The end of Venezuela as I know it

My 9 first impressions of USA

2012-01-11T05:12:00.000-08:00

I spent Christmas and New Years Eve abroad. In United States to be exact. So that's partly the reason why I haven’t posted in a while. I came back to Caracas just a few days ago; and I’m still adjusting to the routine. In the meantime, this post comes as an unorganized list of my trip’ impressions. The reader must know that this is the first time I go to the US as an adult. Last time I went there I was only 9 and my parents took me to Disney; thus all my attention was given to that Cinderella Castle – not to cultural contrasts. In advance, I don’t have the slightest intention to be offensive to any culture. I have always like to read foreigners impressions’ on Venezuela so I thought it would interesting for you (if you are American, of course) to read the other side of the coin.
With all that being said, I’ll start:

1. First, the welcome. I know inmigration officers are just doing their job but my interview with one of them was just plain weird. He wasn’t completely disrespectful but he wasn’t nice either, and looked at me during the entire interview like I was doing something wrong. I know they deal with difficult cases, illegal inmigrants hard to caught etc. But I’m just a tourist, with all my papers in order, going there for a short visit, willing to spend some money which can’t hurt the country’ economy. He should at least say “Welcome”.

2. Putting that aside, I must say that all Americans were nice. The Customer Service must be rated 10. They have a service culture we should know better in Venezuela. I loved that the phrase “Custumer comes first” was true in every shop, cafe, restaurant I visited. Everyone said hi, everyone was willing to help me find exactly what I was looking for and if I did not find it, they inmediately called another store to check; and explained me carefully how to get there. Most of them were curious about my accent and recommended me places to visit while I was there.

3. As for food, I don’t know how to rate it. On one hand, I quickly became addict of Starbucks’ Frappuchino (the one that comes in a bottle and you find in pharmacies or supermarkets, not the one you buy directly at Starbucks), Crispy Cream Donuts, several ice creams, bagels and a long list of etcs. I was overwelmed by the variety of everything; from milk to cereals. The size of the supermarkets!. I could spend hours in a Wallmart. Really.
But most things tasted... weird. Like heavier- weird. Lettuce doesn’t taste like lettuce. And the same things I eat in Venezuela, felt much heavier and creamy in the USA. I ate a lot less than what I usually eat; and even so, my mom quickly noticed my extra pounds when she welcomed me back home. The food at restaurants was yummy, specially sea food but why in the world everything must have pepper?. Everything: potatos, soup, rice... with pepper!!! – The first three days I loved this pepper touch. After that, not so much.
On our final day, we found a Deli that claims to be “organic”. I quickly learned that “organic” means: “like the food I’m used to eat taste like” –Finally, after two weeks, lettuce tasted like lettuce. Thank God. We searched and there are a lot of “organic” places, from Delis, to restaurants and markets. Trouble is that some things are more expensive than non organic things. But I’m glad that like always, in the USA you have options for everybody.

4....Except for small. Everything was SO big. The food, the beverages... But nothing as big as coffee. USA’ regular coffee is the equivalent of Venezuela’ extra big coffee (that you rarely order). Our small coffee is like 25% the regular Starbucks. It’s crazy. My boyfriend and I ordered one regular Java Starbucks for both and we couldn’t finish it. And everyone around us was drinking Starbucks big size’ presentations with no trouble. Amazing. In a country filled with choices, “small” was rarely one of them.

5. The respect for the law. I thought that would make me uncomfortable but it really didn’t. Driving in the US is so easy because everyone seems to respect the rules. I never heard a single horn (I didn’t went to big cities either so that explains) during my entire trip. And I did not found the slightest deffect in the highways. Everything was clean and perfectly maintained. Everything looked like Lego City. All Stop signs pefectly painted, all houses looked like out of a movie. It was nice, beautiful, perfect. But at the end, I started to miss the total chaos that I'm just to live in.
Of course, when I got back, I was on my way to work and a little girl was throwing up next to me, a guy who was trying to get away of the scene almost hit me; the light was red and horns started to sound while two people were keeping a rather loud conversation. As I was recalling all the personal life details of those two strangers, while also staying away of the poor-little-girl scene; I thought “well, maybe I did not missed this chaos so much”.

6. The Clearance section of the stores. Plus the discounts. After one store or two, I learned the trick: to quickly discard the “new arrivals” and go directly to the back section of the store. My boyfriend could not get how I got out of Old Navy carrying a huge bag, huge smile and spending so little. And this shirt? 3 Dollars- And this one? 4 Dollars – And this sweater? Oh, that was “expensive”, it costed me 10 Dollars. It was crazy. I know everyone knows this but I was never able to witnessed first hand before. I could never afford buying this much in Venezuela. Which is kind of sad.

7. The wood houses. I felt weird in every house I visited. The walls were so thin, so weak. I spend a couple of nights in one house where the floor creaked every time I walked to the bathroom. It was uncomfortable. You could hear the snores of every single room. Wood houses are definitely prettier. Like Lego-like prettier. But if Americans love privacy and personal space and all those things so much, why they would choose to live in houses where everyone knows when you are walking to the bathroom in the middle of the night? - No one ever talks about it, and everyone thought my childlike assertions about this issue were funny. I still find it non sense.

8. The cold. I have never felt this cold in my life. But I quickly learn that it was all about wearing proper clothes and covering myself like a South Park figure. "But it is not thaaat cold, Kenny" - My boyfriend said, laughing at every time I covered myself with scarfs and hats to get out. So the good news is that I survived my first little short winter. The bad news is that I didn't got to see the snow. They announced some snow at the weather channel and I stayed up like a 5 year old, looking at the window, waiting for some drops. It did not rain and Christmas were gray instead of white.

9. Last but no least. No Chavez. No Bolivarian Revolution. The houses had no walls or fences which gave every street a prettier and more relaxed look. I quickly fell for that odd feeling of being safe. It was good to take a break from all that I'm used to. To walk at night.

To take my camera everywhere with no fear. It was a nice and more than needed rest. Specially when I think about this New Year and all that it comes: MY WEDDING (Did I said that out loud?), new and more demanding projects at work, plus presidential elections. It’s going to be intense. But I promise to blog about it whenever I can.

And Happy New Year to you all!!!.

It smelled like democracy

2011-11-15T08:02:00.000-08:00

Something different happened last night. If you have read Caracas Chronicles' witty remarks, you know this was the first time in 28 years that this country presences a debate between presidential candidates. Some people said it wasn’t a debate but more likely, a talk, an elegant presentation of speech styles and proposals. I don’t care if it was a debate or not. What matters is that it was something different, something we have lost, something we have forgotten for a long time now. It was a new air. It smelled like democracy.

Some people say that democracy is not the best political system. I’m not sure, I’m no expert and I have lived in a system that has nothing like it. But every time that any event give us the illusion of a democracy, I have to tell you: it feels so good! -. To see those five leaders respecting the rules, the word order, speaking without insults, talking about something entirely new: talking about private property, opportunities, reconciliation, justice, jobs... And everybody, and by this I mean everybody, even Chavez supporters; talking about it.

This morning, at my office, we engaged in a verbal fight about Pablo Perez’ paternal speech versus Diego Arria radical – but perhaps necessary- measures; others were discussing about whether they would give their vote to Capriles despite how much Maria Corina excelled in her speech. And when the screams (yes, there were screams), were over; we all smiled. No one smiles after a fight but we did. We smiled as soon as a colleague said “you know, we are not talking about Chavez this time”. That’s such a relief, to be talking about something else. We almost felt like we were in a different country.

On Twitter, rough talks are also served. Chavez supporters have promoted a tag #debatequebrao to criticize the debate. But this proves they also watched it. They must have felt the contrast between Chavez’ solo aggressive, distant, repetitive and threatening speech which can last for hours; and an hour and a half event where five people only had one minute to answer common people’ questions. Main papers have the debate in their front page. For the first time is not about Chavez or his terrible moves, for the first time it is about us. For the first time in almost 10 years, we can say we have a different political agenda.

I already tweeted my personal opinions on the performance of each candidate. But, now that I’m blogging about it, I don’t think this is important. The importance of last night do not relay on each candidate individual proposals, on rational decisions we make after watching their performances. The importance of last night lays on feelings. I have already said it but it really is about that, about how good it felt. Last night was a tea spoon taste of democracy and peace. I almost thought we were unable to recognize their taste, but after 12 years, is still there, inside of us.

And it is making us feel a lot better.

So kuddos to the Student Movement (the once White Hands) for making it happen and in my alma mater UCAB which makes me extra proud!!!. I hope we can presence similar events again and again and over again. Until democracy can come back to us in a much bigger dosis.

Since we don't have babies..

2011-11-02T17:53:00.000-07:00

My sister just gave us an order: to go to every single supermarket, drug store etc, near our offices, looking for the milk their children need; specially my little niece who is just one year old. On every supermarket I visit asking for the milk, I encounter the same scene. Three or four moms, or grandmothers, are looking for the same, frustrated. Now that the milk specially made for kids has disappeared, regular milk is starting to scarce. Every day that goes by is a day that every kid in Venezuela is not receiving the nutrients he needs. Every day that goes by, the anxiety and desperation of their parents grow. This is the worst trouble they face, but not the only one.

The whole Johnson’s line for babies disappeared from one day to another, a few months ago. The baby powder, baby’ oil, shampoo, baby’ cream etc, just disappeared. Now you can find those products of other brands, most unfamiliar brands. My sister has started to prove each, with no success, none of those products have a quality compared to the Johnson’s one; those she was used to. Some have a weird smell. All baby powders seem to have a strange texture. And lets not start talking about the cream.

Diapers shortages are another addition to the drama. Early this year, there was a major diapers shortages (and sanitary pads too, as readers noticed). The situation is better now, but you still can’t find diapers of all brands, and all sizes. My sister has changed brands at least twice and one of those brands gave allergies to my niece. When my nephew was born, back in 2007; my sister was crazy about diapers specially made for the pool. Now you can’t find those anywhere; so my niece has never tried the fabulous diapers her older brother used on every beach trip. Now beach trips are troublesome, with no appropriate diapers to wear.

