Venezuela: Socialismo

I started my travels in South America on a brigade organised by Australia-Venezuela Solidarity Network. Here are my thoughts about the brigade, my own travels and the country itself.

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The tour began during Semana Santa (Easter) and so for the first few days Caracas was a shadow of the chaos it normally evokes. A trip in the free government run teleferico gave us a picture of the way most people live in this city and indeed this country: in shanty towns known as ´´barrios pobres´´. The slums are placed clinging to the sides of the mountains surrounding Caracas´ overdeveloped business centre.

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Our first official day we received a talk from Professor Marcelo Alfonso at the Bolivarian University who gave us some political history of what’s been happening here in the last 12 years.

              In 1998 the general poverty was rated at 62% and in 2010 it was at 17%.

While in Caracas we visited a cultural centre that had been set up by Chavez a few years earlier. He had held a meeting in which the people from the community decided what would best serve them, the services they most needed. After a fellow brigadista asked if they were intelligent enough to decide that, a Marxist teacher who worked at the centre remarked, ¨It´s capitalism that denotes the people as unable to make those decisions, an underestimation of the intelligence and intuition of the working class.¨

The centre also housed over 1,000 refugees who’s homes had been destroyed by floods. The infrastructure includes education for adults and children, subsidized food (1kg of chicken=$AUS1) and a place to live. The slogan written high above them read:

 ¨Here no one gives up¨.

                According to UNESCO, Venezuela’s literacy rate is 100%, probably due to the fact that all education is free, including university.

One of the most rewarding experiences was visiting the Bolivarian University of Medicine. Students came from twenty-four different countries many from Africa, Palestine and various Latin American countries. Students study on a completely free scholarship where everything down to food and free music classes are included. We were lucky enough to meet the music teacher who sang and danced for us and a Bolivian student who played the zampoñas, traditional Bolivian pan flutes, while the rest of the university had their heads down studying. We also met with some trainee doctors from Gambia who were working in communities that needed medical services. When they spoke, their passion about medicine made their qualifications seem less geared towards the title of a job and more like an obligation to humanity. That was inspiring.

              All Venezuelans receive completely free health care that includes the cost of medication.

After a fairly comfortable ten-hour bus journey, we arrived in Puerto Ordaz where, amongst other things, we visited a company of workers who spoke with us about ´control obrero´ (workers control), a process implemented by Chavez in which all employees of the company are involved in the decision making process. There simply exists a figure head that once consulted by the rest of the company, signs papers and shakes hands. The difference between that kind of participation than here in Australia is that the workers genuinely have an interest in the success of their company as they’re all paid the same wages. ¨Workers control the workplace¨, not, ¨the workplace controls the workers¨.

Our guide in Puerto Ordaz was Alexis Adarfio, a key figure in the workers movement. He was incredibly helpful during our time there including organizing a bus to take us from place to place, however hot and sweaty it may have been. He took us to a community run TV station where we spray painted on the walls ¨RESISTANCE¨ and stencils of Simon Bolivar, Venezuela’s national hero of independence, holding a spray can.

May Day in the city of Caracas: a highlight of the entire brigade. The streets were filled with red shirts, red hats, red banners. Millions of workers marched together shouting slogans of solidarity. It was like a big party with music and dancing in the streets and people wanting to take their picture with the ´gringos´, happy we were there to support them. As Chavez approached the stage the whole crowd pushed to get a look at him. Sable and I were luckily shoved to the front, within meters of Chavez. He spoke for over two hours which was exhausting especially when you barely understand the language, but the excitement of being there with all those people was well worth it. 

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After the brigade finished I went on to climb Mount Roraima, swim in the misty pools of the one kilometre-high Angel Falls and adventure along the Caribbean. One of my stories and musings:

Bus trips are an everyday reality when you’re travelling on a budget. Despite the cramped seats, blasting salsa music loud enough to deafen you, the occasional evangelist who preaches in true passionate, Latin American style, I actually really love them. One of my favourites was the trip from Puerto La Cruz all along the Caribbean coast to Cumana. Before boarding the bus, a new travelling friend, Ellie, and I bought some Chicha (yummy, sweet, corn drink) and empanadas deliciosas and hopped on the stinking hot bus. Not only did we see so many of the beautiful islands and beaches but there’re always conversations to eavesdrop on and newspapers to slyly read. For the most part it gives you an opportunity to appreciate the wonders of travelling and reflect on some of your own experiences…

One trip got me thinking: The bus driver was reading an article called ´¿Jesus Socialista?´, two themes that seem to encapsulate this country: politics and religion. The question however remains incredibly valid – a comparison clear only to those without the haze of mixed religious and political stigma. Equity, tolerance, cooperation; if Jesus did in fact exist, which to many people in this country he did, wouldn’t he want all people of the world to have access to education, healthcare, rights in the workplace, to have a home and family knowing that they have those rights too? Regardless of a person’s political and religious persuasions, there is no logic in using the bible to justify a rejection of socialism today - that is simply a misinterpretation of the teachings of Jesus Christ.

