2023-08-05 02:55:51
While having a drink in the living room, Iván Valera Benitez heard an alert: “Bolivarian National Police Command. Hands up, stay put!”
The 30-year-old Venezuelan was on Sunday, July 23, at Club Avalon, a gay sauna located in the city of Valencia, in northern Venezuela.
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Ivan thought it was a joke. This was a private club with saunas and massage rooms, a restaurant, and a smoking room. Admission was charged and the catalog of services could be consulted on social networks.
He felt safe at Club Avalon. There they did not make jokes about his sexual preferences or call him “she”, as it happened in environments of new acquaintances in which they joked about him.
The uniformed officers asked the employees and customers to accompany them to the police headquarters “as witnesses.” They all followed the instruction, although they did not understand what they were witnesses to.
Iván and 32 other men were detained for three days and were presented before the Venezuelan Public Ministry without understanding why.
The police leaked images in which the detainees are seen standing next to a table that showed as “evidence” their IDs, mobile phones, condoms and lubricants.
Local media reported that it was a “clandestine orgy”, in which “pornographic material” would have been found. However, the defense lawyers clarified that there is no evidence of this in the police records.
The public accusation for the crimes of indecent insult, conspiracy (illicit association) and sound pollution caused outrage among the Venezuelan LGBT+ community, which denounces the criminalization of its members by the authorities.
The slogans “Free the 33” and “Justice for the 33” went viral on social media. Activists and relatives of the detainees protested before the courts, the Prosecutor’s Office and the police command linked to the case.
Even the Venezuelan attorney general, Tarek William Saab, said the defendants could be dismissed.
BBC Mundo went to the Bolivarian National Police headquarters where they were detained to request comments, but received no response.
In this testimony, told in the first person, Iván reconstructs what he experienced with the group during the arrest.
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A routine check
They never tell us what is happening.
The police say that it is a routine check and they ask us for our identity cards to verify if we had a criminal record or if we were wanted (by the courts).
Then they tell us that the review is going to be at the Bolivarian National Police Command and that we must go as witnesses. We leave in our own cars in good faith.
We arrived at the headquarters around 6:00 in the afternoon. That’s where everything bad starts.
When they review the IDs, they realize that no one is requested or has a criminal record. The policeman says: “They are clean. There is nothing here”.
But they take us to the office of the head of the command and search us, they take our phones and we understand that we are being held incommunicado.
I was worried, but I thought: “This procedure is badly done from every point of view, this is not going anywhere.”
Agents of the Bolivarian National Police raided the Avalon Club in Valencia. (GETTY IMAGES).
“Is this you?”
When they take our phones away, each one is required to give the password.
An official would grab (someone’s) phone, unlock it and start reviewing their photos, their videos, their private life. And she said to him: “Is this you? Is this what you do?
He would call his fellow officials and tell them: “So quiet that he looks and looks at what he is doing. Is this your member?
That was done to several people. It didn’t happen to me because I didn’t take the phone to that site, I had it downloaded.
When they take away our belongings, an official passes by with a list and tells us: “You are going to tell me your name and you are going to give me all the cash you have to write it down, so you won’t lose it.”
They said it was the only way to save it. Until that moment they maintained that we were not detained.
In today’s sun we don’t know where (the money) is. He is not in the Prosecutor’s Office. That money should appear in the police record and it disappeared.
They also ask us to take out the condoms because that was evidence.
This occurred at the main office of the Bolivarian National Police Command in Los Guayos.
After that, they send us downstairs to take a picture. That is where the strongest concern begins because a photo is to review something. We already understand that we are being prosecuted.
They took a photo of us in front of the table with the “evidence”, which at that time consisted of condoms, lubricants, cell phones, IDs and a small bottle of popper, which was never understood where it came from.
“Hold on, faggot”
Then they take us to another office, which was like a meeting room. They tell us to sit down and nobody talks.
There I broke down, I really wanted to go to the bathroom.
