# Housing, public space and dictatorship in Venezuela

Yaneira Wilson

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Yaneira Wilson. Housing, public space and dictatorship in Venezuela. Poner el cuerpo en Latinx América, Association des études latino-américaines (LASA), May 2025, San Francisco, United States & Virtual, United States. hal-05533611

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Housing, public space and dictatorship in Venezuela

By Yaneira Wilson

Architect, socio-urban planner

Statues of Chavez toppled, 'cacerolazos' and demonstrations: this summer, the streets of Venezuela rose up in protest against the contested re-election of Nicolas Maduro. Public space has become the last bastion of democratic expression in a country where Chavist power has succeeded in controlling the private sphere through ideological clientelism.

Caracas, Sunday 28 July 2024 at midnight, the banging of pots and pans resounded throughout the Venezuelan capital after the solemn announcement by the CNE (Consejo Nacional Electoral) proclaiming Nicolas Maduro, leader of the country since 2013, winner of the elections (52%) ahead of Edmundo Gonzalez Urrutia<fnref n="1" />, the main candidate of the opposition party, Mesa Unidad Democratica (MUD). “The result is irreversible” proclaimed Elvis Amoroso, President of the CNE, while at the same time explaining that a “server cyberattack” had delayed the verification and, as such, the announcement of the results. No justification or official proof was issued: these few words alone represented the formal announcement of a new six-year term for the current president. While a sumptuous firework display was held in the town centre of Caracas, the sound of kitchen pots being hammered in protest continued to spread from tower block to favela, from the working class to the poshest districts of the town, marking a divide in the country, a dissociation of the inhabitants from the ruling power. In certain neighbourhoods, the population had begun to mobilise the day before, spending the night in front of the polling stations to make sure they could cast their ballots as soon as they opened, rightly or wrongly expecting early closure of the polling stations or violence by the civil guerilla forces armed by the state to “maintain order” in the town’s pauperised districts. While the country had already had two supposedly rigged elections, the presidential elections of 2013 and 2018, there was no reason to suspect that the cheating claimed at the time by the opposition party (MUD) would be confirmed once more. During these last elections of 2024, the scenario seemed to be different. The unofficial estimates circulating at the time on social media showed the opposition as clear favourites. The MUD had managed to kindle a hope of change with an unprecedented mobilisation (nearly 70% of voters), even though 4 of the 7 million Venezuelans who had left the country to escape the regime in power were prevented from voting. Furthermore, the opposition party had anticipated and organised the presence of observers in two thirds of the country’s polling stations to collect and share the results, ballot station by ballot station, on a platform accessible to all². On the date of the vote, nobody had dared to suppose that any further usurping of the result could be possible faced with the huge gap (nearly 20 points) separating the two sides. In the end, since Nicolas Maduro’s accession to power, the suspicion of electoral fraud keeps coming back like a chorus. As if the current president of the Bolivarian government had never succeeded in convincing people of the legitimacy of his heritage, of this position as head of state following the transfer of power to him by Hugo Chavez before he died of cancer.

<footnote n="1">¹ At the time of publication of this article, Edmundo González Urrutia is a political refugee in Spain, momentarily putting paid to any hope by millions of Venezuelans of having their vote recognised.
² https://resultadosconvzla.com/</footnote>
## Public space, the last place of democratic expression?

In one night, the wrath of a people whose democratic rights had been scorned replaced the shock of the results. The immense frustration of the Venezuelan people rapidly crept into the domestic sphere with the banging of pots and pans in the public domain where, during the afternoon of 29 July, the streets of Caracas and all the country's other towns became the venue of numerous spontaneous demonstrations. Even more emblematic, three statues of Hugo Chavez were toppled, marking a turning point in the history of the Bolivarian revolution: never during protests had angry crowds attacked the spiritual leader of the so-called "socialism of the 21st century". How did this government, already known for imposing its authority, manage to forcefully cling on to power, despite this rejection by nearly 70% of the population? What role did public and private space play in the totalitarian political system now in place? How was this system set in place and how did it lead to public space being the only place possible for contestation?

