WATCH Daughter Ana Accepts Nobel Peace Prize for María Corina Machado Slams Maduro Regime APT

I now call upon Miss Ana Corina Sosa Machado, the daughter of the Nobel Peace Prize Laureate, Miss Maria Corina Machado, to deliver the Nobel Peace Prize Lecture for 2025. Miss Sosa, will you please take the floor? Your Majesties, Your Royal Highnesses, distinguished members of the Norwegian Nobel Committee, citizens of the world, my dear Venezuelans. First, I want to express our infinite gratitude from my family, from an entire country, to the Norwegian Nobel Committee. Thanks to you, the struggle of an entire people for truth, for freedom, for democracy and peace is today recognized around the world. I am here on behalf of my mother, Maria Corina Machado. She has united millions of Venezuelans in an extraordinary effort that you, our hosts, have honored with the Nobel Peace Prize. But although she has not been able to be here and take part in this ceremony, I must say that my mother never breaks a promise. And that is why, with all the joy in my heart, I can tell you that in just a few hours, we will be able to embrace her here in Oslo after 16 months living in hiding. And as I await that moment to hug her, to kiss her, to embrace her after two years, I think of the other daughters and sons who do not get to see their mothers today. This is what drives her, what drives all of us. She wants to live in a free Venezuela, and she will never give up on that purpose. That is why we all know, and I know, that she will be back in Venezuela very soon. In the meantime, as this moment, I face the difficult task of giving voice to her words, the speech she prepared for this occasion. This is her speech. I have come here to tell you a story, the story of a people and their long march toward freedom. This march brings me here today as one voice amongst millions of Venezuelans who rose once again to reclaim the destiny that was always theirs. Venezuela was born of audacity, shaped by peoples and cultures intertwined. From Spain, we inherited a language, a culture, and a faith that merged with ancestral indigenous and African roots. In 1811, we wrote the first constitution in the Spanish-speaking world. One of the earliest republican constitutions on earth, affirming the radical idea that every human being carries a sovereign dignity. This constitution enshrined citizenship, individual rights, religious liberty, and separation of powers. Our ancestors carried liberty on their backs. They crossed an entire continent from the banks of the Orinoco to the heights of the Potosi to help give rise to societies of free and equal citizens. Out of the conviction that freedom is never whole unless it is shared. From the beginning, we believed something simple and immense, that all human beings are born to be free. That conviction became our national soul. In the 20th century, the earth opened. In 1922, the Reventón in La Rosa erupted for nine days, a fountain of oil and possibility. In peace, we turned that sodden wealth into an engine for knowledge and imagination. Through the ingenuity of our scientists, we eradicated disease. We built universities of global prestige, museums and concert halls, sent thousands of Venezuelans abroad through scholarships, trusting that free minds would return as transformation. Our cities glowed with the kinetic art of Cruz Díez and Soto. We forged steel, aluminum, and hydropower, proved that Venezuela could build anything it dared to envision. But Venezuela also became a refuge. We opened our arms to migrants and exiles from every corner of the world. Spaniards fleeing civil war. Italians and Portuguese escaping poverty and dictatorship. Jews after the Holocaust. Chileans, Argentinians, and Uruguayans escaping military regimes. Cubans escaping communism. And families from Colombia, Lebanon, and Syria seeking peace. We gave them homes, schools, and safety. And they became Venezuelans. This is Venezuela. We built a democracy that became the most stable in Latin America, and freedom unfolded as a creative force. But even the strongest democracy weakens when its citizens forget that freedom is not something we wait for, but something we become. It is a deliberate personal choice, and the sum of those choices forms the civic ethos that must be renewed every day. The concentration of oil revenues in the state created perverse incentives. It gave the government immense power over society, which turned into privilege and corruption. My generation was born in a vibrant democracy, and we took it for granted. We assumed freedom was as permanent as the air we breathed. We cherished our rights, but we forgot our duties. I was raised by a father whose life's work, building, creating, serving, taught me that loving a country meant assuming responsibility for its future. By the time we recognized how fragile our institutions had become, a man