By Jessica Dos Santos on March 31, 2025
The Venezuelan government’s discourse surrounding migration has evolved a lot in the last few years. It almost resembles the different stages of grief.
First, there was denial, especially given how some organizations published inflated figures and opposition figures tried to draw political capital from them.
Then there was anger at the idea that many had chosen to abandon their homeland. In hitting back against criticism from outside, many officials tore into migrants who had left to “clean toilets” and “pursue the American dream.”
Later there was acceptance: the brutal economic crisis, deeply tied to US economic sanctions, had forced Venezuelans to search for better options elsewhere, even if they had never wanted to leave home.
Finally, there was some coming to grips with the difficult situation, sympathy for the conditions faced by migrants abroad and, why not say it, love. Love as an ability to recognize differences but to wish someone else well, wherever they may be.
Along this journey, one of the government’s initiatives was the Return to the Homeland Plan, a program to facilitate a return home for Venezuelan migrants, free of charge. It was created in 2018, and since then, we have seen televised flight arrivals, with compatriots overjoyed to return home. Many came back with little more than the clothes they had on, having struggled to make ends meet, far away from their loved ones and targeted by brutal xenophobia.
Tens of thousands have returned via this program, most of them from other Latin American countries. And while they came back, others trekked toward the United States, often crossing the perilous Darien Gap in Panama. They now find themselves in the eye of the storm.
To this day, it is hard to have a precise account of how many Venezuelans are in the US. According to the Migration Policy Institute, there are some 770,000 Venezuelan nationals in US territory, less than 2 percent of the 47,8 million registered migrants. According to Donald Trump, the recently-rescinded Temporary Protected Status (TPS) applied to 600,000 Venezuelans who, in his opinion, all belong to Tren de Aragua.
Put differently, a criminal gang is clearly being used, with its capacity and reach clearly exaggerated, in order to generate the necessary excuses for renewed attacks against Venezuela: sanctions, tariffs and, naturally, the inhuman treatment of migrants. The worst example so far was the deportation of 238 of them to El Salvador.
This “unusual” move was built on a law almost as old as the US itself, the 1798 Alien Enemies Act. This instrument was only applied on three occasions: during the war with the United Kingdom, especially after British troops burned the White House, and during the First and Second World Wars.
Do any of these scenarios remotely resemble the present? Clearly not.
The very US government said in a legal affidavit that, though some of those forcibly expelled have criminal records in the US, many do not. It would be a matter of defining “some” and “many.” US courts themselves have challenged the White House’s actions.
The arguments put forward to charge Venezuelans are weak or dubious, mostly based on profiling superficial things like tattoos or social media posts. According to the Texas Department of Public Safety, Tren de Aragua members have “star tattoos on their shoulders” somehow reflecting their status within the organizations, as well as crowns “similar to those of the Latin Kings,” another armed gang in the US.
Not just that, “they carry tattoos of firearms, grenades, trains, dice, roses, animals like tigers, jaguars, etc. Sentences like ‘Real Madrid til death’ or ‘Child of God’ are also common.” So, to summarize, if you happen to like flowers, wild cats, soccer, or believe in God, and decided to get a tattoo reflecting that… well you’re screwed.
One such case is Gustavo Aguilera, a 27-year-old Venezuelan who lived in Dallas (Texas) with his wife and two young kids. He had a legal, temporary work permit and worked as a deliverer, but had the tragic idea of going out of his house to take out the garbage, unaware that he would be seized by ICE agents. Without explaining anything, he was taken to a detention center. Three weeks later, he was in El Salvador.
This modus operandi, without any formal charge or court order, zero evidence, no conviction, and, worst of all, no chance of appeal, was used to send 238 Venezuelans to the infamous CECOT anti-terrorism prison, the largest such facility in El Salvador. It was unveiled by President Nayib Bukele in 2023, with a capacity for 40,000 inmates and a reputation built on its inhuman conditions.
The relatives of the detained Venezuelans (or should we say kidnapped?) have rejected the criminal charges thrown in the media, instead demanding their liberation and safe return.
“Mi son is no criminal, he’s never been arrested. He has tattoos because it’s a trend among barbers, not because he’s in a gang.” These were the words of Mirelys Casique, mother of 30-year-old Francisco García, who lived in Phoenix (Arizona) and worked as a barber until he was arrested on his way to the supermarket.
“This has been torture for us, an injustice. My son is no criminal,” said Antonia Barrios, mother of Jerce Reyes, a 36-year-old former professional goalkeeper detained because of a tattoo that brings together his religious faith and passion for Real Madrid. Oh and also because of a photo on social media where he makes a gesture that US authorities claim only gang members make.
This is the level of “evidence” used to determine membership in a criminal outfit classified as a foreign terrorist organization. Even US intelligence agencies have contradicted the White House’s assertion that the deported migrants belong to Tren de Aragua.
“My son wrote to me, asking for my blessing because he was being moved. ‘God willing, we’ll return today.’ He thought he was coming back to Venezuela. And then we knew nothing, until we saw him being dragged into a maximum security prison in El Salvador. He’s just a kid… I know he’s scared,” explained Juan Terán about his son Carlos Daniel Terán, a young man who just turned 18. Not even old enough to drink in the US!
The Salvadoran Constitution and laws make no provision for a situation like this. The penal system has no faculties to receive detainees prosecuted and charged in other countries. Still, for Bukele the priority is getting the $20,000 that Washington is paying per inmate per year. All in all, these Venezuelans end up in a legal limbo, not knowing where to turn to appeal against their arrest.
At the same time, the Venezuelan government is stepping up efforts to bring migrants back, not just the El Salvador group but also nationals on US soil. The mistreatment and stigma associated with migrants have created a common cause for the Venezuelan people. On multiple occasions, they have taken to the streets in support of brothers and sisters abroad, demanding respect for their human rights and encouraging their return.
Stuck on the other side is the US-puppet right-wing opposition, trapped in its own contradictions. After spending years fostering migration while lending credence to criminalizing discourses, it now cannot lift a finger to oppose the abuses committed against Venezuelans. Staying on Trump’s good side is way more important. Priorities!
Jessica Dos Santos is a Venezuelan university professor, journalist and writer whose work has appeared in outlets such as RT, Épale CCS magazine and Investig’Action. She is the author of the book “Caracas en Alpargatas” (2018). She’s won the Aníbal Nazoa Journalism Prize in 2014 and received honorable mentions in the Simón Bolívar National Journalism prize in 2016 and 2018.
Source: Venezuela Analysis