Venezuela approves its amnesty law but justice remains out of reach

'Is this really the end of the dictatorship?' Ana, the mother of a 24-year-old political prisoner in Venezuela who wishes her identity to remain private, asked me, her voice shaking over the phone, just minutes after the announcement of a proposed General Amnesty that would release all of Venezuela’s political prisoners and mandate the closure of El Helicoide, Latin America’s most notorious modern torture centre. 

Ana has spent ten nights sleeping at the doors of Zona 7, a detention centre in  Caracas, waiting for information on her son who was detained in October last year. The news, however, caught her at home, where she was resting from a nasty cough she had gotten due to the critical conditions she had slept in for the last couple of days. 

While the announcement marks the most relevant development since the capture of Nicolás Maduro on January 3rd, following a U.S. military strike in Caracas, Ana’s excitement wouldn’t last long, even though her hopeful intentions are tough to crack: 'We’ve been ignored, mistreated and harassed by security officials,' Ana explains to FairPlanet. 

After the first announcement of releases on January 8, families began gathering outside detention centres, waiting for names to be read out; often without any confirmation that releases would occur, or even that their relatives were inside. In Caracas, many have spent days camped outside El Helicoide, Rodeo 1, and Zona 7, relying only on rumours and informal messages for updates. 

With no schedules, lists, or explanations from authorities, the ordeal has placed enormous strain on families, most of them women: daughters, mothers, wives, and sisters. 'We’re desperate, but we won’t leave without our loved ones,' Claudia says to FairPlanet, whose brother is detained in Rodeo 1. Then came the General Amnesty announcement, and they tried to balance hope and fear for a second time. 

'We have decided to promote a General Amnesty law that covers the entire period of political violence from 1999 to the present,' Venezuela’s Acting President Delcy Rodríguez said in a speech delivered on January 30, at the Supreme Court of Justice. 'I want it to be a law that helps heal the wounds left by political confrontation, violence, and extremism; a law that helps redirect justice in our country and restore coexistence among Venezuelan men and women,' Rodríguez added.

The releases have been handled poorly, often imposing unnecessary and extralegal restrictions that keep those freed isolated from the press and barred from political activity. Meanwhile, the general amnesty, now awaiting its second discussion in the National Assembly, has been riddled with irregularities, opacity, and decisions that revictimize the very people it claims to help.'

Meanwhile, videos of families of political prisoners, including some who had been forcibly disappeared, began flooding social media, capturing raw moments of legitimate joy. 'It’s all going to end soon,' several women said through tears, embracing one another after days of waiting since the first release announcement on January 8. 

On Thursday, Venezuela’s National Assembly approved the General Amnesty law in its second and final discussion, despite sustained criticism from civil society, human rights organisations, and families of political prisoners. The bill was passed without substantive modifications and with no meaningful consultation process, confirming fears that the law prioritises political expediency over justice.

But human rights lawyers remained sceptical after the news. 'We receive this news with cautious optimism. There is still much to clarify about the scope of the amnesty and the role civil society will have in it,' explained Alfredo Romero, the director of Foro Penal, in a public statement. The organisation was founded 18 years ago in response to state repression against dissident voices, carried out largely through security forces and the judicial system amid a prolonged absence of rule of law. Its mission is to defend human rights and provide free legal assistance to citizens persecuted for dissenting, as well as to victims of human rights violations in general.

Since the announcement, Venezuela has seen its largest protests since the aftermath of the 2024 presidential elections. On February 12, students at the Universidad Central de Venezuela led a massive demonstration demanding a democratic transition and the swift release of political prisoners. The protest was especially significant: it signalled how Venezuelans are once again testing the limits of public dissent, actions that were heavily repressed after the 2024 presidential elections, when more than 2,000 people were jailed.

The Human Cost of Political Repression in Venezuela

While the 2024 presidential elections marked a sharp escalation in political persecution, the machinery of political fear in Venezuela is not new. It is the product of a long-developed system of strategies that have kept citizens, political actors, human rights defenders, and journalists confined to spaces that have shrunk due to defunding, censorship, threats, harassment, exile, violence, arbitrary detentions, forced disappearances, humanitarian emergency and mistreatment. All of it is regularly publicised in national TV shows as a lawful response to acts of terrorism, treason, and fascism. 

