The daily routine of Samuel Carreño has turned upside down since the end of August.
That was around the time Donald Trump ordered warships to the southern Caribbean in what the US president said was a mission against drug trafficking, unleashing a wave of geopolitical tensions that have kept the region on edge ever since.
But it’s not the US warships — or Caracas’ suspicions that Washington is more interested in deposing Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro — that are weighing on the mind of the 49-year-old resident of Petare, Venezuela. It’s a more pressing, personal issue: how to pay the bills.
That same week in August, his mother Tita Carreño, 75, had an accident at home and fractured her left femur, leaving her son no option but to stop working and care for her.
Samuel Carreño still cannot leave the house because he has to care for his bedridden mother. – Stefano Pozzebon/CNN
Samuel Carreño has taken care of his 75-year-old mother since she was injured in August. – Stefano Pozzebon/CNN
The buckets Carreño uses to hold his water rations. – Stefano Pozzebon/CNN
Like millions of Venezuelans, Samuel Carreño is an informal worker who lives day by day — “killing tigers,” as the local slang goes. A medical emergency is simply impossible for him to afford.
“For the operation they were asking us for US$3,000, and we had to ask for help,” Carreño said. Thankfully, his brother managed to get that price lowered through a personal contact, and following a collection among the family, Tita was operated on 30 days later.
But Carreño still cannot leave the house because he has to care for his bedridden mother. Every day, so she can bathe, he heats water in buckets on a gas stove because his home, where five people live, does not have a water heater. He must also be careful how much he uses because, due in part to its poor infrastructure, Venezuela rations water. Carreño’s home receives running water only three days a week when he can fill up a dozen buckets.
It’s the economy, stupid
For many Venezuelans, like Carreño, the daily ordeal of normal life in the country is a far more pressing concern than speculative headlines about whether the US will or will not attack.
According to the Central Bank, in the two months that US warships have been in the Caribbean — the same period in which Tita Carreño has been bedridden — the Venezuelan bolivar depreciated by 50% against the dollar, as people sought a safe haven in the foreign currency.
Signs display prices of products in US dollars at a supermarket in Caracas on September 30, 2025. – Federico Parra/AFP/Getty Images
A woman counts Venezuelan bolivar bills to buy food at the Quinta Crespo market in Caracas on September 30, 2025. – Federico Parra/AFP/Getty Images
Meanwhile, the average income of around $250 per month does not even cover half the cost of the basic food basket in the country — and the official minimum wage is just 130 bolivars per month (less than 70 cents), according to the Central Bank.
While the Maduro government is supplementing salaries and public pensions with what it calls an “economic war bonus” (a reference to US sanctions on the country) of between $80 and $100, that doesn’t go far in a country that, according to the International Monetary Fund, has the highest inflation rate in the world: 270% for 2025 and projected to surpass 680% in 2026.
“The issue of shopping is very limited by a budgetary deficiency: You buy what you can, and rarely can you stock up,” said economist Jesús Palacios, a professor at Venezuela’s Andrés Bello Catholic University.
Hard to speak out
While many Venezuelans are open about their economic concerns, gauging their feelings in response to the US military deployment is far harder. The country has a history of censorship and political oppression that makes many people wary of commenting publicly.
One sign that censorship is increasing came Tuesday, when Maduro ordered authorities to adapt a mobile phone app currently used to report failures in public services, so that people could use it to inform on other citizens voicing dissent against the government.
Sharing such opinions in Venezuela can be very costly.
On October 8, Venezuelan Interior Minister Diosdado Cabello announced the arrest on Margarita Island of photographer Carlos Lesma, who was accused of writing “welcome to the gringos” on social media sites in reference to the possibility of a US military invasion.
Lesma is one of more than 750 Venezuelans imprisoned for political reasons, according to the latest count by the human-rights organization Foro Penal — though the Venezuelan government has repeatedly denied that these detentions are arbitrary.
Nearly 100 foreign prisoners are also believed to be held for political reasons, according to Foro Penal.
One of the most striking of these cases is that of Jonathan Torres, a 25-year-old Venezuelan citizen who emigrated in 2015 as a minor to settle in the United States with his family. He returned to Venezuela last year by land.
According to Torres’ mother and lawyers, he was detained in October 2024 and held incommunicado before being brought before the courts on charges of terrorism, criminal association and treason.
Venezuelan President Nicolas Maduro attends a news conference, days after he said Venezuela would deploy military, police and civilian defenses at 284 “battlefront” locations across the country, amid heightened tensions with the US, in Caracas, Venezuela, September 15, 2025. – Leonardo Fernandez Viloria/Reuters
But they believe the real reason for his detention is that the Maduro regime wants to use him as a bargaining chip with Washington. His mother, Rhoda Torres, first learned he was being held when another US citizen detained in Venezuela, David Estrella, was released alongside five others earlier this year following high-level negotiations between the White House and Caracas.
“They wanted to exchange him, just like all the other gringos. When they realized he wasn’t from the US and that they messed up, they still kept him there because he could be used in a swap,” Rhoda Torres told CNN.
CNN has reached out the Venezuelan Attorney General’s Office for information about Torres’ case and has not received a response.
Despite the risks, Rhoda Torres campaigns openly for her son’s release, sharing videos on social media that have been watched tens of thousands of times.
“They say not to publicize the cases, that you have to be careful, but it’s a lie: Notoriety is our only defense,” she told CNN.
Relatives of other political detainees are often more fearful and agree to speak only on the condition of anonymity.
“Having a family member as a political prisoner is hell,” said another woman, whose nephew has been held since September 2023, according to a document reviewed by CNN. He has not been brought before a court or charged, lawyers and relatives said.
Asked whether she is afraid of what would happen if the Venezuelan government were overthrown by force, the detainee’s aunt said: “Afraid of what? Sooner or later a war will end, while for me the fear is to be here forever, or for our allied countries to leave us alone in the fight.”
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