People who do not have babies don’t notice. Politicians are talking about Chavez’ disease, upcoming elections, insecurity, national debt, international community and Human Rights. All those are very important topics for me, for everybody. But for all those parents out there, nothing is more important than having those things their kids (specially babies) need; and that they cannot find.

I have to tell you something...

2011-10-23T05:54:00.000-07:00

I know. It’s been a while. Are you still here? I hope so. I have no logical explanation of my absence, except for the lack of stories and inspiration. Also, work and life got in the way. Still, I had to come here again, because I want to tell you something

You must know that for a while, I didn’t thought of me as that kind of girl. After one serious and a few not so serious sort of relationships, I focused on my career, my writings, my piano, my family and politics; and made my life meaningful from there. I liked to think of myself as a free soul, going from one place to another, engaged on different projects. I was going to return home as the typical “cool aunt” with exotic gifts from the places I visited. I didn’t wanted to admit that I created all this “story” to comfort myself with the fact that there wasn’t anyone promising for me to be with.

I didn’t wanted to go there. To the place I met him. It was a common friend’ graduation almost on the same date it should have been my own graduation (I graduated almost two years later, due to thesis issues). I knew exactly who I was going to meet and how the party was going to flow. All my colleagues, most already graduated and doing “interesting” things, involved in a lot of political organizations, movements and projects, changing the world. Most involved on serious relationships and for those single, they had no interest in me (and I had no interest in them). They already knew I’m a terrible dancer, so no one was going to ask me to dance. In best case scenario I was going to sit on a corner, all night long, drinking cuba libre and watching all UCAB (my alma mater), Student Movement leaders enjoying themselves.

I still went there, against all my common sense. Because, after all, I’m a hopeless dreamer. I put on a dress my mom made for me, which was, well, a bit awkward but nice. I added a fuxia ribbon to my waist and let lose my hair. I did not look beautiful. But it was me. It was me telling the world I did not graduate on time, I did not become a political leader and I wasn’t – nor I’m now – involved in a lot of organizations. But I still could do something or say something. Or at least celebrate that somebody else was no longer a student, but a journalist.

He was there. There are many versions of this story. Of who introduce who, who started talking, etc. The only true version is that he was a guy I have never seen before, who did not belong to my university group and who seemed to be a great talker (or more likely, a great listener, because I have to admit I do talk a lot). We talked all night long. We also danced, he didn’t seemed to care how bad dancer I am. He only cared of how much I enjoy dancing. And smiling.

We haven’t stopped talking (dancing, smiling) ever since. And somewhere in the mist of this long conversation, I forgot all the story of a “free soul”. I wanted to share everything with him. All those things that made my life meaningful including my writings, my piano, my career, my family and politics – had not sense unless shared with him.

So I never thought of me as this kind of girl. The kind of girl who gets married. Until we meet and talked. And once he popped out the question, just a few weeks ago, he already knew my answer.

I know this blog is about politics, about being a witness of a very particular situation. About giving you glimpses of a life inside a country nor even I can understand. I know I should be talking about the upcoming presidential elections. About a president who is sick, but we don’t know how much. About the possibilities of a change bigger than ourselves, about a transition period. I should be complaining on the constant shortages and government abuses. On all those small and big difficulties we face on a daily basis. About disappointments and hopes. Human Rights, brain drain and crime. I know this blog is about all that. But this blog is also about me.

Against all odds, this is my moment. I’m getting married in just a few months. I’m marrying the love of my life, my most loyal companion, the person who embrace my craziness and supports it. I can’t think on anything else. I had to blog about this. And I have the right to.

PS: Image was taken from here.
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Voluntad Popular' Elections: Democracy or not?

2011-07-13T15:13:00.000-07:00

There is a political party, a new political party, that everyone is talking about. Most of my politically – interested friends from my university have dropped their parties to join Voluntad Popular. They say this is the first truly democratic party of the country. Why? Because they recently celebrated internal elections to all charges of the party’ structure. Nothing new here, except for this party invited everybody – I mean every single Venezuelan able to vote even living outside the country – to participate on those elections. There are articles and tweets praising this nouveau move. And when I see my friends’ Facebook status, congratulating themselves for being part of Voluntad Popular, naming the word democracy too many times; I wonder if this is democracy at all. Or if this is just another populist move.
We have to start speaking about Voluntad Popular’ creator and main leader: Leopoldo López. He’s young and handsome and has both a great and a rather shameful record. Great: he was Chacao’ major (the smallest and richest municipality of Caracas) and proved to be a great manager. Not so great: Chacao is relatively easy to rule, he needed more harsh political experience but the people mistakenly believed that what it was good for Chacao, was just as good as everybody. Shameful: he left the political party on which his leadership was born: Primero Justicia after a well knowing fight. Then joined a second: Un Nuevo Tiempo and shortly after, he also abandoned that party.

Then he created Voluntad Popular but he was not honest at first: he claimed his organization was not a political party but a “social movement”; hence keeping an anti-political speech. Then Voluntad Popular officially turned into a political party. The fact that he changes his political affiliations just as he changes clothes, make me think that team work and Leopoldo are not matching words. Plus, make me suspects that he goes more for opportunities than values.

In the meantime of all this process he was inhabilitated to run for public office. The government presented corruption charges against him but no one believed them (at least I don’t) because the government disabled many other opposition candidates to run for any public charge as soon as they got popular enough to represent a threat to them. So it wasn’t about corruption, it was about the fact that Leopoldo could beat a Revolution’ candidate. Either way this political inhabilitation is still current. The country is waiting for a decision of the Inter- American Human Rights court in Costa Rica in September on his inhabilitation. But so far, he cannot run for presidency next year. Hence, he can’t be a candidate for opposition primaries.

Unable to run for primaries, what it was left for Leopoldo and his new movement? As a strategy he did something that soon proved very effective: Voluntad Popular would have internal elections and in those elections anyone could vote. Political participation in all its purity. But there are forms of participation that are just fake and this is just one of them.

As a Venezuelan citizen, to vote in Voluntad Popular’ election is just as logical as to vote for the authorities of the Country Club (a social club on which I’m not a member and that I have visited perhaps twice in my whole life). Voluntad Popular’ leaders will have no actions on their voters what’s so ever unless they actually belong to the party. Outside the party, any other voter was just a propaganda tool to engross numbers that really do not represent much. I don’t understand how putting our noses in the internal affairs of a group is equal to democracy.

What amazes me is that the people who’s strongly supporting Voluntad Popular’ moves, are the same who fiercely denounced the Law for the universities’ project. The project after many protests, did not pass. One of it’s main proposals was to allow almost anyone able to vote – despite of its affiliations to a certain university – to decide on the university authorities. The idea was crazy and wrong in so many levels. And I wonder, isn’t Voluntad Popular elections the same idea? The same argument that goes “voting more and having a wider electoral universe is equal to participate more, equal to have more democracy”? Isn’t that exactly the constant Revolutionary move to maintain its democratic facade that we have rejected over and over again?

It scares me to see how theories, arguments, justifications that I thought were Revolution’ only property; now are used by the opposition. Which makes me think that democracy has been lost forever, even in hands of those who I thought, were supposed to rescue it.

The comedy actor and what it could have been

2011-07-07T16:36:00.000-07:00

In a parallel universe, a different life develops. I’m 26 just like I am. And I’m exactly who I am: a little neurotic disaster. I’m not taller nor beautiful. I went to the same school. Perhaps I didn’t. If I’m thinking about a parallel universe, I should consider a different school. But for the point of this story, it doesn’t matter. I went to school. My mom took me to a protest demanding an improvement on the education system. I didn’t attend a protest for anything else.

I went to the university. That can stay the same, in both parallel and real universe. During those years I was probably as happy as William and Kate in Saint Andrews. Or more. My classes were never interrupted due to political conflicts and I finished my first year on time. No classmate fled the country in the middle of a confusing general strike. Also, I could leave campus as late as I wanted to. If I depended on public transportation I wasn’t forced to leave campus before 4 Pm so I could get home before dark. I partied. I did that in both universes. But in one of them, I wasn’t afraid. I could just party.

I graduated on time (hey, this is a parallel universe, no thesis troubles for me) and got a job. The part of getting a job thankfully happened in both universes. But in one, I was better paid, the money was actually enough for a decent standard living and my job wasn’t at risk because the company was losing projects. After one year, I applied for a credit and bought myself a car. An average car, not expensive. Little, and easy to park. The kind of car you can take anywhere. A few months later, some friends and I decided to rent an apartment. I was the only daughter left at my house and it was time for me to leave home.

My mom help me packing and gave me some kitchen tools. I moved to a more centric area, closer to my job and visited my family during weekends. I didn’t had a luxurious life, but I could live independently. Just like many 20’ something do in some other parts of the world.

Then I met him. That happened in all universes. In the parallel universe I met him the same way I did in the real one; perhaps I didn’t got so drunk or said stupid things. Either way we fell in love and after one year or two we decided to take the next step. With his job, he could afford his own apartment so I left my flat mates and moved in with him. My mom was reserved about my decision but I did it anyway and it proved to be the right decision. We learned how to cook together. We could sit and watch a movie without being careful of where our hands stand because our families might be watching.

- Just to make clear, the whole part of living independent and then with my boyfriend happens in only one universe. In the other, I still live with my parents and my boyfriend and I, even considering that our salaries are way above the national minimum, cannot possibly afford to live on our own -

Venezuela, in both universes has received more incomes due to oil than ever before in its history. But, inexplicably, in only one of them Venezuela presented good economic numbers. There, poverty has been reduced even more greatly than in the real universe. And you see progress everywhere, new constructions, jobs, opportunities, immigration. We have loads of immigrants, skilled ones, who long to come here to work. Canada and Australia, Chile and Panama are only tourist destinations for must of us; not opportunities of a better- decent life.

We have said good bye to many friends. But in one universe, they only leave the country for a while. They study a masters degree abroad and in two or three years, come back. Because they miss home a lot but mainly, because they can live here. We are only worried, at most, of living our lives. We are not threatened by crime or by crazy politicians. When we hear the world “Revolution”, it remind us more of a fashion statement than a political movement. Also, with all the economical bonanza and a favorable investment on academy and research; there are more and more offers of graduate school here. As prestigious and tempting as anywhere else.

