Venezuelans in Spain are caught between hope and fear after Maduro's capture

MADRID — Venezuelans living in Spain reacted to the news of Nicolás Maduro's capture by U.S. forces with a mix of awe, joy and fear, gathering at rallies and watching the events unfold back home at breakneck speed.

Some 600,000 Venezuelans live in Spain, home to the largest population anywhere outside the Americas. Many fled political persecution and violence but also the country's collapsing economy.

A majority live in the capital, Madrid, working in hospitals, restaurants, cafes, nursing homes and elsewhere. While some Venezuelan migrants have established deep roots and lives in the Iberian nation, others have just arrived.

Here is what three of them had to say about the events unfolding back home.

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A father wants justice for his son

David Vallenilla woke up to text messages from a cousin on Jan. 3 informing him ''that they invaded Venezuela.'' The 65-year-old from Caracas lives alone in a tidy apartment in the south of Madrid with two Daschunds and a handful of birds. He was in disbelief.

In June 2017, Vallenilla's son, a 22-year-old nursing student in Caracas named David José, was shot point-blank by a Venezuelan soldier after taking part in a protest near a military air base in the capital. He later died from his injuries. Video footage of the incident was widely publicized, turning his son's death into an emblematic case of the Maduro government's repression against protesters that year.

After demanding answers for his son's death, Vallenilla, too, started receiving threats and decided two years later to move to Spain with the help of an nongovernmental organization.

On the day of Maduro's capture, Vallenilla said his phone was flooded with messages about his son.

''Many told me, ‘Now David will be resting in peace. David must be happy in heaven,''' he said. ''But don't think it was easy: I spent the whole day crying.''

Vallenilla is watching the events in Venezuela unfold with skepticism but also hope. He fears more violence, but says he has hope the Trump administration can effect the change that Venezuelans like his son tried to obtain through elections, popular protests and international institutions.

A mother hopes her daughters can visit a democratic Venezuela

Journalist Carleth Morales first came to Madrid a quarter-century ago when Hugo Chávez was reelected as Venezuela's president in 2000 under a new constitution.

The 54-year-old wanted to study and return home, taking a break of sorts in Madrid as she sensed a political and economic environment that was growing more and more challenging.

''I left with the intention of getting more qualified, of studying, and of returning because I understood that the country was going through a process of adaptation between what we had known before and, well, Chávez and his new policies," Morales said. "But I had no idea that we were going to reach the point we did.''

In 2015, Morales founded an organization of Venezuelan journalists in Spain, which today has hundreds of members.

''Of course, we hope to recover a democratic country, a free country, a country where human rights are respected,'' Morales said. ''But it's difficult to think that as a Venezuelan when we've lived through so many things and suffered so much.''

Morales sees it as unlikely that she would return home, having spent more than two decades in Spain, but she said she hopes her daughters can one day view Venezuela as a viable option.

''I once heard a colleague say, ‘I work for Venezuela so that my children will see it as a life opportunity.' And I adopted that phrase as my own. So perhaps in a few years it won't be me who enjoys a democratic Venezuela, but my daughters.''

A woman worries about husband, brother in Venezuelan prisons

For two weeks, Verónica Noya has waited for her phone to ring with the news that her husband and brother have been freed.

''That's when my nightmare began,'' Noya said.

Venezuelan authorities have said hundreds of political prisoners have been released since Maduro's capture, while rights groups have said the real number is a fraction of that. Noya has waited in agony to hear anything about her four relatives, including her husband's mother, who remain imprisoned.

Meanwhile, she has struggled with what to tell her children when they ask about their father's whereabouts. They left Venezuela scrambling and decided to come to Spain because family roots in the country meant that Noya already had a Spanish passport.

Still, she hopes to return to her country.