Acceptance Speech of Nobel Peace Prize Winner Maria Corina Machado, represented by her daughter Ana Corina Sosa Machado:
“Oslo, December 10, 2025.
Your Majesties, Royal Highnesses, esteemed members of the Nobel Committee, citizens of the world, my beloved Venezuelans:
I have come to share a story, the story of a people and their long march towards freedom. This journey brings me here today, as a voice representing millions of Venezuelans who have risen once again to reclaim the destiny that has always belonged to us.
Venezuela was born from audacity, shaped by a blend of peoples and cultures. From Spain we inherited a language, a faith, and a culture that intertwined with our ancestral indigenous and African roots. In 1811, we wrote the first constitution in the Hispanic world, one of the earliest republican constitutions on earth. It stated a radical idea: that every human being possesses sovereign dignity. This constitution enshrined citizenship, individual rights, religious freedom, and separation of powers.
Our ancestors carried freedom on their shoulders. They crossed an entire continent, from the banks of the Orinoco to the heights of Potosí, convinced that freedom is never complete unless shared. From the very beginning, we believed in something as simple as it is immense: that all human beings are born to be free. This conviction became the soul of our nation.
In the 20th century, our land blossomed. In 1922, during nine days, the La Rosa event in Cabimas, Zulia State, gushed oil and vast possibilities. In peacetime, we transformed that sudden wealth into a motor of knowledge and imagination. With the ingenuity of our scientists, we eradicated diseases, founded world-renowned universities, museums, and concert halls, sending thousands of young Venezuelans to study abroad, trusting that their free minds would return to transform the country. Our cities were filled with the kinetic art of Soto and Cruz-Diez. We forged steel, aluminum, and hydroelectricity, proving that Venezuela could build everything it dared to dream.
We also were a refuge. We opened our arms to migrants and exiles from every corner of the world: Spaniards fleeing the Civil War, Italians and Portuguese escaping poverty and dictatorship, Jews leaving behind the Holocaust, Chileans, Argentines, and Uruguayans fleeing military regimes, Cubans repudiating communism, and entire families from Colombia, Lebanon, and Syria seeking peace. We gave them a home, education, and security, and they all became Venezuelans.
This is Venezuela.
We built a democracy that became the most stable in Latin America, unleashing all the creative force of freedom.
But even the strongest democracy weakens when its citizens forget that freedom is not something we should wait for, but something we must bring to life. It’s a personal, conscious decision, whose daily practice shapes a civic ethic that needs to be renewed each day.
The total concentration of oil revenue in the hands of the state generated perverse incentives and gave governmental power immense control over society, which ultimately turned into privileges, clientelism, and corruption.
I was fortunate to grow up alongside a father who dedicated his life to building, creating, and serving. From him, I learned that loving Venezuela means taking responsibility for its destiny; however, as a society, we did not manage to do this in time.
When we realized how fragile our institutions had become, it was already too late. The leader of a military coup against democracy was elected president, and many thought that charisma could substitute for the rule of law.
Since 1999, the regime has been dismantling our democracy: violating the Constitution, falsifying our history, corrupting the Armed Forces, purging independent judges, censoring the press, manipulating elections, persecuting dissent, and devastating our biodiversity.
The oil wealth was not used to liberate, but to subjugate. Washing machines and refrigerators were distributed on national television to families living on dirt floors, not as a symbol of progress but as spectacle. Apartments intended for social housing were handed to a few as rewards conditioned on obedience.
And then came the ruin: obscene corruption, historical looting. During the regime’s years, Venezuela received more oil income than in the entire previous century. They took everything from us.
The oil money became a weapon to buy loyalties abroad, while the state merged with organized crime and international terrorist groups.
The economy collapsed by more than eighty percent, poverty exceeded eighty-six percent, and nine million Venezuelans were forced to flee.
These are not just numbers; they are open wounds.
But deeper and more corrosive than the material destruction was the calculated method to break us from the inside. The regime set out to divide us: by our ideas, by race, by origin, by way of life. They wanted us Venezuelans to distrust one another, to silence us, to see each other as enemies. They suffocated us, imprisoned us, killed us, and pushed us into exile.
It has been almost three decades of struggle against a brutal dictatorship, and we have tried everything: betrayed dialogues, repressed mass protests, manipulated elections. Hope crumbled, and with it went the faith that anything could change. The possibility of change became foolishness or madness.
