Venezuela's Political Rebrand: When Art Meets Power

Chavez's Ghost Still Watches

In a small square in central Caracas, Víctor Rodríguez pauses at a giant mural draped in teal green. It's the man who gave him the chance to become an artist: Hugo Chávez.

Rodríguez, known by his artistic name Forastero, painted that mural for Chávez's birthday last July. He remembers how Chávez opened new spaces for art and culture, offering opportunities to artists from poorer neighborhoods that had never existed before.

But today, Forastero is dismayed. He worries about the future of such art.

"Chávez represents revolution. He is anti-imperialist," Forastero told me. "But now Chávez murals are disappearing."

Caracas has undergone a transformation in recent months. Monumental images of Chávez and other figures associated with his political movement, chavismo, used to be common.

Now, graffiti, murals, and billboards are being painted over or taken down. The Palace of Justice, once flanked by twin portraits of Chávez and 19th-century revolutionary Simon Bolívar, now shows blue banners emblazoned with the slogan "Venezuela renace" or "Venezuela reborn."

These changes come as Venezuela faces political change after nearly three decades of chavista rule. Since the United States launched a military operation to abduct and imprison then-President Nicolás Maduro in January, the country has been under intense pressure to reimagine its socialist government.

The Price of Change

For some Venezuelans, the cosmetic changes are happening faster than any substantial ones. Some don't want any changes at all.

Forastero sees maintaining his murals as a way of pushing back against US influence in his government. "Now, painting Chávez is resistance," he said.

But the removal of these images isn't just symbolic—it's part of a broader effort to redefine Venezuela's political identity. As interim President Delcy Rodríguez launches her "Venezuela reborn" campaign, she seeks to establish her own political identity, separate from chavismo.

Orlando Pérez, a political scientist at the University of North Texas at Dallas, explains that this shift is part of Rodriguez's effort to be judged on Venezuela's reconstruction rather than revolutionary lineage or history. What makes it interesting, Pérez argues, is how contested it remains.

"Rodriguez is asking to be judged on [Venezuela's] reconstruction rather than on revolutionary lineage or history," Pérez said. "What makes it interesting is that it is contested."

Chavistas are divided over the removal of these images. In June, the governor of one Venezuelan state criticized efforts to replace Chávez and Maduro portraits in government institutions.

But this internal tension predates the "Venezuela reborn" campaign, Pérez notes. The real fight is about who owns chavismo, who owns the movement.

Structural Changes or Cosmetic Ones?

The United States has been a powerful force behind these changes. After Maduro's abduction, US President Donald Trump leveraged his influence to push Venezuela toward economic reforms, including greater foreign access to oil and mining sectors.

He's also exercised control over Venezuela's fuel exports and recently secured a deal giving the US majority stake in 65 billion barrels of oil reserves.

Yet despite this upheaval, many Venezuelans notice few changes in their everyday lives. Javier Hernández, a retiree receiving just $0.14 monthly from his state pension, says food prices have risen and electricity goes out multiple times daily.

He welcomes the disappearance of chavismo-themed images, hoping political and economic changes will follow. But he's uneasy about their replacements. "These chavista figures have brought nothing but damage and hatred," Hernández told me.

Hernández lives in La Guaira, one of the hardest-hit areas by the June earthquakes. Three of his nieces and nephews died, along with other family members and friends.

Amid the destruction, he noticed bright blue and yellow "Venezuela renace" signs starting to rise. But he finds them troubling. "When I see or hear that phrase, it angers me because those politicians don't live here, and they haven't suffered the impacts of the earthquakes like we have," Hernández said.

He continues: "People are still searching for bodies. They're still taking people out of the rubble."

Art as Propaganda or Protest?

The government has promised to rebuild La Guaira, one of Venezuela's main tourist areas known for its sandy beaches.

It launched the Gran Mision Venezuela Renace, promising temporary accommodation for displaced people, new housing before the end of 2026, and subsidies for affected families buying homes.

But Hernández says La Guaira is far from being "reborn." "Many people in La Guaira are now unemployed because the main source of jobs and activity is tourism," he explained. "We're having a very hard time here—very, very hard."

Irina Troconis, author of The Necromantic State, about Chávez's lingering influence, explains how political imagery often grows more prominent during times of struggle.

"The imagery is used at certain times to represent supposed change that people are actually not living through at all," Troconis said.

She argues that the enduring presence of Chávez in public art allowed his influence to persist even after his death in 2013. The pervasiveness of Chávez-themed imagery puts later leaders like Maduro constantly in dialogue with the late president's leadership, projecting an image of continuity from Chávez onward.

"Chávez remained the president in this sort of ghostly figure, and Maduro was more like the vice president to that ghost," she said.

But Troconis warns that Venezuela's changing imagery may not signal deeper political transformation. "What makes chavismo unique in some ways is its capacity to mutate and adapt and change through a process of rebranding that doesn't always require real internal, inherent change," she cautioned.

The Real Battle for Memory

Forastero has worked on government projects under Rodríguez. But he's critical of some of the newer images. He remembers a time when he painted murals of Chávez playing with children or riding a bicycle—not slogans.

"When Chávez was alive, people painted Chávez because we loved him very much. It's as simple as that," he said.

In recent decades, Forastero argues, Venezuela's public art has fallen increasingly under government control, with murals commissioned to carry explicitly political messages.

"Muralism is a story told on a wall," Forastero said. "What we really see on the walls now are propaganda posters. I'm a chavista, and I'm disgusted by it."

Still, the removal of artwork is another form of propaganda, in his eyes. He believes the Rodríguez government is seeking to project a more "neutral" appearance to better appeal to the US.

He also accuses Rodríguez of abandoning key ideals of the chavismo movement: namely, anti-imperialism and revolution. He pointed to the US's role in shaping Venezuelan policy.

"The United States is forcing our government to behave this way," Forastero said.

Rafael Araujo, a Venezuelan activist known as Senor Papagayo, has a different view of the changing landscape.

To him, there was something "jarring" about seeing chavista figures plastered across city walls, especially those who have caused so much pain to his country.

During their time in power, Chávez and Maduro both faced allegations of overseeing human rights abuses, including through violent suppression of dissent. Venezuela's last two presidential elections have been widely denounced as illegitimate.

Araujo uses colorful, handmade kites to protest government violence and economic policy. His favorite carries the single word: "Freedom"—a message he hopes will resonate in this new chapter of Venezuela's story.

As negotiations continue between the Rodríguez government and opposition lawmakers, one thing remains clear: the fight over Venezuela's future is not just about policy or economics—it's also about identity, memory, and who gets to tell the story of their nation.

For artists like Forastero, it's a fight they're willing to paint into the streets, even as the symbols of the past disappear from view.