My people cheer a 'free Venezuela.' I worry about what's next. | Opinion

In the early hours of Jan. 3, the United States launched Operation Absolute Resolve, a series of unprovoked air strikes, raids and military operations across Venezuela that culminated in the abduction of President Nicolás Maduro and his wife, Cilia Flores. 

At least 40 Venezuelan citizens and 32 Cuban officers were killed in the operation. This aggressive invasion was preceded by a summary execution on the Caribbean Sea of more than 100 Venezuelan, Colombian and Trinidadian nationals since September under the pretext of drug smuggling. 

As a Venezuelan American humanities professor who addresses questions of colonialism and imperialism, I'm used to my students' shock when learning about U.S. interventions abroad. They often see their country as advancing democratic values, not undermining freedom and exploiting human rights.

And yet, I, too, found myself stunned as I exchanged frantic text messages with terrified family members in Venezuela during the night of the raid. Was this old record of coups, colonization and covert operations really playing itself out again?

The Venezuelan diaspora's celebration of Maduro's ousting – and their declaration that Venezuela might soon be “free” – masks deep fractures about what “free Venezuela” actually means, who gets to define it and how diasporas are often used for political purposes.

This matters because the voices often dominating the narrative – White, privileged, visa-holding Venezuelans in the United States – may push for a return to the pre-Hugo Chavez status quo that lined their pockets, but which led to one of the most socially stratified societies in Latin America. (Unsurprisingly, many of them also support President Donald Trump’s ambitions.) 

Images of jubilant Venezuelans don't tell our full story

Over the past several days, news outlets have shown Venezuelans, many in South Florida, jubilantly celebrating Maduro's ousting and declaring that their Venezuela is finally free. This enthusiasm even spilled over into my family's Venezuelan WhatsApp group, where cousins gleefully shared photos of Maduro blindfolded and in handcuffs.

Someone quipped that a Venezuelan baby would be named “Deltafors Donaltrom Vasquez” in Trump's honor. Others joked that Venezuela's national bird, "el turpial," would be known as el trumpial.

But not all Venezuelans are celebrating. Many, myself included, are experiencing mixed feelings: relief that Maduro is gone, concern about the legacy of the Bolivarian revolution and deep anxiety about what comes next, especially for the people still living in Venezuela. 

These differing reactions reveal opposing visions of Venezuela, imaginaries that are heavily influenced by the race and class of the diasporic community. Although an oversimplification, the Venezuelan diaspora consists of two waves:

The first wave had the privilege and financial resources to acquire visas, leave by plane and resettle comfortably in other countries. My family and I are part of this group. 

The second wave – composed of working-class and impoverished Venezuelans – fled on foot, walking thousands of miles in search of a better future. Often, however, they fell prey to the same violence and poverty that led to their departure in the first place.

'Free Venezuela' means nothing if it doesn't include all Venezuelans

Many of the Venezuelans jubilantly celebrating Maduro's removal are also celebrating what they see as the “death of socialism.” They are part of the middle- and upper-capitalist class who benefited from U.S.-backed governments and neoliberal reforms in Venezuela during the 1970s and 1980s – an era when Venezuela had Latin America's highest per capita income but also stark inequality and rampant racism and classism.

While oil wealth was concentrated in Caracas, the rural and urban poor faced limited access to education, health care and economic opportunity. These conditions were roundly ignored by many upper-class Venezuelans living in private, gated communities. 

The concern now is that this dominant diaspora narrative obscures fundamental disagreements about Venezuela's future, rooted in vastly different experiences of exodus and opposing class interests.

If Venezuela simply returns to the pre-Chavez arrangement where wealth is concentrated among elites while millions struggle, the country risks repeating the cycle that led to authoritarianism in the first place.

What Venezuela needs is not a return to the past, but a future that addresses the legitimate grievances that made “Chavismo” possible while building sustainable institutions and revitalizing political structures and processes. This means listening to all Venezuelan voices – including those who fled on foot, and those who remain largely absent from the celebratory narrative dominating our news feeds.

Without them, “free Venezuela” risks meaning freedom for some, but not for all.

Erica Eva Colmenares is an associate professor of humanities at California's San José State University. She is a Venezuelan American born in Caracas, Venezuela. She arrived in the United States at 17.