Ramon Centeno spent most of his four years in a Venezuelan prison lying down. He could barely move around his cramped cell, where thin sheets of fabric hung between the bunk beds for a sliver of privacy.

There were no windows to catch a glimpse of the sun, only a dim yellow light from the corridor that crept across the concrete floor. The lightbulbs in the cell itself had long ago burned out.

Each morning began with the echoes of military-style drum rolls and shouts of "Long live Chavez!" – a tribute to the late socialist president.

Centeno, a journalist, was arrested in 2022 over an interview the government disapproved of, one that linked former officials to alleged drug trafficking.

He became one of the thousands of political prisoners Venezuela has held over the years on charges that rights groups describe as arbitrary and politically motivated.

He still remembers the first time his mum came to see him in prison in Caracas – and they shared a flash of pain at him not being able to leave with her. It was her birthday.

"When we turned around, we looked at each other – me behind bars and her in tears," Centeno said.

But in the early hours of January 14, the 38-year-old was unexpectedly freed. His mum greeted him in her best clothes and makeup, as if she were attending a celebration, and guided him out in a wheelchair.

"It was an indescribable moment," he told Global News Insight of his release. "I felt like I was being reborn – a birth towards freedom."

Almost two weeks after his release, his mum, Omaira Navas, died of a stroke. She had lived to see his freedom for just 13 days.

A country at a crossroads

Centeno is among more than 400 political prisoners released in Venezuela since January, according to the human rights group Foro Penal.

The prisoner release follows a military operation led by the United States to abduct and imprison Venezuela's then-President Nicolas Maduro on January 3.

Faced with pressure from the US, the interim Venezuelan government has presented the mass release as a “gesture of peace” following the years of political division under Maduro and his predecessor, Hugo Chavez.

But critics argue that after more than two decades of political oppression, the releases are long overdue. They question whether the prisoners' newfound freedom signals a genuine shift away from Maduro's policy of stifling dissent.

The releases have led to much-awaited reunions. Yet many describe homecomings as bittersweet. Their friends remain behind bars, their releases are laden with legal restrictions, and the fear of re-arrest persists.

For Venezuelan analyst Carmen Beatriz Fernandez, the country is facing an "irreversible" transition under the interim government. Yet, what remains unclear is where that transition is heading.

"We’re at a crossroads where the intention to open up economically is very clear, but the intention to open up politically isn’t," Fernandez said.

She added that the institutional structures that have shielded Venezuela's human rights abuses remain in place.

Reclaiming small comforts

Since 2014, Foro Penal has recorded at least 18,842 cases of politically motivated arrests, nearly all under Maduro's government.

Some prisoners were kept in custody for a matter of days. Others, years. The longest-serving ones, according to rights advocates, have been held in detention for more than two decades.

Jesus Armas, an engineer, political activist and university lecturer, was among the recent releases. When he left El Helicoide prison on February 8, he was eager to reclaim the small joys that had been denied to him.

"The most amazing thing that happened to me in the last few days was to see the sunrise," Armas said.

The soft, pinkish light mesmerised him, contrasting with the green of the surrounding mountains and concrete grey of the city.

"All of it together was, without doubt, poetry," he recalled.

His release had been sudden. Even his father didn’t know about it. When Armas appeared at his parents' home, his father froze and remained speechless for several minutes.

But slowly, life is settling into ordinary comforts: drinking tea with his mum, playing his guitar and video calls with his girlfriend, Sairam Rivas.

Her absence, however, is a reminder of the continued threat of repression in Venezuela. Rivas is in exile, having been threatened with arrest.

Still, he looks forward to their reunion. "It’s going to be wonderful," Armas said. "There’s nothing like hugging someone you love."

Easing international pressure

Armas was released shortly after the announcement of a planned amnesty law that aims to free many of those detained since 1999 in connection with political activity.

That legislation was passed on Thursday and signed into law that very night. Interim President Delcy Rodriguez hailed the measure as "opening new avenues for politics in Venezuela".

But there have been concerns that the amnesty law may not protect every political dissident who faces arrest or imprisonment.

Critics also point to government statements that suggest accountability for human rights abuses remains a distant prospect.

"We ask for forgiveness, and we also have to forgive," Jorge Rodriguez, the leader of Venezuela's National Assembly and the president's brother, said during a debate on the amnesty bill.

For some rights advocates, the call for forgiveness obscures a need for justice.

President Rodriguez and her brother both worked in the highest echelons of the Maduro administration, a government that the United Nations accused of "grave human rights violations and crimes against humanity".

In a statement in January, UN expert Maria Eloisa Quintero underscored that leaders across Maduro's former government share responsibility for the violent repression.

"Responsibility for these violations is not limited to Nicolas Maduro," Quintero said.

Maduro himself has yet to face punishment related to his government's human rights abuses. Instead, he faces trial in the US for drug-trafficking and the possession of weapons.

A separate case in Argentina seeks his extradition for crimes against humanity.

Martha Tineo, cofounder of the nonprofit Justicia, Encuentro y Perdon (JEP), told Global News Insight that repression in Venezuela has been "systemic" under Maduro.

She pointed to a record of arbitrary detentions, enforced disappearances and torture, including through isolation, sleep deprivation and inadequate food.

To this day, at least 644 political prisoners remain in jail, according to Foro Penal.

Many of those released continue to face strict conditions, including regular check-ins and gag orders.

For human rights activists like Tineo, these restrictions cast doubt on the political motives behind the prisoner releases. Tineo believes they are an exercise in public relations.

