[Marxism] Boris Kagarlitsky: "A Visit to the Colonel"

["Walter Lippmann" <walterlx@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>]

(Fascinating report by a socialist journalist activist
from the former Soviet Union describing life and the
struggle as he saw it during a recent visit to Caracas.)
========================================================

ZNet Commentary
A Visit to the Colonel
January 16, 2005
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 its 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 its 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 its
her hes 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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