For many years, a certain prudence was adopted by researchers and observers alike in qualifying the Venezuelan government as authoritative rather than totalitarian. The regional and European left preferred, sometimes without discernment, to defend economic interests (advantageous agreements involving petrol or minerals) or ideological interests (the hope raised during the 2000s by the South American socialist "pink tide"). Today, there is no left-right duality or democratic system in Venezuelan politics, because even if the institutional machinery exists, it has once again proven itself to be under the sway of the government<fnref n="3" />, and unable to guarantee democratic expression. The strong state repression which began right after the presidential elections and government's refusal to dialogue with its opponents marks a net shift from authoritarianism towards totalitarianism, according to the definition given by Hannah Arendt (1951)<fnref n="4" />: the manipulation of an "atomised mass" by an ideology which aims to eradicate differences, which are a prerequisite for democratic debate. This repression could be seen through the meteoric rise in irregular practices (random arrests, the kidnapping of protesters, denunciations) in both public and private spaces. Michel Foucault (1975)<fnref n="5" /> showed, through the Bentham's Panopticon, how housing had become a tool for surveillance. But this was on the scale of a building. Later, Western social reformers in Europe turned housing into a tool for social integration and inclusion, affiliation even according to Castel (1995)<fnref n="6" />. Admittedly, the production of housing has always been a tool for the surveillance of individuals in Stalinian systems, but the anchoring of a dictatorship through private space seems to be specific to Venezuela.

## The missions: parallel government organisations

The Bolivarian Revolution, a symbol of social justice, and 21st century socialism, initially launched by Hugo Chávez, brought hope in the face of natural catastrophes and the previous governments which took little interest in social issues. Since the beginning of the 2000s, the country has seen its public institutions dismantled in favour of a new set-up known as the "Missions" which, from agriculture to

<footnote n="3">³ The Consejo Nacional Electoral (CNE) enacted the election of the president without presenting any official deeds (electoral process documents) or ballot count to the citizens and third party countries who asked for proof; the Supreme Tribunal of Justice, the highest judicial body, validated the CNE results following the action lodged by Nicolas Maduro for "attempted coup d'État" by the opposition party. Argentina, Costa Rica, Chili, Ecuador, Guatemala, Panama, Paraguay, Peru, the Dominican Republic, Uruguay and the United States state that they categorically reject the TSJ court's announcement concerning an alleged verification of the results of the electoral process.</footnote>

<footnote n="4">⁴ Hannah, ARENDT. (1972). Le système totalitaire. Paris: Éditions du Seuil, coll. » Points Essais.</footnote>

<footnote n="5">⁵ Foucault, M. (1975). Surveiller et punir. Naissance de la prison/Éditions Gallimard.</footnote>

<footnote n="6">⁶ Castel, R. (1995). Les pièges de l'exclusion. Lien social et Politiques, (34), 13-21.</footnote>
housing via mobility, education and health, developed programmes to combat poverty in response to
social emergencies. The biggest of these Missions, the Great Mission Housing Venezuela (GMVV),
launched in 2011, planned for massive construction throughout the country of 3 million homes in ten
years, i.e. 300 000 each year, on national real estate property which was considered at the time to be
able to accommodate 8.2 million homes. In 2018, the target was increased again to 5 million homes to
be built by 2025. However, this project now seems to be in contradiction with the massive exodus of
Venezuelans observed over the past decade, since 7.7 million exiles have left the country due to the
serious political and social crisis it is traversing: raging inflation, regular lack of water and electricity
supply, insufficient wages (on average 3 dollars per month) inexistant social security and widespread
insecurity. In addition, this Mission – like the others – is based on a so-called democratic and participative
approach, since it installs a new “Power of the people” which promises executive power to the “people”
with the constitution by the inhabitants of forms of communitarian self-government called communal
councils and the “communes”. Yet this new power coexists with the elected institutions, without any
reorganisation of the decision-making processes having been formalised, making these new loci of
power appear, in the name of the “people”, to undermine the legitimacy of the traditional institutions,
but also to obstruct the electoral principle by giving priority to a clientelist system: “only those who
adhere to the ideology participate. In the same way, this new layer of governance championed Hugo
Chávez, who was already admired and recognised, as a leader of social transformation. Right from his
accession to power, he was associated in the collective imaginary with the eradication of poverty and
the end of injustice and inequality”. His election, this time incontestable, seemed to give hope back to a
population who saw him as a divine grace. But the dream of an entire population began to fade, little by
little.

