After Maduro's arrest: Venezuela's Lebanese diaspora trapped between political fear and economic collapse

The world was stunned in early January 2026 by the military operation that led to President Nicolás Maduro's arrest. But the shockwaves continue to reverberate through Venezuela's 1.6 million citizens of Arab descent — including approximately 340,000 Lebanese — who now face a political upheaval threatening their century-old economic and social presence in the country.

The Lebanese community, split between Maduro loyalists and opposition supporters, faces a double bind: potential persecution for past regime ties in Venezuela, and economic devastation awaiting them in Lebanon, where many lost their savings in the country's banking collapse.

According to Lebanon's Embassy in Venezuela and the Venezuelan National Statistics Institute (INE), Lebanese constitute the second-largest Arab diaspora group after Syrians (800,000 to one million), representing a significant minority in a nation of 28.6 million.

Wall of silence

Despite extensive outreach to Lebanese community members, a "wall of silence" has dominated responses.

Most refuse to speak publicly due to the opacity and danger of the current situation. Even with guarantees of anonymity and pseudonyms, many express wariness about phone conversations, whether opposition supporters or those tied to the previous regime.

The fear has concrete historical foundations. The previous regime wielded "intimidation laws" imposing penalties of up to 15 years in prison for anyone convicted of sharing information or expressing political opinions deemed threatening to the government.

Despite the recent power shift, individuals still adhere to protocols of caution, regularly deleting conversation records and digital posts related to current events — a clear indication of the depth of the "trust crisis" and of the difficulty in believing that radical change has become reality.

This apprehension extends beyond Venezuela's borders. Lebanese who returned to Lebanon remain fearful of "retaliatory arms."

Multiple community members regularly delete phone records and communication apps, fearing ongoing security surveillance that persists despite the regime's fall.

A.F.*, who fled to Lebanon in 2013 after her family received extortion threats demanding "protection money," describes the diaspora's tragedy.

Speaking from Beirut, she recalls selling two apartments in Puerto La Cruz to finance their return. "Back then, each apartment sold for $130,000. Today they're worth barely $30,000 — a small reflection of total collapse," she tells The New Arab.

From prosperity to collapse

Before the "Chavista" era, one dollar equalled three bolívars. Today, after removing 14 zeros from the currency (in 2008, 2018, and 2021), the bolivar has lost virtually all value. While the official rate stands at 310 bolívars per dollar, black market rates exceed 600.

A.F. remembers "beautiful Venezuela" thirty years ago, when it ranked among the world's wealthiest nations thanks to oil revenues.

"Hugo Chávez expelled American companies and refused compensation, plunging the country into poverty and isolation," she says.

"Chávez and Maduro impoverished a people who never knew emigration. Today we're talking about eight million displaced — 26% of the population — mostly young people fleeing hunger and medical facilities stripped of equipment."

According to the UN's Regional Coordination Platform for Refugees and Migrants (R4V), Venezuelan migration has reached an unprecedented eight million displaced persons and migrants, making it one of modern history's largest forced migrations.

In a particularly revealing claim, A.F. describes Maduro's wife, Cilia Flores, as "the worst face" of the regime, accusing her of playing a central role in "drug cartel operations."

She notes that Flores's nephews were convicted in the United States for cocaine trafficking before being released in a controversial prisoner exchange during the Biden administration in 2022.

"International flights stopped except for Turkish Airlines, making neighbouring Colombia the only gateway for those fleeing or returning," A.F. adds, emphasising that Venezuelans' celebration of Maduro's fall in January 2026 wasn't merely political — it was "an image of joy" after years of electoral fraud documented by UN reports and the Carter Centre.

J.W.*, a housewife still residing in Venezuela, describes current conditions: "The situation is shrouded in ambiguity, and we're wary of this instability. There's massive inflation. Although the bolivar's official rate is around 310 per dollar, black market prices exceed 600. We fear food and other goods prices will triple."

Adapting to power shifts

From Caracas, M.B.*, a clothing merchant, paints a contrasting picture. He believes the Lebanese community's overall situation is "fine," arguing that economic forces — including Lebanese traders — have historically adapted to power shifts.

