Venezuelans mourn loved ones killed in protests, and last shreds of democracy

Jeison Gabriel España left home July 28 to vote for the first – and last – time in his brief life.

A day after casting his ballot in a presidential election that had united millions of Venezuelans in a call for change, España, 18, was shot and killed in the streets.

The country’s authoritarian leader, Nicolás Maduro, had claimed victory, despite overwhelming evidence that the opposition candidate had won. Then he sent security forces to crush dissent.

“Why did they kill my child?” España’s aunt, who raised him, cried at his funeral.

Now, Venezuela is in mourning, not just for the roughly 24 people dead amid violent demonstrations but also for the last shreds of a long-tattered democracy. Whatever small spaces still existed for resistance in the country are vanishing by the day, if not the hour, as an angry Maduro pummels an electorate that tried to vote him out.

For years, many Venezuelan families splintered by migration believed that they would eventually unite in an improved, if perhaps not wholly democratic, Venezuela. After the election, many are burying that dream.

“I will never return to Venezuela,” said one young woman, a data scientist living in Chile, asking that her name not be published because her mother and other relatives remain in her home country. “Venezuela has become my worst nightmare.”

In Caracas, the capital, police are setting up checkpoints to search phones for any signs of dissent. Black X marks are appearing on the homes of supposed opposition voters. Security forces are rounding up everyday citizens over the smallest indications of protest.

Once it was mostly activists who risked arrest. But more than 1,400 people have been detained in recent weeks, according to a watchdog group, Penal Forum. Many are everyday citizens, and more than 100 are under 18. Authorities are canceling passports of human rights activists and others, trapping them in the country. Journalists are fleeing amid tips that the intelligence police are after them.

On Saturday, members of the national guard dragged away a priest in the state of Zulia as his congregation watched.

“Christ, prince of peace,” they sang, falling to their knees as he disappeared from sight.

In the past, the government generally avoided arresting church figures.

The country’s opposition leaders, Edmundo González and María Corina Machado, have tried to maintain a message of optimism. While their public appearances have been rare since the vote, they have not been arrested.

On Saturday, as part of a global rally meant to support their movement, hundreds gathered in Caracas, despite the government’s deployment of thousands of security forces throughout the city.

“We are not afraid!” opposition supporters shouted, many waving photocopies of the “actas,” or tally sheets, printed at voting machines July 28.

Machado was there, delivering a speech from the roof of a truck. But González did not make an appearance. Attending such rallies carries a high risk of detention – for leaders and supporters – and it’s unclear how long these events can last.

For the most part, censorship reigns.

“Freedom!” two people dared to shout at the funeral procession for Olinger Montaño, a 24-year-old barber who died the same day as España.

Other mourners quickly hushed them. At the cemetery in Caracas, where Montaño’s mother sobbed over his coffin, no one called for justice or ventured to raise the tricolor national flag.

“Today it was him,” one friend said, “and now it could be us.”

The New York Times attended the funerals and reviewed the death certificates of five young men killed in protests in the days after the election, and interviewed the families of several others. For their protection, the Times is withholding the names of many people who spoke for this article.

Maduro has publicly doubted the veracity of these deaths. Tarek William Saab, the chief prosecutor and a political ally of the president, has said that the dead are not victims, but actors.

“They fall on the floor; they pour ketchup on the person,” he said at a recent news conference, asserting that the government would find and detain people who had “faked” their deaths.

España, the 18-year-old, knew no government other than that of the socialist movement that took power in 1999.

His parents died when he was a boy, and his aunt took him in. They lived in a poor part of Caracas and lacked much. But he did not want to migrate, as millions of other Venezuelans had done. He wanted to vote.

A day after casting his ballot, España went with neighbors to protest for the first time in his life, his aunt said. But Maduro had already sent security forces and allied gangs, called colectivos, into the streets. That evening, España’s aunt received a call: Her boy was dead.

A single gunshot to the chest, reads his death certificate. It is unclear who killed him.

The July 28 election pitted Maduro, in power since 2013, against González, a previously little-known former diplomat who had the backing of Machado, a popular opposition leader.

Maduro has long held elections to add the appearance of legitimacy to his authoritarian government, often manipulating the system in his favor.

As this year’s vote approached, few believed that Maduro would cede power, even if he lost. The United States has offered a $15 million reward for information leading to his capture, and the International Criminal Court is investigating him for crimes against humanity. Both make him vulnerable if he leaves office.

Still, the overwhelming support for the González-Machado movement lit a flame in many who held out for a miracle. Maybe Maduro would concede and flee to a friendly nation?

Then, after polls closed, Jorge Rodríguez, president of Venezuela’s legislature and a powerful Maduro ally, appeared on television. “We can’t tell you the results,” he said, grinning widely, “but we can show you our faces.”

The government claims that Maduro won 52% of the vote but has not shared evidence to back this up. The opposition, which has collected printed tallies from more than 80% of ballot boxes and posted them online, says González won with 67% of the vote.

Maduro’s assertion of victory has been the subject of widespread condemnation; even normally conservative political analysts have called the election an outright steal.

The United States has said it considers González the victor. The European Union and Colombia and Brazil, Venezuela’s neighbors, have declined to recognize Maduro as the winner.

A United Nations report published Tuesday found the country’s electoral body “did not comply with the basic measures of transparency and integrity that are essential for the conduct of credible elections.”

The state is unlikely to hold anyone accountable for those killed during demonstrations; similar crimes in past protests have gone unpunished.

Dorián Rondón, 22, from Caracas, left his home to protest July 29 with two cousins and his younger brother. Around 10 p.m., amid tear gas and gunshots, the group lost sight of Rondón. His brother searched for him much of the night.

Finally, at noon the next day, a photo of Rondón’s body lying in some bushes, clinging to his backpack, began to circulate in his community’s text messages.

Rondón’s death certificate said he died from a gunshot that pierced his lung.

At his funeral, his mother said she was so angry she could barely cry. Her hope now, she said, is to escape Venezuela with her younger son.

Maduro’s new term does not begin until January, and the opposition, the United States and the governments of Colombia and Brazil are using the time to try to negotiate with Maduro.

Their goals include persuading him to leave office, enter a power-sharing deal with the opposition or, at the very least, agree to more democratic conditions for local and legislative elections next year.

But officials from all three countries have expressed skepticism that negotiations will lead to change.

One recent day far from Caracas, on Venezuela’s western edge, a group of classmates held the body of Isaías Fuenmayor aloft, encased in a junior-size coffin.

At age 15, Isaías is one of the youngest victims of the postelection unrest, not even old enough to vote.

His mother cried in pain as they marched to the cemetery. She said her son had not participated in a demonstration. Rather, he had crossed paths with protesters after leaving a rehearsal for a birthday party when he was killed, she said. His death certificate says he was shot in the neck.

Isaías’ friends and neighbors made three signs to accompany the funeral.

The first read: “They stole Isaías’ dreams.”

The second read: “Isaías, we will always remember you.”

And the third dared to call for action: “Justice for Isaías.”

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.