they had more than 5,000. But now they don’t know how many there are, for things have been so hectic that they haven’t had a chance to count them.

Together with NGOs such as Justicia, Encuentro y Perdón (Justice, Encounter and Forgiveness), Laboratorio de Paz(Peace Laboratory), and Provea (Venezuelan Program for Education and Action on Human Rights), they report that the number of deaths has risen to 11. They demand that the use of firearms in protests be investigated.

Cases keep coming in. They have no option but to take them and keep a record thereof. They decide they would sleep at the office.

Day 3.
July 31, 9:00 a.m.
11 dead, 429 detained.

They worked all night long.

They took turns to sleep on the office’s couches and washed up as best they could in the offices’ restrooms. And reports pour in 24/7.

It’s 9:00 a.m. and they are already publishing an update on the figures of the previous day: the number of detainees went from 132 to 429. People of all ages, from all walks of life, from all over the country. But Nicolás Maduro says that the number of detainees is 749.

“Why the disparity? Do they want to discourage people from speaking up by sawing fear?” they ask one another. They have no answers, but one thing is for sure: their recording of cases is as rigorous as it has always been, and they check and double check details with family members. Although the number of killings remains the same, the number of detainees is going up.

And in those numbers Himiob notices a particular pattern: that many of the detentions are not taking place during the protests or rallies but rather after they are over; that they are arresting people who weren’t even protesting; that the arrests are being carried out up and down the country; and that age is not a factor, for they will work on cases of teenagers who went pick up stuff at a grocery store and were detained for no reason.

Although their figures are quite high, they are still lower than the official ones. Himiob feels that this new wave of repression is different from any other they had witnessed in the past. He will see it for himself in the coming days through the volunteer work of the team of lawyers of Foro Penal in all states.

And he has noticed another thing: many of the people detained come from low-income areas. “Is the government cracking down on places that have been their stronghold for years?  At least they used to be. Are they no longer?” he wonders.

They all need to have their cases defended.

That night too they will have to take turns sleeping on the office’s couches.

Day 4.
August 1, 9:00 a.m.
11 dead, 672 detained.

Even when the sun is burning on their faces, there’s just darkness glooming over the Bolivarian National Police (PNB) facilities in Boleíta, Caracas, known as Zone 7. As parents cry because their children have been detained and call for their release, Stefania Migliorini provides them with legal assistance. She was there the day before, she will be back the next day, and the scene will be the same.

Stefania, who performs as coordinator for the legal team, has never seen that high a number of political prisoners being taken in such a short time. According to Foro Penal, the number of people detained as a result of years of repression up until June 30, 2024 was 287. However, the events of the previous day had made her aware that repression had reached unprecedented levels and that it wouldn’t stop. In less than one month, they would receive reports on the largest number of arrests ever recorded in the history of Venezuela in the 21st century.

Her daily routine has changed completely. She is not much at the office these days but stuck in court, attending hearings. The father who reported the detention of his three children, or the one who reported the detention of his son and wife (who were not protesting), are a source of both stress and motivation for her, and their stories give her the strength she needs to be away from her own home and family while she helps others.

Today, she has received authorization from the families of more than 150 detainees held at the PNB HQ in Boleíta, which is full of minors, to represent them. It is 4:00 p.m., the sun has not yet set, and the number of detainees has hit 711, including 74 teenagers.

Nicolás Maduro maintains that there are 1,200 detainees, as opposed to the 1,062 reported by Attorney General Tarek William Saab hours before.

At 4:15 p.m., Foro Penal reports that online hearings are being held in Boleíta without the detainees being allowed private defense counsel. Earlier that day, at least 75 people were transferred from Boleíta to the Yare 3 penitentiary. They were immediately indicted.

Day 5.
August 2, 6:00 p.m.
11 dead, 835 detained.

What do you do if one of the detainees is a member of your own team?

Kennedy Tejeda, a newly graduated attorney volunteering for the team of active defenders of Foro Penal, had gone to the rural national guard post in Montalbán, in his home state of Carabobo, to inquire about the alleged detention of several people. His mother reported him missing, for it had been hours since she had last heard of him and the authorities denied he was there. He was later confirmed to have been arrested.

His name adds to the organization’s list of detainees. By 6:00 p.m., they had recorded 835 arrests, with Carabobo and the Capital District leading the score with 133 and 135 respectively.

Hours earlier, Alfredo Romero had reported that the number of family members outside Zone 7 was increasing because more and more detainees were being sent to its facilities.

At this point in the week, team members rotate roles: some go to the detention centers for information on whether or not there are people detained there due to post-election repression (or allegedly so); others work from the offices assisting families and logging them into the system.

One family member after the other.

That night, many will cry and scream in despair, singing the national anthem, as their relatives are taken to Yare.

Day 6.
August 2, 9:00 a.m.
11 dead, 891 detained.

“Good morning. It is 8:40 a.m. and I’m heading back to Caracas from the GNB Command 443 in El Rodeo, state of Miranda, where 10 detainees have reportedly been taken.”

Jesús Marcano, known by many as El Abuelo [Grandpa], is reporting on social media on his daily search for detainees. This time, the prisoners had been transferred to the GNB Command in San Agustín del Sur, Caracas.

