Venezuela’s amnesty law risks entrenching political repression under legal guise: systemic analysis of structural impunity and power consolidation

Indigenous Venezuelan communities, particularly in the Amazon and Orinoco regions, have long practiced restorative justice through *consejos de ancianos* (elders' councils) that prioritize communal harmony over state punishment. These traditions contrast sharply with the state’s top-down amnesty law, which lacks mechanisms for truth-telling or reparations for Indigenous victims of political violence. The erasure of Indigenous legal frameworks in national discourse reflects a colonial legacy where Western legal systems are imposed as the sole arbiter of justice.

Venezuela’s political repression is rooted in the 1989 Caracazo massacre, where state forces killed hundreds protesting neoliberal reforms, and the 2002 coup attempt against Hugo Chávez, which set a precedent for extrajudicial violence and impunity. The 1999 Constitution, while progressive, also centralized power in the executive, enabling the erosion of checks and balances that now facilitates discretionary amnesty implementation. Regional parallels include Chile’s 1978 amnesty law under Pinochet, which similarly used legal mechanisms to shield perpetrators of state violence.

Comparative studies of post-conflict justice, such as South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission, show that amnesties without truth-telling or reparations often deepen societal divisions rather than heal them. In contrast, Rwanda’s *Gacaca* courts, rooted in Indigenous *Ubuntu* philosophy, prioritized community participation and accountability, though they also faced criticism for uneven justice. These models highlight the risks of Venezuela’s top-down amnesty law, which lacks participatory mechanisms and risks replicating the failures of transitional justice in other contexts.

Research on transitional justice demonstrates that amnesties tied to truth commissions and reparations are more effective at reducing future conflict than blanket amnesties (e.g., Loyle & Appel, 2011). The Venezuelan amnesty law lacks independent oversight mechanisms, a critical flaw given evidence that discretionary justice often serves political ends (Sikkink, 2011). Additionally, economic sanctions—studied by organizations like the UN Special Rapporteur on Unilateral Coercive Measures—have been shown to exacerbate state repression by reducing civic space and fueling authoritarian consolidation.

Venezuelan artists like the *Colectivo de Arte y Memoria* have used murals and theater to document state violence and imagine alternatives to legal impunity, framing justice as a collective act rather than a state prerogative. Spiritual traditions in Afro-Venezuelan *Santería* and Indigenous cosmologies view justice as a balance between past wrongs and future harmony, a perspective absent in the state’s legalistic approach. These artistic and spiritual movements offer a counter-narrative to the amnesty law, emphasizing memory and reparations as pathways to healing.

Scenario modeling suggests that Venezuela’s amnesty law, if implemented without safeguards, could lead to either a prolonged cycle of selective repression or a fragmented justice system where different groups receive unequal treatment. Historical precedents, such as Colombia’s 2016 peace accord, show that amnesties without robust transitional justice mechanisms often fail to prevent future violence. Conversely, a truth commission with international oversight—modeled after Guatemala’s 1999 CEH—could provide a pathway to address structural impunity while avoiding the pitfalls of blanket amnesty.

Marginalized groups, including Afro-Venezuelans, Indigenous peoples, and LGBTQ+ communities, face disproportionate political persecution yet are excluded from the amnesty law’s design and implementation. Women’s organizations, such as *Tinta Violeta*, have documented how state repression targets female activists and journalists, yet their perspectives are sidelined in mainstream narratives. The amnesty law’s focus on 'political prisoners' often overlooks these intersectional forms of violence, reinforcing a narrow definition of victimhood that excludes the most vulnerable.