caracas, venezuela
—
Samuel Carreño’s daily life has changed completely since late August.
That was around the time President Donald Trump ordered the dispatch of warships to the Southern Caribbean on a mission to combat drug trafficking, sparking a wave of geopolitical tension that has kept the region on edge ever since.
But it’s not the U.S. warships or Caracas’ suspicions that Washington is interested in ousting Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro that weighs on the 49-year-old Petare, Venezuela resident. It’s a more pressing personal question: how to pay the bills.
That same week in August, his mother, Tita Carreño, 75, had an accident at home and fractured her left femur, leaving her son with no choice but to quit his job and care for him.
Like millions of Venezuelans, Samuel Carreño is an undocumented worker who lives from hand to mouth, “killing tigers,” as the local slang puts it. He simply cannot afford a medical emergency.
“They were asking us for $3,000 for the surgery, so we had to ask for help,” Carreño said. Thankfully, his brother was able to lower the price through personal contact, and after some family reconciliation, Tita underwent surgery 30 days later.
However, Carreño is still unable to leave the house because she has to take care of her bedridden mother. There is no water heater in his house, where five people live, so he boils a bucket of water on a gas stove every day so she can take a bath. Additionally, due to the lack of infrastructure in Venezuela, water is rationed, so people must be careful about how much they use. Carreño’s home only has running water three days a week, and on those days he can fill 12 buckets with water.
For many Venezuelans like Carreño, the challenges of daily life in the country are far more pressing concerns than speculative headlines about whether the United States will attack.
According to the central bank, Venezuela’s bolivar has depreciated by 50% against the dollar in the two months since the U.S. warship docked in the Caribbean (the same period during which Tita Carreño was bedridden) as people sought safe foreign currency.
Meanwhile, their average monthly income of about $250 is less than half the cost of basic food in the country, and the official minimum wage is just 130 bolivars (less than 70 cents) a month, according to the central bank.
Maduro’s government supplements salaries and state pensions with $80 to $100 “economic warfare bonuses” (a reference to U.S. sanctions against the country), but that’s not much in a country with the world’s highest inflation rate, which is predicted to exceed 270% in 2025 and 680% in 2026, according to the International Monetary Fund.
“Due to budget shortfalls, shopping problems are very limited. We buy what we can, but we can hardly stock up,” said Jesús Palacios, an economist at Venezuela’s Andrés Bello Catholic University.
While many Venezuelans are open about their economic concerns, public sentiment about the U.S. military deployment is much harder to gauge. The country has a history of censorship and political repression, making many people wary of commenting publicly.
In one sign of increased censorship, President Maduro ordered authorities to improve mobile phone apps currently used to report failures in public services and make information available to people about other citizens who are voicing opposition to the government.
Sharing such opinions in Venezuela can be very costly.
On October 8, Venezuelan Interior Minister Diosdado Cabello announced the arrest of photographer Carlos Lesma on Margarita Island for allegedly posting “Welcome to Gringo” on a social media site in reference to a possible U.S. military invasion.
Lesma is one of more than 750 Venezuelans imprisoned for political reasons, according to the latest tally by human rights group Foro Penar, although the Venezuelan government has repeatedly denied that these detentions are arbitrary.
According to Foro Penal, nearly 100 foreign prisoners are also believed to be held for political reasons.
One of the most shocking of these cases is that of Jonathan Torres, a 25-year-old Venezuelan national who immigrated as a minor to settle in the United States with his family in 2015. He returned to Venezuela by land last year.
Torres was detained in October 2024 and held incommunicado until he is brought to court on charges of terrorism, criminal association and treason, according to his mother and lawyer.
But they believe the real reason for his detention is that the Maduro regime wants to use him as a bargaining chip with Washington. Her mother, Roda Torres, first learned she was being held when David Estrella, another American detained in Venezuela, was released along with five others following high-level negotiations between the White House and Caracas earlier this year.
“Like all the gringos, they wanted to trade him. When they realized he wasn’t from the United States and they had made a mistake, they still kept him there because he could be used as a trade,” Rhoda Torres told CNN.
CNN has contacted the Venezuelan attorney general’s office for information about Torres’ case, but has not received a response.
Despite the risks, Rhoda Torres has publicly campaigned for her son’s release, sharing a video on social media that has been viewed tens of thousands of times.
“People say we have to be careful not to publicize the incident, but that’s a lie. Notoriety is our only defense,” she told CNN.
Relatives of other political detainees are more fearful and often agree to speak only on condition of anonymity.
“It’s hell for a family member to become a political prisoner,” said another woman whose nephew has been detained since September 2023, according to documents reviewed by CNN. He has not yet been brought to court or charged, his lawyer and relatives said.
Asked if she feared what would happen if the Venezuelan government was overthrown by force, the detainee’s aunt said: “What are you afraid of? The war will end sooner or later, but my fear is that we will remain here forever or that our allies will isolate us in a fight.”