The vulnerability of the territory and the eyes of Chavez

Venezuela, a highly vulnerable territory, suffers from recurrent climatic events: heavy rains, flooding and
landslides, drought, earthquakes... Each new catastrophe leaves its footprint like the "Tragedy of Vargas"
(15 December 1999 in the state of Vargas), which caused the death of 15 000 to 30 000 people and left
thousands of people homeless. In this already chaotic context, the rainy episodes of 2011 made the
situation worse, plunging the inhabitants into an extremely vulnerable position. This succession of
climatic events, among the most destructive of the last forty years, was all the more damaging in that
since the 1950s, the urban fabric of the city of Grand Caracas characterised by "informal housing"
resulting from the rural exodus, has been particularly sensitive to the hazards of bad weather. These
violent events have had a particularly harsh effect on the population, both psychologically and physically,
generating a new status of climate refugees, which the GMVV had to provide an answer to.

Due to its urban and architectural aspect and the location of certain complexes, this vast programme
involving the large-scale construction of housing has attracted and continues to incite criticism: small
windows, no balcony and interior utilities, sites some distance from the nearest town with no mobility
plan, no access to the water and electricity supply.... Despite these shortcomings, it was accompanied
by a territorial political marketing campaign which was little short of propaganda. The eyes of Chavez
and other political slogans began to appear on the walls of buildings, even inside apartments, as testified
by certain inhabitants: "all the time, Chavez is watching us"... This idea for a visual communication
strategy emerged during the presidential campaign of 2012, at the initiative of José Miguel España, a
member of the political group Comando Creativo Propaganda Bolivariana, with graphic reproductions
inspired by pop art and displayed massively on walls in public spaces, in line with the founding principles

<footnote n="7">⁷ Wilson, Y. (2021). Faire du logement social un bien commun ? Regards vénézuéliens. Métropolitiques.</footnote>
of this popular art form which promotes consumption. Phrases in admiration of Chavez accompanied political speeches and were spread around the towns. “To keep Chavez alive, his words, his image, his predictions, his example must be written. Latin Americans and Caribbeans are sons and daughters of art, politics, Chavez was a creator, a political artist, an artist of love for the people” recalls José Miguel España. Chávez’ eyes and signature therefore covered the urban environment – public buildings, buildings in precarious neighbourhoods, billboards, walls and facades of the GMVV operation…- establishing a cult of the leader. Going beyond an instrument of communication, this new visual identity was to become a highly powerful tool for GMVV housing where the intrusive or even inquisitorial omnipresence (in the homes) of Chavez’s look and signature could be seen as representing a form of state ownership of the signed objects.

Certain people interviewed<fnref n="8" /> referred to the GMVV social housing as “the houses of Chavez”. While it was indeed him who promoted the public policy for the attribution of homes, in exchange for this signed “gift” (no ownership deed or rental agreement) bearing his look, the beneficiaries were asked to be respectful and politically loyal to the government in place (Wilson 2021)<fnref n="9" />. This results in a mutually beneficial pact which places public action at the service of the state’s political ideology, going well beyond the political proselytism or clientelism encountered in other contexts in which social housing is attributed. In the end, it creates a moral debt like a feeling of very strong gratitude towards the regime’s historical leader. And the price to pay? Unwavering moral support for the regime.

## The commissions and the “Tun Tun operation” (knock-knock)

During fieldwork (studies, interviews)³ carried out from 2015 until today, the implementation of territorial management instruments such as the Homeland card (Carnet de la Patria) has been questioned. This new national card, with its QR code, appears to be the equivalent of an ID card, which indicates both individual membership of a political party or social organisations, and the missions or aid which the individual benefits from. While presented as not obligatory, it is required by anyone applying for the food boxes provided by the Local Committees for Supply and Production (CLAP), as well as for social housing. According to Margarita López Maya (2018), “in response to the extreme non-governability of daily life (...) the Homeland Card and CLAP are the new clientelist circuits through which public resources transit in exchange for political loyalty”<fnref n="10" />, which also feed an entire network of corruption. While several observers note that the Homeland card has become an instrument of government exchange and repression, the inhabitants underline the existence of political abuses. (Wilson, 2024)<fnref n="11" />. During the massive manifestations which shook the country in 2017, the inhabitants of the GMVV complained about finding the same symbol drawn on their door or on the wall of their homes: a red circle with a line through it (Ø). They accused the pro-government armed commissions of openly marking opposition houses. According to a NATO report, “Armed civilian pro-government groups, known as “commissions” contributed to a deterioration of the situation by exercising social control and helping to quash the manifestations”. After the electoral fraud in 2024, the intrusion into private space via the Tun Tun operation was somewhat reminiscent of the dark days when opposition houses had been

Commenté [gp1]: Qui alimente ? S'accorde avec quoi? Devrait être au pluriel?

