From Torture Center to Cultural Hub: Venezuela's Controversial Plan for Notorious El Helicoide
Rising like a concrete specter over Caracas, El Helicoide was once a symbol of Venezuela's modernist ambition. Conceived in the 1950s as the world's first drive-through shopping mall, its spiraling ramps were meant to showcase oil-fueled prosperity. Decades later, under the governments of Hugo Chávez and Nicolás Maduro, the unfinished brutalist structure became synonymous with state terror—a primary detention and torture site for political prisoners.
Now, in a move framed as a break from the past, Acting President Delcy Rodríguez—who once oversaw the facility—has declared it will be shut down and reborn as a "sports, cultural, and commercial center" for police families and local communities. The announcement comes amid sustained U.S. pressure and follows the capture and extradition of former leader Maduro.
"This is a necessary step toward healing," Rodríguez stated last Friday, positioning the plan among several reforms intended to signal a new chapter for the nation.
Human rights organizations, however, warn that the proposal risks erasing a documented history of atrocities. "Shutting down El Helicoide is long overdue, but turning it into a recreation center is an insult to the victims," said Martha Tineo, coordinator of the NGO Justicia, Encuentro y Perdón (JEP). "This site demands preservation as a space of memory, not erasure."
Activists point to models like Argentina's ESMA museum—a former naval mechanics school turned memorial to dictatorship victims—as a more appropriate path. Such a approach, they argue, could provide symbolic reparation and serve as a safeguard against historical amnesia.
The building's history mirrors Venezuela's turbulent political journey: abandoned after the 1958 overthrow of dictator Marcos Pérez Jiménez, later a shelter for landslide victims, then a hub for crime, and finally, the headquarters of the feared Bolivarian National Intelligence Service (SEBIN). Under Maduro, reports detailed systematic torture within its walls, including electric shocks, beatings, and suffocation.
Angel Godoy, a 52-year-old engineer and activist, spent nine months in El Helicoide last year after being arrested for his role in election monitoring efforts. "They saw citizen oversight as a threat," said Godoy, who faced terrorism charges. Released in January after 372 days, he remains under restrictive court supervision. "I will only feel free when every unjustly held prisoner is out," he told reporters.
While Rodríguez has proposed an amnesty bill, critics highlight its likely exclusions and lack of transparent drafting. Estimates suggest 600–800 political prisoners remain detained, many on unproven allegations of plotting against Maduro.
The transformation plan coincides with other swiftly enacted laws, such as a recent oil industry overhaul, fueling concerns that Rodríguez's administration is perfecting, not abandoning, autocratic governance. "Proceeding without genuine victim inclusion confirms there is no real will for change," Tineo concluded.
Voices & Reaction
Carlos Mendez, Political Historian at Central University: "Architecture holds memory. To simply repaint a torture center without confronting its past is to build on a foundation of silence. This isn't transformation; it's camouflage."
Isabella Fuentes, Community Organizer in Caracas: "Our neighborhoods need public spaces desperately. If done with true community input and a memorial component, this could be a start. But the process feels rushed and top-down."
Miguel Rojas, Former Detainee & Writer: "This is a cynical PR stunt. They want to sanitize a monument to their crimes while hundreds are still in cages. It's like opening a playground on a burial ground—disgraceful and deeply painful."
Ana Silva, Cultural Affairs Journalist: "The symbolic weight of repurposing such a site is immense. Internationally, similar conversions have succeeded only with truth-telling at their core. Without that, it's just real estate development."