DORAL, Fla. — Gercimar Botia was jolted awake when her phone rang before dawn Saturday — relatives were calling from Caracas to say explosions were rocking the Venezuelan capital.
By 5 a.m., as news spread that Venezuelan president Nicolás Maduro had been captured, Botia was driving to El Arepazo in Doral — the heart of Miami’s Venezuelan community — two years after she and her children braved a dangerous journey across the jungle to seek asylum at the U.S. border.
Hundreds had already gathered outside the gas station eatery to dance, cheer and wave Venezuelan and U.S. flags. Throughout the morning, cars streamed past on Northwest 58th Street, with revelers honking horns and recording videos on their cellphones. Salsa blared from loudspeakers as people shook their hips in joy. News crews and revelers broadcast on social media as children wearing Venezuelan T-shirts looked on in amazement.
“I’m so happy — my country is finally liberated,” cried Botia, 29, who works odd jobs, including cleaning homes.
Across the United States, Venezuelans gathered in major cities home to significant diasporas to celebrate and cautiously muse with relatives back home about what comes next after U.S. forces captured and swept the South American president out of the country on drug trafficking charges. Venezuelans across the nation and globe have been pining for Maduro’s ouster for years, and many had begun to worry it was a day they might not live to see.
But the embattled leader’s removal through a U.S. military intervention and the continuing presence of Maduro allies in the government also fueled anxiety. Soon after news of the president’s arrest, his authoritarian government’s top officials and his own son assured Venezuelans that Maduro left behind a plan that ensures their uninterrupted authority over state affairs.
President Donald Trump said at a news conference that Vice President Delcy Rodríguez had taken office as president, contending that “she’s essentially willing to do what we think is necessary to make Venezuela great again.”
That assertion was met by some with skepticism.
“Getting Maduro out of power is the right move,” said Venezuelan American activist Adelys Ferro. “But there are so many other Maduros around Maduro.”
Still, the first hours belonged to the jubilant and sleep-deprived who received messages from friends and relatives overnight about explosions in the nation’s capital, Caracas. After years of economic calamity and political repression that triggered a historic exodus and, most recently, a widely discredited presidential election last year in which Maduro claimed victory, news that change was on the horizon brought a moment of collective catharsis.
Memes of Trump saturated Spanish-speaking social media, including one image of the commander in chief wearing the military dress uniform of Simón Bolívar, the 19th-century South American general who led the liberation of much of the continent from Spanish colonial forces, standing regally over a Venezuelan flag background.
After ensuring their families were safe, Venezuelans danced, cheered and clapped to buoyant beats in South Florida, Texas and New York.
In Doral, a Miami suburb affectionately called “Doralzuela” because of its large Venezuelan community, cries of “Libertad!” — freedom — rang out from a sea of yellow, blue and red. Lorenzo Coppola, 47, who sought asylum seven years ago, drove down from neighboring Broward County to celebrate with his wife and two young children. His son, Valentino, 4, waved a Venezuelan flag while perched on his dad’s shoulders.
“I thought it was a dream,” Coppola said, describing the early-morning calls that barraged his phone.
Juan Boscan, 38, who works for a beer company, draped a giant Venezuelan flag across his shoulders like a cape during the impromptu gathering. After waking up at 2 a.m. to use the bathroom, he saw the news unfold on social media and decided to head to El Arepazo, where generations of Venezuelans have gathered to celebrate, and mourn, every twist in their nation’s fate over the years.
“This is just the beginning,” said Boscan, a former journalist who fled Venezuelan in 2014 under the threat of persecution. “It’s hard to believe this is real after so many years of atrocities.”
María Corina Machado, the leader of Venezuela’s opposition and recent Nobel Peace Prize winner, released an audio statement saying the hour had come to bring order, liberate political prisoners and build a new country. She and her followers have long advocated for regime change and lobbied the U.S. government for assistance and, in recent years, military action.
“We have fought for years. We have given everything and it’s been worth it,” she wrote in a statement. “What needed to happen before is happening now.”
The next 48 hours will be crucial in realizing any vision of a new peaceful nation, several Venezuelans across the U.S. told The Washington Post. Maduro’s socialist government remains in power, armed paramilitary groups are mobilized and citizens are lining up to buy groceries, unsure of how long the political uncertainty will endure.
“It’s a huge sense of relief,” said Nicole Reinoso, a Cuban American who represents Doral as a commissioner and is married to a Venezuelan. “It’s also bittersweet because now there’s a process” to securing a full-fledged democracy in Venezuela.
Trump said during a national address Saturday that the U.S. will “run the country” until a transition can happen — a remark that provoked worry given the violent history of U.S. intervention in the hemisphere. He also appeared to dismiss the prospect that Machado might become the nation’s next leader, saying she “doesn’t have the support within or the respect within the country,” though she is widely recognized in Venezuela and internationally as the nation’s strongest opposition leader.
As he spoke, Venezuelans celebrating in South Florida watched his speech on their phones and transmitted the audio through a Bluetooth speaker.
“You’re free again,” Trump said, addressing Venezuelans.
Jorge Vergara, who leads a U.S. chapter of Machado’s political party, Vente Venezuela, sent out a call over social media to convene his compatriots in the Houston suburbs to express their gratitude to Trump. Although the next steps are not clear, he said he is confident in the plan that he and many hundreds of opposition members have been developing together in exile.
“This year, the regime will fall,” said Vergara, who has been in the U.S. for almost a decade. “There is a lot of uncertainty. But there is calm and confidence in what is happening. The Trump administration understands that this whole regime needs to go, for us to return.”
Some Venezuelans are approaching the moment more cautiously, warning that the situation inside the country remains volatile and unresolved. In remarks aired on state television, Rodríguez condemned the U.S. intervention and said Venezuela will never be “slave” to another nation. She continued to refer to Maduro as “president.”
“Everyone is wondering if the Venezuelan military is still with the government or will go against it,” said Ana Gil Garcia, a Chicago nonprofit leader assisting Venezuelan migrants. She added that members of the military have long propped up the legitimacy of the Maduro government. “That is worrisome, because a civil war could erupt.”
The removal of Maduro is also a test for Venezuelans who have lived in the U.S. for decades and become American citizens, forcing a reckoning over what role they might play in their homeland’s future. With the U.S. having recently pulled back aid to Venezuela, some in the diaspora worry about who will help rebuild the country — and whether Venezuelan Americans will be expected to step in. Others fear the moment could bring new pressures, including expectations that migrants return more quickly or face backlash for staying.
“I hope that Venezuelan immigrants in the United States are not going to pay a price for all that is happening,” said Ferro, the Venezuelan American activist.
In Washington, D.C., Nestor Galavis said he was keenly aware of the uncertainty unfolding inside Venezuela. But on Saturday, he said, the fear could wait. The joy — after decades of repression and exile — was too overwhelming to set aside.
“Today, just let me be happy,” said Galavis, who moved to the U.S. in 2019. “We’ve been suffering for 27 years.”
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