[NYTr] Venez: A Visit to the Colonel (Kagarlitsky)
ny...@olm.blythe-systems.com
Institute of Globalization Studies - Jan 7, 2005
http://www.iprog.ru/en/articles/?id=327
A Visit to the Colonel
by Boris Kagarlitsky
It is less than a month since Colonel Hugo Chavez, the radical and
charismatic president of Venezuela, spoke in Moscow to an enraptured
crowd of left-wing youth and intelligentsia. Now I am in the Venezuelan
capital, Caracas, at a big conference organised by the president. It is,
so to speak, a return visit.
Hell in Paradise
The first thing that strikes a northerner who comes to a tropical
country is the landscape. This is not the first time I've been in Latin
America, but it's always the same. Before your eyes is a completely
unaccustomed vista too huge and rich to fit at first into your
consciousness. Of course, the vistas in Russia are much larger we know
this from our geography lessons. But the Russian expanse opens up only
gradually; you don't perceive it at a glance. Our landscape is modest;
with its rivers, hills and coppices, it is more like chamber music than
a symphony. You gain a sense of spaciousness only when you start to
move, and this is why Russians love fast travel.In Latin America it's
different; here everything opens up at once. On one side is the sea, and
on the other an endless chain of mountains, overgrown with lush
greenery. There's a great deal of everything, all of it on a huge scale.
You don't need to move; you can simply stand still. Or better still, you
can lie down and absorb the new sensations. The world outside doesn't
urge you to go anywhere; it doesn't impel you into motion. From the
point of view of nature this is clearly paradise, a garden of Eden
spreading out for thousands of kilometers. The first signs of
civilisation, however, break the harmony. Between the lush mountains
stand huge, ugly, dilapidated buildings. The city of Caracas presents an
irrational (to foreign eyes) jumble of shabby skyscrapers and
undisguised hovels. Threading between them are hordes of battered old
cars and crowds of poorly dressed people.
From time to time well-dressed people and expensive cars appear too,
but they exist in a sort of parallel world which, to tell the truth, I
do not find very interesting. Exactly the same parallel world can be
found in Moscow.
At one time Caracas, like many urban centers in Latin America, was a
small, comfortable provincial city. But the Yankees found oil here, and
then an economic boom began. Historic quarters were levelled to the
ground (only the house where Simon Bolivar was born miraculously
remained intact). In place of the old buildings, concrete skyscrapers
were built, and freeways for the cars. Unfortunately, the prosperity did
not last; oil prices started falling, the export revenues were
plundered, and the standard of living declined sharply.
The skyscrapers have a depressing air. We were put in the Hilton, in the
very center of town. The hotel consists of two massive concrete towers,
one of them embellished with the words Caracas Hilton in huge letters
completely rusted through. Next to the hotel are two more skyscrapers,
even more massive, one of them half burnt-out and abandoned. Some
ministry once occupied the middle floors. There was a short circuit, the
ministry went up in flames, and along with it all the higher floors.
No-one was hurt. Nor is there any sign of renovations.
The most picturesque areas of Caracas are the shantytowns on the
mountain slopes. A good half of the population lives there. In
elections, these people vote almost unanimously for Chavez. Foreign
tourists, however, are not encouraged to visit the shanty-towns; you
could get your throat cut. The level of crime in Caracas is so high that
local residents, I have the impression, almost take pride in it. They
advise us insistently not to go out on the streets after dark,
explaining in detail and with relish how to avoid unwelcome encounters.
Nature created a paradise, but in this paradise, people have contrived
to build their own hell.
The Colonel
In Venezuela, a revolution is taking place. In 1992 Colonel Chavez tried
unsuccessfully to stage a coup; he was thrown in jail, and became a
popular hero. Winning election as president, he began a struggle against
poverty. As luck would have it, the coming to power of the new regime
coincided with a rise in world oil prices. The president decided to
restore order in the state oil company PDVSA, the revenues from which
had earlier been shamelessly plundered. Before long there was an
attempted coup, but it failed after encountering massive resistance.
Then the management of the company shut down production. In the end
Chavez won; the old managerial team were sent packing, a reorganisation
was carried out, and the result was that from somewhere, an extra four
billion dollars promptly appeared in the budget. The company's offices
were handed over to one of Venezuela's universities.
Little by little, the state apparatus is being transformed, but the
results are not turning out exactly as expected. Corruption has been
curtailed, but efficiency has not improved. If some matter would earlier
be fouled up at a cost of three million, this cost has fallen, and it
will now be fouled up for only two million.