There was an official who was quite emphatic: “If you want, get on top of yourself, I’m not going to take you to the bathroom. Who sends you to be doing that dirty thing that you were doing? Hold on, marico. Or shit yourself.”
So, with those words he told me.
Then he decides, at the request of another official, to take me to the bathroom and tells me: “Okay, but you have to face me. You can’t close the door.”
I told him that it was going to be uncomfortable because I felt bad, but that I was going to have to do it, he was aware that he was violating my right.
And he tells me: “You have nothing to ask for what you were doing.” Until that moment I didn’t understand what he was doing.
I was forced to relieve myself with the door open while the policeman looked at me.
The arrest of the 33 unleashed the outrage of the LGBT+ community in Venezuela. (GETTY IMAGES).
“How do I tell my family?”
Several times they told us: “State if you are unhappy with something”. And to the one who did it, it was as if they were saying: “Shut up”. That dynamic of speaking but not speaking at the same time was strange.
A lot of other things were going through their heads. “How do I tell my family?” they wondered.
Some of us can lead our sexual life openly and express our orientation or preference. But many of my peers don’t. In some cases their families find out about everything because of this embarrassment.
I just thought: “Why am I going to tell my sister if this is stupid? Why am I going to bother her?
“They already know them everywhere”
A second photo comes in which we go out in groups of six and it went viral. We made a public complaint about the first portal that released that photo because our identity was not respected, our faces were never erased.
In that second photo there were two fewer citizens. The official information for us is that they felt bad, they were taken to the medical service and they did not appear again.
We found out we went viral when one of the officials shows a TikTok (video) and says, “You know them everywhere.”
The worst thing is that it was filming like news out of date with reality, which made the situation morbid.
It was already a homophobic, moralistic topic. We were being subjected to public ridicule and no one cared what was happening to us.
A colleague said that he preferred to kill himself. So we all tried to help him, so that he would understand that we were not doing anything wrong.
At no time does the police record mention that we were gathered for an orgy. If so, that is not a crime and less if it is consensual.
But at no time did it happen like that. In the police report, he says that we were all dressed and the noise of conversation was heard.
At that point, I no longer knew if my sister was supporting me or if she was believing all this.
Then other factors came in. The person factor, the dignity factor, the religion factor. There were companions from other religions in which any homosexual act is unacceptable.
There were people who fainted, people who cried inconsolably, people who got upset.
In my case, I was hopeless. “How do I get out of this? How do I explain something that has no explanation? Being viral for something that wasn’t happening.
They tell us: “They are in tremendous trouble. You know what you were doing, it’s all coming down on you.” But they didn’t tell us what was going on either.
We asked and got no answer. No statement was ever taken from us.
It was never clear what they were doing.
Activists from the LGBT+ community demanded that the 33 be released without charge.
A text message
At about 1:00 in the morning they allow us a call.
I called my sister and when she didn’t answer, I asked (the police officer) if I could text her and she said yes.
In the message I told him: “Don’t worry, I’m here. There is nothing here. She wasn’t doing anything wrong.” I told him where it was located, that it was a routine procedure that we did not understand, but that I would resolve tomorrow.
They tell us that we are going to spend the night there and that we should calm down because possibly the next day we were not going to solve anything because that Monday was a holiday.
That night I did not sleep sitting in that chair.
“Do I really want to be seen like this?”
The next day they took us to the forensic medical examination, which is a requirement to charge.
The normal procedure should be to have a doctor check that you are physically fit, to ensure that there was no physical abuse during detention.
But the doctors asked us two questions and that’s it. That was the medical examination that they did to us.
That moment was sad because they took us out as criminals in a patrol with many police officers and there were already relatives and activists outside the command of the National Police.
In the public eye, we were already criminals.
My sister was not there at the time. I managed to see two acquaintances and it was shocking. I didn’t know if that support comforted me or weakened me, it made me more susceptible.
“Do I really want to be seen like this?” I wondered. I no longer knew what was going through my head.
