Venezuela to Close Notorious Prison, Free 687 Still Held

After years of documented human rights abuses, Venezuela is shutting down El Helicoide, the notorious prison in central Caracas where hundreds of political prisoners endured torture and detention without trial.

The announcement came January 31 from interim president Delcy Rodriguez, following the capture of former dictator Nicolas Maduro in early January. For families of the 687 political prisoners still held across Venezuela, it marks a turning point after years of waiting.

Lennard Garcia knows that wait intimately. In 2017, agents burst into his home without a warrant, handcuffed him in front of his family, and took the 26-year-old student activist away. What followed was electric shocks, beatings, and suffocation with plastic bags designed to force him to reveal names of fellow democracy protesters.

Gregory Sanabria faced similar horrors. Detained at age 20 while attending university, he spent three years and eight months in El Helicoide. "Seconds turn into hours, hours into years, and in the end, you just ask to be killed," he recalled of his imprisonment.

Their stories aren't unique. The United Nations documented systematic abuses under Maduro including sleep deprivation, sexual violence, and denial of medical care. Both men now live in Texas, part of the 8 million Venezuelans who fled the country in recent years.

The government promised to release a "significant number" of prisoners on January 8. Progress has been slow but steady. As of February 1, advocacy group Foro Penal verified 344 releases, though many still face restrictions like mandatory check-ins and bans on speaking to press.

Families continue camping outside major prisons across the country, clutching photos and waiting for names to be called. The actual number of political prisoners may be higher than 687, since many families don't report detentions out of fear of retaliation.

The Ripple Effect

The closure of El Helicoide represents more than shutting down one building. It signals the potential dismantling of the repressive machinery that kept Venezuelans silent for decades. Every released prisoner reunites with family, returns to interrupted careers, and reclaims stolen years.

Garcia and Sanabria now use their freedom to advocate for those still waiting. Their testimonies document abuses and keep pressure on the interim government to honor its promises. Organizations like Foro Penal and Justice, Reconciliation, and Forgiveness continue verifying releases and supporting families through the agonizing uncertainty.

The road ahead remains uncertain, but 344 families have already experienced reunions they feared might never come.