I experienced the remarkable qualities of the Venezuelan bureaucracy
while I was still making preparations to go to the conference. First, I
was sent a ticket for the wrong date. Then, after canceling one ticket,
they neglected to issue another. Then they booked a ticket, but did not
confirm payment. Strangely, I still managed to get to Caracas. Magical
realism!Meanwhile, the stereotype image of Latin American inefficiency
is not always borne out. On the technical side, things may be on a very
high level. People in Venezuela adore new technologies. I spent two
hours waiting for the young person who was supposed to prepare my
identity card. But once he had appeared, the electronic system was
switched on, and within half a minute all the problems were solved; the
data were all loaded into the computer, and I had a beautiful plastic
card complete with my photo.
Chavez appeared frequently before us, making speeches each of which
averaged about two hours. Toward the end we got used to it, and were
taking regular visits by the president for granted. Once the colonel had
finished his speech, he started talking with people, putting his
bodyguards on edge. The squads of bodyguards were constantly changing,
and their expressions were extremely troubled. To tell the truth, they
worked very professionally; they did not stop the president talking with
his supporters, but at the same time kept a very close watch on
everything that was happening.
Chavez's speeches are relatively simple. They are not like those of
Fidel Castro, a professional orator with aristocratic features and a
lawyers training, nor like those of Brazilian President Lula, accustomed
to addressing trade union meetings and workers demonstrations. Chavez is
a talkative colonel, of the kind found in our army too. He is not
especially well versed in the art of rhetoric. He talks with those
around him, reflects on life, and has trouble stopping. People like it.
The colonel is already making for the exit when a woman starts calling
out, Chavez, I've wanted for a long time to shake your hand! The
president turns around and goes to shake her hand, but on the way
notices an acquaintance and stops to chat with him. How are things with
your wife? And your daughter? The crowd of supporters continues pressing
forward. The leader of the republic is gradually wearying of the endless
handshakes, but is trying not to show it. Finally, urged on by his
bodyguards, he makes it to the door. The hall is blocked for several
minutes.
To judge by everything, speeches to the public, handshaking, and
conversations with workers about life take up a good deal of the
president's time. There is just one small mystery: when does he get to
do any work?
At the Grass Roots
Critically thinking intellectuals are never satisfied with revolutionary
speeches, and everyone has wanted to see how the revolution is going at
the local level. And so, we were taken to the grass roots. The
conference delegates were divided into several groups and sent to
various parts of the republic. I was dispatched to a particularly remote
region the state of Lara. We had to fly there in an analogue of the
sturdy, somewhat old-fashioned aircraft of Russian agriculture. After
carefully surveying his six passengers, the pilot began seating them in
a particular order: the fattest in the middle of the aircraft, and those
who looked somewhat lighter towards the tail. Otherwise the plane might
flip over, he explained nonchalantly. Once in flight, the passengers had
to change seats; the initial estimates of our weight had obviously been
wrong. After this, the group of Puerto Ricans I was traveling with were
smitten with an irresistible desire for a drink. By a strange
coincidence, a supply of whisky and tequila had been laid in beforehand.
For some time after I arrived in the state of Lara I could not quite
understand were we being shown things here, or on the contrary, were we
ourselves on display? Whatever the case, we were in the real backwoods.
Few people come here even from Puerto Rico, not to speak of Russia. One
way or another, the impressions were powerful. First we were taken to a
tumble-down shed with a slate roof. On entering, we found two
magnificently equipped dentists chairs and two Cuban dentists who day
and night were fixing the jaws of Venezuelans. An important achievement
of the revolution is free dental care. There is no doubt that the system
works; all over Caracas I saw young women with dental braces of the sort
which in Europe are usually fitted to twelve-year-olds. The masses have
felt the changes: everyone has started getting their teeth fixed.
Our welcoming hosts in the state of Lara were eager to show off their
achievements. We were taken to a village general store, a municipal shop
where for fixed prices working people could buy everything they needed.
The goods were supplied by state companies and local cooperatives. All
sorts of basic items were on sale - milk, bread, flour, baby food, and
for some reason, no fewer than ten varieties of ketchup. In the local
climate, this was obviously among the goods of first necessity.
Our next stop was by some shacks, where a dining-room for poor people
had been set up. People would prepare food at home, the state would
provide them with foodstuffs and they had to feed themselves and help
feed their neighbours. On the wall were the rules of the dining-room,
along with a placard bearing a portrait of Chavez. Next to these was Che
Guevara. Next again, a little smaller, was Batman.
A friendly local official explained how everything was set up. The food
only looks unappetising, he said. In fact, it's very nutritious. An old
man was carrying a pan full of food out of the building. In the rules on
the wall it was written clearly that taking food out was forbidden.
Noting my surprised glance, the official immediately explained, "This is
an exception he has a sick wife. But we always send someone to make sure
it's her he's feeding."