People asks us when are we going to get married. In both universes. Only in one they ask us when are we going to leave the country. In the other, people do not expect us to leave the country. Our families want us to stay here, and raise our children here. And we want that too, who wouldn’t? Who wouldn’t want to raise their kids right next to its grandparents?

A few days ago, in our parallel universe, we received some sad news. We were at our apartment, watching TV in our comfortable couch when a short clip on E! Entertainment show a doctor’s board having a press conference. They informed us of his terrible disease and gave us complete details, including his diagnosis, his symptoms and what exactly we should expect. We quickly opened his web site where he publish a message saying he’s facing the greatest test of his life, but like always with a smile on his face. The message had a banner of “cancer awareness” where he decided to start a campaign. His upcoming show was, of course, canceled and the company would return all the money from the tickets. Except those who wanted to donate that money to a cancer research fund of the UCV that he was promoting.

Me and my boyfriend decided to do that. Our “Stand comedy show with Hugo Chavez” tickets became part of the cancer awareness fund. After all, in both universes, we have lost family members due to that horrible disease. We wished for his soon recovery, in both universes. Although not for the same reason.

In one, we want him to come back, so he can still make us laugh with his shows and his comments. We are not entirely agree with everything he says or thinks, but he makes others think and other than that, he’s completely harmless.

In the other universe, we want him to come back, so he can face elections in equal conditions with an opposition candidate. We want him back so he can lose and we can have a democratic and peaceful transition. We want him to come back, so that after those elections; our children might live in that parallel universe we were never able to enjoy.

PS: I just felt in the need to add two more details of our enchanting parallel universe:
1) Transformers 3 is going to be shown in Theaters in Venezuela in the same time that is being shown in the rest of the world.
2) We have never heard of shortages and the cereal hallway of the supermarket is just amazing. Most cereals are made right here.

PS 2: Image taken from here. I don't own it.

Chavez has Cancer, and this blogger, afraid

2011-06-30T19:57:00.000-07:00

Now this change things but in what direction? As I write this, I just heard the news. Not hat I haven't heard them before, a well known journalist: Nelson Bocaranda; told us everything a few days ago. But there is something different about hearing a rumor and watching one short live speech of the president, one were he reads for the first time to address the nation. He looks pale, sort of yellow and skinny. Beyond his words there is something seriously wrong here. And we should be seriously worried.

I didn't knew. Like I told you on Twitter, I was in the movies with my boyfriend when it happened. We watched a sort of kids movie - the one about the Panda bear - and then he brought me home. We were in a sort of romantic mood and since the movie was short, once in my building, we were able to talk and kiss in the parking line. After a few "I love you", I take the elevator, open my door and my dad is reading the news. He doesn't ask me how did my date went, he just points at the computer and the headlines are pretty clear, with the words "Chavez" and "Cancer" in the same sentence. My dad is reading a serious page, a newspaper, not rumors, no gossip, no joke.

The government waited more than 20 days for tell us the truth, when our 200 independence anniversary is coming closer (next Tuesday) and his absence from such an event; including the Revolutionary Socialist Stravaganza Parade would be impossible to hide. And when it does come to give us some answers, the Revolution offer us the image of its leader looking uncannily weak; without giving much detail about his diagnosis: for how long his treatment will last, when will he be able to come back, how optimist is his diagnosis, what can we expect and where this Cancer is located exactly. This are questions whose answers are still unavailable to us Venezuelans (at least for what I have heard so far, remember I've just found out, and I'm writing this in a rush)

You might think that after a life time of literally hating the man, we would have a different mood. But at least I don't. And it is not only because I'm Catholic. But because I look at the possible outcomes of this, and I don't feel optimist. Like I said on the headline of this blog: this is both BAD news for the government and the opposition.

As a result of Chavez' disease, both Government and Opposition are facing the same risk (Isn't it ironic?): the risk of dividing themselves, on starting to fight for a power that we once thought to be strong and unbeatable. But it is as strong as a man, and as weak as him. It is Chavez' responsibility, of course. Everything is about him, he's omnipresent, he's everywhere, anytime, and influx every corner of our intimate life. No Venezuelan affect us more beyond our intimate circle as Chavez does and both government and opposition develop around him. He's everything, despite if you like him or not. He's the reason for putting a lot of people together, let it be for supporting him, or for the opposite.

With him at risk, those who are now together could start looking for their own interest. And fights could start. Between the government. Between the opposition. But even worse, between those who Chavez has supplied with arms; summed with the military.

As I write this, I honestly have no clue of what this situation can bring to my country. No one has a clue and uncertainty so far has not proved to give us any benefit. I'm just thinking on possible consequences. And tonight, I'm pretty much afraid of them.

Human Rights are for all: A story on El Rodeo (our prison in conflict)

2011-06-19T08:20:00.001-07:00

He was born and grew up in the same barrio. It was nice but he was determined to get out of there anyway, he wanted more, he wanted a better life. He started working and got some savings. With some friends, he bought a small storehouse which he use to install a motorcycle’ garage (repairshop? I don’t know the proper word in English). With the business not going as he expected, he thought of a second plan to get a better life. The plan was attending law school and, to pay for the expenses, to rent half of his storehouse; while the other half still stayed as a motorcycle’ garage, only smaller. He was 20 years old.

It was Wednesday. He was checking the repair orders at his shop and getting ready for his night classes when the police showed up. They didn’t gave much explanation, they just screamed something and took him. “You son of a bitch, you thought you could get rid with it right?” – They said. He was punched several times. He asked why and after a while, he got an answer. The other half of his shop, the one he decided to rent, was used by the tenants to hide a group they kidnapped; while they waited for the rescue. The tenants had told him they were in the clothes business, that they brought clothes from Peru to sell at the streets and they needed the space to save all their things during the nights. He did saw some Peruvian cotton pajamas and did not asked more, he believed them.

The tenants did were street sellers and they did save their things there; but as a second job, they were also part of a gang. The police never found those tenants. When they came to the storehouse they only found a regular guy, not band related, law’ student. But in Venezuela you are guilty until your prove the opposite; and there are times when you don’t even have a chance to do it. Since the police never found the tenants and they needed someone to blame in order to present results of their anti- kidnapping police; they opened a file against him. Her family got a lawyer – “A nice guy but we still owe him a lot of money” – that put together all things that proved his innocence: like he did not have a key of the space he rented nor further contact with the tenants besides the monthly payment.

Nothing seemed to work. People – from policemen to judges and lawyers – have explained to the family that in kidnapping cases there is nothing you can do about it. One of the most serious and widest crimes in Venezuela is kidnapping and the government needs to prove that they are doing something about it. When the government puts out numbers of how many people they have “caught in fraganti”; this guy is one of those numbers. But he never kidnapped anyone. He couldn’t even dare to steal a chocolate bar, his neighbors say.

He’s now in El Rodeo I. He’s been there for a year. And this story would have never touched this blog if it wasn’t for the big penitentiary’ system crisis that is hitting our souls, during this week more than ever. First, we heard of more than 30 prisoners dead in what it apparently was a fight between prisoners. But now we hear different numbers. Some people say 100. Some people say 500. And we will probably never know how many. The army has entered the prison in an attempt to calm things there but it seems that instead of bringing peace, they are probably bringing more death and sorrow.

From inside the prison, a huge column of tear gas comes out, affecting even the families who are standing outside waiting to hear some news about their sons, husbands and brothers. What they hear is gun shots from time to time. The government announced they took the “conflict leaders” to another prison. An illegal move, since you can’t move a prisoner to another place without prior judge’ approval. Plus, I heard on TV that the families don’t know which prisoners have been taken to another prison. Human Rights organizations next to many opposition figures are asking for the army to leave the prison, so a negotiated solution of the conflict can be made, that bring peace for all, without more human lives being sacrificed; including those of the army. Government figures blame the opposition as always. The opposition blames the government and they are probably right because after all, they are the ones in charge.

In a drama that repeats itself on almost every Venezuelan prison, El Rodeo was build to held about 1500 prisoners. But it has more than 6500 according to the prisoners’ families. Most prisoners sleep in the floor and they have to pay for their “space to sleep”. Many, like the guy of this story, are still expecting for a trial so they don’t know for how long they are supposed to stay in that place. They can receive food from their families only if the families pay to the guards for them to “enter the food”. And guys are killed every day in Venezuelan prisons, only that this time, too many were killed on the same day and so it got more media attention.

My office' secretary lives in the same neighborhood where the guy of this story used to live; that’s how I got access to it. She also grew up in that place and assured me, over and over again that this guy was a great person (funny, that she speaks about him in past tense, when he’s still alive but imprisoned), a man “echado pa’ lante” – not like others. Now she’s sure this guy life and future has been lost forever, even if he survives in the prison. The guy called her mom two days ago, assuring her that he’s ok but that she must be ready to pay some money because he assured some prisoners that he will pay them; so they could “protect” him. If he doesn’t pay, they will kill him.

To El Rodeo’ events, I have seen many reactions: from the ones who are as concerned as me for it is a clear violation of the prisoners’ Human Rights and also from people who seemed to have no knowledge of what a Human Right is; neither they seem to have a heart. They are against the government and seem to be very progressive people. They marched on the streets when RCTV (the biggest Venezuelan TV Channel back in 2007) was closed and they actively worked on every election hoping results turned out to our favor. And yet, when this happen, they dared to tell you that “I don’t care, those people have what they deserve, if they are in there is because they did something to end up there” – “Yes but they are still people and they still have rights…” - “They never thought of my rights when they stole/ killed/ kidnapped etc…” – “They did not. But the prison is not a place to turn them into something worse than what they were before entering, but into something better. Besides, there are many innocents imprisoned, many who still don’t have a trial…” – “Really?” – “Yes, really. If you were caught by the police by mistake and no one can take you out, would you think about your Human Right then?” –

After that, they look at me in regret and stay quiet. I CAN’T BELIEVE THOSE PEOPLE (Sorry for the caps). I tend to think our jail issue isn’t about the government, or the prisoners, or the mafias, or Human Rights organizations, or opposition figures, or the National Guard (Army).

