In Miami, Venezuelan diaspora anxiously watches an election it can’t participate in

The vast majority of Venezuelans in this city — where arepa joints fill strip malls — will not be able to participate in the election. Venezuela’s consulates in the United States are shuttered. The only way to vote would be to return to Venezuela, something that Petrash and many others say they’re not able to do.

They aren’t alone. There are nearly 8 million Venezuelans now dispersed around the world, and election experts estimate just 69,000 will be able to vote. For Petrash and others, not being able to participate in what could be one of the nation’s most consequential elections in recent history is infuriating.

“Venezuela for us is like an open wound,” she said. “The pain is always there. And we desperately want to heal ourselves.”

Voting from the United States hasn’t been easy for years. Miami’s consulate closed in 2012 after the State Department ousted the consul general following reports she participated in talks about a possible cyberattack against the United States. But Venezuelans living in South Florida still found ways to express their frustration at the polls, traveling by bus to New Orleans in 2016 to cast ballots for Maduro’s opponent.

Since then, voting from abroad has only gotten harder. Maduro ordered all U.S. consulates closed in 2019 after then-president Donald Trump recognized Juan Guaidó as the nation’s rightful leader. Meanwhile, the number of Venezuelans living in the United States has exploded. Over 800,000 Venezuelans now reside somewhere in the United States, according to U.S. census figures, with the largest number concentrated in South Florida. That’s an increase of nearly 50 percent compared to 2019.

“Everybody here would have been involved in voting,” said Eduardo Gamarra, a political science professor at Florida International University. “They’re fully engaged, but they, in the end, don’t count because the regime has made it impossible for them to vote.”

Even in countries like Colombia where Venezuela still has a consulate, registering to vote has proven to be nothing short of a mind-bending odyssey. Diplomatic staff in many cities were unprepared for the long lines of expats. And then there was the paperwork. Venezuelans had to show proof of residency in the country where they now reside — a difficult task for many new immigrants — and present a valid passport, something many no longer have.

Guillermo Zubillaga, senior director of public policy programs at the Americas Society/Council of the Americas, said the desire to vote hasn’t been this high in years, adding to many Venezuelans’ frustration.

“We left because of this government and yet we find ourselves unable to express our frustration, to channel it,” said Zubillaga, who is Venezuelan.

Still, Venezuelans in Miami haven’t been sitting idly by. Many are sending money back to relatives and friends to help ensure they find transportation to their voting center. They are also serving as de facto WhatsApp chat group monitors, flagging fake news and sharing independent news reports with those back home.

The opposition campaign has also cemented a presence in South Florida. Leaders organized a primary vote at a local college last fall. And on Sunday, many Venezuelans will gather at a “comandito” in Miami. The opposition’s “tiny command” groups have proliferated throughout Venezuela to help disseminate information and mobilize voters. There are also numerous “comanditos” abroad.

On Sunday, Petrash will be at the Miami “comandito” to monitor the election from afar and flag any signs of fraud.

“We are thinking people are going to participate actively and massively and that it will be more difficult for the government to actually commit fraud,” the political science professor said. “But at the same time, we are realistic.”

It’s that sort of tempered optimism that Venezuelans have been wrestling with. Polling shows Edmundo González — the opposition candidate — is projected to win. He is being propelled by María Corina Machado, who was prohibited from running but is the force behind his candidacy. Part of the pair’s campaign promise is to reunite Venezuelan families torn apart by the nation’s massive exodus.

Among those who will be vigilantly watching the results is opposition leader Guaidó, who himself once drew thousands of supporters to the streets. He arrived in the United States last year after covertly crossing into Colombia. Now living in South Florida, Guaidó said he considered returning to cast his ballot but ultimately decided against it, fearing not just his possible arrest but also that he’d create an unnecessary distraction.

“It’s bittersweet,” he said of watching the opposition from afar. “Exile is a daily paradox.”

On the one hand, Guaidó said he feels free. At the same time, he is nostalgic, not for the past, but for a present he is not able to live. He would like to be in the thick of mobilizing voters and credentialing independent observers. But instead he will be in Washington, ready to help mobilize the international community.

Nonetheless, the swell of support for the opposition has inspired hope. When he thinks about what might happen if they win, Guaidó briefly switches from Spanish to English: “Happy thought,” he says with a laugh. He dreams of taking his daughters back to Venezuela to visit his hometown, seaside La Guaira.

“My greatest aspiration is to be a Venezuelans citizen — in Venezuela,” he said.

Those are the sorts of dreams that have been percolating around Miami. As they waited for lunch at El Arepazo, friends Amarilis Zozaya and Regina Semprun began imagining what they would do if Venezeula’s opposition wins. There were places they hadn’t seen in years. But also, jokingly perhaps, grander ideas.

“I want to be minister of tourism!” Zozaya, 68, exclaimed.

The pair have been anxiously watching every development from Venezuela. Zozaya gets a daily update from Machado’s team, advising readers of all her activities. Both women, who run a public relations firm together, have also been sending money back to friends and relatives so they can afford to take a bus or drive to the polls.

“My husband tells me I spend all my time glued to Venezuela,” Zozaya said. “It’s my way of supporting. If I’m not there and I can’t vote, what else can I do?”

For all the talk of return, the reality is probably more complex. The earliest waves of Venezuelan migrants have now been in the United States more than two decades. Their children speak fluent English and identify as American. Like older waves of Cuban immigrants, the idea of return is now too foreign for some to contemplate.

“From the ’60s until the early ’80s, the Cubans basically had an open suitcase,” said Gamarra, the political science professor. “In other words, they were simply waiting for Fidel to fall. Many just closed their doors and thought, ‘I’ll be back in three weeks.’”

But by the mid-1980s, Cubans had closed that suitcase, he said, deciding to join the U.S. political system to influence change on the island.

“We’re seeing a similar trend among Venezuelans,” he said. “They’re now closing the suitcase. And a lot of them are doing so because their kids have grown up here.”

But, he added, in Venezuela, elections have “always sort of kept that suitcase open.”

More recent waves of Venezuelan immigrants might be more compelled to return if the opposition wins — and if there is a true transfer of power. Many have higher education degrees and have been forced to take jobs they are vastly overqualified for. But they, too, might think twice about returning.

Yoselin Barrios, 28, arrived in the United States three years ago. Like many, she applied for political asylum. Returning to Venezuela would jeopardize that claim. The former architecture student works “Monday to Monday” at an arepa restaurant and delivering Amazon purchases and says she sees her future here.

Though she is hopeful the opposition candidate may win on Sunday, Barrios is simultaneously terrified. She fled Venezuela after being harassed by state police for helping provide protesters food and water during a previous wave of tumult. At one point, she said, they followed her to her house, encircled her and physically assaulted her. Her father begged her to leave.

She worries that if the opposition doesn’t win, people will take to the streets, and once again, there will be bloodshed in Venezuela. She urged her mother to leave before the election, but she refused. Her mother is determined to vote.

Instead, Barrios sent her mother money so that she could stock up on necessities and not have to leave the house if the country turns chaotic.

On Sunday, she’ll be working behind the counter as the results come in. The restaurant in the heart of Doral — affectionately known in Miami as Doralzuela — will air the news on a giant television outside. She said it gives her some comfort to know she’ll be surrounded by people just as hopeful and anguished as she is.

“It’s the only thing we can do — be together,” she said. “And for those who believe in God — pray.”