Hugo Chavez

by Cristina Marcano

  Chávez has never let go of that military symbolism. When he took his oath of office as the country’s new president, he was also instantly given, as the Constitution established, the position of commander in chief of the national armed forces. For a citizen who had risen to the presidency from civilian life, this would not have been quite as transcendent as it was for Hugo Chávez. Democracy brought him back to the military—in fact, it was almost a shortcut for his meteoric rise in the military.

  This fact became clear when he stepped up to the presidency: from the execution of social plans that were administrated and managed by various divisions of the armed forces to his use of the military uniform for certain official speeches or events. This military focus is also evident in his constant references to military history and life and in his decision to make premilitary education a mandatory course for secondary school students. A quick glance at the Chávez team reveals the preeminence of the military in Venezuela’s public life.

  At the beginning of 2002, the vice president was a military officer, just like the head of the agricultural projects in Sur del Lago. The Ministry of Infrastructure, the Central Budget Office, the Venezuelan Corporation of Guayana, the National Agricultural Institute, the Urban Development Fund, PDVSA [Petróleos de Venezuela, the national oil company], CITGO [a refinery and network of 14,000 gas stations in the United States], the Seniat customs office, the People’s Bank, the Industrial Bank of Venezuela, and the Centralized Social Fund were all in the hands of military officers. The economic power. They also controlled state transportation and communications and the Caracas Metro, the airport of Maiquetía, Avensa [airline], and Setra [Autonomous Transportation Service], Conatel [National Telecommunications Commission], Venpres [State News Agency], Venezolana de Televisión, and the Ministry of the Secretariat. They also controlled national security: the Division for Military Intelligence, the DISIP [Directorate for Intelligence and Prevention Services], the Directorate of Foreigners, and the Vice Ministry of Citizens’ Security of the Interior Ministry. They were governors of the states of Táchira, Mérida, Trujillo, Cojedes, Lara, Vargas, and Bolívar. Naturally, in the Foreign Ministry they occupied positions of minister, vice minister, several directors general, and many ambassadors, those of Peru, Bolivia, Ecuador, Brazil, El Salvador, Spain, Malaysia…. Many military personnel have also been congressmen, the secretary general of organization for MVR [Fifth Republic Movement], the president of Inager [National Geriatrics Institute], the INCE [National Institute for Training and Education], and the headquarters of the National Sports Institute.2

  The process of militarizing areas that were traditionally civilian has not abated. According to the newspaper El Universal, more than one hundred men in uniform, most on active duty, occupy po-sitions of leadership in state-run corporations, autonomous and national services and institutes, governmental funds, foundations, and special commissions. For the regional elections in October 2004, fourteen of the twenty-two candidates on the Chávez party ticket, who had been handpicked by Chávez, were from the military realm.

  Now, more than ever, Venezuelan society has more direct contact with the world of the military. Elements from life in the barracks even pop up in the popular lexicon. During his campaigns, Chávez would organize his followers in what he called “patrols” that were to awaken “at reveille” to enter “battle” and “defeat the enemy” at the polls. During one of his national chains, on November 28, 2002, he warned the country, “When I talk about armed revolution, I am not speaking metaphorically; armed means rifles, tanks, planes, and thousands of men ready to defend the revolution.”

  This was not empty rhetoric. By 2001, Venezuela had more generals and admirals than Mexico and Argentina combined. By 2004, in violation of the Constitution, 120 civilians had been tried in military courts.3 More than one political observer has sensed Norberto Ceresole behind all of this: the notion of the armed forces transformed into a political party, governing the people, protagonist of the society.

  ON OCCASION, PEOPLE who speak directly to Chávez in public refer to him as “mi comandante” or “mi comandante en jefe”—my commander, my commander in chief. Early on in his administration, people transformed this greeting into a cruel joke by accentuating the first two syllables of “mi comandante” so that it sounded like “mico mandante,” which means “monkey in charge.” The idea of associating the president with a monkey is a reflection of the racism and classism of Venezuelan society, which labels the poor as vulgar, crude people who are closer to the jungle than the civilized world.