At the end, this shameful issue is about us. Is about us saying that “criminals should pay and be treated like dogs because they did…”. It’s all in our resentment and our thirst of revenge; as it we could find any solution using revenge as a leit motiv. It’s all in our idea that prisons are for punishment, not for rehabilitation. It’s all in our ignorant and mistaken belief that Human Rights are just for some people, “good people”. No folks, Human Rights are for everyone. And if societies could measure themselves on the way the treat prisoners, we would be at the bottom line.

And there is nothing that makes me think we aren't. So shame on us.

About the image: Families cry outside El Rodeo. Image taken from here. Please go to my links below. Caracas Chronicles has a video you must see.

I live in a Cuban colony

2011-06-17T17:07:00.000-07:00

We didn’t had a clue about it. Until the chancellor appeared on TV announcing the president was ill and he had to face an emergency surgery. Nothing extraordinary so far, every single specimen of the human race gets sick, yes, even presidents. But then we got the last part of the line “an emergency surgery in Cuba” – In Cuba?. We got it, he was there when the symptoms aroused so if the surgery was a must and coming back to Venezuela for the procedure was dangerous; it was logical that he stayed in Cuba for the surgery. But then, after the surgery and now the danger is over, a long recovery period was announced, so long that we don’t even know when it is going to end. And our president is going to spend all that time not in Venezuela, not resting at the Government palace but... in Cuba. What the f...? Did we suddenly were left without a president?

A well known opposition deputee: Maria Corina Machado; asked herself the same question. She reminded the assembly that our Constitution does not allow a president to stay abroad for an indifinite period (no exceptions); neither it does allow a president to rule us from abroad. Because hey... that’s called... what’s the world? Oh, yes, COLONIALISM. In cases such as this one, our constitution disposes to name the vicepresident, so he can asume temporarily presidential functions while the president can’t.

Amazingly, Maria Corina’ exhortation was rejected and against our Constitution and all laws of this republic; Chavez apparently is allowed to stay in Cuba for as long as he wants and to rule us from there. He has even signed a law there, but to make things more grave; the law appears to be signed in Caracas as he was there when he signed; which he wasn’t. So I don’t know where to start... it’s both a clear, wide, open violation of the Constitution and also a fraud, since the Revolution still keeps the goverment records, laws and decrees as if they were being done in Caracas when everyone knows (they let us know, they show us on TV) that all acts of government are being done in La Habana.

Caracas is not our capital city anymore. It’s La Habana. After 200 years of being an independent and a soveraign country; we are back to our colonialist days. We are a province of Cuba; and King’ Chavez rules from La Habana Palace. Am I the only one feeling back in 1750 or something?

This is one of many double speech and contradictions of the Revolution. The Revolution has always caracterized itself as a patriotic, independent, sovereign movement. But the fact is that they have done this to create two imaginary enemies: Spain and more than anything, United States. Two outside enemies to be blame of all their mistakes. Two figures of speech created to avoid responsabilities. Excuses to aproved laws such as one they aproved back in December on which they prohibit any external funding for civil society organizations which have “political activities”. Excuses to reduce their legitim opponents. To erase all possible transparency and control. To set the path free so they can do anything they want, such as moving the Venezuelan’ government to another country.

Of course, these events have also been the seed to spread many rumours; since the Revolution is never clear on its actions and its intentions, it is not clear why Chavez’ recovery must be indefinite and his diseased has never been extensely explained. There is people who say that Chavez health is worse than what we know. Rumours that go from Cancer to surgery complications. There is also one or two elucubrating with the idea that maybe Chavez he’s not sick at all, but he’s afraid something will happen if he stays in Venezuela. I do not give credit to any of those rumours.

What I know from this story is this: First, Chavez do not trust us. Chavez preffered to have his medical treatment in Cuban hands. We have also heard of many other sensitive issues on which Cubans have their hands on, and Venezuelans are not allowed to enter (for example, Cubans often perfom illlegal spionage of opposition figures in Venezuela). Second, and it is so obvious that I don’t know what I’m writing it. We are not independent. A Revolution that promised us independence, has given us the opposite. This Revolution took a country that could already be ruled by itself and that it had been done so for decades; and give it to Cubans. As simple as that.

Just for the record, I don’t have anything against Cubans. My mother’ family at the beggining of the XX’ century migrate from Spain to America. One part ended up in Cuba, and the other, us, in Venezuela. As things in Cuba got complicated, many of them arrived here in the 60’s. So I feel a certain bond with them. I don’t have anything against cultural influx of any place. I spend my weekends having dinner at an Iranian restaurant, have breakfast at the chinesse market, lunch at a Perubian restaurant, go to concerts organized by the Japanese Embassy, attend French lessons, watch the Salsa Casino dancers at UCV on a Sunday afternoon and lately, I have developed a strange love for Swedish food and Russian movies. I’m not strange. We, Venezuelans, are just like that. We love foreigners, we love strange and new things, we love to discover, we love to taste something we are not used to. We don’t mind hearing the Cuban accent here and there in Caracas.

We only wish we could hear more accents. That all those who once were welcome, would not be overlooked as “lackeys of the empire”. But I have even got the sense that many people here avoid to speak English in public. At the same time, we want to welcome the world, but always be respected by them. To be ruled from somewhere else (either be Cuba or anywhere else) it’s a plain lack of respect for all Venezuelans. It’s a humilliation. It’s a slap on our face. The worse part is that this is not coming only from the Cuban’ regime. It comes from our president itself.

On the day you were born, and the day before...

2011-05-30T19:29:00.000-07:00

To be honest, I still don’t know if I’m going to have children of my own. I have thought about it. I think I would be a good mom. Odd, that’s clear. But good. Either way, until that moment comes if it ever comes; you have been the closest thing to a son that I have ever had. You are not my kid, but in lieu of your mother I would have to take care of you. That’s why your parents decided to name me your godmother. Thankfully, you have great parents, and grandparents, and loads of people ready to give you everything you need in life. You won’t need much from me. Except for stories. I have many stories saved for you and someday I’ll tell you all. Most specially, someday I’ll tell you the story about the day you were born; and the day before.

Your mom looked nonetheless, radiant. She was packing the bags with your dad and they both looked radiant, and tense, and worried, and; well, panicked. We were not helping them packing their bags; we were at a protest instead, a few blocks away.

You’ll see; just the day you were born, the most famous, oldest, and most widely viewed TV Channel, called RCTV closed forever; at least in open signal. So we were protesting about it. I know what you are thinking, I know you are raising an eyebrow and wondering why we made such a big deal over a TV channel closure. I know you were born with Internet and ever since you were little you watched Cartoons on Youtube so you don’t care about TV much. But TV was still very important back then. Or maybe not so much. To be honest, RCTV was a very low quality TV channel, with a vulgar corny programming. We never watched it. The protest was about something more important than a TV channel, something that it was very important back then and it should be important still: it was about freedom. It was about the citizens standing against the president because a man in power can’t make a decision just because he wants to. No one is above the law. No one. And no one in power is allowed to restrict their rights to anyone else; including one’s right to be free. One’s right to watch a low quality TV channel. Even if the TV is low quality. And even if the channel says things against the regime.

So we were protesting – meaning your grandparents and myself – and in a very confusing situation, the police started dropping tear gas to us, and other things too. When it happened, your grandmother had already left the protest and come back home and I was hanging out with some friends. We realized we had nowhere to run and the situation became quite stressing, until we found a hotel door and refugee with another group in the lobby. We had planned to stay in the streets until midnight, when the closure of the channel really occurred. But we had to sit in a corner of a hotel lobby for an hour or more; until we stopped hearing detonations.

When we got out off the hotel, the protest was over. I did not have minutes to call your grandma and there were no bus or taxis available; so I walked with a friend throughout the highway (yes, the highway; pushing ourselves to the border while cars were sporadically passing by). As we walked, still scared; my friend asked me if I was going to the university the day after. I said no. Because you were coming…

We stayed up that night until RCTV broadcasted its last minutes: an image of the channel employees crying while the national anthem was played. “I hope my kid can born in a free country” – Your dad said, still in hopes that there was a backing down somehow.
Unfortunately, you were not born in a free country. But then, who does? I might have born in a country a bit more free than the one you were born years later; but at the end, all generations seem to be condemned to fight for rights they should already take for granted.

A few hours later we rushed to the clinic. Your mom had a scheduled cesarean because… I really don’t remember the medical details. It was a complicated road. There were many streets closed by protesters in our way to the clinic. We explained to each block point that you were coming to the world and they looked at your mom and let us pass. It wasn’t that bad, because we were at the end, supporting the protesters. It was more like an adventure. Like a story to tell you.

My sister got into the delivery room or the operating room or whatever and we waited for you; with the TV on. Told you, those days were the last days were TV was still important to us. I realized that there were two stories about the day you were born; one about an end and another about a beginning. At least that’s what I thought when I saw my friends protesting and making statements on TV. And many many many others like me. Many university students. I was in my last year and I waited all five years in the university to see what the TV screen was giving me while I was waiting for you. The university students were finally, and massively, standing against the government. That awful government that feel entitled to be above the law and everyone’ rights. I felt proud and contradicted. I wanted to be there. Don’t blame for it. I can assure you I wanted to be where I was as well.

We turned off the TV because someone let us know that you were here already. A nurse took you out in an incubator. You were crying. You looked cute for being a newborn. All newborns are ugly but you were not… the secret it’s in our genes, you know. My friends were calling me and texting me to tell me about all the protests out there. I was calling and texting them about your arrival. Your accidental and politically contextualized arrival. During that day, we had to sneak off to the waiting room to watch the protests on TV since my sis was breastfeeding you and she could not be disturbed with news about protests and street riots. You have seen the pictures of the day you were born and I know there are a lot of people in those pictures. But believe me when I tell you that we were expecting at least double than that; since we are a big family. Many could not make it, the protests, the streets blocked, the channel just closed, the student movement…

It’s been four years since that. You are much taller and annoying than then. You have an outrageous fixation for Spiderman. You always want to save the world, same as we wanted to do the day you were born. But we couldn’t. No one could. Still, I think that day a greater awareness of the gravity of our circumstances was settled. I’m sorry that we couldn’t do more, that we couldn’t deliver a greater country for you to be in.

But I still have hopes. I dream about the day when you read this letter. I dream that you be somewhere else different and that you will pass your existence fulfilling the desire for freedom that filled the place where you came; during those days. And most specially, in the morning of that May, 28th, 2007; when odd circumstances, casualty, luck and a lot of love brought you to the world

So, whenever you read this, wherever you are; happy birthday!