Venezuela’s attorney general, Tarek William Saab, warned that the case could be dismissed. (GETTY IMAGES).
“We are helping them”
We return to that meeting room disguised as a cell.
There were colleagues who began to feel bad, they got tachycardia.
They were dark moments.
The police officers told us: “We are helping them, we want them to be well.” That violation of your right disguised as kindness.
It was strange to feel that need to be well with officials so that they treat us well when that is a right.
At one point I felt that they were good, that they were my friends and that they were doing everything possible for me to be calm.
I think my teammates felt it too.
We spent another night there. Up to that point he had not allowed us to bathe or brush. We were allowed to go to the bathroom to urinate and try as little as possible to do other things. We were supervised by officials.
We always shared food. If someone was brought an arepa, they would chop it up and we would eat it among the 33 of us. But I didn’t get hungry.
I still have difficulty with appetite.
The Bolivarian National Police is also dedicated to public order control tasks.
“Those from the orgy have arrived”
The next day, Tuesday, we go to the Palace of Justice at noon.
Since we did not have any device, we asked the official what time it was, we did not know the rest.
The hearing was at 3:00 or 4:00 in the afternoon.
There were activists and relatives outside the Palace of Justice. It was a bit overwhelming because the officials looked at us as if to say: “The people from the orgy have arrived and they are going to be judged”. It was what the policemen made us feel.
It’s so weird having to be embarrassed for something you’re not even doing. Nor should it be a shame because everyone does with their lives what they want.
But there comes a time when they tell you so much, you think: “Maybe I was doing something wrong.”
“Look at 33”
We entered the Palace of Justice and the reality was chaotic.
First they register us, they give each of us a number to keep track of, and they line us up in the cells.
We asked that they not separate us because we were afraid.
They had already told us: “There they go with common criminals. There we, the police, do not take care of them, there they remain at the order of the Palace of Justice”.
They put us in a cell, which I imagine was three by three meters. They admit the 33 of us there.
There was space for a few to sit and we managed how long they were going to be seated. There was a latrine that overflowed with urine. There was too much rust. The smell was not bearable.
Between the police and the relatives who were outside, they looked for masks for us. We didn’t know if it was better to have the mask on because we hardly breathed.
Prisoners threw things at us while they removed their limbs.
“Lower your head, don’t look at us,” they said. But I thought: “Why do I have to lower my head?”
“Look at 33,” they told us.
“I felt ashamed”
They made me feel very ashamed for being gay. It makes me sad and painful to admit it.
I felt ashamed for facing my family.
It seems incredible, but sometimes within the same homosexual group we have internalized homophobia. We are heteronormated.
“But that’s it, I didn’t do anything wrong,” I told myself. Today I am understanding it.
I’ve had anxiety attacks, insomnia, maybe PTSD.
But I understood that I don’t have to be ashamed.
The protests over the detention of the 33 lasted for several days. (GETTY IMAGES).
“How ironic to be like a prisoner of liberty”
I have entered so many prisons in Venezuela. That was my job. What irony to be a prisoner of liberty.
I spent almost ten years working in the Ministry of Penitentiary Services, in the Directorate of Human Rights and International Relations.
I realize that I am a prisoner of liberty when they tell me: “Line up here, hands behind you, head down, we are going out, get in the patrol car.”
We waited for the hearing, but the judge decided to defer and they send us back to the cells.
Then they take us back to the Bolivarian National Police Command and the relatives and activists made a whole commotion outside.
It was Tuesday night (July 25).
“What will happen to my sister?”
They transferred us in a convoy used by public order people when there are demonstrations. We were with many police officers.
There was the first meeting with the relatives, but my sister was not there. I saw three great friends and I collapsed.
All the strength that I had had vanished when I saw the people who love me. I felt like I was letting them down.
And I doubted. “What will happen to my sister? Will she believe me? Or will she be believing what they say on social networks? What will go through her head? ”, She asked me. We hadn’t talked.
We are very close, she is my best friend.
