Venezuela’s Maduro marks a decade in power: Can civil society weather more?

Ten years ago, Venezuela underwent a seismic shift with the death of President Hugo Chávez. His hand-picked successor, Nicolás Maduro, has successfully held on to power, despite the tanking economy, jaw-dropping inflation, and international sanctions over human rights violations that have defined the past decade in Venezuela.

Mr. Maduro, a former bus driver and union organizer who lacks the charisma of his predecessor, has endured in large part by leaning into repressing and censoring opponents, experts say. Now his government is pushing a proposal that could shutter the remaining vestiges of democratic society in the lead-up to a 2024 presidential vote.

The proposed law, which passed the first of two rounds in the National Assembly in late January, targets nongovernmental organizations and independent media outlets. Despite serious threats, NGOs are pushing back. From exchanging tactics with organizations that have faced similar repression in places like Nicaragua and Cuba, to providing support for Venezuelans from outside the country’s borders, to using nontraditional methods like songs to disseminate vital information to the public, civil society is adapting and sending a message to the Maduro government that they won’t go quietly.

“Authoritarian governments see the presence of scrutiny as a threat to their own existence,” says Marta Valiñas, chair of the United Nations Fact-Finding Mission on Venezuela. In a 2022 U.N. report, her team documented how dissenting voices in Venezuela face arbitrary detentions, threats, physical and verbal aggression, and even torture.

“Civil society is crucial for democratic and civic dialogue,” Ms. Valiñas says, which is why, she believes, Mr. Maduro is once again cracking down.

“Much, much, much worse”

Over the past decade, 1 in 5 Venezuelans have migrated or sought asylum abroad. Political parties have been obliterated, opposition politicians have been imprisoned or expelled from the Andean nation, independent media have been shuttered and harassed, and the judicial system has been gutted, bending to the will of the president and his allies.

After more than a year without formal communication between Venezuela’s opposition and Mr. Maduro’s government, political talks kick-started again late last year. There were a handful of breakthroughs, including the signing a humanitarian agreement that would allow Venezuela access to frozen assets for humanitarian purposes. It also led to the United States easing some sanctions around oil production. The opposition, alongside the U.S. and the European Union, is demanding free and fair 2024 presidential elections; however, a date has not yet been agreed upon.

The proposed Law on Control, Regularization, Operations, and Financing of Non-Governmental and Related Organizations, popularly known as the “anti-NGO law,” could stifle what remains of civil society inside Venezuela. NGOs are relied upon to fill gaps in information the government no longer makes public, to provide medical and humanitarian support as malnutrition grows, and to share research with international watchdogs barred from entering the country.

When Mr. Maduro was tapped as Mr. Chávez’s successor, analysts at the time expected he might keep up “anti-imperialist” rhetoric at home, but become more pragmatic on the international stage.

During his 14 years in office, Mr. Chávez pushed an agenda that focused on lifting the poor through petrodollar-subsidized food and education. When world oil prices plummeted in 2014, Venezuela fell into a seemingly bottomless recession, and Mr. Maduro has coped not by making concessions, but instead by doubling down on an authoritarian approach to governance.

“Oil allowed the Chávez government to co-opt civil society,” says Steven Levitsky, director of the David Rockefeller Center for Latin American Studies and author of the book “How Democracies Die.” But, “the degree of repression got much, much, much worse after Chávez’s death.”

The proposed law would prohibit NGOs from carrying out “political activities,” or work that might “threaten national stability.” It would permit the government to demand financial records without cause and limit access to international funding, a lifeline for most NGOs operating in Venezuela.

Diosdado Cabello, vice president of Venezuela’s ruling socialist party, argues the law is necessary for the nation’s future, stating that NGOs “are conspiring against the country, against the Venezuelans. ... They’re instruments of imperialism.”

Critics say the law would make organizations even more vulnerable to harassment, exposing anyone who is critical of Mr. Maduro’s political projects to threats and possibly prison.

Venezuela’s NGOs are “key to accountability,” says José Ignacio Hernandez, professor of administrative law at Universidad Central de Venezuela and visiting fellow at Harvard Growth Lab.

“By approving this law and by boycotting international aid to NGOs, Maduro is making sure to create an obstacle for the organization of the primaries,” he says.

“Maduro does not need a special law to silence NGOs and reduce their accountability, because for that he can exercise repression as has already happened,” he says. From Mr. Hernandez’s perspective, what Mr. Maduro seeks is to halt competition in upcoming votes in a way that comes off as legitimate under the law, and for that, this law will be key.

Trying to adapt

This isn’t the first time the government has attempted to muzzle its critics. There are more than a dozen laws and regulations that restrict civil society in Venezuela, according to Venezuelan NGO Access to Justice. That includes a July 2010 Supreme Court ruling that those receiving international funding could be tried for “treason.”

Currently, the government says it has more than 60 NGOs (out of an estimated 300 to 500) under review, including Provea, a human rights group that has operated for more than 30 years. Provea once worked to defend Mr. Maduro’s labor rights when he was a bus driver in Caracas before entering politics.

Venezuelan NGOs have built resilience in an ever-more-extreme political environment over the past two decades. Civil disobedience and filing international complaints have been key responses, says Rafael Uzcátegui, general coordinator of Provea. Civil society has tapped new approaches to reach the public, leaning into music, poetry, and graphic novels to inform Venezuelans about their human rights.

“We will continue to do the same work that we’ve been doing since the beginning of these threats,” insists Gabriela Buada Blondell, director and founder of Caleidoscopio Humano, a Venezuelan human rights organization. “We will raise awareness, denounce, and communicate to international bodies,” she says, despite real fear. She says the government has attempted to hack into her organization’s website and databases twice this year.

Despite a commitment to keep working, she says she often worries time is running out: “We don’t know if we’re going to be as lucky as we’ve previously been” in fighting repressive laws.

Some working in civil society have coped by leaving Venezuela behind physically – but not their dedication to human rights. Ana Karina García fled Venezuela in 2018 following government persecution for her involvement in youth politics. Her response was to launch Juntos Se Puede in her new home of Colombia. The NGO supports Venezuelan migrants and asylum-seekers in procuring legal documentation, applying for health care, and through community support, education, and job training. At the organization’s Cúcuta location, along the Colombia-Venezuela border, a group of migrants sit in a circle on a recent afternoon, discussing their reasons for fleeing home and hopes for the future. Tear-filled scenes like this one remind Ms. García she made the right decision.

“We realized that there were thousands of Venezuelans in very precarious situations,” she says. “We created a model to take care of migrants, based on our own experiences.”

Venezuelan civil society has looked to NGOs in other repressive countries for inspiration. During the pandemic, Mr. Uzcátegui connected on Zoom to discuss his work and tactics for keeping his doors open with human-rights defenders in Nicaragua and Cuba. The camaraderie eventually moved offline, with a meetup in a third country.

“We’re all convinced,” he says. We need to stay united in order “to have a much stronger impact on the defense of human rights.”