Eventually we arrived at the governor's palace, a beautiful old mansion
surrounded on all sides by ugly concrete boxes. The governor himself was
a serving military pilot, an African-Venezuelan. He told us clearly and
specifically what was succeeding and where there were difficulties. He
was one of the people who might be called the workhorses of the
revolution.Gathered in the main hall were thirty or so people who were
taking part in programs connected with the struggle against illiteracy.
One after another they came before us and gave accounts of the work that
had been done. In the state of Lara, illiteracy had been wiped out. The
Puerto Ricans demanded to be shown, as they had been promised, a
formerly illiterate person who had been taught to read. Unfortunately,
the organisers of the event had forgotten to bring such a person along.
There was, however, a bearded man present who had undergone retraining
in an institution something like the Workers Faculties in the USSR of
the 1920s. He related how he had dreamed all his life of becoming a
teacher, but had not had the chance to get an education. Now he had been
given all the requisite knowledge, and could himself teach others.
Inspired with enthusiasm, the people in the hall began shouting slogans,
Hugo Chavez will not go! And so, we returned to Caracas.
A Venezuelan woman who was accompanying us complained, The people in
Lara so much wanted to talk to you. But they had clearly set out to put
us on display.
In the lobby of the hotel I encountered an American who had been taken
to another state. We exchanged impressions. No, he said thoughtfully,
that was obviously not a Potemkin village. Everything was too run-down.
Democracy
From his appearance, Chavez leaves no doubt as to his origins. He is
descended from Indians. Among Latin American leaders, this is something
distinctly unusual. The old Creole elite, that has ruled here for
centuries, does not hide its indignation. How can the descendants of
conquistadors tolerate having a mestizo in power?
The opposition in Venezuela complains constantly about one stricture or
another, but compared to what we see in Russia, this is a model
democracy. An effort is made not to appoint opponents of the president
to government service. I rack my brains, trying to recall if I have ever
encountered an open opponent of President Putin among today's Russian
state functionaries.
Putin spent his first four years in office trying to drive two
independent television channels off the airwaves. As well as two state
channels, Venezuela has three private ones that are openly
pro-opposition. In the hotel during the evening I turn on the television
set. First, a state channel. Tedious, poorly produced propaganda,
together with provincial news it's impossible to watch. I switch over to
an opposition channel. Uninterrupted abuse directed at Chavez, and
biased news programs. It's impossible to watch.
Venezuelans have long since stopped paying attention to the television.
Not long ago a new press law was adopted, a law which the opposition
regards as infringing press freedom. I have it before me. Compared to
what applies in Russia, everything is exceedingly liberal. True,
explicit calls for armed revolt are forbidden. The ludicrous thing here
is that such appeals have been made periodically on the opposition
channels. Everyone is used to them, and no-one takes much notice. The
soap operas are more interesting.
In the post-Soviet republics, provision is made for the holding of
referendums, and Chavez has had his referendum too. But unlike its
counterparts in the former USSR, the Venezuelan referendum was not about
extending the president's term in office, but about ending his term
ahead of schedule. This is among the provisions of the new constitution
which Chavez introduced: any elected figure may be subjected to this
procedure once half of his or her term has passed.
The opposition had trouble collecting signatures, and some of the
signatures they had were considered doubtful. The initiative group was
given additional time to correct mistakes and submit new lists.
In Latin America, the rigging of elections is just as commonplace as in
our part of Europe. Consequently, the opposition can always find a
pretext for taking to the streets (the Ukrainian and Georgian events are
examples of a typical Third World situation). The task of the
authorities in Caracas was to stop events from developing in this
fashion. Instead of preparing water cannon and grooming experts who
would demonstrate that malpractice had not occurred, the authorities in
Venezuela chose a somewhat unorthodox route: to count the votes honestly.
The voting system involved double counting, and included an
international audit with the participation of American experts.
Considering the extremely hostile relationship between Chavez and the US
administration, it would be hard to imagine more exacting monitors.
Venezuelans first recorded their vote on an electronic machine
resembling the automatic teller machines in a bank. Then the machine
issued a receipt, which would be deposited in a ballot box. The receipts
and the electronic votes were counted separately, and the results
compared. Almost half of the positions on the electoral commission were
assigned to opponents of the president. Some voting districts and
regions were chosen by lot for the auditors to conduct a recount. But
however the count was made, there was only one outcome: Chavez had won.
To Moscow, to Moscow!
Sheremetyevo Airport greets me not with frost and snow, but with mud and
slush. I feel a strong urge to wheeze and cough. All the same faces are
back on the television. Parliamentary deputies from the United Russia
bloc explain how much better education and health care will become when
everything is finally privatised and commercialised.
Tomorrow I am to visit the dentist. I had better get the money ready.
*
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