El Abuelo is 72 years old and the coordinator of the active defenders team (volunteers). He arrived at Foro Penal in 2015, after having been detained himself.

In 2014, as a defender of a democracy which, in his own words, “my generation failed to preserve”, he decided to join the young protesters that had set up tents at the entrance of the United Nations headquarters near Altamira, Caracas. He would leave work, show up there, keep them company for a while, and then head back home west of the city. The day the camp was dismantled, he drew a huge sign that read: “They took our kids away. Now it’s our turn.” And he lay all day on the ground in the sun in the middle of the Francisco Miranda avenue.

“Are we going to let El Abuelo die there on the ground?” asked one. They pulled him up and wrapped him warm, calling him Abuelo. And that’s the nickname he goes by ever since.

So, it is not surprising that he was with five young demonstrators the day they were detained near Barquisimeto in 2015. He had decided to tag along because he didn’t want them to travel by themselves, and he too got arrested. He was held in custody and released after 12 hours because he was showing early symptoms of hypothermia.

“You are free to go,” said the Bolivarian National Intelligence Service officer.

“Well, I came here with five young men and I’m not leaving without them,” he replied.

For whatever reason, maybe because of his age, they gave in to his request.

Foro Penal was by their side assisting them all the way. 

The day after his release, Marcano went to the FP offices in Caracas and told them:

“The only way I can ever repay you is by volunteering to help others.”

And that’s what he does to this day. He routinely assists families, gives them information on what they must and can do, and organizes their case files. That explains why he kicked off his day today going to various penitentiary centers.

As hours go by, more prisoners add to the lists.

At 9:00 a.m., Foro Penal reported 891 detainees: by 3:00 p.m., there were already 939. Many of their relatives have stopped by the FP offices in Caracas; others are on their way; and others will inevitably do so later, for they will have to travel thousands of miles from their homes to get to the courts that charge people detained for political reasons with terrorism.

And it is right there, in those offices full of pro bono lawyers and volunteers, where they will be advised and comforted by El Abuelo.

Day 7.
August 4, 10:00 a.m.
11 dead, 968 detained.

A week that feels like a month. So many things have happened… The opposition published evidence that their candidate is the one who won the election. A president was proclaimed with no verification of results. Threats. Arrests. Sheer terror.

What will happen tomorrow? How does one live in a country facing the worse escalation of repression in its entire history? What does one do with the fear? Gonzalo Himiob has been asking these questions himself since July 28. And the answer is always the same: you push through it and see it as motivation to continue to help people.

His team couldn’t agree more, even if violence hits like a truck. Tomorrow, at 8:00 a.m., the number will have risen to upwards of 1,000 detainees.

One month later.
September 3, 9:00 a.m.
1,585 people detained (since July 28)

At the reception desk, two people who have just arrived from Ciudad Guayana register for the first time; at least 10 more are waiting inside, and two have already left with instructions. Yesterday, detainees’ relatives arrived from Upata, Punto Fijo, Trujillo, Barinas, and Mérida. The main room —with two spacious sofas, four tables with chairs— is not packed with people, though. Marcano says it is because of the rain, for they worked nonstop the day before. But it’s just 10:30 a.m. and El Abuelo already knows that it’s going to be a long day.

As of August 26, Foro Penal had reported 1,581 detainees, or 1,780 if one adds those who have been for months or years now behind bars for political reasons. Of that total, 240 were women and 1,550 were men; 1,624 were civilians and 156 were military officers; 1,666 were adults and 114 were adolescents. Some have been released, including 107 who were detained in post-election protests, 86 of them minors; but another 149 were convicted for terrorism and other crimes.

They used to assist two to three people a day, but now it is 40 to 50. They used to call it a day at 4:00 p.m., but now they have lunch at 5:00 p.m. and work until 9:00 or 10:00 p.m. In the 10 years since the ONG was established, they had never had to sleep in the office. But now phones do not stop ringing and WhatsApp notifications do not cease to arrive. There is someone printing out forms; someone calling a detainee’s family member to know (and update) the time he or she is scheduled to be released and the precautionary measures he or she has been issued.

During the nationwide blackout on Friday, they had no electricity, but they did have work to do, for the authorities didn’t miss the opportunity to transfer detainees en masse without notifying their families because there was no communication possible.

They work despite the fear. Because the fear has not stopped. The fear and the uncertainty.

They work for the ones in jail, but also for those outside; for the mothers and fathers who have been left alone; for the children who are now without their mom and dad, such as Marcano’s neighbors —aged 13, 5 and 3— who are being fed by the community because their mother was beaten up and snatched from her house by 40 men in uniform, even if she had done nothing wrong; and for the mother of three who lives in a slum and has no idea how to provide for her kids because her husband was killed; and for their families and children, who do not understand what is happening or why; and for the sons and daughters who had to leave for another country.

For what is to come.

For what is happening now.

It is true that some prisoners have been released, but of the 1,834 political prisoners on record as of September 16, when figures were last updated, 1,692 had been detained in the context of post-election protests, and 60 are were 14 to 17.

Even so, there is one thing they know for a fact: evil never rests, but neither does good.

 

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