The Information Networks That Connect Venezuelans in Uncertain Times
At first On the morning of Saturday, January 3, the roar of bombs falling from the sky heralded the U.S. military attack on Venezuela, awakening the sleeping residents of La Carlota, Caracas, a neighborhood adjacent to the air base that was the target of Operation Absolute Resolve.
Marina G.’s first thought, as the floors, walls and windows of her second-story apartment shook, was that it was an earthquake. Her cat would run and hide for hours, while the neighbors’ dogs started barking non-stop. But the persistence of the strange hum of engines (military planes flying low over the city, she would later learn), as well as the sight of a group of cadets in T-shirts and shorts fleeing the army headquarters, were signs that it was not an earthquake.
Marina couldn’t rely on the mainstream media easily accessible in most other countries to learn more. She didn’t bother turning on the television or radio to search for information about the attacks that began simultaneously on 11 military installations in Caracas and three other states. The government television channel Venezolana de Televisión (VTV) was broadcasting a report on the Culture Minister’s visit to Russia at the time of the attack. But her cell phone still had a signal and she began receiving dozens of messages on WhatsApp: “They are bombing Caracas!
During the darkest moments of that confusing morning, no team of independent journalists was able to go out and record what was happening in the streets. After years of government harassment, censorship and imprisonment of journalists, there were only empty newsrooms, decimated resources and a complete lack of security, making it impossible to inform the public about the evolving crisis.
The fears felt by journalists were shared by many Venezuelans: fears of arbitrary detention, of being imprisoned without cause, torture and extortion. It is these fears that have led Venezuelan citizens to adopt certain digital protection measures to survive. They learned to restrict discussions, move sensitive items to hidden folders, and automatically delete any “compromising” messages. Whenever possible, they leave their cell phones at home. If they have to take their phone with them, before going out they delete all photos, stickers and memes that could possibly be interpreted as subversive. But this state of collective paranoia also allowed Venezuelans to stay informed and not succumb to dictatorship.
It was largely ordinary citizens who created this information network. Shortly after the January 3 bombings, the first videos began to circulate, recorded by people who had watched the explosions from their windows and balconies, or from the beach, where some were still celebrating the New Year. Even hikers camping at the top of Cerro Ávila, in Waraira Repano National Park, managed to take panoramic photos of the bombs exploding over the Caracas Valley. Shortly after, international networks confirmed the news.
Within the country, connectivity is even more complicated. In San Rafael de Mucuchíes, a peaceful village in the Andes in the state of Mérida, a group of hikers tried to keep up with the frenetic pace of events with intermittent internet access at 10,300 feet above sea level. They learned the news through phone calls through operators such as Movistar (Telefónica) and Digitel, and not through the instant messaging application WhatsApp. They also overcame the challenges of the information desert they found themselves in by using a portable Starlink satellite internet antenna that one of the travelers had in his luggage. During the crisis, the service developed by SpaceX was provided free of charge to Venezuelans.