During Chávez’s fifteen-year presidency, Foro Penal documented an estimated 300 political detentions, many involving state officials who refused to participate in the gradual dismantling of institutional autonomy. One emblematic case is that of Judge María Lourdes Afiuni, imprisoned until 2011 after ordering the release of a banker who had been held without trial for more than two years, as required under Venezuelan law. Her case and the mistreatment she endured remain a symbol of the risks faced by dissenting voices. Today, she is still legally forbidden from speaking publicly about her case or expressing any political opinions.

But in 2014, Maduro’s first year in office, political persecution took on a new dimension, one that brought repression much closer to ordinary Venezuelans who opposed his rule. Since then, Foro Penal has recorded 18,842 politically motivated detentions, a figure the organisation warns may be significantly underreported due to families’ fear of denouncing the arbitrary nature of the arrests.

So far, Foro Penal has confirmed the release of 383 political prisoners and more than 600 remain imprisoned. The process has been slow and excruciating, but it does shine a light on a fairer future for Venezuelans. 'No democratic transition has ever happened overnight. We must gradually build the conditions to dismantle the repressive state.' Himiob explains. 

An Opaque Process

After the National Assembly’s first debate, the amnesty bill was unanimously approved, but Venezuelans had no access to the text itself, so there were many questions on what was actually approved and why there has been such an opaque process around it. Later, the text was made public, and specialists warned that the reach of the document could leave many political prisoners outside the scope of the release.

The bill will now undergo consultations with different civil society sectors. To lead this process, National Assembly president Jorge Rodríguez appointed a special commission composed entirely of 18 Chavista political figures, including Nicolás Maduro’s son and former prison minister Iris Varela. No opposition representatives were included. 

After the announcement, political scientist Ana Milagros Parra warned FairPlanet that Venezuela must focus on actions, not narratives. 'Who wrote this law? Why isn’t the opposition represented on the committee? And why not repeal the very laws that have been used to repress and persecute the population?' she explains through a phone conversation. 

Democratic transitions aren’t simple, linear processes, and they require more than just releasing prisoners. While every release brings a legitimate momentary solution for prisoners, their families, and their communities, dismantling the country’s repressive architecture requires transparency, the involvement of victims and civil society, and an intent to recognise the decades of political violence and the many ways the government brutalised thousands of citizens. It must be noted that amnesties are merely one tool to pursue justice and help pacify societies in need of reconciliation, but they are not the only one.

The Justice Venezuela Has Yet to Deliver

Carlos Trapani, the coordinator of CECODAP, an organisation that defends the human rights of children and adolescents in Venezuela, explains to FairPlanet that it’s fundamental to have a process that not only takes into account the 220 children and teenagers who were arbitrarily detained during the postelectoral crisis, the minors who remain behind bars must be prioritised: 'A well-designed amnesty can open the door to the restoration of rights and social reconciliation; a poorly designed one will be only a temporary relief that leaves the roots of injustice untouched.'

The organisation outlines in an article by Agencia PANA that an effective amnesty for adolescents must give them explicit priority, fully eliminate their criminal charges and restrictions, and provide comprehensive reparation for the psychological, educational, and social harm they suffered.

In an interview with William Echeverría, Himiob also emphasises that an amnesty cannot be shaped solely by the government’s narrative or interests. 'If an amnesty is built only around what those in power want and not what society demands, it is unlikely to achieve its purpose.' This would include defining its scope: who will truly benefit and how. Himiob also highlights the importance of repealing the same laws that enabled this persecution: the Hate Law, the Simón Bolívar Law, the Anti-NGO Law, and the Anti-Terrorism Financing Law.

An amnesty can open doors, but it cannot by itself rebuild a country controlled by decades of brutal repression. That requires confronting past abuses, reforming institutions, and ensuring that no law can ever again be used to suppress dissent. If this amnesty becomes another opaque gesture, it will only deepen distrust. But if Venezuela seizes this moment to demand clarity, participation, and guarantees of non-repetition, it could mark the first real step toward a democratic future.

The day the National Assembly held its first discussion of the amnesty law, Ana says hope keeps her upright, but her body is beginning to feel the strain: 'I know all of this is slow, but the anxiety is a lot. I'm sad, I'm happy, I'm stressed. I think this is unnecessary. I think it's worth it. I'm feeling so many things, it's hard to keep up. But I will keep on.  There’s no rest until we’re all free.'