  This type of “joke” has special significance in the context of late-twentieth-century Venezuela. There is a sector of society that has insistently accused Hugo Chávez of encouraging class conflict and hatred among Venezuelans, stoking the flames of social resentment, and dividing the country. Government allies defend themselves by saying that the nation had previously been living under the false illusion of harmony and that far from inventing these differences Chávez simply revealed them for what they were. As is often the case, both sides probably have a point.

  Venezuelans have always perceived themselves as possessing a degree of egalitarianism, a multiclass diversity that—thanks to the succession of oil bonanzas—produced a fluid, frictionless social fabric. This image, however, eludes another reality: the massive and ever-growing level of poverty and the resentment of those who feel excluded from the country’s immense natural wealth. At a press conference on August 13, 2004, just before the recall referendum, Vice President José Vicente Rangel stated, “What divides Venezuela is poverty. Poverty is what polarized the country.”

  This is true. But also true is the fact that Chávez’s verbal temperature rapidly became a highly combustible detonating force. His fierce rhetoric, without a doubt, was highly effective on the electoral battleground. Not only was the country ready for him, he was ready for the country, too. According to Teodoro Petkoff, “When Chávez entered the picture as forcefully as he did and began to speak as forcefully as he did, nobody hesitated, not for a second. He was the perfect avenger, tailor-made for the disenchantment and frustration of the Venezuelan people.”4

  When it came time to govern, however, that forcefulness quickly became a wellspring of conflicts. Chávez would accuse, discredit, and insult people far too readily, decreeing the law according to the maxim “He who is not with me is against me.” That, at least, is how Luis Miquilena sees it: “When he started to fight with people, I said to him, ‘Listen, kid, you have confused the logical and natural combativeness of elections with the exercise of power, and they are two very different things.’” His behavior was a strategy, a confrontational way of being that, for more than one political observer, pertained to the military realm. Raúl Salazar maintains that “Chávez has a problem that all men in the military have: he plays the politician, but he doesn’t learn how to negotiate; he just learns how to give orders.”

  At one of his last rallies before winning the presidential elections in 1998, he called out to the crowd, “On December 6 [election day], we, you and I, are going to wrap the adecos [Social Democrats] up in a giant ball of”—he paused for a moment—“I can’t say that because it would be vulgar.” It didn’t matter. The multitude, in euphoric unison, screamed out, “Of shiiiit!” That is how Herma Marksman recalls the scene, appalled.

  “For me,” says Marksman, “it was too much.” This was not the Hugo she knew. And she was not the only one to register surprise. This aggressive, contentious, even crude image was very disturbing for those who had known Chávez at other periods in his life. Some believe that this was simply a communications strategy. Others say that the popularity and power had transformed him. And others feel that both are true.

  Alcides Rondón, his friend since military school, adds a bit of nuance to this facet of Chávez’s character: “His emotions are always stirred when he finds himself in front of a crowd. To have a mass of people respond that way to you would be an emotional experience for anyone. Certain re
actions are a direct result of that. But when we are talking for real about politics, of a change in discourse, and a shift toward an open and even aggressive offensive tactic, I am convinced that it is the product of a reflection and an objective. He has an objective; this isn’t spontaneous.” This comment, of course, directly contradicts the image Chávez has created for himself, that of a leader who easily breaks protocol, subverting the solemn agendas of power, improvising rather than reading his speeches, appearing to speak his mind with neither reservations nor fear. This is the image he himself has cultivated and promoted all over the planet. It is the image he reasserts whenever he tells the country about some new plan of action that occurred to him at two in the morning. Nevertheless, it is a fabricated kind of spontaneity. Former vice president José Vicente Rangel also confirms that “Chávez is viewed as impulsive, but he is an extremely deliberate person. Everything he does is the result of planning.” This supports the theory of those who believe that the president’s verbal fury is almost a discipline, a well-designed method, a military strategy based on provocation and constant confrontation.