And yet, from the bottom of that abyss, a step that seemed small, almost bureaucratic, unleashed a force that changed the course of our history. We decided, against all odds, to hold a primary election, an improbable act of rebellion. We chose to trust the people.
To reconnect, we traveled the country by road and by dirt paths, in a Venezuela without gasoline, facing daily blackouts and crashed communications.
With no resources, no advertising, and no media willing to mention our names, we moved forward armed only with conviction. The word of mouth became our network of hope and spread faster than any campaign, because the desire for freedom remained alive within us.
Forced migration, which sought to fracture us, ended up uniting us around a sacred purpose: to reunite our families on our land.
Many grandparents confessed to me that their greatest fear was dying without meeting their grandchildren living overseas. Girls, with voices too frail for such pain, asked me to bring their mothers and siblings back from across the world. Our pain united in a single heartbeat: bringing our children back home.
And as if that shared love opened paths, small miracles began to happen.
In May 2023, during a campaign event in the town of Nirgua, a teacher named Carmen approached me. She told me she had seen her neighborhood leader there, a regime operator who decides, house by house, who receives a bag of food and who is punished with hunger.
Surprised, Carmen asked her: “What are you doing here?” And the woman replied, “My only son, who went to Peru, asked me to come today. He said if you win, he’ll return. Tell me what I have to do.” That day, love overcame fear.
Two weeks later, we reached Delicias, a small hamlet taken over by colombian guerrillas and drug trafficking, where not even a hen can be sold without permission from criminals. No candidates had been there since 1978. As we climbed the mountain, I saw Venezuelan flags flying on all those humble houses. I asked, naively, if it was a national holiday. Someone whispered to me: “No. Here, the flag stays hidden. Taking it out is dangerous. Today, people raised it to thank you for daring to come. You will leave, but we will stay, marked.” That day, entire families confronted the armed groups that dominated their lives. And when we sang the national anthem together, sovereignty was reborn in the form of a fragile yet defiant chorus. That day, courage triumphed over oppression.
Our encounters transformed into intimate gatherings of thousands, where we embraced, cried, and prayed. We understood that our fight went far beyond one election. It was an ethical struggle, for truth; an existential struggle, for life; and a spiritual struggle, for good.
With less than a year until the presidential election, our duty was to unite all democratic forces and restore trust in the vote. With the primaries, we achieved that. It was a civic and self-managed effort that lifted a citizen network across the country, like never before in Venezuela.
The diaspora, already a third of the nation, claimed its right to vote. The son who left voted alongside the mother who stayed, and the lines stretched for blocks as ballots ran out. We relied on the people, and the people returned their trust in us.
What began as a mechanism to legitimize leadership transformed into the rebirth of a country’s trust in itself. That day, I received a mandate, a responsibility that transcended any personal ambition. I understood the profound weight of the task entrusted to me.
But the regime, threatened by this truth, prohibited me from running for the presidency. It was a hard blow, but mandates do not belong to individuals; they belong to the people. So we went out searching for someone who could take my place.
Edmundo González Urrutia, a calm and brave diplomat, stepped forward. The regime thought he didn’t pose a threat. They underestimated the determination of millions of citizens, a plural society that united around a common purpose. Communities, political parties, unions, students, and civil society worked together to ensure the nation’s voice was heard.
With three months remaining until election day, few knew our candidate.
Moreover, it wasn’t enough to get the votes; they had to be defended. For over a year, we had been building the infrastructure to do so: six hundred thousand volunteers in thirty thousand polling centers, apps to scan QR codes, digital platforms, and call centers from the diaspora. We deployed scanners, Starlink antennas, and computers hidden in fruit trucks to reach the most remote corners of the country. Technology became a tool for freedom.
Training sessions were held secretly, at dawn, in rooms lent by churches, in basements, and in kitchens, with printed materials crossing the country hand in hand, as if it were a smuggling operation.
Finally, the election day arrived, July 28, 2024. Before dawn, there were lines that wrapped around the blocks, and in the air, a trembling and contained hope could be felt. Our real-time tracking system showed increasing voter turnout in each state and town. Then, the electoral documents began arriving, the sacred proof of the people’s will: first by phone, then by messages, later in photographs, subsequently scanned, and finally delivered on foot, by motorcycle, by mule, or even by canoe.
They came from everywhere. The truth emerged everywhere, as thousands of citizens risked their freedom to protect those documents.
Faced with the overwhelming emergence of our victory, the regime issued a desperate order: soldiers were to expel our witnesses from polling centers and prevent them from receiving the original documents they were entitled to by law. But the soldiers disobeyed.