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Venezuela is a paradox. With such extreme's existing in terms of class, it's hard to ignore that there seems to be a direct correlation between a person's socio-economic status and their opinion of President Chavez and socialism. For the most part, these two opinions are divided into the working class and the middle/upper classes. I witnessed both of these extremes. When I spoke to one man from the middle class Caribbean island of Margarita, he spoke with me about his family's experience since Chavez took power. Primary and secondary public education is of very poor quality, obtaining money is near impossible - endless lines at the banks and inefficient bonus handouts, regular power outages and a general fear that keeps him and his family inside a security enforced, gated community.  His neighbour remarked, "I'm afraid of everything".

Only a week earlier around midnight whilst waiting for a bus I met a Puerto Rican man selling coffee from a portable contraption he'd constructed from a wheelbarrow and some thermos', who imparted these words: "The most important thing is who you see yourself as. You can be as big as you want to be, no matter where you are or what you're doing."

And then, whilst in Caracas living out some dream, I spoke with a young man while the sun and the entrance to the city metro came up. He told me about what life was like growing up in one of the most dangerous cities in the world. Being addicted to heroin throughout his adolescence, attending a high school with very few facilities and poor teaching staff, how he'd been stabbed in the street, assaulted and had to fight back. He’s now a part of the Young Communist Party, a group that both challenges and supports Chavez's Socialist reforms.

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There´s no point arguing that Chavez is perfect leader and I think a lot of the time people confuse nationalism with unconditional adoration. For me, nationalism or patriotism goes hand in hand with challenging the decisions of your government not simply going along with everything they do, like my young communist friend is doing now. And it’s not as though there aren’t problems.  The economy, corruption, crime, a heavy reliance on oil and no real focus on the environment in any of Chavez’s reforms. But there are also a lot of good things.  The point is that this is a process, there’s no way such huge social change can come about overnight. It will take many years to really make this system work, a struggle that is worth watching.

For me, learning comes in all forms: school, travel, relationships, tragedy, living out dreams.. The more time you have to travel in places where real change is happening and especially in the beautiful country of Venezuela, the better. Witness it for yourself. 

The Brigade

Mount Roraima

Angel Falls

Puerto La Cruz (Caribbean)

Caracas Street Art

Tarija

I wake at midday and try to recover my energy from the previous nights' seemingly endless train and bus rides. My room is one of many cells lining the courtyard at the hosteria. I couldn't get the window closed the night before so my raincover for my backpack is draped precariously over it. I head to town in search of breakfast.

I stumble across the permanent market near the plaza in town. Enormous bags filled with bread, women selling racks of meat and fruit pilled to the ceiling. I come to the almuerzo stalls and allow a woman to seat me at her table, some kind of soup but I didn't know what exactly. I order one.

I wander on to the plaza and sit for a while. I see people meet their friends, taking pictures by the fountain or eating ice-cream on the bench and people watching just like me. I'm reading Paul Theroux's 'The Old Patagonian Express', a companion for the road, he goes where I go, only his writing seems sometimes judgemental and condescending. This frustrates me; I am an open book to the world and his is closed.

I leave the plaza and buy myself a bag filled with various pastries and empanadas. "Uno de eso y uno de eso y tres de esos". (They look good!) I walk to the top of the street where a beautiful old blue and white church is perched on the hill. It was full and I wondered what brought so many people to church on a monday afternoon. I left, seeking something I could understand.

I return to the plaza, studying my map for a place to eat. A girl sits directly opposite me. She looks about my age and seems more contented than restless. Moments later, a call from across the plaza and she is met by her friends. I smile because I know that feeling of being rescued from aloneness. At home I am constantly being saved from some unjustified fear of being alone. But here I relish it. My mind is free to absorb new streets, new tastes and new experiences without the tinted lense of a compatriate whose world-view inevitably becomes synonymous and intertwined with my own.

The next day I check out of the hotel that ended up costing me about $6 AUS per night and head to 'Sur Bike' where I had organised to hire a bicicleta for the day and ride to a nearby waterfall. Turns out it wasn't so nearby-a fourteen kilometre ride uphill, half of which was spent on a busy road. I went with a Dutch woman who arrived at the office just as I was leaving. Once off the main road we passed farms and schools and striking mountainsides. The river was small but grande and the surrounding cliffs beautiful colours of red and green. I sat by the river and ate a mandarin and a standard ham and cheese sandwhich, commonplace everywhere I've been so far.

I sped back to town knowing I had to cross the border before five o'clock. I hopped in a shared taxi with a couple with their baby and some Bolivian men. I got the front seat but soon regretted it when loud Bolivian pop music blasted out the tranquility. The drive was breathtaking passing a river and canyon, high peaks and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid wild-west rock formations. A walk across the border and two buses later, I'd made it to Salta, Argentina, where another adventure was about to begin.