With love,

Your godmother.

PD: You can read more stories about those days here. That post was written almost in the moment, while this one comes from my memories four years later. So any inaccuracy (if any) is given to that.

This blue bird calling...

2011-05-17T19:01:00.001-07:00

Follow me at @julia84Caracas. I'm tweeting more often now, and I'm starting to enjoy it almost as much as blogging. Only trouble, or warning more likely is that I might be an English- language blogger at The End of Venezuela as I know it, but I'm a bilingual (and more often than not... Spanglish) Tweeter. - This is the End, do not click anywhere

The family cake (A story on the cooking oil' shortage)

2011-05-17T18:45:00.000-07:00

Our "family cake" is famous. We inherited the recipe from my grandmother and we haven't done a different cake ever since. This cake has been my constant companion for endless birthdays and meetings. When I first went to lunch at my boyfriend' house, I brought the "family cake" and I'm sure this had a lot to do with me being accepted as part of his family. There is something different and truly special about this cake, about its soft texture and its sweet (but not so sweet) taste.

Like all good cakes, it has a "key ingredient". We don't keep our recipe as a "family secret" but we won't reveal the "key ingredient" until everyone has tasted the cake. We have a reason for it: as soon as we reveal it, everyone puts ugly faces exclaiming how gross and weird it is to use that for a cake. Most don't believe us, they think we still keep a secret, and hence, never try what we do at home.

The key ingredient is (drums roll, please): cooking oil. That's right, cooking oil. No, we don't "fry" the cake as someone once dared to suggest (he was weird, not us). We simply use cooking oil (vegetable oil) instead of butter. And it might be not like that where you are,- I have seen many online cake recipes using cooking oil- but here, a cake without butter simply strike many housewives and cookers. That's why, strange as it sounds, the recipe has remained exclusive for all this year; as my family tradition. A tradition which now could be questioned.

With a serious cooking (vegetable) oil shortage and with my nephew' birthday coming soon; the cake has been a worrisome topic at home. My sister tried making a cake using butter and it tasted weird. Like bad- weird. Perhaps she did something wrong or more likely, we are simply not used to cakes made with butter. Let's face it: for us butter and cake don't go in the same sentence. Those cakes are heavier and look way too yellow. The second possibility is to buy one; but that's an insult to my "cake Masters" (self given title, that's for sure) family.

While we search, supermarket after supermarket, popular markets and convenient stores for a bottle of cooking oil (we need even less than that for one cake); my nephew plays around the house wearing a weird blue-red outfit. He screams: "Don't worry, I'm going up there to save you!" - then he raise his arms and makes the fumiest sound ever. For him there are no shortages, or crisis, or revolution. For him there is just a world as big as our home, filled with "people in danger" (actually, toys in danger) which he must save.

He's clueless (and he should be clueless) about all those things we adults worry about; the things - we hope - he will know by asking us for old stories or by reading them in history books.

And he probably won't even care whether his cake is the usual "family cake" or not; as long as it has a Spider-man figure and four little candles on top.

PS: The image was taken from here. No copyright infringement intended

Painful memories (Comments on FARC- Chavez connection)

2011-05-15T07:19:00.000-07:00

- Note: this should had been published last Friday... but Blogspot was out of service for more than 24 hours and then a busy weekend followed. The image was taken from here, it shows my president with FARC' secretary Iván Márquez -

Altamira’ story is one story hard to tell; the links and protesters motivations didn’t made much sense, and their fight mechanisms even less. It all started in October, when a group of military decided to declare themselves in “Civil disobedience”. Everyone I knew celebrated the move, presented to the country on live TV. The “disobedient” members from the army gathered in Altamira square for about two months, conducting daily speeches and protests asking for Mr Chavez’ resignation.

A clock was installed, right next to a Virgin Mary altar that still remains if I’m not mistaken. I never quite understood why the high military command were acting like civilians. With their obvious lack of politics experience there was no much to expect. I know I’m touching a delicate ground, but it seems to me that this “civil explosion” end up benefiting Chavez, since the army was easily purged to guarantee that only loyal will stay in it; while the ones who did oppose Chavez were switching microphones in Altamira. Since then, I think it is really hard if not impossible to find anyone inside the army against the regime. With a country as militarized as mine, to my disdain, we have no choice but to have the army on our side if we want a change. So, looking now at the upcoming presidential elections (to be held next year), you can imagine where that left us.

But Altamira’ story is not only a story about huge political lost and costs; it’s also a story about violence and political intolerance, about the lost of three human lives.

I was sitting at home, watching the dissident military speeches from Altamira live on TV. Then we started to hear some screams and the TV images gave us back the look of people running and hiding. It was obvious that someone was shooting against the crowd. Three people died that night and many others were wounded. In particular I remember seeing a young guy holding a light purple sweater with a red spark. He was in the waiting room of a clinic, and explain to the cameras that the sweater belonged to his girlfriend, who was in intensive care.

Soon, the government found the shooter. A red haired simple guy, with Portuguese origins and a strange look in his eyes. The official version is that this guy, apparently crazy, on his own, decided to perpetuate the massacre. Just like those horrible killings in the first world where a dis-adapted, strange fellow is responsible.

Just recently, files from Raul Reyes’ laptop confirm a close collaboration between my government and the FARC to pursue state terrorism acts and to purgue counter revolutionaries. Experts suggests that due those e-mails found in Reyes’ laptop and the modus operandi of Altamira’ massacre; that FARC might be behind it. I don’t know if it’s pure speculation or a carefully thought conclusion that has now spread in the media like dust.

"Subsequently, on December, 2002, at the Altamira neighborhood of Caracas, three opposition members that were taking part in a rally die, and others are wounded.

The IISS (International Institute for Strategic Studies in London) suggests that for the “modus operandi” and context, it could have been FARC’ members work." (Read it all here, in Spanish)

Either way, a laptop lost in the jungle, a terrorist group’ propriety that shouldn’t have anything to do with us; has find its way to bring us back painful memories.

PS: Venezuelan bloggers have worked intensely to bring out everything about Chavez - FARC connection, since data from Raul' laptop was released. Check my links below for their compilation and their analysis.

PS 2: The New York Times published a direct and disturbing piece on the topic yesterday. Read it here

My complete stance on MUD' primary date (first and last words)

2011-04-23T20:56:00.001-07:00

So this is the thing: Opposition parties reunited in the MUD (roughly “Unity table”) have defined a date for the primaries; to choose our candidate for presidency. That would be next year in February. As always, I’m running late. Bloggers here and there, in English and Spanish had already spoke out their anger, their disagreement with the MUD’ decision and later on, their desire to turn the page – or not – and move on to the political campaign. But I prefer to take my time to speak out things, thoughtfully considered; than to be in the unnecessary spotlight of controversy.

As most, I strongly disagree with MUD’ decision. Presidential elections are supposed to be at the end of 2012 (we think, not that we are entirely sure of this, by the way…); so February does seem to me like too late to pick the candidate that is going to struggle against Chavez amazing machinery campaign, power and intimidation in the hope to beat him at the ballot boxes. I can name loads of reasons to support my stance. But I don’t think is important to state why I think February 2012 is too late and could put our only hopes in serious risk. What it really matters is that my disagreement with the way MUD’ took this decision is stronger than the decision itself.

The opposition parties (or most, the ones who were agree on delaying the date), took this decision against the claims of the citizens they should answer to. I don’t know if there is an stats proof anywhere but it does seem to me that the general mood of those of us who consider ourselves part of the “opposition” was to make those primaries this year; as soon as possible. The sooner we had our candidate elected; the longer was the time we had to make him/her stronger. More importantly; the opportunity for the Revolution to do anything “legal” to prevent this person to run for the office against the “great leader” itself, could be weaker. I never heard in the streets, in the radio, in the endless dinner talks between my family or at my office; a single comment of anyone in favor of delaying the elections. Everyone wanted them to be as soon as possible.

Maybe it’s true. Maybe it’s not. But the message most opposition parties at MUD are giving us is this: “we want some extra time to make our candidates stronger for the primaries; so they can beat the guy who’s now the strongest (that would be Capriles, Miranda’ governor)”. Even worse, they are also sending me this message: “Maybe, if Capriles continues to leads the pools, the government will disqualify him; and with him out of the game, our candidates could take his place. But of course, we need time for that”. None of the messages is telling us they hear their voters at all.

They are playing their cards. And that’s ok, that’s totally legitimate, I have nothing against it. After all they are politicians and that’s what politicians do (among other things, of course): they calculate their moves and work to get access to power positions, so they can act from them. But they are forgetting something. They are forgetting the moment and the context they are acting in. They seemed too much into their game to understand that this country is suffering a crisis; and thus this is no time to be politician in that sense.

This is the time to act not rather like a rescue team. We expected them to be the fire-workers that would save us – or at least try - from the fire that is consuming Venezuela little than little; and perhaps even start to plant over the ashes. We wanted water, oxygen, an opportunity to breathe again in a place where all doors seem to be closed or about to close. We definitely did not expected them to throw some more flammable material.

I hope their mistake will no bring any further consequences. I hope that in opposition primaries we can vote and select the candidate we want; not the candidate they want or, more likely the candidate we had no choice but to vote for him because the one we really wanted was disqualify by the Revolution (I lost count of how many times I have had to make that nasty kind of vote). I hope that once this candidate gets elected, there is still enough time for him to make campaign, and to convince some ni-nis to vote for him on presidential elections. I hope the Revolution, in this remaining year and a half, makes enough mistakes to become more unpopular than what it already is, thus leaving us the road free and saving MUD’ leaders by the bell.

But either way I want to remind them (I wish I could tell them, but I have no access to them) that authoritarianism, dictatorship, fascism and all those things and attitudes we so deeply despise of the Revolution; do not belong only to Chavez and his comrades. They are inside each one of us. After all, in what other way you can explain the fact that Chavez – a military and promoted of a failed-bloody- coup d’ etat was elected by an overwhelming majority of Venezuelans back in 1998? And in this overwhelming majority many, many of you were included. Don’t tell me again the story of the deprived and old political parties and the hope Chavez represented for the low classes. The fact is when an entire country makes a vote of faith to a man who betrayed democracy in such an open and offensive way; is a country without democratic nor political culture. This is a country that has Chavez and all what he represents: authoritarianism, dictatorship, fascism in the blood, in the genes, in the most deep part of each one of their citizens.