Edmundo González won with sixty-seven percent of the votes, in every state, city, and town. All the documents told the same story. Within hours, we managed to digitize them and publish them on a website for the whole world to see.
The dictatorship responded with terror. Two thousand five hundred individuals were kidnapped, disappeared, or tortured. They marked their houses, taking entire families hostage. Priests, teachers, nurses, students: all hunted down for sharing an electoral document. Crimes against humanity, documented by the United Nations; state terrorism, used to bury the will of the people.
Over two hundred twenty adolescents arrested after the elections were electrocuted, beaten, and suffocated until they were forced to lie, claiming they had been paid by me to protest. Women and teenagers still imprisoned are subjected to sexual slavery, forced to endure abuse in exchange for a family visit, a meal, or the simple right to bathe.
Yet, the Venezuelan people do not give up.
During these sixteen months in hiding, we have built new networks of civic pressure and disciplined disobedience, preparing for an orderly transition to democracy.
This brings us to today, when the clamor of millions of Venezuelans resonates, already feeling their freedom close.
This award carries a deep meaning: it reminds the world that democracy is essential for peace. And the most important lesson that Venezuelans can share with the world is the lesson forged through this long and difficult journey: if we want democracy, we must be willing to fight for freedom.
Freedom is won every day, as long as we are willing to fight for it. That is why the cause of Venezuela transcends our borders. A people who chooses to be free does not merely liberate themselves, but contributes to all humanity.
True freedom is only possible when we decide not to live with our backs turned to ourselves; when we confront the truth, no matter how harsh; when love for what truly matters inspires us with the courage to persevere and prevail. Only by achieving that inner coherence, that vital integrity, can we live up to our destiny. Only then can we become who we truly are and live a life worth living.
In this long and hard journey, we Venezuelans have gained certainties of the soul, deep truths that have given a transcendent meaning to our lives and prepare us to build a great future in peace.
That is why peace is, ultimately, an act of love. And that love has already set our future in motion.
Venezuela will breathe again. We will open the prison doors and see the sun rise for thousands of innocents unjustly imprisoned, finally embraced by those who never stopped fighting for them. We will see grandmothers sit their grandchildren on their laps to tell them stories, not of distant heroes, but of the courage of their own parents. We will hear our students passionately debate, without fear, with their voices finally free. We will embrace each other again, fall in love again, and fill our streets with laughter and music.
All the simple joys that the world takes for granted will again be ours.
My dear Venezuelans, the world has been amazed by what we have achieved. And soon it will witness one of the most moving images of our time: the return of our own to home.
I will be there again, at the Simón Bolívar bridge, at the border with Colombia, where I once cried among thousands who were leaving, to welcome them back to the bright life that awaits us. Because, in the end, our journey to freedom has always lived within us. We are returning to ourselves. We are returning home.
Let me pay tribute to the heroes of this path. To our political prisoners, to those persecuted, to their families, and to all who defend human rights. To those who protected us, fed us, and risked everything to care for us. To the journalists who refused to be silent. To the artists who took our voice to the world. To my extraordinary team, to my teachers, to my fellow political and social activists. To the world leaders who stood with us and defended our cause. To my three children, my beloved father, my mother, my three sisters, and my brave and dear husband, who have supported me throughout my life.
And, above all, to the millions of anonymous Venezuelans who risked their homes, their families, and their lives out of love. That same love from which peace is born, the one that sustained us when everything seemed lost, and which now unites and guides us towards freedom.
This honor belongs to them. This day belongs to them. The future belongs to them. We continue hand in hand with God. Thank you.”
Copyright © The Nobel Foundation, Stockholm, 2025.
“Venezuela will again be a peaceful and democratic country”
In compliance with the ceremony protocol, the president of the Norwegian Nobel Committee, Jørgen Watne Frydnes also read a speech, the text of which in Spanish can be read here. “Venezuela has become a brutal and authoritarian state immersed in a deep humanitarian and economic crisis. Meanwhile, a small elite at the top, protected by power, weapons, and impunity, is growing rich,” he stated, after starting by citing cases of people who died due to the repression of the Venezuelan regime.
“To all those in Caracas and other cities of Venezuela who are forced to whisper the language of freedom. May they hear us now. May they know the world does not turn its back on them. That freedom is coming. And that Venezuela will again be a peaceful and democratic country. May a new era dawn,” was the hopeful closing of Frydnes’ speech.