Camilla, New York City
New York’s Saint Patrick’s Cathedral is a beautiful sight. Located near Rockefeller Center and bustling Times Square, the grand white building with its Gothic architecture easily catches the eye. It has high arches, stained glass windows, and an incredibly old and beautifully-sounding organ.
Located right next to this striking building, the Consulate General of Venezuela in New York is far from a pretty sight. It’s empty, abandoned. The windows are covered up from the inside with weathered sheets of paper and covered from the front with various posters, many of which have clearly been torn down. In a corner, one says “Restricted Area” in all caps. White letters against bright red. Most striking of all is a big poster that reads:
“Can you imagine one third of the US population with food insecurity and a salary worth $2.5? In Venezuela, this is a reality. Six million Venezuelans have had to leave the country. The crisis in Venezuela is worse than ever.”
The very last line reads: “Keep your eyes on Venezuela.”
A Venezuelan flag still hangs on a pole on top. As though no one could even be bothered to take it down. Or maybe a reminder. That there are still some left fighting.
It is no question that there is a crisis occurring in Venezuela. Due to violence, crime, rampant political repression, hyper-inflation, and lack of access to essentials such as food and medicine, the country’s people have long been struggling. By April 2024, the number of people who had left reached 7.7 million - 20% of the country.
News coverage in the US is full of the word “Venezuela”. But on top of describing the crisis, it is mainly accompanied by the words “migrants”, “criminals”, “terrorists”, and so on. This encapsulates prevailing attitudes in the US towards Venezuela pretty well. Back in March, President Trump tried to invoke the 1798 Alien Enemies Act (which was used to put Japanese citizens in internment camps during World War ll) to “apprehend, restrain, secure, and remove” - without due process - every Venezuelan migrant without US citizenship or permanent residency declared part of the gang Tren de Aragua, as long as they are over 14 years old. This move was, however, immediately blocked by a federal judge.
While news has covered Venezuelan immigration, the horrors Venezuelans are escaping from feel almost like an afterthought, as does Venezuelan resistance to the current government. As an American teen of Venezuelan descent, while I feel that my friends most likely know about undocumented Venezuelan migrants they likely do not know about the Venezuelan presidential election that occurred just last year, nor clear claims that it had been stolen, nor the protests that followed. Protests upon protests from the Venezuelan capital Caracas, to Madrid to New York. Protests by people who simply want to go home.
A Vinotinto soccer game might not always be what you call a beautiful sight. The Venezuelan football team, nicknamed “La Vinotinto” or “Red Wine”, for the team’s signature dark red jersey, is far from the best team. Better known for baseball, the country’s national team has yet to qualify for a World Cup despite having been founded in 1926. This could change for the coming 2026 World Cup. Which is how, a few months ago, I ended up on a sofa watching one of their qualifying matches in my family’s overflowing living room with my parents, my soccer-loving brother and some family friends. One friend was wearing a Vinotinto jersey, and another donned a “PAN” baseball cap (the name of a well-known Venezuelan corn meal brand).
As we watched what is far, far, far from the World’s best team fight for their lives, on a way-too-small sofa, yelling, “vamos!” every other second, my Mom said, “It’s nice to be on the screen for something nice for once.”
That struck me. Both as a depressing comment, but also a hopeful one. These players were united by their red wine jersey, united as Venezuelans on a TV screen, being broadcast to both Venezuelans and non-Venezuelans alike. Not in the back, a simple comment, a distant idea. At the forefront. Right in one’s face. Proving their existence right then and now. Not as victims or gang members or criminals or migrants or tragedies from some faraway land. But as players. People.
In this sense, the team’s disruption of the one-dimensional narrative is in itself political. Yet the political dimension runs deeper than that. At a 2017 event celebrating Venezuela’s youth team, which made it to the FIFA U-20 World Cup final, the cheering fans eventually began chanting anti-government slogans. At one point, they sang, “It's going to fall, it's going to fall, this government is going to fall!" The team’s coach would later speak out against Maduro’s violence towards protestors. And in the wake of last year’s presidential election, while trying to qualify (with success so far - finishing first in their group), at least 12 players called out President Maduro and the government for election fraud. One player, Salomón Rondón, posted on his Instagram, “all eyes on Venezuela”.
While sport can be used to cleanse the government’s image in front of an international audience and citizens themselves, it simultaneously provides a platform for people to speak out. And this is the power of sport. Uniting, representing, amplifying, humanizing. Shining light on new narratives. It’s this power that we should keep in mind this September when Vintotinto will try to secure a spot in the World Cup - and for all teams as the World Cup comes closer. With 2026’s expanded pool of 48 teams, we’ll see more countries on our screen: small countries, struggling countries, fighting countries… Let’s remember to keep our eyes on them. Injustices happening to them, in them, by them. The fact that there is so often more to the story. More that we can do. The realization of this is, truly, a beautiful sight.
¡Vamos Vinotinto!
Camilla is a New York City based participant in Youth Media Forward: meet the New York New Jersey participants here