We’re inside a Venezuelan prison with the minister for the prison service, Iris Varela. She is a close confidante of President Nicolás Maduro. And today, she is escorting a delegation from the Red Cross on a visit that will air on state television. Ms. Varela’s press office had invited us here. But it appears she didn’t want us to take the full tour. We tag along anyway, curious to see what the system supporting Maduro looks like. The government had closed this building down after a deadly riot. Then they reopened it and named it the Center for the Formation of the New Man. None of the men here are Venezuelan. We learned that they’re mostly Colombians held for crimes like murder and drug trafficking. Ms. Varela tries to show that the state treats people with dignity. The reality we see tells a different story, starting here on this staged tour, where there’s no real mention of the one issue consuming the prison and the country: a nationwide blackout. Venezuela has been in crisis for years, but this power failure that lasted about a week is unprecedented. Even in the capital, it practically paralyzed life and showed that things could still get worse. We visit Alberto Diaz and his wife, Miriam. Alberto runs a small watch repair shop with his sons. It’s the family’s main source of income, and they use most of it just to put food on the table. They also depend on government handouts. It’s clear to us they’re frustrated. But they’re careful when it comes to criticizing the government. Without electricity, the family also has no access to running water. So Miriam stores what she can and rations it. During the day, we see Venezuelans scramble to get water. Some are so desperate, they try and collect it from dirty drain pipes. We can’t shoot freely on the streets. Security is everywhere, restricting access to places where hardship is most visible, like here at this public children’s hospital. Doctors are outside, speaking about the dire conditions on the inside. We’re not allowed in the hospital, so we meet with Andrea Verde in the car. Andrea is the mother of a 7-year-old cancer patient. She tells us she sold her apartment and her car to cover a fraction of the treatment. Now she’s living at the hospital with her daughter. We can’t say that it’s the blackout that sent her into intensive care. But what’s certain is that people are feeling the compounding effects of one crisis after another. And that’s pushed some to take the risk and speak out. But not everybody blames Maduro. We head to the 23 de Enero slum, where the government still enjoys widespread support. Murals of Hugo Chavez, Venezuela’s former leader, are everywhere. He’s seen as a hero here for pouring money into social programs to lift the poor. And before he died, he picked Maduro as his successor. Jesus Arellano is 25, and he’s unemployed, and so he relies almost exclusively on government benefits. Benefits like access to food baskets, medicine and pensions, but these perks are not doled out purely based on need. Fatherland cards carry personal information — voting records, social media activity, political affiliation. So government benefits favor pro-government behavior. It’s why this show of support for Maduro doesn’t feel entirely genuine. Thousands gathered when the government called for a protest during the blackout. But are they here out of choice or need? We asked them why they came out. We hear it over and over, people repeating what the government claims — that the United States is responsible for the most recent disaster. There is no evidence of direct sabotage. But that claim fits into a popular narrative here: that U.S. sanctions against Maduro are generally making people’s lives worse. Jesus is referring to Juan Guaidó. In January, Guaidó declared himself interim president and used U.S. support to mobilize the opposition and try to force Maduro out of power. At this Guaidó rally we’re attending, he appears strong and defiant — — inspiring thousands of supporters. Guaidó continues to provoke, but so far Maduro has withstood the challenge. And for now, he still sits in the presidential palace.