We were discussing Venezuela. I was narrating what has been happening in recent years, asserting that it’s a mistake to refer to Venezuela as a democracy. He looked at me, allowing me to expand my arguments without interruption, scrutinizing my body language. At the end of my exposition, my interlocutor threw me a “where do you fit in?” after stating that all that passion should be channeled. My response was quick: “I don’t.”
I don’t fit in. There’s no space for the critic. There’s no room for someone who places the common good above personal well-being. It’s not understood. There is no acceptance for someone who engages in politics to restore democracy, rather than seeking a position to lead a life of comfort, without accountability. There’s no shared vision, nor desires to build a political platform based on ideas rather than individuals. That’s the problem with Venezuela. We have lived through states of exception, like the 40 years of Puntofijismo. We can’t ignore our history; since Venezuela became a republic, how many years have we truly lived in democracy, 40 out of 200? Can such a record be seen as characteristic of a democratic people?
“That’s incredible!” my interlocutor expressed. I proceeded to explain. Venezuelan politics is divided into two camps, chavismo and opposition. Chavismo holds all the power and, more importantly, all the money. And there’s a leader who, whether for better or worse, keeps his supporters relatively satisfied and offers fabulous business opportunities to anyone who aligns with him. Then there’s the opposition, represented by a number of pseudo-leaders whose combined popularity doesn’t overshadow Chavez. They know it. Chavez knows it, and the people know it. They have control over nothing. They lack funds, nor do they represent opportunities for multimillion-dollar businesses. I told him that the opposition makes the mistake of not putting themselves in the shoes of those who vote for Chavez, who, when faced with choosing between someone who occasionally gives them money and someone who has nothing to offer but promises, will ultimately choose the one who gives them money. It’s pure clientelism. Traditional, and natural in a country where the state’s weight on the economy is so heavy. Between promises and cold hard cash, there’s not much to think about. In that dynamic, banal concepts like democracy, justice, and human rights don’t fit. They are abstract nonsense for those who don’t have to worry about the basics. Even so, I continued, it’s inconceivable that a country of 28 million inhabitants, whose GDP from 1999 to 2009 exceeded $1.8 trillion*, has more than half of its population living in poverty. It’s unforgivable that Venezuela is in the state it is, devastated, with such income. That figure is equivalent to more than 15 Marshall Plans.
At that point, I saw my interlocutor change expressions. “15 Marshall Plans? You must be mistaken,” he said. “Those are figures from the World Bank,” I replied, “you can check them, they are public.” As he fell silent, I continued my monologue. The problem is idiosyncratic, I explained. For on the opposition side, there’s the same attitude toward power as on the chavista side. Both sides share the same fervent desire for a leader to solve everything. A caudillo. The pseudo-leaders of the opposition resent as much as Chavez what they perceive as competition. None are building a future. None are thinking about the next 50 years. I mentioned, as an example, an anecdote of a meeting I had with Leopoldo Lopez years ago, and the expression on his face when I asked, “Where are your dolphins?” There’s a clear division between chavistas and anti-chavistas. However, when it comes to interpreting power and their relation to it, they all belong to the same camp. Everyone wants to be president. Everyone yearns for power, and all harbor the same petty, selfish feelings. They all believe themselves anointed, holders of the ultimate truth, and solutions to the country’s problems. Everyone thinks that a man or woman can pull Venezuela out of its plight and catapult it into modernity without realizing that such a goal can only be achieved by training future generations, to continue the task, which must involve many, not just a few self-appointed individuals. There is no horizontal leadership; only vertical authority.
“Why did democracy last?” I shot back. Due to a political pact, under exceptional conditions, among politicians, with the difference that politicians back then were shaped through hard struggles against true dictatorships, not post-modern ones like Chavez’s. From that era emerged men like Rómulo Gallegos, Rómulo Betancourt, Rafael Caldera, Carlos Andrés Pérez. Real political parties like Acción Democrática and COPEI arose from that time. They were men, institutions, forged from different material. Now, what abounds are personal projects built around minor caudillos, unlikely to last. There’s no national plan. No moral cultivation. No generational transition. As soon as a new face or independent discourse emerges, it gets swiftly assimilated into the structures already described. To silence it. To eliminate the competition. What exists is weariness. And anger over the loss of the freedom and excess many of them enjoyed for 40 years.
“You sound very pessimistic,” he said. “It’s not pessimism, it’s realism,” I replied. There’s no point in deceiving ourselves, and of course ignoring our reality isn’t an option. Not for me, at least. While the country sinks deeper into dictatorial mud, people continue as if nothing’s wrong. Buying, traveling, complaining, but doing nothing. “What will happen in 2011?” he asked. This year is crucial, I commented, since if things continue on their current path, a social explosion is likely to occur. Spontaneous. Social rage is growing, reaching practically intolerable levels on both sides. Those in power will have to ramp up their abuses to maintain their position. Under such circumstances, even a minor incident can escalate into conflict. And if the social explosion doesn’t happen, and we make it peacefully to 2012, then Chavez will kick the table over once and for all and officially declare himself a dictator since that’s the only way he can stay in power and avoid prison or exile.
But the problem will still be there. In these times of agitation, there is no space for introspection. For meditation, and achieving elevated states of consciousness. Those processes typically come, almost always, after conflicts. Venezuela hasn’t hit rock bottom yet. Its society hasn’t either; it remains introspective, superficial, shallow, ignorant, with a completely twisted system of priorities. The problem is that those in power haven’t realized, or haven’t wanted to realize, that without a united purpose promoting collective well-being rather than personal gain, no leader or group of leaders can change the country.
*Figures from the World Bank.