We all have Chavez inside us, and even when we are working against him, we sometimes end up acting just like him. When you guys from the MUD took the decision of delaying the primary’ date against what your voters think, following personal interests and putting in risk the sake and hopes of an entire country; you acted just like a Bolivarian Revolutionary. It is really painful for me to say this. And I know I’m earning more than one eyebrow and a few “dis-follow”, plus million critiques as I write this. But I think it is important to speak this out, out loud, to force us to face our own inside demons. We have to recognize that the biggest and hardest battle we have to lead is not against a regime, or a political system, but rather against ourselves. We have to work in a different direction, work to strengthen our almost inexistent political culture and conscience; work to promote in the internalization of our democratic values.

But every time we make a cult around out own personality. Every time we refuse to let others take the microphone and participate. Every time we discard an argument because of the person and not the argument. Every time we shot our ears. Every time we consider ourselves way too important to hear others because a couple of radio stations called us to hear our opinion. Every time we look at someone as it was less than us because of their social class, their origins or their short number of professional qualifications (aka foreign institution’ diplomas). Every time we believe that is not important what we say but how we say it, and we write it in a complicated language just to brag about ourselves. Every time we take good use of “la viveza del venezolano” and pass over others just to achieve a personal benefit. Every time we do that, we act like Revolutionaries. Like the Revolutionary type we don’t like. Like the Revolution that has harmed us so much. Like the system we don’t want for our country.

But we want to be different, don’t we?

So please, lets act different!

Long – and- important PS: As I promised at Twitter, this will be the fist and last thing I will say on this issue. I will now pass the page and focus on the primaries, and the elections that follow immediately. If there is any help wanted, to promote vote in Venezuela or abroad, to promote awareness abroad, to announce something, to denounce anything… I’m here.

Long and important PS 2: On the other hand, I can say here and now that I have acted sometimes or carried an attitude that should be more characteristic of a Revolutionary than of someone who is against it. There have been times (hopefully not many) when my actions or my attitudes have been everything but democratic. It would be a good exercise to recall some of those anecdotes in this blog. In the meantime, I realized that long time ago, I already posted one of those here.

I want you to understand that I’m disappointed with this MUD’ decision, but at the same time I’m equally guilty of similar actions. I bet many Venezuelans like me can say the same, if they dare. We always complain of the limits this government puts to democracy. And that's all right. But what about the limits WE put to democracy?

PS 3: While this stance is yes, visceral (after all, this whole blog is... well, visceral). Miguel offers his rather more rational stance. I share it instead of the stances of others, because this one differs from mine, or at least try to see the things with a positive point of view. It takes some notes from Venezuelan history and it does have a good point. Miguel, I wish I could be agree with you. But more than that, I hope you are right. You are older and you have more knowledge than me, so let's hope you are right, for the sake of all of us.

Advantages and disavantages of being a woman here (aka: sanitary pads update)

2011-04-19T08:26:00.000-07:00

On another piece of news, I have received many comments interested on the development of our odd sanitary pad shortage. At least in Caracas, things have changed slightly: you can find sanitary pads in almost any pharmacy or supermarket but only of one or two brand or varieties tops; when before December you were able to find more than 6 or 7 different brand or varieties. Probably it will be the same trouble we have with milk: after a major critical shortage back in 2007, the situation has never go back to normal. Milk reappears and disappears off the shelves. When it does disappears, it never does it for longer than a week. But when it's available, you can't hardly find more than one or two brands tops.

Back to sanitary pads, thankfully, I use one of the few brands that are now available at some places. My sister could also found the brand she uses but only with wings and wings cause her allergies... Similar histories and cases can be repeated from woman to woman. Probably most men won't get it. For them sanitary pads are like little diapers women use when they most be avoided because they can't have sex in these conditions and they are usually ill humored. But in our feminine universe, sanitary pads are our company and salvation to survive those unusually hard days we have to face month after month. And for every woman there is a brand - Always, Tess, Kotex, Carefree, Stayfree etc... -, a type of fabric - soft cotton or something like a mesh (more effective but it can cause irritation to many), a size - including daylight or night -, with wings or without them... etc. A sanitary pad is the representation of a choice that modern society has left us to bare those days in a world designed for men, a world where we have to still go to work and live our normal life without any excuses (who puts its period as a work absence excuse? No boss would ever approve it).

So in short, it is really unfortunate that we are now limited to only a few brands and sizes. For many woman in Venezuela, their periods will be less comfortable than usual. But we won't deny that we all now feel relieved to at least be able to find sanitary pads available.

My behavior during this whole shortage situation remind me of the grandmother of a friend of mine. She's from Spain and ran with her family from the Civil War when she was just a teenager. Even today, she saves cans of different food: think Tuna, tomato etc, under her bed. Her sons and grandsons freaked out because she has saved too many of them and more often than not, some pass their expiration date.

I look at my closet, where one drawer is completely filled with sanitary pads and I can't help but think of that old lady driving everyone crazy with their cans. I have payed an expensive price due to the uncertainty, anguish and paranoia I had while this shortage lasted (about three months). I have now loads of sanitary pads packages of different brads - almost none my usual one -. For a moment it seems they are looking at me, telling me "you are so stupid, you let "the system" beat you!, you bought all this in advance, for nothing!".On the other hand, I won't have to worry about buying those for the rest of the year, or a little less if I share some with my sister.

The trouble with "this system", in general and not just in this matter, is that you never know what to do. Making plans and being overcautious can be risky: for example if you save a lot in your bank account and your bank goes intervened by the government, you might never look again at those founds or at least for a while; put putting out your capital saying in an account abroad is terribly hard not to say illegal. Another alternative for you is to invest the money instead of leaving it in the bank but if you buy a private property you have the risk of having your property seized by the government, and same happens if you start a business. If I buy a lot of sanitary pads in advance, I have the risk of losing some after they have pass their expiration date; but while the shortage remained current, the scenario of never being able to find period pads again was a perfectly probable one.

So must of us, whenever a big or small decision in our life comes, not only do not know what to do, but also due to the Revolution' craziness, imagine terrible risks or consequences for each of options we take. We have to be impulsive, but also cautious; we have to be aggressive but we can't afford to be noticed too much. We want to have success but not so much to become a government' or delinquency target. And above all, we have to be intuitive, like extra super duper intuitive, if we want to survive "the system" without losing what we are and what we have in the process.

So women in Venezuela might not have the sanitary pad of their choice anymore, but although sometimes it does fail (do you need any more proof?); our unique feminine intuition does give us a little advantage.

PS: This post was published in a rush, no re-read or editing, so sorry if you find more grammar mistakes than usual, I'll promise I'll do something about it as soon as I can.

Introducing a new young-Venezuelan-English-Blogger

2011-04-19T07:34:00.000-07:00

As far as I know there is only one major consistent Venezuelan blogger writing in English from Venezuela: that's Daniel. My blog is the other lone English blog written from Venezuela. The remaining English blogs concerning Venezuela are written either by expatriates, obviously from abroad; or by foreigners. Therefore I cheer any new addition to the blogosphere. The most recent I came across with - due to its author comment in my blog - is Naivety of the Young.

The blog is written by a 22 year old student living in Maracaibo (I still remain, therefore, as the only one woman and the only one blogging from Caracas). He uses a very rough English but it won't be difficult for you to understand him, since you are already used to our "particular", often grammatically incorrect English. I'm going to leave you a paragraph I felt related to, and it is a sample of the work his blog can deliver if he gets enough readers' feedback and if he posts some more (he hasn't posted anything new since December, 2010). So here it goes:

"Look around for a while.Look at the street,look at the tv,look at the internet.
Are you really going to deny that there is no division? that everyone is doing bad,that life is worse?
are you really going to believe the Utopic view of the government and the official stories?
Look around and say out loud that Venezuela is at its Zenith.
That Venezuela is the best country in the continent.
That the government's programs are working.
That "He" is always right.
That there is no need to question him because you KNOW he is honest.

Now go to church".

You won't deny that the last line is priceless. Read the whole entry here

April 11' 9th anniversary

2011-04-11T19:09:00.000-07:00

I really don't know what to say about this. I wrote about it before, way before when I started blogging. I don't know if I should edit those memories or not, having in store what I knew back in 2007, five years after the coup and what I do know now. But do K now much? No. It was a very blurry, confusing day. It all started with a demonstration. Just a demonstration, some people gathered at a square, it wasn't supposed to be a march. But then it turned into a march. And we marched. I was 17, with my mom. I was wearing a halter turquoise top and I remember I looked quite pretty. And while walking I was thinking pretty much that: things were complicated in the country, we were marching to trow down a president and go back the way we were and I looked pretty. The day was bright and I got a creepy "portuguese" tan in my shoulders and my chest...

Then what I told you before happened. To this date, no one from the government has been found guilty. But this happened. This really did. I have told this before and will do it again. Someday they will have to give an explanation to this country for what they did. I'm longing to hear it.

In the meantime, as I fall sleep ending another day of my odd routine, I think about those who are now remembering the 9th anniversary of the loss of their loved ones. And I'm so, so sorry for them. Nothing could ever repair their pain.

The blackout and the huge parking line

2011-04-11T17:14:00.001-07:00

(Readers: sorry for taking this long before posting anything new. Work and life got in my way...But expect more updates in the following days since next week I'm on vacations!! (next week that is).. and, unfortunately, staying home. I have received some encouraging e-mails from Venezuelans wanting to participate in this blog; I have strong hopes that my proposal will materialize eventually. Back to topic, this post was written last Friday, when a brief blackout took place in Caracas and at least 11 other Venezuelan states).

In the morning, my mom heard on the radio a declaration of our energy minister: Mr. Rodríguez- Araque, saying that there was nothing to worry about: the energy crisis which has kept our country in some sort of state of emergency for more than a year, it’s over. Everything is O.K…And it was until 3- something in the afternoon when a massive blackout surprised us in Caracas and many, I suppose, in the rest of the country.

