Pedro Urruchurtu

"And I think this issue of isolation and the situation one finds oneself in under these circumstances, she was particularly alone. Because we had each other at the Argentine Embassy. But she was alone there. I think there is a moment that sums it up perfectly, which is when she talks to President-elect Edmundo González Urrutia. They are talking about the award ceremony and she says, 'What I would give for a hug. Right now, what I need is a hug.' Imagine what that moment means, probably one of the most important moments in a person's life, which is now transcending to the place of world leaders who have won a Nobel Peace Prize. Being called at five in the morning to tell you that you are the 2025 Nobel Peace Prize winner, and there is no one there to give you a hug, to say 'congratulations, how exciting, how proud I am.' Imagine what that means, finding out the best news of your life, aside from Venezuela's freedom, which will surely be the case, and no one is there to welcome you and say 'How wonderful.' Not even your children. Imagine how hard that must be and the level of sacrifice that a leader makes in her historical circumstances. She understands this, and I think she is already aware of it, but it is still hard. So much so that she says, 'What wouldn't I give for a hug right now?' And she knows that in the end she will have that hug, and she will have it from millions of Venezuelans. But at that moment, when they tell you that you are the Nobel Peace Prize winner, no one is there to pat you on the back. It must be very hard."

"We didn't know anything. The reality is that we didn't know anything. In fact, after the announcement, we began to understand where the nomination might have come from, which was from this Cuban exile organization in Miami. And this announcement began to be made, then with the universities in Florida, then the congressmen, then the Chileans. But it was totally unexpected. None of us expected this. There had been talk of a bet the day before, which was very strange to see. Someone was betting everything that she could win the Nobel Peace Prize. But we dismissed it. I'm not saying there was no chance, but we didn't see it, because we were in the process of liberating the country, so it didn't seem like the right time for someone to win the Nobel Peace Prize, in the case of María Corina. And it was totally unexpected, to the point that when she gets the call, obviously she can't say anything. It's announced, and after that everything explodes with emotion. But if you ask me for any indication that I could more or less tell you, none. We didn't expect it."

"How do I avoid getting caught? That's the first thing you do, what you have to do. Be careful. Because you always imagine the risk, because you live with the risk that it could happen, but when it happens, it happens very quickly. And in both cases they were very quick decisions that had to be made. I mean, obviously, entering an embassy, the first or the second, happens because there is someone who lets you in, that is, someone who is informed. So those first few minutes, being able to call. In fact, at that first embassy we entered, the communication channel was open because we were organizing a meeting with María Corina that was going to take place the following week. And that allowed me to immediately speak up and say, "We have this problem, please help us get in." And we left the office very quickly. In less than ten minutes we were in a car, knowing that a motorcycle could be chasing us, which it did at some point along the way, until we reached the diplomatic residence, where we arrived and were given access. But those minutes, which in practice were seven or eight, felt like three days, like an eternity, because it's very stressful. But it's also about getting to a place where you leave with nothing. I mean, you have to run away with nothing, just your phone and the clothes you're wearing. And from that moment on, what remains is how you manage to get someone to go to your house to pick up a change of clothes, a bag with the bare minimum. But at that moment, you understand that you no longer have a home, you no longer have things, you no longer have a family in a way, because you have to protect them, especially if they live in Venezuela. So there's a detachment and you have to focus on being there and seeing how you can manage your personal world from there, making decisions that range from administrative matters to what do I do with my accounts, my frozen accounts, what do I do with, you know, I don't have a passport, I don't have my material possessions, my home, I don't know if I'm going to come back. Someone has a copy of the apartment key to look for things and bring me a small suitcase with three shirts, three underwear sets, three pairs of socks. Anyway, it's complex because your life changes in a second. And always under the idea that if you didn't do it, your fate would probably be prison. So much so that then the second embassy, the Argentine embassy, on March 20, well, they accuse us and we have time to run and talk very quickly, that call. I remember talking at that moment with the Argentine chargé d'affaires in Venezuela. He asked me for 15 minutes. I clearly remember saying to him, "Ten. It can't be 15." I said, "Ask Argentina for permission." And quickly everything was set in motion so that we could enter the Argentine embassy. But there we had an additional urgency. We already knew that two of our colleagues had been arrested, Henry Alviarez and Dignora Hernández. Today, by the way, as I record this on October 12, is Henry Alviarez's birthday." (He remains in prison to this day, editorial note.)