  “If Christ were here, among us, do not doubt that Christ would cast his vote in the Constituent [Assembly], he would cast his vote for the revolution,” Chávez declared in 1999. That same year, one month later, he became embroiled in a conflict with a group of bishops who were not one hundred percent in agreement with the revolution: “What they need is an exorcism, so that the devil that got into them will come out from under their robes.”

  He has displayed this kind of attitude toward various other sectors of Venezuelan society as well. Far too quickly, Chávez began to wage far too many battles. His aide Maripili Hernández sees things from a different perspective: “Of what use is a president who cannot stand up and speak his mind about what he feels is unjust? That doesn’t bother me. I am not going to tell you that there haven’t been moments when I have thought that something [he said] wasn’t exactly political or diplomatic, but on the other hand I love the fact that the president of my country has the courage to say those things.”

  This controversial position resulted in a rather paradoxical perception of the head of state: on one hand, Chávez was clearly the leader of his own government, yet he spoke and acted as though he were the leader of the opposition. Luis Miquilena was very close to the president during this period, and in addition to his role as minister of the interior, he was also Chávez’s political mentor at the time. When the president began to lock horns with Venezuelan business leaders, the Church, the media, and other sectors of the country, Miquilena said to him, “In the exercise of power, that style of managing social relations is not acceptable.” In retrospect, Miquilena adds, “He thought that the belligerent, confrontational attitude of our electoral campaign was something we could reproduce once he was in power, when in fact power requires a man with understanding, someone able to manage the state as a kind of national arbitrator.”

  For anyone who visited the country before the presidential referendum took place, there was an almost palpable feeling that Venezuela was on the brink of civil war. And the issue at hand was not an ideological problem or a need to drastically change existing political programs. The one and only debate in the country revolved around a single person whom people either fervently supported or opposed. There is something infectious about the character of Hugo Chávez: you either love him or despise him. One or the other. And the discourse from the seat of power was handled in such a way that no other option was possible. People close to the president acknowledge this. “Sometimes I wish he weren’t so direct, I wish he weren’t so tough. I suffer a lot with his speeches,” admits Alcides Rondón.

  The notion of Chávez as a victim has been successfully promoted whenever the president has had to explain the shortcomings of his government or the excesses of his own leadership. Chávez portrays himself as the victim of the opposition, of the past, of the power elite—of the evils of his own government, even. From this perspective, the virulence of his discourse becomes a reaction to the invective of his adversaries.

  The American journalist Jon Lee Anderson, who wrote a profile of the leader in 2001, does point out that a number of Chávez’s personality traits foment divisiveness among Venezuelans, but Anderson also criticizes a certain coterie of political and business leaders opposed to the president, observing that they have not done anything one would expect of people with their education and resources—they either took their money out of the country or spent their time plotting, telling journalists that the military was restless, spreading tension everywhere, fearing and despising Chávez, calling him a monkey. According to Anderson, the level of political discussion in Venezuela is dismal.5

  Beyond the schism between the government and the traditional political-economic elite, the polarization that has come about because of Chávez has not divided the country in a simple, neat manner. On the contrary: more than one family has found itself divided on the issue. It is not unusual for government aides to run into problems with family and friends because of their political preferences. In one family you may find chavistas and anti-chavistas, and you may also find a mix of supporters and opponents in a neighborhood of a uniform socioeconomic level. It is an extremely peculiar phenomenon that has not been sufficiently analyzed or recognized by foreign observers.