I was alone in my office when it happened. My boyfriend called me immediately to check if he was the only one who was left without power in the middle of his work journey. My boss followed. He was at the bank and recommended me to leave the office immediately and go home, since the blackout was massive and “who knows how traffic is going to be later on, without traffic lines to put an order to it.

I obeyed (because who doesn’t obey a boss who asks you to leave your work early?) and called my mom to let her know I was on my way home. But she insisted on picking me up instead “the metro is closed and all busses must be collapsed”. I had no choice but to agree.

When my mom picks me up at work, she usually takes from 15 to 30 minutes to reach my office. But this time, half an hour had already pass and she was still near home. “This is not traffic, this is a huge parking line” – She told me, via sms, and had to turn back home, frustrated.

By then, it was 5:00 O’ Clock already and I was afraid of staying in my office alone after dark. Electricity came back at least where I was, but normality did not.

I went out to see what I could do. The metro remained closed and the streets were unusually overcrowded. And traffic looked, like my mom wrote, like a huge parking line. I started walking until I reached an area where traffic was not so high. I stood at a bus stop watching busses passing by because they were already too overcrowded.

Then, a miracle happened and one bus stopped. It was hard to believe another could fit inside it, but before I noticed, I was in. The bus driver announced he would not complete the route, leaving everybody just a few blocks away.

I spent another 15-20 minutes in that bus, squashed against the rest of the passengers, unable to move a single part of my body; while seeing hundreds of people walking usually empty sidewalks, hopelessly trying to reach their homes without any public transportation system available.

I got down the bus (or more likely, the crowd inside the bus pushed me outside), walked for a few and took another bus to my boyfriend’ place. Luckily, this bus was no overcrowded since is a low demand one.

When I show up at his door; I was red, sweating, feeling a bit dizzy and tired as hell. I called my mom, also exhausted after going down and up 12 floors to get in the car and try to pick me up.

My boyfriend took me home two hours later, when traffic had already went down. I fall sleep in the sheets of a chaotic country were our journeys, affected by both our government’ inefficiency and our consequential paranoia; can’t hardly make for an organized, normal routine.

Image taken from HERE. No copyright infringement intended.

Away

2011-03-27T16:47:00.000-07:00

(This post was written about a year ago, and then it got lost somewhere in my files, since the feelings are still current, here it comes)

This month I have helped two dear friends to pack their bags. I have said good bye to many friends in the last few years but I have never had the chance to see their process so close. There is something different about a good bye party and your friend smiling with a beer saying it will visit you on Christmas (but you know he won't) to see your friend' closet going empty, trying to figure out if that old shirt that brings warm memories from High School is an indispensable item or not.

There is something different about checking that bag' weight and asking if they are going to need all those bathing suits in that cold place, how many pair of shoes can they put, how many times they would have to wash the only items they can carry; for a year or more. This month was a friend who marry and left to Australia with her husband. The other is following his new wife up to Canada, she found a job there.

So we smile and argue about the best way to pack the shirts, and the pants. We suggest her to take at least one good dress because you never know if you have an occasion that merits it over there. We take one last picture. One girl looks at one drawer and asks "What about perfume? Are you going to take any?" - "Well" - Our emigrant friend answers - "Maybe just one bottle, pack just my favorite one... there is no room for anything else" - "Can I take your books?" - "Take everything you want... except this one.. and this one"...

Then follow a discussion about what the parents are going to do with the empty room. They will probably keep it as a guest house in case the lost daughter or son decides to pay a short visit. We speak about the last bank intervened, the latest political prisoner, the last acquaintance we heard of being kidnapped. In every meeting, even one as informal and quick as helping your friend with the last minute details before their departure, those anecdotes arise. Then our friend looks at us and says "Just be careful, all of you who are staying here, please just take care of yourselves".

Then we promise a visit, someday, somewhere. They promise a visit, in the same vague terms. Keep in touch. You added me to skype yesterday. I will let you know when the apartment is ready and you'll know you have a home over there...

I have homes in many places. In United States, Mexico, Chile, Panama, Spain, Germany and Australia, to name a few. But like I have said over and over again in this blog, I'm not those kind of people who dream about traveling around the world and staying for free. I'm more like those kind of people who would rather keep their friends close. Not for a random every two, three four years visit, not for a Skype call. I would rather have my friends like I used to have them, for a phone call (plain, normal, local phone call), for a coffee, for a drink, for a short trip to the beach, for a reunion, for a birthday, for a movie, for watching a soccer game together. I would rather have my friends at my love ones funeral, and in the hospital if a disease comes along, or meeting the newborn of any of us face to face, not thanks to a Facebook mobile picture.

But my friends are now ambassadors, filled part with nostalgia and part with new adventures. Their lives are no longer mine. They are not available for long talks and huge laughs anymore. At most, long stories rely on email and blogspots. And, the desires to come back. If they only could, if they were not so disconnected already, if things were better, if things were different.

Guest bloggers wanted

2011-03-27T09:51:00.000-07:00

This blog' traffic is usually from overseas - specially United States and Europe so that's why I address more to foreigners than Venezuelans. But recently, I have noticed a non ordinary traffic of Venezuelans in my blog. After receiving comments and e-mails from some of them, I have come up with this idea. More than an idea, is a proposal. It goes like this:

Readers already know my story: they have read about the anguish reflected during dinner conversations with my family, they have read about my early encounters with this revolution in high school, about the marches, protests, and street clashes I have witnessed, about my brief stage as part of a political party and later, as part of a student movement. They have read about the people I have lost -due to violent death or more likely to emigration - on these years. They read everything about my graduation, a bit about my job search. They even know a bit about how my love life has been putting Venezuelan reality as a context. They suspect my life resembles the life of many Venezuelans.

To some extent this is true. My life resembles the life of almost any high middle but recently impoverished middle class educated young woman. I'm nothing original. I have similar concerns and similar aspirations people of my generation and my conditions has. But then there are many subjective realities that I can't explore nor express accurate in this space. Maybe a girl with a different career or still single, maybe a young woman who already left the country and is struggling to adapt herself to a new environment. Maybe a guy still studying or just coming out of the university or starting his own business. Maybe someone having to live the difficulties parenthood carries in this crisis. Maybe someone with a better or worse situation in life than the one I have. Maybe someone who works for the government. Someone who has experience a kidnapping or an assault (I'm lucky, even in the most dangerous city in the world, I have not yet directly experienced any). I know very little about life in other Venezuelan cities or towns besides my own: Caracas.

So if you can feel identified with any of the lines above, or even if your reality is almost exactly like my own. If you are Venezuelan, live in or sort of recently left Venezuela and speak English; I want to invite you to write here as a guest blogger. This blog is for people who wants to approach to the reality of a Venezuelan. I designed this blog for people who wants to look beyond the news and inside citizens houses, life and most importantly, feelings. So if readers could get a glimpse of what happens here, how does it feel, how do we manage to keep our heads and hearts still; from other voices besides my own; their understanding of our reality would be a lot greater.

To put the long story short, if you feel entitled to, write your testimonial. Above all talk about how do you feel, what do you think; if its politically correct or not, is not important.

You can send me what your write, along side with your name or a nickname (I prefer to keep my real name private, you are free to put your real name or not), to my e-mail (in case of doubts, my account is "julia1984ve", its a gmail account, I'm writing it like that to avoid spam). You can also include a link or links to your blog, twitter, personal page or any other way for readers to contact you or see/read more about you. If you want to include a picture/drawing/image, that would be great too. You can keep it short or long. If it's too long I will have to publish it in two parts which can't do much harm. Your post might also include links to other pages or not, that's up to you.

I will read of course your post before publishing it, and I'll edit it if necessary: but only small grammar mistakes, typing and things like that. In case of a major editing I will consult that to you. I won't publish anything you are not agree to be published. And obviously, you will appear as the single author of the post.

If your post receive comments, I will moderate those comments. I usually don't publish comments that are offensive, compromise my real identity, or are just plain trolls or spam. I don't publish comments people have explicitly asked me not to. If you disagree with this policy, we can talk about it and see what we can negotiate.

I have the feeling that this post and invitation might fall in deaf ears. But I don't lose anything for trying. And if it does work, if anyone actually sends anything I think it will be an interesting opportunity for me to diversify my blog' contents, for guest posters to get other spaces and platforms to be heard, and for this blog readers to enrich their knowledge and understanding on our little but yet important; Venezuelan perspectives. So I'm trilled about the idea, don't you? If so, please, please, please... sign in!

Mubarak' departure, as seen by me

2011-03-13T20:02:00.000-07:00

I know this post comes belayed, way too much out of time. I know I should be speaking about Japan' earthquake or at least about something new or not, happening here. And I will, when time allows me next week. In the meantime, this post got almost lost in one of my endless "future posts" drafts and I realized that I should publish it, that it is now or never. It's about Mubarak, and Egypt, and Libya and why we don't want to look at ourselves in that mirror. A commenter stated something quite similar in my previous post on the subject. Consider this an extension

The day Mubarak left power was a good day for us. Many did not have a clue about Mubarak' existence before January but to just see that it was somehow possible for common citizens to pressure enough to end a dictatorship gave us hope; no matter how far the events took place. My boss arrived at the office later than usual, because he stayed a bit longer at home, watching Egypt' celebrations on CNN. Carrying a huge enthusiastic smile, told me the news and even allowed me to interrupt my job to read and watch everything I could about it online.

Egypt' events were the main conversation topic with my co-workers at lunch, and with my family at dinner.

But same as we were trilled about the end of Mubarak' regime; we were cautious on desiring the arouse of something similar here. Recent Arabic world events' give us a nice glimpse of people' desire to move to more democratic, less restrictive regimes. Democracy has proof there to be not an accidental value, but an universal one despite of its origins. Dictators across the globe have been left with less philosophical arguments to justify their atrocities. And that is definitely a great gain for the human kind.

But every coin, like every event, has two sides. Recent revolutions in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya... have show us that people still lack power to fulfill their desires. Without international pressure and a favorable army; protesters are left alone in their claims because it is never the dictator the guy who'll hear them. Those government are first interested on keeping their position, their power; and then, maybe, anything else including their people. Protests are thus made to be heard by others: army, international community, government allies and opponents, reporters... and only through those "others" pressure; that a change could be pursuit-ed.