who had once led a military coup to overthrow democracy was elected president. Many thought Carisma could substitute the rule of law. From 1991 onward, the regime dismantled our democracy, violating the constitution, falsifying our history, corrupting the military, purging independent judges, censoring the press, manipulating elections, persecuting dissent, and ravaging our extraordinary biodiversity. Oil wealth was not used to uplift, but to bind. Washing machines and refrigerators were handed out on national television to families living on dirt floors, not as progress, but as spectacle. Apartments meant for social housing were handed to a select few with a condition for unquestionable obedience. And then came the ruin. Obscene corruption, historic looting. During the regime's rule, Venezuela received more oil revenue than in the previous century combined. And it was all stolen. Oil money became a tool to purchase loyalty abroad, while at home, criminal and international terrorist groups fused themselves to the state. The economy collapsed by more than 80%. Poverty surpassed 86%. Today, 9 million Venezuelans have been forced to flee. These are not statistics. They're open wounds. Meanwhile, something deeper and more corrosive took place. It was a deliberate method to divide society by ideology, by race, by origin, by ways of being paid by me to protest. Women and girls in prison are right now being forced into sexual slavery, made to endure abuse in exchange for a family visit, a meal, or the chance to take a bath. And yet, the Venezuelan people did not surrender. During the past 16 months in clandestinity, we have built new networks of civic pressure and disciplined disobedience, preparing for Venezuela's orderly transition to democracy. That is how we reach this day, a day carrying the echo of millions who stand at the threshold of freedom. This prize carries profound meaning. It reminds the world that democracy is essential to peace. And more than anything, what we Venezuelans can offer the world is the lesson forged through this long and difficult journey. That to have democracy, we must be willing to fight for freedom. And freedom is a choice that must be renewed every day, measured by our willingness and our courage to defend it. For this reason, the cause of Venezuela transcends our borders. A people who choose freedom to contribute not only to themselves, but to humanity. We attain freedom only when we refuse to turn our backs on ourselves. When we confront the truth directly, no matter how painful. When love for what truly matters in life gives us the strength to persevere and to prevail. Only through that inner alignment, that vital integrity, do we rise to meet our destiny. Only then do we become who we truly are, able to live a life worthy of being lived. Along this march to freedom, we gain profound certainties of the soul. Truths that have given our lives a deeper meaning and prepared us to build a great future in peace. Therefore, peace is ultimately an act of love. This love has already set our future in motion. Venezuela will breathe again. We will open prison doors and watch thousands who were unjustly detained step into the warm sun, embraced at last by those who never stopped fighting for them. We will see grandmothers settle children on their laps to tell them stories not of distant forefathers, but of their own parents' courage. We will see our students debate ideas passionately and without fear. Their voices rising freely at last. We will hug again, fall in love again, hear our streets fill with laughter and music again. And all the simple joys in the world that we have taken for granted will be ours. My dear Venezuelans, the world has marveled at what we have achieved. And soon it will witness one of the most moving sights of our time. Our loved ones coming home. And I will stand again on the Simon Bolivar Bridge where I once cried the thousands who were leaving and welcome them back into the luminous life that awaits us. Because in the end, our journey towards freedom has always lived inside us. We are returning to ourselves. We are returning home. Allow me to honor the heroes of this journey. Our political prisoners, the persecuted, their families, and all who defend human rights. Those who sheltered us, fed us, and risked everything to protect us. The journalists who refused silence. The artists who carried our voice. My exceptional team. My mentors. My fellow political and social activists. The leaders around the world who joined us and defended our cause. My three children. My adored father. My mother. My three sisters. My brave and loving husband. Who've all supported me throughout my life. And above all, the millions of anonymous Venezuelans who risked their homes, their families, and their lives out of love. To them belongs this honor. To them belongs this day. To them belongs the future. Gracias.