NPR Music - Alt.Latino: Music as protest in Venezuela

Episode Date: January 8, 2026

Venezuela has a deep tradition of reflecting political change through music. This week, as the country reels from the seizure of its president by American forces, we explore the recent history of Venezuelan protest music, and from the Nineties right up until the present. First, we share an excerpt of an episode we made at another moment of political turmoil in Venezuela, in the summer of 2024. Then, we'll walk up to the present and see how some musicians across Latin America are responding to this moment. And a big thanks to NPR Music's Isabella Gomez Sarmiento for being our guide.(00:00) Intro(02:06) A history of Venezuelan protest music(13:39) Social and economic changes under Nicolas Maduro(14:53) Venezuelan protest music in recent years(22:21) How artists across Latin America are respondingThis podcast was produced by Noah Caldwell. The executive producer of NPR Music is Suraya Mohamed.See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for sponsorship and to manage your podcast sponsorship preferences.NPR Privacy Policy

A quick note before the show, this podcast contains explicit language. From NPR music, this is Alt Latino. I'm Felix Contreras. And I'm Anna Maria Sayer. And Anna, this week we have to talk about Venezuela. Last weekend, the United States launched a military attack on Venezuela. U.S. troops seized President Nicolas Maduro and his wife Celia Flores. Then the couple was transported to New York to face four charges, including narco-terrorism.

Many in the U.S. have blasted the attack, which was made without congressional authorization as a violation of the Constitution and international law. And yet, among many of the millions of Venezuelans who have left the country and those that stayed behind, there was support, if not celebration for the removal of what many call a brutal dictator. These conflicting sentiments represent the complex reality that is daily life in the country. So, Felix, back in 2024, we actually produced an episode during another turbulent moment in Venezuela's history. In July of that year, stole the presidential election from the opposition candidate who won a majority of the votes. Mass demonstrations and protests were held in the aftermath of the election. At the time, we wanted to

look at the role that music had played in what was happening, the way that music reflected the social and political situation in the country. So today, we're going to do a few things. First, we're going to share an excerpt of that episode with all of you, because we feel it might help us understand the backdrop to this moment. And then we're going to walk it up to the present. We'll talk about what's happened politically and musically since that episode aired a year and a half ago. And talk about the ways that musicians across Latin America are responding to what

just happened in Venezuela. Okay, so let's get into it. First, here's an excerpt of that episode from 2024 about the way music intersected with politics and protest in Venezuela over the last few decades. going back to Maduro's predecessor, Hugo Chavez. And for that episode, we invited our colleague Isabel Gomez-Sariento to join us, and here's an excerpt of that conversation. Okay, before we get started,

why don't you tell us a little bit about your connection to Venezuela? So my entire family is from Venezuela. I was not born there, but I live there for the first seven years of my life, and I still consider it very much to be my culture and my home. So what Anna and I are going to do are try to provide a social and political timeline, and Issa's going to bring us some music that reflects the feelings and sentiments of Venezuelan society during those eras. So in the midst of economic crisis in the 80s and 90s, Hugo Chavez rises to power first through an attempted coup in 92, which he actually went to jail for. He was then quickly pardoned and ultimately wins the election for president in 98.

During those years between 92 and 98, post-cue and pre-election, people became enamored with the alternative Venezuela he was offering. That's where we're starting our musical timeline. Okay, so the first song that we're going to talk about is called Por Estas Cages by my mom's favorite singer, Giordano. This is a song that came out in the early 90s, and it was also the theme song for a very, very popular telenovela by the same name. And both the song and the TV show really highlighted social inequality in Venezuela during this time. It's funny because this isn't really a protest song, but it's more so a day-to-day reality of Venezuela and society at this time. The telenovela did that as well.

And I think at the time, it was very unusual. And it still is, like you're saying, Felix, for, like you're saying, Felix, for like a pop song and for a mainstream TV show to not paint everything through rose-colored lenses, but to be very frank about societal problems, economic inequality, and, you know, tension between different classes in the country. But this frankness, it was so crucial at the time

to what ultimately happened with Chavez, right? Like the rehabilitation of his image that took place during the 90s, it was so key that songs like this laid the groundwork for a struggling Venezuela, that he could then offer an alternative to. I mean, it was almost like a fantasy what he was presenting for the people.

Yeah, I think this song really played a role in sort of exacerbating the feeling that the system wasn't working for most people at the time and that there were people that were ready for a change. And all of this feels pretty consistent. I mean, this is a moment where the people and the political seem to be aligned. Chavez sells a new Venezuela, free of poverty, with an entirely new political system,

and wins the vote in 98 by 56%. And Chavez did follow through on his promise to politically reshape Venezuela. A new constitution was drafted and approved by voters in 1999. Then in 2000, Chavez is re-elected by a majority of the electorate. But by the mid-2000s, there are shifts. In 2002, there was an attempted coup against the Chavez government. There were clashes between the pro-government and anti-government groups that resulted in people dying. and it was a general strike, lots of stuff going on.