"Whether some supported or opposed the previous regime, any incoming authority will find itself forced to ally with the country's economic driving forces. I expect the Lebanese community's situation may improve," he says, though carefully maintaining anonymity because "politics offers no safety."

M.B. sees a regime change that could open the door to increases in oil production. Production that plummeted to 500,000 barrels daily could jump to five million if the United States controls this sector and removes sanctions —"the best scenario" instead of oil revenues dissipating to regime-allied countries like Cuba, China, and Russia.

In a striking analysis, M.B. considers Caracas's swift fall resembling "theatre," questioning how everything ended in two hours without a single shot being fired against American forces — compared to Panama in 1989, where fighting lasted 15 days with over 5,000 soldiers killed. He attributes this to "internal betrayal" and the absence of a deterrent force.

"Countries lacking strong military shields and genuine protection will inevitably be ruled by others. Would they dare arrest Netanyahu in Israel or Kim Jong-un in North Korea?" he asks.

He describes Caracas's atmosphere as "apprehensive," with shops closing at 5 pm due to uncertainty. While consumer goods and fuel remain available at fixed prices, the black-market dollar has doubled relative to official rates, triggering inflation. Regarding gangs, he notes that strict American warnings have limited their movements, fearing Maduro's fate.

M.B. concludes that 70% of Venezuelans anticipated this change after 27 years of "Chavista" rule, considering the 2024 election fraud "the straw that broke the regime's back."

Political prisoners: partial releases, key figures remain detained

While the new authorities announced the release of some political prisoners on 8 January — described by M.B. as "good faith gestures" from the transitional government — testimonies from inside Venezuela confirm that "influential names" and detainees classified as most dangerous by the previous regime remain behind bars.

Ambiguity prevails about their fate and the timeline for their release, putting the transitional government's promises to end political detention to the test.

A.N.H.*, a Lebanese trader, describes heightened alert over the past three months as American fleets approached Venezuelan territorial waters. He characterises the current situation as "uncomfortable" morally, politically, and economically.

"Despite relative calm in my area, city streets are filled with army and state elements. News from Caracas speaks of nighttime disturbances, forcing shop owners to close early as people stay home fearing sudden explosions," he says from near the Brazilian border. He doesn't face fuel shortages thanks to his Brazilian residency and proximity to the border, where he can secure fuel.

Meanwhile, those inside Venezuela wait hours in exhausting queues for meagre 30-litre gasoline allocations. Water crises are severe — drinking water arrives only once a week — alongside frequent power outages.

Politically, A.N.H. reveals wariness toward the transitional period under Delcy Rodríguez's leadership, noting that the ruling party faces sharp divisions between her supporters and Maduro loyalists, amid accusations that she "handed him over." This division fuels fears of imminent military coups or wide-scale American ground intervention.

Behind this political analysis lies personal tragedy. After 20 years in San Félix, A.N.H. relocated following his 21-year-old son's killing by a stray bullet eleven years ago, plus the theft of two trucks he owned.

Today, he lives ten hours away by car, sheltering near the Brazilian border — a lifeline for securing food and gasoline away from the interior's hell.

N.R.*, residing in San Félix for 23 years and working as a supervisor in a leather factory, tells The New Arab: "We went through harsh times, especially securing daily bread and fuel — waiting exhausting hours in long queues under scorching sun for basic materials."

Despite crises, N.R. managed to buy an apartment and a commercial shop. He notes that living conditions began improving after Maduro's fall.

Security-wise, he acknowledges that Maduro-era security forces had gradually reduced robberies and thefts, though uncertainty shrouds the coming period.

The Lebanese expatriate expresses deep concern about potential retaliatory actions led by Interior Minister Diosdado Cabello, whom he describes as "the biggest criminal," fearing his movements could turn the city's calm into uncontrolled chaos.

"The absence of clear vision for what comes after the fall raises the community's anxiety about things spiralling out of control again," N.R. says.

*Real names not used for security reasons 

Suzanne Abou Said is a journalist based in Lebanon

This piece is published in collaboration with Egab