When we got to the police station, she was the first one there.
I waved to her and she tells me: “I love you. Are you OK?”. I nod and she tells me: “Calm down, we’re going to get out of this.”
“I love you, I love you and I’m sorry,” I told him.
That Tuesday night the situation changed a bit, I was more rebellious. When I talked to my sister, I felt helpless.
One of the officials told me: “Ivan, what’s wrong with you? You’ve been keeping calm, why are you staring like that? I’ve never seen you like that”. And I told him: “I had never seen myself like that either. I really want a bomb to fall on us, that we all die here. This is desperate.”
“There is no justice here,” I told him. “You don’t know how easy it is for you, in a uniform, to screw up anyone’s life.”
“We are going to let your sister in,” they told me. And they let my sister talk to me to calm me down.
I quickly tried to explain to him: “This is not how they say.” Then he told me: “Don’t worry, what’s wrong with you? I am your sister. I don’t have to believe anything they say. I know who you are. Don’t worry. I love you”.
And she took off her stockings and gave them to me because she no longer had stockings. I had to use them one of the times I went to the bathroom.
Lawyers and activists question the legal validity of the arrest and charges against the 33. (GETTY IMAGES).
thankful for a bath
They allowed us to bathe at around 2:00 in the morning.
We were happy to bathe in the courtyard, with a hose in the open air, supervised by officials.
A lawyer bought us 33 soaps, one for each of us. We didn’t change our clothes because we had to go to the hearing the next day, Wednesday.
That shower lowered my stress levels, I felt a little cleaner. I felt that the policemen were good for letting me shower.
I felt gratitude.
That night I was able to sleep a little more, I had nightmares about escapes and fights between us. And the fear of officials.
If I’m on the street and see a police car, I check my pockets to make sure I have my ID. I’m a little scared.
Defense attorneys demand that all charges be dropped. (GETTY IMAGES).
The dungeons of the Palace of Justice
The next day, we leave without having breakfast. The hearing was scheduled for 11:00 in the morning.
We were the first private… Oh, imagine, I already accepted that word.
We were the first detainees to arrive at the Palace of Justice and they took us to the cells.
They divided us into two groups and placed us in two cells, one with 17 and the other with 16. And that long wait begins, from around 9:00 in the morning until 4:30 or 5:00 in the afternoon.
My companions were in the same dungeon as the day before, but my group got the one in front. He was shorter, smaller. We had to sit on the floor.
We tried to make jokes to get through the hours. We felt that if an hour passed, they were going to charge us with another crime.
Those deprived of liberty wanted to silence us. So we said: “We are more. Are we going to let them shut us up?”
And we started singing very iconic songs for the diverse sex community. We sang “Who cares?”, by Thalía. “Everyone is looking at me”, by Gloria Trevi. And we close those songs with the national anthem.
There was silence in all the cells, we only heard ourselves singing the national anthem.
“The judge never spoke to us”
Then we arrived at the audience in silence, with respect, with a very bad smell I would say, with the same clothes all those days. Protected by our defenders, both public and private, who did an impeccable job.
The prosecutors were new, not the same ones that showed up the night before.
The judge never spoke to us. It was an introductory hearing but it looked like a trial.
She was very lazy and never looked at us. There we found out that they were accusing us of indecent indecent, conspiracy and noise pollution.
We had 12 defenders: four public and eight private. They all requested the annulment of the process and that we be released fully without restrictions.
The last defender titled his speech as “The lost hope.” And that marked me.
We had lost hope in the rule of law.
That defender was so emphatic that the judge walked out and came back, giving little importance to what he was saying.
We went into recess and when we came back, he said he was dismissing all defense motions.
He issued an arrest warrant for three people and the other 30 were left to appear every 30 days for six months.
After all this, I feel mocked and worried. Every time I speak, I am releasing the experience. But it also subjects me to an exposure I didn’t want.
I don’t want anything worse to happen to me for showing my face and making visible the vices of this system.
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