In May 2026, evangelical pastor Armando Montero* received a summons from the country’s security agency.
The pastor, who has a second job as a software developer had been asked give evidence in a case against a former client of his, for whom he had designed a piece of software to manage sales for a digital raffle business offering vehicles and apartments as prizes.
The model had become increasingly popular. Numerous influencers replicated it, and some later came under investigation for alleged links to money-laundering operations. When authorities launched raids against those involved in these raffle schemes, Armando’s former client left the country, despite his business apparently operating legally, holding the necessary permits and meeting its tax obligations.
But what appeared to be a routine witness interview turned into an eight-day detention.
‘As I understand it, I was brought in as a witness to testify about this individual. However, a witness interview should not last more than a few hours, and I remained detained for eight full days.’
During interrogations, while Armando answered truthfully that he had no knowledge of illegal activities, officials allegedly drafted statements containing entirely different answers. He told the objective was to force him to sign a document that would serve as the ‘formal complaint’ and make him the case’s ‘main witness’, thereby legitimising a fabricated accusation.
Because the authorities lacked qualified technical personnel, they reportedly provided him with a computer and required him to rebuild the database himself to gather more information about his clients, later altering the statistics he supplied.
Armando describes being held in poor conditions and subjected to constant psychological pressure, which he believes resembles patterns of psychological torture and sensory deprivation documented by the United Nations. One example was spatial disorientation: ‘From the moment you enter that place, you lose all sense of where you are. It feels like a labyrinth, with numerous corridors and lighting that makes it difficult to orient yourself.’
He describes degrading conditions and sensory deprivation: a cell with a single mattress and three five-litre plastic containers—one for urination, another for bodily waste and a third containing a small amount of water. He had no access to toilets, soap or eating utensils.
He also reported being exposed to extreme temperatures and sleep deprivation: ‘The physical conditions seemed designed to prevent rest. There was extremely cold air conditioning, and we had no sheets or blankets. Then they would switch off the air conditioning and the heat became unbearable. It was a constant cycle of intense cold and extreme heat.’
The use of unsanitary conditions, water deprivation and punishment cells without ventilation has been documented in the recent UN Independent International Fact-Finding Mission report on Venezuela (A/HRC/60/61), which warns of an alarming increase in prolonged incommunicado detention and dehumanising treatment in state custody.
Various reports by the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR) have also documented allegations of prolonged isolation, psychological coercion and pressure aimed at obtaining incriminating statements in high-profile cases. Such reports suggest coordination between the judiciary and security forces, the Bolivarian National Intelligence Service (SEBIN) and the General Directorate of Military Counterintelligence (DGCIM), to pressure technical professionals, seize digital tools and compel individuals to sign false statements under threats directed at their families.
‘When they discovered I was a Christian, everything changed’
According to Armando, the situation worsened when officials learned that he was a Christian and had studied theology. This triggered a pattern of verbal harassment specifically targeting his religious beliefs. ‘From that moment on, direct attacks against my faith began.’
One officer allegedly spent long periods attempting to discredit his beliefs. ‘He told me that God had abandoned me, that the church was useless and that faith was pointless. They tried to convince me that God would not get me out of there.’
‘They constantly claimed that Christians are naïve for believing in God in the twenty-first century. There was one person who, approximately every thirty minutes, repeated exactly the same speech: that faith would not save me, that Christians are foolish and that God would not intervene.;
Armando also alleges that officials switched off recording systems and used a polygraph not as a technical instrument but as a tool of pressure. During interrogations, Armando was subjected to deeply personal questions about his family, childhood and marriage, and insults against his parents and wife. He says SEBIN agents deliberately attempted to undermine his emotional stability and family relationships, including by using artificial intelligence tofabricate conversations and tell him that his wife hated his and his marriage was over.
Authorities also refused to allow him to have access to a Bible, in violation of the Nelson Mandela Rules, which had a particularly profound impact: ‘For me, that was like denying food to a person.’
Faced with what he describes as an attempt to completely break him emotionally; Armando made a decision on the fourth day. Regardless of who might hear him, music and prayer became his refuge and source of sanity. Senior officers reportedly called him ‘crazy’ and threatened to send him to a psychiatric institution. Yet his spiritual anchor held firm. ‘The only thing that truly helps me is praying and worshipping the Lord. It is the only thing that allows me to regain calm.’
Armando was released after eight days in detention, but he continues to live in fear. He was allegedly forced to sign a confidentiality agreement, prohibited from leaving the country and warned that his family is under surveillance.
The consequences remain evident: ‘I fear they may do something to my wife or my family in order to pressure me. I have suffered anxiety attacks, difficulty breathing, numbness in my hands and involuntary reactions while sleeping.’
Releases alone are not enough
Armando’s case must be understood within the broader context of the recent releases resulting from the Amnesty Law, which was approved by Venezuela’s National Assembly and enacted on 19 February 2026, and has led to the release or dismissal of charges against 766 individuals as of 1 June 2026.
Nevertheless, human rights organisations stress that these measures do not remove the need to investigate allegations of torture, psychological harassment and restrictions on freedom of religion or belief (FoRB).
According to Foro Penal, a Venezuelan human rights organisation that provides support to victims of arbitrary detention and their families, over 400 political prisoners remain detained, and the organisation has documented 19,102 politically motivated detentions. Although more than 14,000 people have subsequently been released, over 11,000 remain subject to restrictions on their liberty, and 30 new detentions have been recorded in 2026 so far.
Cases such as Armando’s demonstrate that Venezuela’s human rights situation cannot be assessed solely by the number of people released, but also by the treatment they receive while in detention and the extent to which their dignity, conscience and fundamental human rights are respected. With international attention and government resources now understandably focused on the devastation of the 24 June earthquakes, it remains nonetheless essential that those in prison are not forgotten.
By CSW’s Deputy Team Leader for Latin America
* The pastor’s name has been changed for security reasons.