"The releases that have taken place since the official announcement on January 8 are isolated, tactical measures aimed at easing international pressure," she told Global News Insight.

A 'revolving door' for prisoners?

For Armas, the joy of his homecoming has been dulled by the fear of continued persecution.

The trouble largely began after he served as an organiser for Venezuela's opposition during the contested 2024 presidential election.

Protesters had denounced the vote as rigged after Maduro's government failed to provide the official results of the election. The opposition, meanwhile, published evidence suggesting its candidate had won by a considerable margin.

That prompted a sweeping government crackdown on dissenters.

In December 2024, Armas was arrested. He said he was taken to a house where he was blindfolded, tied to a chair for days and suffocated with a plastic bag.

Later, he shared a dingy cell with dozens of other prisoners – and rats. Once he was transferred to El Helicoide, his friends and family had no contact with him for 10 months.

His release, however, has not meant freedom. The day he stepped out of prison, he celebrated by joining a motorcycle parade with Juan Pablo Guanipa, a prominent politician who had also been freed.

There was a feeling of energy and optimism, Armas recalled, as they visited the families of other political prisoners. But within hours, Guanipa was abducted by masked individuals. No one knew where he had been taken.

"I couldn’t sleep because I was scared," he said. His first night home was spent lying in bed, checking for news about Guanipa.

"I had all this adrenaline, all these mixed emotions. I was happy because I was with my parents, but there was also fear."

Officials accused Guanipa of breaching the rules of his release, although it is not clear what those limits were. He was held incommunicado for hours before being fitted with an electronic ankle monitor and placed under house arrest.

Only after the passage of the amnesty bill on Thursday was Guanipa released from house arrest, according to a statement from his brother Tomas Guanipa.

Still, Guanipa himself warned that the amnesty law would not end the government's oppressive tactics. He highlighted its exclusions and loopholes.

"What was approved today in the legislative palace is no amnesty," Guanipa wrote on social media after his second release in less than two weeks.

"It is a flawed document intended to blackmail many innocent Venezuelans and excludes several brothers and sisters who remain unjustly behind bars."

For Tineo, cases of re-arrest like Guanipa's show that Venezuela is not sincere about ending government repression.

"As long as judicial restrictions remain in place for those released and the 'revolving door' practice continues – new detentions following releases – it can’t be said that there is an end to the policy of persecution," she said.

Navigating how to move forward

Rights groups say that progress requires authorities to acknowledge the harm they caused.

For many political prisoners, their lives have been transformed by the torture and hardship they faced behind bars.

While Centeno came out of prison in a wheelchair, he did not enter in one. He arrived on crutches, still recovering from a road accident months earlier that shattered his hip and femur.

But inadequate medical care in prison meant he never fully recovered. His wounds became infected, and he lost the ability to walk.

At one point, for six months, his jailers placed him in an isolated "punishment cell" because they worried that, if he was around other people, he would be able to smuggle out information about his case and prison conditions.

"They told me, 'We have to put you here because you are a journalist, and you can bring to light everything that is happening,'" Centeno said.

But his injury prevented him from standing up to take bathroom breaks, and in isolation, he had no one around to assist him.

So the guards tied a bell to him so he could ring for help. Only, help often did not come for hours. Some guards even taunted him, saying he would rot in jail for the rest of his life.

Now Centeno is trying to regain the independence he once had. He currently relies on a neighbour for help with cooking, going to the bathroom and running errands outside his home.

"Not being able to move on my own two feet, combined with the absence of my mom, has been devastating," said Centeno, who lives alone with his three dogs.

'No one showed up for me'

Prison altered more than just Centeno’s body. About a year before he entered prison, he was still a committed "chavista", an ardent supporter of the political movement Chavez and Maduro once led.

"I fell in love with what Chavez said," he told Global News Insight, pointing to the socialist leader's embrace of egalitarian ideas and social welfare programmes, especially education and housing initiatives for the poor.

Centeno added that he would even transcribe Chavez's most important speeches on paper when he was younger.

Today, he feels a deep sense of betrayal when he thinks about the government, led by the United Socialist Party of Venezuela (PSUV).

"I did so much for the party, for the left – and received nothing. No one showed up for me. They didn't even call my mum," he said of his arrest.

But Venezuela's leadership appears unlikely to change anytime soon.

Venezuela's National Assembly leader, Jorge Rodriguez, said this month there were no plans to hold a new election "in this immediate period of time".

The US has issued similar statements. Political analysts like Fernandez have observed that the US appears more focused on economic reform in Venezuela than on democratic reform.

"We don't even remotely have an electoral timetable. We haven't even started talking about the necessary changes at the level of the judiciary and electoral institutions," Fernandez said.

"It’s very clear that, for the United States, the emphasis has been on stability and not on democratisation," she added. "But that doesn't mean that it is excluded from the equation."

But the continued existence of political prisoners in Venezuela remains a source of anger and tension between the government and its opposition.

The families of the remaining detainees have intensified their protests outside the country's prisons. Some have even launched hunger strikes.

Students also took to the streets in February for a nationwide day of protest, demanding the release of those still imprisoned.

Then there are the released dissidents who are now grappling with what accountability should look like. Although Centeno wants justice for what he suffered in prison, he said he doesn't want revenge for his mistreatment.

"I forgive them all," he told Global News Insight. "I just have to open my heart, my soul, and keep going, because otherwise I'd be chained – even more chained than when I was in prison."

Forgiveness, he said, is something his mother taught him.