What's going on musically at about that time, Issa? So a song that I, and I think a lot of people of my generation, really associate with this time period, is a song that had actually come out years earlier, and it was a song that the artist Carlos Bautes says he didn't really write in a political context, but it's called, Jomekilo in Venezuela, and it has this really pro-Venezuela message.

It's not pro-government, it's not anti-government, it's about wanting to stay in the country and wanting to see the country have a brighter future. You know, this is something that we've talked about on this show a lot, Anna, about how in the midst of turmoil or strifers, difficult things going on in particular countries, or cultures, the music is often upbeat. And in this one, it wasn't written for a particular thing in mind, but there's a lot of

stuff going on there. It's almost got like a salsa bass to it, which was very popular in Venezuela at that time. There are acoustic instruments that give it a folkloric film, and there's a chorus, like a community chorus, lots of stuff going on musically. And you can feel a shift in the energy of the music here, right? From what we just played, it's still explicit in terms of what it wants from its country, but it's focused on optimism. It's kind of delivering an image of a different lighter Venezuela.

It acknowledges the hard parts, but it feels very bright. Yeah, I think it's interesting because this is a time period where, you know, it's nowhere near what we see much later on in terms of people leaving the country. But I think this song sort of resurfaces at this time because following the coup, following that wave of protest around that time, and the general strike, there start to be inklings of people who think maybe it's a good idea to leave. And this is a song that I think can be applied to multiple political sides, but the message is one of unity and one of saying,

we love our country and we're going to state to fight for it. So it definitely is you can see people sort of reaching for that joy and reaching for that happiness as their way to get through this confusing, chaotic moment in the country's history. And in a way, they're creating this imaginary Venezuela, an imaginary society, which is very much what happened in different countries. You know, Celia Cruz was here in the United States. She was not allowed to go back to Cuba. But she's saying about a Cuba that so many people here in the United States dreamed of,

an imaginary Cuba, the Cuban of their memories. So this seems to be happening here. But it's also not accidental, Felix, because at this time, there's a consolidation of Travis's power that's happening, and mainstream protest music decreases noticeably. What also happens is the crackdown on explicit protest music is more extreme. Maybe not extreme in the sense of the government actually getting in and intervening, but in the sense that a lot of this music can't actually get radio play. Right. So in 2007, the government refuses to renew the broadcast license for RCTV,

which was the oldest privately on TV channel in Venezuela at the time. By 2013, the last TV channel that was showing oppositional content, anti-government content, is sold. So there's a real feeling that it's difficult for people to be critical of the government on TV and on the radio during this time period. In fact, according to news sources, on July 31st, 2009, the government actually revoked licenses of 34 radio stations and refused to renew others. And censorship continued to go up. Fast forward to the 2010s and things are becoming more challenging for people who have stayed. Public opinion is shifting and it's getting generally more negative towards Chavez. And based on my own listening and conversations I've had with musicians from Venezuela, you can tell the music is getting more overtly frustrated.

despite this rise in censorship. There's a major social shift that allows for this to happen. It's the introduction of social media. So at this time, I think one of the most important musicians that we see really rise in Venezuela and in Latin America is the rapper Cancerobero. He's sort of part of an underground scene that starts to really pick up steam. He's working within influences of reggaeton, influences of hip-hop and rock music. And he's really frank with the way he,

discusses the everyday reality of Venezuela and society. He talks very openly about police violence. He talks about corruption. He talks about violence on the street. And he himself had suffered tragedies in his life. He had lost his mom. He had lost a half-siblings. And you can really feel that in form his music.

He talks about God. I mean, it's like really gritty, sort of dark, hardcore rap that Cancerbero. And people of that scene are promoting at this time. This is his song Es Epico, which is released in 2012. Oh, my Fault the air And the heart Du-Cun-tukun

Oi Goh Goh Goh Goh I know where it's I'm going to

Convertim No criminal I don't believe in nobody A men That's I'm gonna My brother

My father Diente for Dient, Ojo for Ojo is this A-Bitch Presdrapped Because I'm

Ampa But the ravi I'm chanpa That's Tanta That Iogue Never been This is very, very powerful and personal music. And I'm sure it had a huge impact on people in Venezuela and outside of Venezuela.

