How not to be so in the Venezuelan context? How to avoid despising a group of people who brings an entire country to its knees for not letting go of power? How can I avoid feeling pain and tending to blame those who elected a project that separated me from my family? How can I avoid wishing they “pay” for what they did? How cannot I wish for a “way out at any cost”? I have asked myself all these questions since the moment Chavismo rose to power in 1999. Over the last almost 22 years, I have taken out to the street, organized protests, and dedicated myself to the study of Venezuelan politics while yearning for a transition. However, something unimaginable has happened to me in this long process: as the regime becomes more authoritarian, I started walking away from opposition radicalism, something that I did not expect.

The theories that explain voting patterns highlight, for example, that the social context in which people operate can shape their political preferences. This was the case of countless supporters of traditional Venezuelan political parties such as Acción Democrática and COPEI, whose children voted just like their parents or the people around them. In my case, my anti-Chavista DNA was marked by my entourage from the beginning since I come from a family that supports the opposition. That “anti-Chavista identity” grew stronger over time and perhaps had the first milestone in 2002 when my father was fired from the state oil company PDVSA. Living firsthand the consequences of the dismantling of democracy and the persecution against those who disagree clearly affects you. Thus, a series of successive antidemocratic episodes fed my anti-Chavista sentiment and contributed to my “radicalization” – that idea that “they should leave now and at any cost” -. The persecution of many friends, the forced displacement of millions of Venezuelans, malnutrition – particularly in children – due to looting and corruption, and having to say goodbye to my grandparents over and over again, filled me with indescribable pain over time.

That pain, while legitimate and understandable, blinded me. For many years I lived in an opposition bubble that did not allow me to understand the other half of the country that believed in the Chavista project for a long time. I could not understand the passion for a populist and authoritarian leader like Chávez, nor the positions of the famous “Ni-Ni” (the people supporting neither Chavismo nor the opposition). I lived the opposition version of the crisis without questioning the leaders. For a long time, I did not criticize the opposition “because they are on the ground and they are doing a great effort” and I believed that “whoever criticizes the opposition plays Maduro’s game.” On a few occasions, I may have even believed in some conspiracy theory along the lines of “critics get paid.” Breaking with polarization, or at least trying to break with it, is very difficult because it is not “well regarded”. Family, friends, or public opinion, make it very difficult. There seems to be a kind of opposition militancy that you cannot get rid of without being called a “traitor” or putting your “anti-Chavista identity” in doubt. There has been a tendency to have to “prove your loyalty” and ratify the opposition identity over and over again before making any observations about how our leaders act, something absurd to say the least. This pattern is like a straitjacket that does not allow us to accept pluralism and act democratically within our own group.

Being questioned about the “side I belong to” just for disagreeing has made me wonder why I am no longer radical. There are many reasons, so I will mention only a couple. On the one hand, I have distanced myself from that mainstream opposition that I have called “reverse chavismo” due to its authoritarian and sectarian nature. Although not all opposition leaders agree with these practices, today it is difficult for them to differentiate precisely because of the straitjacket that has been imposed by the most radical sector. Nor do I identify with leaders and fellow nationals who celebrate Trump, Bolsonaro, or Vox just for having a radical speech against Maduro. It would be incoherent to cheer for other populist-authoritarian leaders knowing the serious consequences that they bring. On the other hand, it is basically impossible to study democratic transitions while keeping a radical position. Throughout my master’s degree and doctorate, and as I understood these processes from a comparative perspective, I gradually shed my bias. Uncompromising positions lead nowhere and world history confirms it. Of course, it is difficult to accept the trade-offs that transitions require, but if we do not assume them, we will be stuck ad infinitum.

The world is in a democratic recession. Today, 54% of the population lives in authoritarian regimes. If we want to get out of that high percentage, we have to start by dismantling our own authoritarian positions and behaviors. Sustainable democratization implies the rejection of Chavista authoritarianism and opposition authoritarianism. The biggest parties in the opposition need to differentiate themselves again through their actions and bring together, hand in hand with civil society and international allies, this latent desire for change. The pain we feel for the destruction of our country is legitimate, but we have to understand that radicalism cannot lead us to a better future. In other words, if a “miracle” happens and the opposition governs in the “reverse Chavismo” style, Venezuela will be able to recover its economy in the future, but it will not be able to heal the historical wounds that divide it.

Translated by José Rafael Medina