In the morning in the morning of Saturday, January 3, the thunder of bombs falling from the sky announced the attack of the US military in Venezuela, waking up the sleeping residents of La Carlota, Caracas, an area near the airbase that was the target of Operation Absolute Resolve.
Marina G.’s first thought, as the floor, walls, and windows of her second floor apartment shook, was that it was an earthquake. Her cat went hiding for hours, while the neighbors’ dogs started barking non-stop. But the persistence of the strange rumble of engines (a military plane flying low over the city, he would later learn), and the sight of a group of cadets in T-shirts and shorts fleeing Army headquarters, were signs that this was not an earthquake.
Marina could not rely on the mainstream media that are easily accessible in many other countries to learn more. He did not bother to turn on the television or the radio in search of information about the simultaneous attacks on 11 military installations in Caracas and three other states. The state-owned television channel Venezolana de Televisión (VTV) was broadcasting a report on the culture minister’s trip to Russia when the attack occurred. However, his cell phone still had a signal and he started receiving a lot of messages on WhatsApp saying: “They are blowing up Caracas!”
During the darkest moments of that confused morning, no independent journalist team was able to go out to record what was happening on the streets. After years of harassment, repression, and jailing of journalists by the government, instead there were empty newsrooms, reduced resources, and a complete lack of security, leaving the public in the dark as the crisis unfolded.
The fear felt by journalists was shared by many Venezuelans: the fear of arbitrary arrest, arbitrary detention, torture, and extortion. This is the fear that has led the citizens of Venezuela to adopt other digital protections in order to survive. They have learned to limit conversations, move sensitive items to hidden folders, and automatically delete any “at risk” messages. Whenever possible, they leave their cell phones at home. If they have to take their phones with them, before going out, they delete all the pictures, stickers, and memes that could be interpreted as treason. This collective state of paranoia has, however, allowed the Venezuelan people to stay informed and not succumb to the dictatorship.
In particular, ordinary citizens created this knowledge network. Soon after the bombs fell on January 3, the first videos began to spread, recorded by people who saw the explosion from their windows and balconies, or on the beach, where others were still celebrating the New Year. Even the climbers who were camping at the summit of Cerro Ávila, in the Waraira Repano National Park, were able to take pictures of the bombs exploding over the Caracas Valley. Soon after, international networks confirmed the news.
In the center of the country, communication is even more complicated. In San Rafael de Mucuchíes, a quiet town in the Andes in the state of Mérida, a group of climbers is trying to keep up with the pace of events with uninterrupted internet access at 10,300 feet above sea level. They read the news by phone through operators such as Movistar (Telefónica) and Digitel, not through the instant messaging app WhatsApp. They also overcame the challenges of the information desert they were in by using a Starlink satellite internet antenna that one of the travelers had in their luggage. During the crisis, the service developed by SpaceX was provided free of charge to the people of Venezuela.