But what about the rest of Latin America? How was this song received in other countries and other cultures? Yeah, so he actually started to gain a lot of popularity throughout Latin America. He begins touring in South America. I think we hear this sort of feeling of nihilism and of a little bit of despair with the state of society that a lot of young people in other countries in South America also relate to at this time. And he starts growing really quickly. At first, Cancerbero is, you know, he has a day job to pay for his studio time to record music at night.

And pretty soon, you know, he's getting interviewed on TV stations in other countries. He's touring internationally. And, you know, the really sad thing about Canterberro, and the reason he's so difficult to talk about is he dies in 2015. At first, his death has ruled a suicide. There are lots of questions, lots of conspiracy. around the conditions of his death. It is not soft to everyone's satisfaction. Last year, the case was reopened,

and it was deemed a murder. His ex-manager came forward in a confessional video talking about murdering him. But during this time, Cancerberro is sort of, he sort of becomes the poster child of hip-hop rebellion, certainly in Venezuela, but I think in all of Latin America, last year Rolling Stone named him

the number one most influential Spanish language rapper. So you can see that, even though he's only alive in making music for a very short time, the depth of what he's rapping about really reverberates not just in the country but throughout the continent. What's really significant to me about his music is that we lose an imaginary Venezuela here. And this is to me like a key part of the story, right? Because there's a divergence in the artistry in people who stay, some by choice and some not.

But overall, it takes on a very different quality and tone than the music that starts to be created by people who leave the country, who become a part of this diaspora outside of Venezuela. We've been listening to an excerpt of an Alt Latino episode that first ran in August of 2024 during another turbulent moment in Venezuela. We're going to take a break, and when we come back, we'll bring it up to the present. And we'll have Isabella joining us once again. So stick around. We'll be right back.

And we're back. And before we get back to the music, let's give a little bit more political context. In 2013, Hugo Chavez dies. and his successor, Nicolas Maduro, becomes president. And very quickly, there's all sorts of turmoil. The economy nose dives. There are food and medicine shortages, public services, and institutions crumble. And it's important to note that during this time,

the country was impacted by U.S. sanctions related to terrorism, narco-trafficking, and eventually human rights abuses in oil trading. Hundreds of thousands of people take to the streets to protest the economic pressures on daily life in 2014 and then again in 2017. Opposition leaders and student activists are jailed. Clashes with government forces grow violent, and national guardsmen kill dozens of people, including Armando Canisales Carrillo. He was an 18-year-old viola player in Venezuela's famous National Symphony Orchestra System. His death sparks outrage from the public and the first notable riff between the orchestra and the government, including from conductor Gustavo Dudamel.

Now, because we are a music show, we want to show how the times are. reflected in the music, and we also want to bring back Isamel, Gomez Armento, to talk about that music, Issa, welcome back. Thank you for having me again. So jumping right into it, a song that I think really speaks to this time around 2017 and what's happening in Venezuela is Sentimiento. It is by the amazing folkloric Barlowento musicians, Betzaida Machado and La Parranda El Clavo. It's a very solemn song that really deals with mourning what is happening on the ground in Venezuela, mourning, not just the death of individuals, but it seems like getting back a little bit to this imaginary Venezuela, mourning the death of El Pueblo Venezuelano as a whole, the despair that they're going through.

It's around this time that mass migration out of Venezuela really picks up steam. Millions of people leave the country, which is a trend we've continued to see up until today. And as the diaspora grows, so does the music they're creating about the ongoing unrest back home. One of the most prominent voices that emerges is the pop star Danny Ocean. He mostly writes about love and heartbreak, but there's always this double meaning to his songs, about the pain of having to leave his country and his people behind. Right before the 2024 elections, he releases an EP called Venecia. It's very overt in its calls for a transition of power in Venezuela,

and he even collaborates with opposition leader Maria Corina Machado for one of the music videos. Many Venezuelan artists join protests around the world in support of Machado's movement during this time. But Danny Ocean becomes her closest musical ally. The opposition declares an overwhelming victory in that election. They have this whole mechanism of tallies that they present as evidence. Outside observers and many countries, including the United States, recognize those results. But Maduro stays in power. His government cracks down on protests and dissent.

More people are jailed. And it's kind of around this time that Rawayana and Acapela release this song, Veneca. Where are the women, BNECA, that are the boleta? That no van for the gym, but they're in a group of atleta. No, you know if they're the cachapas or areas. And all jellasheba, and all get a beck, if I'm at the bezo. Where are the women, BNca, that represent them. That's where she'll go, all the world knows that there.

No, no, is if it's a cipherina or is a boleta. Oh, God, my, what, queso? If me, a best of a beso. I know this sounds like a little bit of a tonal shift, but stick with me for a second. This song is a reclamation of the slur Veneko or Veneca, which is often used in other Latin American countries, especially Colombia, against Venezuelan migrants. And the song becomes a sensation. To be clear, lyrically, this song is not about the government at all.

