I clearly remember the day
when Radio Caracas Televisión had its last broadcast.
The journalists that for over 30 years
had educated, entertained and informed Venezuelans
were being silenced.
As a TV host who worked at a newsroom at another station,
I knew –
that was the end of freedom of press.
We sat and wept as the TV hosts said their goodbyes.
Soon, many other TV channels and radio stations followed suit.
I lived in Caracas, the capital of Venezuela.
A beautiful place,
surrounded by mountains that are always in the city’s background.
With an urban landscape full of mangoes trees,
colonial buildings,
and a few skyscrapers.
The beach – it’s just 30 minutes away.
And the people –
Ayayay, the people!
We are passionate, affectionate –
We are huggers!
Your regular “good morning”
was filled with smiles and kisses.
Venezuelans are kind and poetic,
and at the same time,
lively loud and awesome dancers!
(Laughter)
We are very welcoming,
and just like the United States,
Venezuela is a country of immigrants.
Over the years, our indigenous population was joined
by newcomers from Spain, Italy, Germany, among others.
This mixture of cultures created the perfect recipe
for hardworking, risk-taking, resilient, and of course,
gorgeous people!
(Laughter)
Actually, often when I say “I’m from Venezuela,”
the first thing people tell me is “beautiful women!”
And, certainly, Venezuelan women are remarkably attractive,
we are also strong leaders, mothers and entrepreneurs.
I remember the empanada’s stands at the entrance of the office buildings.
They were mostly run by ladies who woke at 4 AM
to make the masa, prepare the fryer, get children ready for school,
and then go to sell their delicious products with a smile,
to students, doctors, bankers, people from all walks of life.
Of course, the flavors and aromas of Venezuela
will always be imprinted in my soul.
Sadly, today, when you walk into that same office building,
the empanada lady is nowhere to be found.
There’s no flour to be bought in the markets,
neither chicken or beef,
to make our delicious goodies.
In Venezuela’s economic crisis,
women are struggling to feed their children
and find medicines for their families.
Once one of the richest and most stable countries in Latin America,
Venezuela is now filled with hunger and misery,
and women are paying the highest price
as they struggle to care for their loved ones.
Inflation has deeply hurt the average Venezuelan worker
since the cost of the basic food/care basket has become unaffordable.
The healthcare system is also collapsing.
And the shortage of medicine and basic care supplies
are the number one cause of death in the ERs of today.
And still, women are at the forefront of the resistance
against one of the most cruel dictatorships of our time.
Thousands of people have been also looking for a better life somewhere else.
My time to leave Venezuela came in 2010,
when I was a victim of the rampant street crime.
I was robbed at gunpoint, in broad daylight,
by a kid who wanted my purse.
A couple of months later,
my husband got kidnapped,
and we spent hours of agony not knowing if he would survive.
I was lucky.
My plan of coming to the United States to pursue graduate studies at UCLA
became my ticket to escape the rising violence.
I always dreamed of going abroad
and coming back to Venezuela with a business degree,
but I never thought it would come about as a way to flee.
When I packed three suitcases and I boarded on that plane,
I never thought I would be staying here for good.
In 2013, however,
Venezuela’s presidential elections reinstated their corrupt regime to power,
and I decided to stay.
In Venezuela, citizens desperate for an outright resolution of the crisis
joined in nationwide, non-violent street rallies to protest
food shortages, oppression and censorship by the government.
In 2014, 24-year-old Bassil Da Costa
had never been to one of these protests before.
He joined hundreds of thousands of others in a nationwide “Youth Day” march.
The demonstration was filled with flags, people singing the national anthem,
and that bittersweet mix of uncertainty and hope.
Bassil was standing on the street corner
when, suddenly, gunshots shattered the peaceful demonstration.
He felt to the ground as he was shot in the head.
Soon, he died from his gunshot wounds.
As sad as this is,
I find the biggest lesson of courage and resilience
in Bassil’s mother, Janeth Frías, who tells us
that the death of her son must be an agent for change
towards a more inclusive and democratic Venezuela.
Janeth Frías said:
(Spanish) “Hatred is not taking us anywhere.
Because of it more people die every day.
More young kids are in jail for expressing their opinion
and trying to change a country.
Bassil’s death will only be worth it if Venezuela is in peace.”
Recently, while in my United States’ home watching the news,
I heard the same message, but this time from an American.
Susan Bro, who lost her 32-year-old daughter, Heather Heyer,
on August 16th, when a car ran into a crowd of counter-protesters
at a white nationalists rally in Charlottesville, Virginia.
I felt the same intense call for social justice
at the memorial service for Heather
when her mother echoed the words of Janeth Frías by saying:
“They tried to kill my child to shut her up –
well, guess what, you just magnified her.
Say to yourself: ‘What can I do to make a difference?’
and that’s how you’re going to make my child’s death worthwhile.”
We just need to hear these two mothers,
in two completely different parts of the world,
finding consolation in their children’s deaths
in challenging every one of us
so we do what we have to do so this doesn’t happen again.
When I see America,
I see freedom,
I see a role model for democracy,
I see potential for growth.
To hear people suggest that the solution to complex issues
is to close our doors, to build barriers,
to silence alternate points of view breaks my heart.
I come from a place that has crumbled under the weight of these policies.
Venezuelans no longer have food.
They no longer have medical care.
They no longer have a viable police system.
I’m standing here before you as an immigrant.
An immigrant who was a nationally recognized and award-winning TV host.
An immigrant who earned a chemical engineering degree
at one of the most prestigious universities of her country.
As a celebrity, who once had her face plastered over thousands of soda cans.
(Laughter)
There it is –
(Applause)
My point is:
We are all vulnerable.
No matter who we are,
where we come from,
how much money or celebrity we might have,
we all live in a world that buckles under the weight
of fear, isolation and separatism.
But I’m here with a message of hope.
When I understood that the United States was going to be my permanent home,
my perspective changed.
I started crafting my new life in the US.
I took a risk, and I decided to open my own business
and celebrate the spirit of the empanada ladies
by bringing the flavors of Venezuela to America.
As sweet as that sounds, it was a huge challenge.
But with the love and support of my local community,
who gave me and my business a vote of confidence,
I established a place where myself and my employees
welcome people with a smile and a hug, just as if we were in Caracas.
This is proof that a welcoming community
can benefit from the resilience and determination of immigrants,
who work hard and contribute
back to the economy of the nation that adopts them.
I find great joy of being part of the eclectic fabric of my new home.
I’m living proof that anybody
can rise to be happy and successful in a new life chapter
when they feel embraced by those around them.
From the sympathetic clerk who helped me with the permit process at the City Hall,
to every single one of my customers who supported me along the way,
their solidarity was crucial to build a successful business.
As my experience has shown,
by embracing and empowering their new members,
communities will rise as well.
And to my fellow Venezuelans –
(Spanish) We must not lose hope.
We must continue fighting for freedom because it is worth the fight.
And together we must honor those who have died
by rebuilding the Venezuela that has been stolen from us –
the one that we all dream of.
Thank you.
(Applause)
”
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