Commenté [WwY1R2]: oui

Commenté [gp2]: C'est bien ça l'idée des dérives partisanes?

Commenté [WwY2R2]: Oui, exactement

<footnote n="8">⁸ Around fifty people were interviewed as part of a doctorate thesis on urbanism and sociology presented at the University of Nanterre in 2022. I continued this research with several interviews in the country, once a year with different GMVV inhabitants as well as inhabitants of other sectors and various actors of urban production.</footnote>

<footnote n="9">⁹ Wilson, Y. (2021). Marketing político-territorial en el espacio público y en la política de vivienda social de la Revolución Bolivariana. El caso de Venezuela. Revista Investigaciones Geográficas.</footnote>

<footnote n="10">¹⁰ López Maya, M. (2018). Socialismo y comunas en Venezuela. Nueva Sociedad, (274).</footnote>

<footnote n="11">¹¹ Wilson, Y. (2024). Transformations territoriales dans « l'État communal » au Venezuela. Alternances critiques et dominations ordinaires en Amérique latine, 73-98.</footnote>
marked, this time with an “x”. “Knock knock who’s there? The people of peace”<fnref n="12" />, this Christmas nursery rhyme illustrates the cynicism of the repressive operation which was set in place as of 29 July 2024 to arrest the protesters in their living space and send them without trial to detention centres. Arrests as a result of informants or an x marked on the doors by the commissions.... During the summer of 2024, the law enforcement’s “knock knocks” let it be known that in a GMVV home or district patrolled by these government militia, contesting the result of an election was considered as a betrayal of your country, and as such, of Chavez. The highly publicised story of the police investigator Oscar Perez, who lived in one of the GMVV homes in avenue Bolivar in the town centre of Caracas, was a landmark. In 2018, he was evicted, then assassinated live on social media by the state, for having expressed his disagreement with government policy. The first of the Tun Tun operations<fnref n="13" />, it marked the beginnings of a form of repression: “an objector cannot live... and even less so in the GMVV”. As explained by the researchers Keymar Ávila and Magdalena López (2023), over the years, from Chavez to Maduro, the Venezuelan state has turned into a war machine which operates through a “privatisation of state sovereignty in a context of war which normalises exclusion and the extermination of sectors of the civilian population” at the slightest opposition (or difference in opinion) that interferes with the political objective.

Today, in Venezuela, the home is the place where you express your discontentment (on internet via social media) but also in spaces that can be seen and identified by the authorities. Although your home should be a shelter, and although social housing, built by the public authorities, should offer security to those most in need, it has become a place of control and ambivalence. “Better than before” (shantytowns in many cases), private space is also synonymous with “residential stress”. This can be felt on an intellectual level with the loss of any freedom of expression at the risk of seeing the security forces barge in, but also in daily life, with difficulties going out (risk of being arrested), and procuring basic necessities (cost of living). “Taking care” can no longer be taken for granted like washing, eating, sleeping. When you hear the little knocks on the door, like with the Tun Tun Operation, the home becomes a prison, a place of psychological and physical imprisonment. This intrusion into intimacy even goes as far as mobile phones with a recent law, the “law against hatred” <fnref n="14" />, authorising the police to seize and check the content of a telephone without a search warrant. So anyone who opposes the government or who has images, photos or messages against the “Bolivarian Revolution” may face 8 to 10 years in prison. These persecutions have been used, since 29 July 2024, to target protesters accused by the government of being “terrorists” and “fascists”: more than 2000 people have been jailed for having expressed disagreement with the elections, and regrettably 25 deaths have been reported.

<footnote n="12">¹² “Tun Tun, quién es ? Gente de paz”. This is a traditional Christmas song, which is very famous and well known by all Venezuelans. The song is generally sung by children and symbolises a spirit of peace with the words “let us in, it’s Christmas”.</footnote>

<footnote n="13">¹³ This is an illegal practice carried out in the framework of the arbitrary repression of any opposition by the Venezuelan government. Government officers (police, army) enter homes to seek out “traitors” and “fascists” according to the terms used by the State. After the last elections, this practice went even further with the cancellation of opponents’ passports, preventing them from leaving the country. For more information: https://www.bbc.com/afrique/articles/c4gld7x2ejvo</footnote>