But Nicolas Maduro takes issue with it. He calls the song offensive in a public speech. And then within days, Ravayana is forced to cancel their upcoming tour in Venezuela. The biggest music festival in Caracas, Gusica Fest, is also forced to cancel. When I spoke with him last spring, Rawa Yana lead singer Beto Montenegro told me the government decided to cancel the band's tour,

not necessarily over the song itself, but because Rawa has historically been very vocal and open about their support for the opposition. Okay, so we've almost made it up to the present. Towards the end of 2025, a couple of things happen. Tensions between the U.S. and Venezuela escalate. This is building on what's already been a tumultuous year for ice raids and immigration enforcement against Venezuelan immigrants in the U.S.

Maria Corino Machado is awarded the Nobel Peace Prize and Danny Ocean performs at the ceremony. And then as the year ends, Raghina Raghawai'ana releases its new album, Donde is the laughter. At midnight on New Year's, it's a very, very Venezuelan album. Sonically, thematically, it's a huge celebration of the country's culture and origins, and this is how it starts. So basically I'll do a brief translation.

The song starts off by saying, Rawa wishes you a happy new year, and hopefully, finally, the insert expletive here, will leave. It's very clear that this is about the government. They don't need to say that. And this is a phrase that's just become colloquial in Venezuela for a very long time. We're unfortunately known for being very crass in how we talk. But then what no one could have expected is that within 48 hours of the song coming out, the U.S. strikes Caracas and literally seizes Nicolas Maduro and his wife Celia Flores in the middle of the night.

And when Venezuelans inside and outside of the country wake up to that news, this song takes on a new, very literal meaning. It spreads across social media like wildfire. It becomes a soundtrack to that initial shock of seeing Maduro remove. It's a very tense and complicated moment. On one hand, you have Venezuelans expressing relief or outright joy at Maduro's capture, among other complicated emotions, but there's also a lot of uncertainty and fear about what comes next.

The impact of what has just happened is still really raw. It's emotionally charged and we're watching it unfold in real time. There was a pretty immediate outpouring of mostly positive reactions from what I could see on social media from some of the most well-known musical names from Venezuela. Danny Ocean, who, as we mentioned, is notably close with opposition leader Maria Corina Machalo, was filmed singing and celebrating dancing in the streets of the Dominican Republic. As conversations and reactions became mixed and heated online, some artists from the country began posting, defending their feelings or stances on the event. One Venezuelan musician in particular posted something saying effectively, if you haven't defended Venezuelans for years, then you can't step up in opposition of what's happening just based on your ideology today. Musicians from a variety of countries and Latin America began to sound off as well, sharing opinions mostly about the United States intervention, especially in a Latin American country. This is something that touched on a lot of real fears around previous military action in Latin America on the part of the United States.

conversations escalated to public interactions between artists online, commenting on each other's posts and sharing on each other's stories, interactions back and forth debating the issue. A lot of this took place between Venezuelan artists and other Latin American ones, both defending their positions around the real immediate threat that they felt about the United States in these circumstances. Two larger opinions have become pretty salient to me here. One is that people are really concerned based on legitimate statements that President Trump has made around going for Colombia or Mexico next.

The other thing that's really been brought to the fore here is a question around who gets to speak right now. A lot of musicians have said that this affects all of us and therefore everyone should have a place to speak, while others say that there is a particular level of violence and abuse and lived experience that needs to be acknowledged here for specifically Venezuelans. Overall, what I'm seeing in these ultimate days is people trying to better hear each other. After the initial fear reactions of that first day or two, people do seem to be trying to understand how we can remain a Latin America united in the midst of all of this. Undoubtedly, the music will reflect this tension, this fear, this unknowing of what could come

next. And that's something that we'll continue to follow on the show in the coming months and year. As we've been talking about today, and as you guys are always exploring on Alt Latino, we know that throughout Latin America's entire history, music has been one of the most important tools for processing, conflict, and justice and repression. And I'm sure this moment will be no different. And we have explored all of that on Alt Latino in the past, except this time it's going to be happening in real time. Thank you, Isabel Gomez-Armiento, for your insight and for joining us this week. And thank you for listening. You have been listening to Alt Latino from NPR Music.

Our audio editor is Noah Caldwell, and this week we had editorial support from Luis Clements. The excerpt we played on today's show was produced by Taylor Haney, and we received editorial support from Hazel Sills. Sir Aumohama'amid is executive producer of NPR Music, and Sonali Meta is executive director of NPR Music. I'm Felix Contreras. And I'm Anna Maria Sayer. Thank you for listening.