"I think there are two ways to understand this question. The first has to do with the fact that I think we should avoid dividing Venezuelans between those who left and those who stayed. I believe that these regimes are very effective at separating us and making those who left or those who stayed feel more important. I think that in the end they are very different ways of experiencing it, but we are also the same country, regardless of where we are. Furthermore, when people decide to flee Venezuela, in the largest exodus in the region's history, it is because of the conditions in which the regime itself has forced Venezuelans into a situation of survival. People preferred to risk their lives by leaving Venezuela, walking for miles, but with the certainty that they could have a better future elsewhere, rather than the certainty of dying in Venezuela from hunger or misery. And that is part of what these models recreate. But I also believe that there are people who decided to stay in the country for whatever reasons, out of attachment, out of roots, because they were not ready to leave, because they did not have the means to leave. But I do not believe that those who have decided to stay are a residual Venezuela. The conditions are vastly different, but in the end both decisions require enormous courage, both to leave and to stay. And I think that's tremendously important because in the end we are the same country. And that's how it is for me. I refused to leave Venezuela because of my own conviction, and with the enormous fortune of being able to visit many countries and travel for my work. I always wanted to return to Venezuela, and I had the opportunity to do so until I was caught up in persecution and had to go into exile and banishment, as ended up happening. But I talk to so many people, and I believe that in the end Venezuela lives on in the hearts of those who remember it every day. And there is one more thing I have said many times. You don't have to leave Venezuela to feel like a foreigner in your own country and to feel that you do or do not have a country. I was in Venezuela and I missed having a normal country. So you did not have to leave to feel like a foreigner or outside your homeland, because in the end the regime was deliberately doing so much damage to Venezuelan society that it created very deep wounds, where even when you were in Venezuela, you could feel that you were not in your country. And that's why I think last year's campaign was so powerful with María Corina and Edmundo González, because they managed to connect this idea of reunification, of returning to the country, to the family, to reunion, what the regime separated, reunifying it. That happens through that umbilical cord that you never lose. That's why I avoid falling into that separation of who is braver and who is more valuable. Because exile requires a lot of courage. Staying in Venezuela and enduring what it means to survive in Venezuela requires a lot of courage. But in any case, both types of courage are necessary to rebuild Venezuela in the process we are in so that it can once again be a free country."

"I remember a moment that marked me as a child, which was December 6, 1998, when Hugo Chávez was elected president of Venezuela. I clearly remember the silence in my house, a deathly silence that said everything without saying anything. That's when I understood that something was wrong. Then came the concern, the denial that 'this man who comes from being a coup leader has won'. That aroused my curiosity to understand the reason for the reaction in my home and in many people. And I believe, and I have always said this, that if Chávez did anything during his presidency, when he had power, it was to expose everyone to politics. Everyone in Venezuela talked about politics. That facilitated polarization, having supporters and pointing out those who did not support him. It divided society, polarized it, but it made everyone always talk about politics. I was eight years old when he won, and I grew up seeing that polarization, that permanent political dispute, that permanent political discourse."

"Then, in 2013, Chávez died, regardless of whether it was in December 2012 or March 2013, as was officially stated. The truth is that the Capriles-Maduro election took place in April 2013, which, as we know, Capriles won, but in the end Maduro stole it. But the interesting thing is that for that campaign, a friend, a good friend, tricked me into joining the campaign headquarters for that election. Because, to put it in retrospect, this friend is a person who works a lot in the international arena. He is a professor at the School of Political Studies. At that time, he was already collaborating with Capriles' international campaign office. The international coordinator of Capriles' campaign was María Corina Machado, and so he was part of that office, of that team. Then one day, I was a little disappointed with politics because of what we had experienced in October of the previous year. And then this professor, between one thing and another, said, "Let's go have a coffee." And I ended up at the campaign headquarters, in the international section. And from there, we joined in for two very intense weeks of work, which was how long the campaign lasted. Everything that happens happens. Finally, Maduro steals the election. I stayed there for a couple more days throughout the process of trying to denounce the fraud. And well, I was so disappointed that I went back to my university. I said, "I don't want to know anything about this anymore." Obviously, that's where I met María Corina. I loved meeting her. I already had a certain affinity with María Corina because I had been at her campaign closing event in the 2012 primary. I liked her as a political figure. I always appreciated that she had told Chávez to his face that "expropriating was stealing." And also her campaign, when they asked her about her ad that said "communism around here," which was the finger, instead of the rude finger, it was the finger you dip in ink when you vote, so it was like "vote against communism." I always connected with her a lot in that sense. But anyway, I was very disappointed with that moment in the 2013 campaign. On the other hand, in the end they liked my work there, and I ended up getting a call from the coordinator of María Corina's international office, María Corina herself, and they invited me to stay and be part of what was about to be born politically, which was going to be Vente Venezuela. Vente Venezuela didn't exist as a party yet. It was very incipient. And well, it was a party they were creating, a liberal, center-right party, focused on economic freedom, a party that was missing from the Venezuelan political spectrum. I resigned from the university. I thought it through very carefully, of course. I resigned from the university and I threw myself into Vente Venezuela, or at that time into María Corina's parliamentary office, so that we could be in sync. The election was on April 14, 2013, and on April 29, 2013, I was starting to work with María Corina and building the Vente Venezuela project. Those were two very intense weeks of decision-making. And from there on, I was involved in the international area and then in the area of political training. I became the youngest area coordinator and the youngest member of the party's National Directorate, at 24 or 25 years old. As the party's national coordinator of political training, I traveled throughout Venezuela, circling the country twice. We trained more than 24,000 young people on issues of liberalism, democracy, and human rights. And that's how I carved out my path, always balancing political training with the international area, from a political standpoint, which is what I have always enjoyed the most. So that balance between the two has led me to a career within Vente, and that is where I am today."