  Testimonies suggest that even in his closest circles Chávez is combative, often grossly insulting those who work with him. As Angela Zago tells it, “He is a person of violent reactions. I saw him insult Aristóbulo Istúriz [currently the minister of education] at the beginning of his administration. It was because of something Aristóbulo had done and he insulted him in front of all of us. He said all sorts of things to him.” Luis Miquilena recalls that after Chávez became president there was a tremendous shift and says that he became “a despotic man with his subordinates…an autocrat, authoritarian, brutal with his aides. The way he treated his ministers was degrading. What he did to Diosdado Cabello, for example, I don’t know if I would have accepted that from my own father.”

  What some people see as strength and gravity, others call authoritarian; what some call leadership, others describe as messianic fervor, unbridled populism. Where some people see responsibility, others find only egocentric personalism. Nobody, however, on either side of the matter, can fail to recognize the charisma of Hugo Chávez, the magic he has created with the poorest people in the country. For them, the idea that there is a public Chávez and a private Chávez is an unthinkable hypothesis. For them, Chávez is a deep, unquestionable sentiment, an emotion that has long since become faith.

  THE ROOT OF CHÁVEZ’S power resides in the religious and emotional bond he has forged with the popular sectors of the country. It is what the theorist Peter Wiles has called the “mystical contact with the masses,”6 of Latin American populism. Chávez is a symbol that has not been devoured by the protocol of power. He always breaks through the ostensible solemnity of the events he attends and will halt pomp and circumstance to hug a little old lady calling out to him or to sweep a child up in his arms. Wherever he goes, there are always throngs of humble people holding little slips of paper, pleas for help that he or his bodyguards collect. Chávez touches people. He asks their names, he asks them about their lives. He always seems genuinely interested in his fellow man. Chávez speaks from their position, suggesting that he is one of them. Even after six years in the presidency, with more than thirty pounds of extra weight, wearing designer clothes and Cartier watches, he maintains the bond with remarkable intensity.

  On occasion, he presents himself as a victim of his own luxuries, as he did when he commanded his people to stop ordering him suits. And in fact, he does seem far more seduced by vanity than the enjoyment of material pleasures. Some of his adversaries admit that they see very little ambition for worldly goods combined with a very real social sensibility. But there, yet again, they seem to confuse the personal Chávez with the public Chávez. Frequently he tells people that he has not
hing and claims that there is nothing he wishes for, nothing he needs, even though he uses massive amounts of resources to promote himself and retain his power.

  His is an empathetic discourse that moves people, generating trust and loyalty. He touches hidden feelings like fear and resentment, invoking differences, experiences of rejection and injustice. From there he builds his voice, a plural of which he is the protagonist. “They don’t love us.” “The oligarchy scorns us.” “They have always laughed at us.” “We disgust them.” Much of his rhetoric unfolds with an emphasis similar to the preachers of the so-called electronic churches. He speaks with simplicity, explaining things with anecdotes and a masterful command of popular codes of speech. In the realm of the spoken word, he always sabotages the official solemnity, disdaining all that is formal. He acts spontaneous. Popularly spontaneous. According to Maripili Hernández, “He believes very deeply in the ideal he preaches. He lives it, he suffers with it, and he works on it every day. Unlike what many people think and say, that he is a charlatan, honestly I don’t believe it. He believes every word he says, down to the letter, and I believe he will die to do everything within his ability to achieve the things he says.”

  Nedo Paniz offers a very different version of things when he talks about how, before Hugo Chávez became president, the two of them traveled together to Colombia. They had been invited to an event at the Quinta de Bolívar, the Liberator’s onetime home in Bogotá, where Chávez was to give a speech. Paniz suggested that he bring a gift for the president of the Bolivarian Society. “And so Chávez grabbed a fistful of earth from the courtyard, close to the hotel, and stuck it in a box. Once we got there, he gave an impassioned speech. And at some point he took out the box and said that he had brought that earth especially from Campo de Carabobo [where Bolívar led the critical battle that liberated Venezuela from Spanish rule]. It was a farce, but people were deeply moved. Many people cried.”