<footnote n="14">¹⁴ According to the defence of human rights NGO, PROVEA, this law is unconstitutional and makes it possible to circumvent the necessary legal procedures against the citizens accused. Initially created in 2017, according to the Inter-American Commission on human rights, this law “establishes exorbitant criminal sanctions and powers to censor traditional media and the Internet, in contradiction with international standards regarding freedom of expression”. For more information on this question: https://www.courrierinternational.com/article/au-venezuela-le-pouvoir-edicte-une-loi-contre-la-haine-pour-museler-lopposition</footnote>
“They (the state) have taken everything from us, even fear”

The control and “clientelism” operated through social housing and the new territorial management tools
help to understand why public space has become the only recourse for a return to democracy in
Venezuela. The explanation that we hear in the public uprisings of August 2024 is self-evident: “they
have taken so much from us that they have even taken away our fear”, “I don’t want CLAP. I want a salary
so I can live decently”. These expressions that are repeated from demonstration to demonstration bear
witness to the search for a new solidarity. Rather than suffer from isolation in an apartment-prison, a
repressive environment, and despite the fear of being denounced, the fight against residential stress has
led thousands of persons, both young and older, inhabitants of the poorer districts as well as more
affluent neighbourhoods, to march into the street to express hope in a new sense of community, of living
together “freely”.

During the recent demonstrations, simply going out of the house established a strong bond of solidarity, the sort that is missing in any totalitarian society where, as Hannah Arendt points out, the individual, terrified of being denounced - even by friends and family - finds the ground taken from under their feet and feels nothing but a sentiment of "desolation". Shoulder to shoulder in the crowd, protesters rediscover their sense of existence and the security they lost by remaining alone in their apartment faced with the dictatorial power. While the dictatorship took away their right to speak, they rediscover social connections which support them and accompany them in their refusal to be afraid: parents and friends who share the same ideas. Bodily warmth, mixed transpiration and united voices reveal a social fabric that is different to that of ice-cold, brutal totalitarianism. Of course, many wear masks so as not be recognised by the authorities. But it's still in the crowd's public space that they mark their presence and express their anger.

Have the Western media understood that what is playing out in Venezuela at the end of the summer of 2024 is nothing more than the umpteenth farce of an umpteenth corrupt Stalinian regime? What are the landmarks, the advancements of the Chavist policy implemented over the last 25 years? The angry protesters complain that “The country is in a state of chaos. Water supply cut-offs, power cuts, even internet interruptions are so common and sometimes last so long that we feel even more isolated”. Worse still “people are hungry here” they agree, when a doctor, teacher earns 10 dollars a month, and a coffee costs 1 dollar, a kilo of avocados 4 dollars, a litre of petrol 0.5 dollars... a paradox in a country which has exceptional natural resources (petrol, minerals) and where everything grows if you bother to plant a seed!

Being confined inside, the massive use of internet and the intrusion into privacy call for an in-depth
reflection on the relationship between individuals and political authorities in the digital world of today.
Within this line of thought, there must be room for indignation. For the indignation of José, who in
August 2024 witnessed fraud in the polling station of a small fishing village to the east of Caracas.
Formerly Chavez supporters, his village backed the opposition party massively, with more than 70% of
the votes. He claimed "They have the power because they are armed, we only have "voting summaries".
They want to put me in prison, I know they are coming, but there are a lot of other witnesses with me
and I hope the situation will have changed by the time they come". He resisted the intimidation of the
authorities with his companion who pointed to the hills overlooking their village with the two "castles"
belonging to the highest ranking state officials: "we would like to burn them (the houses) with them
inside, but we won't, when they leave, we will transform the houses into hospitals". Whereas the
authorities build prisons, the opponents of the dictator and his "generals" dream of building hospitals.
We must see the light in the eyes of those who rise up, because as the philosopher Gilles Deleuze wrote: "Power needs sadness because it can dominate it. Joy, therefore, is resistance because it does not give up. Joy, as the power of life, leads us to places where sadness would never take us"<fnref n="15" />. Shaking the building, some are working harder than others to make sure that the current government can no longer rely on the consent of a population whose support it had taken for granted. Eugène Enriquez reminds us that "one day (and not the big night) power changes hands, fades away, transforms because thousands of people no longer give it their support, because they act differently and pronounce other words"<fnref n="16" />, and as the last presidential elections show, this is the wish of most of the voters, and citizens of this country, who can speak other words in public spaces even though state repression and the general absence of "Rule of law" continue.

<footnote n="15">¹⁵ Deleuze, G. (1981). Spinoza : Philosophie pratique. Les Editions de Minuit.</footnote>

<footnote n="16">¹⁶ Enriquez, E. (2007). Clinique du pouvoir. Érès.</footnote>