By Annika Hernroth-Rothstein
Friday, February 01, 2019
Caracas, Venezuela
— “There are colectivos on every
corner.”
My bodyguard points them out to me, the seemingly
inconspicuous men standing a few feet away. The men belong to the colectivos, the heavily armed
Maduro-loyalist gangs policing this city, always ready to intimidate and attack
anti-government protesters.
Just after he points them out, one of them walks up to me
and asks for my phone and passport. I hand him a copy of my passport and show
him my phone. Without even bothering to search it, he tells me to delete
whatever is on there.
I do as he says while he watches me, and when I am
finally allowed to go I realize he didn’t think to check my phone’s trash. So I
post the videos and photos, all in succession, while my bodyguard drags me
away.
It’s only my second day in Caracas but already my third
run-in with the alternative law in this city. There’s a growing sense of unease
in me as I realize how truly totalitarian this country has become, creating a
culture of desperation and fear. You fear everyone, not just the regime, but
also all those who are on its payroll, wielding weapons in the name of this
twisted socialist dream.
We are headed to the National Assembly where the
self-appointed interim president, Juan Guaidó, is rumored to be making an
appearance. Ever since the uprising against President Nicolás Maduro started
almost two weeks ago, the country has been waiting for the other shoe to drop
and for the nation’s fate to be determined through either violence or
legislation, or both. Guaidó represents hope, but the path to freedom for
Venezuela is paved with blood, tears, and radical uncertainty. Every other day
here there are protests from both sides that result in riots and massive
regime-led pushback, and it seems as if the people of Caracas are waiting for
that final straw that will break the camel’s back.
On the buildings leading up to the José María Vargas
building that houses the National Assembly, there are countless posters of
Maduro and Hugo Chávez, Venezuela’s former president and the architect of this
socialist state, some of them grafittied with the new, unofficial regime motto:
“If you don’t like it, you can leave.” It is reminiscent of Cuba, the
not-so-subtle hints at how little everyone has to lose, almost taunting the
oppressed people of this country to exercise a power they don’t have.
There are about a hundred of us waiting for Guaidó in the
scorching sun, and when he finally arrives an hour late, there is palpable
excitement in the air. He has the charisma of a young Kennedy, and he knows how
to use the new media: When he speaks, it is in sound bites, powerful and short.
“The Maduro government tells you that the blood of
protesters is on my hands, that I incite violence in this city. But Maduro
knows and you know that these protests come from the people. They want freedom,
they want dignity, and they want the humanitarian disaster that is taking place
here to be recognized.”
Guaidó recounts the stories of some of the 850 political
prisoners who have been jailed since January 11. When he mentions their names,
the otherwise loud group of journalists goes silent. There is a power in his
words and a general sense that things are changing, finally, in a country that
has suffered for so long.
We follow him into the assembly, where he ceremoniously
sits down in the center chair reserved for the president of Venezuela. The moment
isn’t lost on anyone, and definitely not on Jose Guaidó himself, who makes a
statement that seems prepared down to each pregnant pause.
Once it’s all over, we head back out into the streets.
Once again the mood has shifted. There are more colectivos than before, and the walk we had planned, from the
assembly to Simón Bolívar Square, is cut short by my ever-vigilant companion.
We get into a car as the colectivos
approach, and as we head away from danger, I wonder what would have happened
had we stayed.
There are three more protests planned this week, that we
know of, and the feeling on the street is that this week is when it will all
come to a head. Maduro is refusing to step down, despite an offer of amnesty
from Guaidó. Around the world, the international community is taking sides in
the fight for Venezuela’s soul.
For the people of this city, however, it is less about
grand strategy than it is about survival. Those here who dare answer my
questions tell me that they want what anyone wants — to feed their children,
live without fear, and see the country they love so much regain its dignity.
After more than 20 years of consistent mismanagement and broken policies, that
is a tall order for Venezuela, and its people have seen too much to be burdened
with naiveté. Perhaps the everyday Venezuelan’s state of mind is best described
through the words of a woman I met at a downtown coffee shop:
“Guaidó is a great politician, but we have made the
mistake before of believing that one man would have all the answers. Venezuela
won’t be saved by one man, but by one people, and I won’t believe things will
change until we realize that.”
No comments:
Post a Comment