Interviews by Zoom: A Refuge for Venezuelan Migrants and Trinidadian Nationals?

When I conducted interviews with both Venezuelan migrant women and Trinidadians for my undergraduate thesis at university, I came to recognize the distance of our virtual interviewing as a safety zone for both the migrant women and the Trinidadians. 

From the perspective of the three Venezuelan women interviewees, being away from the socio-economic and political pressures in their home countries presented a refuge for them. Of course, this is not to say that their standard of living was ideal in Trinidad— keeping in mind factors like low wages, difficulties finding safe, comfortable housing and navigating residence and work requirements— but they were grateful to be out of danger and to have work. They emphasised that they were here to make an “honest living,” and they distinguished themselves from other Venezuelan migrants who demonstrated “comportamiento poco serio” (unserious behaviour). For the interviewees, the ‘unserious’ women created a negative one-sided image about who the Venezuelan woman was. At the forefront of their minds was the popular perception of all Venezuelan women in Trinidad and Tobago as being hypersexualised— a misrepresentation in their view— in the country to seduce local men and acquire residency through marriage. However, the migrant interviewees wanted to clarify that they simply wanted to work to support families in Venezuela by sending money home. They hoped eventually to return home once the crisis subsided. 

Unfortunately, stereotypes about Venezuelan women were already widespread in Trinidad. Venezuelan migration was a common topic on the radio and on social media; it was nearly impossible to scroll through your Facebook feed or take a maxi taxi ride without hearing something about Venezuelans— and most of the time it was negative. Every time I heard a story during my daily commute to and from the university before the pandemic, someone typically was commenting on the influx of Venezuelans to Trinidad, whether to express pity or contempt for the newcomers. It wasn’t surprising that the topic of Venezuelan migration to Trinidad had infiltrated most types of social groups, from discussions at university to men limin’ (socializing) on street corners. Everyone had something to say and, whether blatant or subtle, there was often an air of contempt that accompanied their words. 

I knew this before conducting my interviews. What I didn’t expect was how much the Trinidadian participants were willing to share, and this made me come to see how distance from remote interviewing could have an important role in the interviewing process. While distance provided a refuge for the migrant women, I think that for the Trinidadian interviewees it was a safety zone where they felt more comfortable expressing their honest views without the potentially confrontational aspect of being face-to-face with me. That was exactly what I had hoped for. 

When we did the remote interviews via Zoom, the participants had their cameras off, but I got their consent beforehand to record our interviews as I used pseudonyms in my project. Although participants were open and frank, there was a degree of honesty with two participants that was unexpected. While one participant claimed that Venezuelans had no reason to migrate to Trinidad because “there is no war in Venezuela, no civil war, but there is a legitimate government in charge who is doing the best that they could,” he suggested that the arrival of Venezuelan women to Trinidad could “diversify the [local] gene pool” because “the complexion in Trinidad and the people in Trinidad were kind of getting very ugly.” This interviewee went on to acknowledge that the unskilled jobs Venezuelan migrants worked were shocking because it was “strange for our colonized eyes to see high-colour [lighter skinned] people working menial jobs.” Another interviewee likened the migrant women to locusts who “suck us dry, then leave.” He claimed that Venezuelan migrants all “have or have had Covid” and since prostitution was legal in Venezuela it wasn’t a problem for them to sleep with a man for money. Yet before speaking bluntly about these topics, they asked me again to make sure I didn’t include their real names. These were eyebrow-raising, shocking remarks and I wondered if we were sitting face-to-face, right in front of each other, if they would’ve been that honest. Or was it that they felt more comfortable sharing disdainful comments with me about Venezuelan migrants because I was also Trinidadian? Perhaps they thought there was a chance that I agreed with them? 

Coming out of this dreadful pandemic, as I am hopeful we will, I may be doing more remote interviews, return to face-to-face or combine them. The one thing that I have appreciated is the advantage that this sort of online distance has for vulnerable migrants and locals alike if it offers even the slightest chance that interviewees may be more forthcoming about their thoughts, opinions and experiences.

---By Thalia Vidale