BTN News: Victoria Estévez finally met someone who saw beyond her shyness. Over two months, they discovered their likes and dislikes, exchanged messages about their families and friends, and strolled through their coastal hometowns in Venezuela. In December, during a trip to the capital, they hugged for the first time.
They expressed their feelings for each other, and by February, they called it a relationship.
Then came the pain of separation.
Estévez remembers the WhatsApp message her new boyfriend sent her in early March. “You know how I told you I have a brother in the Dominican Republic? Well, I’m leaving the country too.” He was the second man to surprise her with imminent emigration plans.
Nothing, not even love, is exempt from the uncertainty dominating daily life in crisis-hit Venezuela, where millions have left in the past decade. With presidential elections looming this month, many are considering emigration, disrupting the country’s economy, politics, and relationships.
The Strain on Relationships
Young people debate online and among themselves whether it’s worth starting a relationship or if they should end the one they have. Others wonder when it’s too early or too late to ask the crucial question: “Are you planning to leave the country?”
“How could he not have told me there was a chance he might leave?” Estévez wondered, feeling devastated.
In a country once known for stability, relationships are not spared from turmoil.
A Decade of Transformation
The last 11 years of President Nicolás Maduro’s rule have transformed Venezuela and its people. In the 2000s, an influx of hundreds of billions of dollars allowed Hugo Chávez’s government to undertake numerous initiatives, like providing public housing, free clinics, and educational programs.
However, a global drop in oil prices, government mismanagement, and widespread corruption led to an economic, political, and social crisis throughout Maduro’s presidency: decent-paying jobs are scarce, water, electricity, and other public services are unreliable, and food prices have soared.
Once a refuge for Europeans fleeing war and Colombians escaping internal conflict, Venezuela has seen over 7.7 million people leave its shores.
The government faces its biggest test in decades in the July 28 elections.
A national survey conducted in April by Venezuelan pollster Delphos showed that about a quarter of the population is considering emigration. Of those, around 47% said an opposition victory would make them stay, and roughly the same number said an economic improvement would keep them in their homeland. The survey had a margin of error of plus or minus 2 percentage points.
The Emotional Toll
Pedro Requena, an accountant, has seen many friends leave, but the news felt different when the woman he had been dating for three “incredible” months in 2021 told him she was moving with her mother to Turkey. Requena, 26, was captivated by her but was determined to finish his university degree and did not consider emigrating.
Although there were no guarantees she would return or he would travel to see her, they decided to try a long-distance relationship. They woke up early or stayed up late for video calls despite the seven-hour time difference. They watched movies and TV shows simultaneously and exchanged countless messages.
“Venezuelans adapt to everything,” he said. “The crisis changes you.”
Indeed, Venezuelans adapted their diet when food was scarce and again when food was available but too expensive. They sold cars and switched to motorcycles or stopped driving when long lines formed at gas stations. They stocked up on candles when blackouts became common and adopted the US dollar when the Venezuelan bolivar lost its value.
But the unpredictable nature of life makes forming lasting bonds challenging.
“With the current dating landscape in Venezuela, there’s an inherent insecurity because people don’t know what’s going to happen,” said Dr. Amir Levine, a psychiatrist and research professor at Columbia University. Political instability translates to relationship instability.
A Blow to Self-Confidence
Dating apps like Bumble, Tinder, and Grindr are available in Venezuela, but education student Gabriel Ortiz used a feature on the messaging platform Telegram to connect with people nearby. He found a man in October and exchanged messages for a month before meeting in person.
After a few dates, they were preparing to travel to spend Christmas and New Year with their families. The 18-year-old student thought he could soon call him his boyfriend.
They exchanged text and voice messages while apart. Emigration plans were never mentioned.
“He told me he was going to the United States,” Ortiz said of the WhatsApp messages he received in January.
It was a Sunday night. The man was leaving on Tuesday, and there was no time for goodbyes.
Ortiz tried to support him during the conversation. The tears came later.
He said he understands many people decide to leave because of political and economic upheavals, but the unexpected news was a blow to his self-confidence.
“It creates insecurities because you ask yourself, ‘Was I not enough for him to be honest with me from the beginning?’” Ortiz said.
Levine, co-author of the relationship book “Attached,” said just as people should be clear about their expectations for marriage and children in their profiles and first dates, Venezuelans should discuss their emigration plans. It’s never too early to ask.
“Allow yourself to ask the right questions and don’t assume everything will be okay,” he said.
Learning from Painful Experiences
Estévez learned this lesson the hard way. First, a man surprised her by moving to Spain, and now another is moving to the Dominican Republic. She knows exactly what her first date would look like in the future.
“The first thing I’m going to ask is, ‘Are you planning to leave the country?'” she explained. “You can’t leave everything to fate! One has to say from the beginning, ‘Look, I’m going.'”
A Disillusioned Generation
For many young people fleeing Venezuela now, emigration was not their first choice. They first protested, at the forefront of large anti-government demonstrations in 2017, when they were students.
The movement faced repression and sometimes lethal force, changing nothing. Maduro remains president, well-paying jobs are non-existent, and that generation did not achieve a car, a house, and other symbols of adult life.
Now, instead of organizing protests, they spend time planning one-way trips abroad.
Half of Kelybel Sivira’s graduating class in law has left the country, exhausted from dedicating so much to protests only to see that “the country simply moved on as if nothing happened.”
Meanwhile, dating options for her generation dwindled.
Sivira, a 29-year-old commercial lawyer, reconnected online with a former classmate in May 2021 after he emigrated to the United States with his family. Their friendly conversations turned romantic, and they began considering a relationship by the end of 2022.
They haven’t seen each other in years. They don’t even know when they can hold hands. He lives in the United States illegally, his tourist visa was rejected last year, and his two requests for a special entry permit are pending. He seriously considers returning to Venezuela in August, regardless of the election outcome. She doesn’t want him to do that.
“I’m afraid he’ll come back and say, ‘Venezuela, I still hate you. This isn’t what I want.’ I don’t want to feel guilty,” Sivira said.
Sivira recently graduated in actuarial science and believes it could open opportunities in Spain or another country where they could both move. But even with a glimpse of a plan, uncertainty persists.
Requena is also in limbo. Although he and his long-distance girlfriend decided to see other people after a year of living on different continents, he still misses the person he describes as his ideal partner.
“We stay in touch. There’s always affection present. It ended there, but the future is uncertain, and with this country even more so,” he said.