Among those "others", none is as important as the army. Those revolutions always hold the potential of becoming a civil war; and those who win a civil war are rarely the ones who are right; but the ones who are stronger (in the sense of a stronger army, stronger strategy). In Egypt' case, the army decided to take a step back, to stop shooting at the protesters and to pressure for a convenient solution to the crisis. At Libya, army has acted quite different and thus a civil war has erupted. It is not likely that rebels will win without foreign support so we can expect a long conflict; that will bring nothing but grief, pain and devastation. All due to the stubbornness of a man; and his loyal army. A president who has mistaken their own people for enemies. So I wonder: Isn't with that idea (the idea of an enemy rather than a legitimate opponent) that Chavez has treated his opposition?

In short words, I don't want this regime to come to an end under similar circumstances. I fear, in best case scenario an army achieving yet more power than what it already has. In the worse- and more likely to occur, I'm afraid - a civil war. Let's face it: Chavez' friend is Qaddafi (spelling?), not Mubarak. He admires Qaddafi greatly and to our embarrassment, he has defended or denied his genocide acts over and over again. We have all reason in the world to believe that if a similar revolution takes place in Venezuela; Chavez will act just like Qaddafi is acting.

This is why I would rather change the stamina of a revolution for a safer - and slower transition without a major rupture of our incipient Constitutional order. Maybe it's elections. I'm still not sure if my short experience even allows me to think on Venezuela ruled by anyone else. Either way, you can't blame me for looking for solutions that imply less violence, less waste of human lives and less dependence of the military caste. Those roads are not fast, not glamorous enough to make headlines, nor even as effective; but I trust that in the long term, they will bring better results.

Update on sanitary pads and diapers shortage

2011-03-11T04:16:00.000-08:00

For those interested, period pads are still scarce around here. The shelves where you used to find five or more different brands, types, and sizes; are filled now with "protectores" (of just one brand, maybe two) and tampons (Tampax) - hardly enough to fool any woman. At some drug stores, every once in a while, is possible to find sanitary pads of brands and presentations that were unfamiliar for me till now. "Stayfree" - some selected presentations - and another called "Mía". Those two are made in Venezuela which is probably why they are available in the first place; but I guess Venezuela doesn't produce enough to satisfy the demand. The few - Venezuelan made - packages that manage to reach those shelves, disappear as fast as they are brought there. Thankfully, those pads are thin, acceptable and still haven't got any allergies for using them. But they are still far way from the comfort of the brand I'm used to.

I confess that when it comes to this shortage, I have acted like a panicked, neurotic, senseless and paranoid woman. On weekends, my boyfriend and I try to go for a walk to different shopping malls every time; so my chances to visit unknown drug stores usually increase. And every time I found at one of those, a sanitary pad package, I simply buy it. Despite the brand, presentation, size, features or costs. Despite that I don't actually need it. I still buy it, terrified about the idea of either me or my sister in period days without pads to face it. "Don't you think you are over reacting?" - My boyfriend asked, totally unaware of what a sanitary pad actually was before periods pain not-so-gently arrived at our relationship; and still ignorant about how many pads can be used in a period, for how long periods actually last etc etc. But that's when I looked at the drawer where I keep all the packages and realized that maybe I am over reacting. And that I should definitely stop. Not only for the sake of other Venezuelan woman who need those packages and perhaps have no taken the precautions I did; but because simply, sanitary pads have an expiration date. I have never seen a pad when it reaches that date, but I'm not exactly trilled about the idea.

A friend of mine got pregnant a few weeks ago. "Given this shortage, I could have not thought of a better time!" - She joked while she was hearing the rest of us sharing our grief due to the difficulties of finding pads. I later warned her not to be so cheerful. As the proud and close aunt of two little ones (the oldest is almost 4); I know that diappers are now not only crazy expensive but, of certain sizes and brands; as hard to find as sanitary pads. For what I have heard in press and radio, both products seem to share a common trouble: some of the materials required for making them can't be imported or are difficult to be imported due to government foreign exchange controls.

As for diapers, the opposite sizes "new born" and "extra large" are the rarest. As for brands, "Huggies" seems to be the one experiencing more trouble. I haven't seen diapers for premature babies in months. And all this situation is not likely to change in the course of nine months.

After naming her brother- who lives in Miami- the godfather of a child whose gender is still unknown; she made him one special request - it was not chic toys or imported "Carters" clothes. No. "We'll talk about it again when we are closer to the date. But please bring as many "newborn" diapers as you can when you come to meet the baby..." - Her brother raised an eyebrow - "Oh... and sanitary pads, for the rest of us" - She added. His brother raised his eyebrow even more, filled with disconcert. Did she was talking about Caracas, Venezuela? About tricks and treats to find what it was always there?

We are amazed at the slight and the big changes that have arrived to our lives. We have never lived a war, but since 2007 we are used to take as normal that not all products will be available. If one product is indispensable - such as sanitary pads - we turn ourselves into an erratic, neurotic behavior. And nothing can calm our paranoia because the shortage could last just a few days or it could extend for years. No one really knows. Rumors come and go about what will be the next product to disappear.

And life goes on. I go to work every day and date with my boyfriend on weekends. I'm learning French, my cousin is getting married in two weeks and my friend is soon becoming a mom. And our periods will still come, every month, to remind us that as women hygiene products are not mere luxuries.

Why Venezuela is not Egypt? Nor Libya?

2011-03-09T13:02:00.000-08:00

A reader asked me a few days ago to explain why he haven't seen anything like Egypt or Libya happening in Venezuela - Did he missed any news? - No, he missed none. Outside a worrying number of hunger strikers making different demands; this sort of "democratic virus" has not yet reached this side of the world. But why? To be honest, I don't have a clue. And I don't think anyone can honestly answer your question. Let me elaborate...

I could take the easy route, and just tell you that one thing is North of Africa and a whole different thing is Venezuela. However, once I followed all the events, specially those in Egypt; I did not felt a cultural difference between those protesters and myself. We have the same aspirations: freedom, democracy, civil rights. And we have even used similar methods to achieve such aspirations; including taking advantage of social networks. Only difference is that at least Egypt' methods have proven to be effective while ours not so much; but that's material for another post.

I won't speak from a theoretical point of view. I have read enough material on social movements and protesters motivations and so on. But this blog is not the place to get "too complicated". Plus, in this case I think nothing speaks clearer to me than my experience.

By "my experience" I mean the numerous protests, demonstrations, marches etc that I have witnessed here in Venezuela in the past nine years (at least). I have also had the opportunity to take a close look to the organization of some of them; how they are carefully - or not - executed. Others, seemed to me, were completely spontaneous.

In either case, what my experience tells me about the likeness an event has to become massive or not, about the circumstances in which a protests erupts, about what can turn a simple protest into a worldwide revolution is this: nothing. I mean N-O-T-H-I-N-G.

This is a reoccurring thought of mine: the fact that we, Venezuelans - and probably others- let pass many important events and then protest about other without any apparent sense.

For example: in 2005-2006 there were two cases of violent deaths that gained media and public' attention (there are so many violent deaths in Venezuela that unfortunately, most get no attention at all). The first was the killing of three - if I remember correctly - university students who were giving a classmate a ride home and they were killed "just because" they entered that neighborhood at night. The second, was the kidnap and killing of three brothers and their bodyguard; none of the brothers was old enough to be in the university. Guess which case caused a major university students demonstration that included blocking the main Caracas' highway? Guess which case make them later organize to make more massive protests demanding more personal security and respect to life? ... You guessed wrong. It was not the first but the second case what history will record as the circumstance under a massive student movement was born in Venezuela... Go figure...

Of course, both cases were serious enough to cause a social response. But why when those fellow university students were killed so horribly, we did nothing beyond talking at the cafeteria about it? Why we protested over Faddoul brothers but stayed silent when the students were killed? - Like I said, nothing. No clue.

A big series of protests erupted when the government shut down a popular TV Channel. But nothing slightly similar happened when we ran out of milk or when the IVA was raised etc etc etc... I could go on and on quoting examples.

We know it is always about a chain reaction. One guy burns himself and... you know the rest. It is always unexpected. Did someone predicted Egypt? Someone? Anyone? (If you know about someone, let me know in the comments section, I'm very interested). Revolutions are less a matter of causes and ideals than they are about opportunities. Go check your history books and you will find the same patron I have lived: One person has an idea or more often, do something unaware of its consequences. In Venezuela' case, with media now as restricted as it is; you are more likely to receive a Facebook invite, a text message or a Tweet than to see it on TV. The message is always the same: just a few words indicating time, place and reason. Sometimes it is an official call from political parties. Sometimes we are unaware of who's behind it. Sometimes is some news we get, some voice on the radio that makes us go to the usual place we gather for protest to see if there is anyone there. Sometimes there is no soul to be found. Some others there are dozens.

There are some days, when I have heard really bad news, a crazy government decision, a very serious event; that I go to my balcony and play a cacerola (kitchen pot) just because. One minute after I realize no one else is playing, I make a speech about people' apathy and save my kitchen pot with sorrow. But other times I'm surprised by the sound of a strong cacerolazo in my neighborhood and I don't even feel like taking part in it.

No one knows when a massive protest or movement will come. The circumstances are all there: shortages, economical crisis, high taxes, Human Rights being violated in all possible ways, political freedom restricted, threats, personal insecurity, impunity... All reasons for us to express the same Egyptians did are there; under the surface; waiting for a moment to come out. And that moment could come or not. Societies are unpredictable and in these matters, even more.

I know you were seeking for a more satisfying explanation; but that wouldn't be honest. All I can say is that I - and many people - have the impression that is not always knowledge and wisdom the result of education and experience; but a greater awareness of an insuperable ignorance.

Rejected

2011-02-27T08:56:00.000-08:00

This week started with a message in my Inbox I did not wanted to see: a rejection from one of the institutions I applied to. I was able to apply to only two programs and this one in particular, was the one I had the greatest hopes of getting in. I politely asked the department the reasons of my rejection, if there was something I can do to improve and if they would recommend me or not to re-apply next year. Maybe is not in their policies, or maybe they were just rude; but there was no reply.

To this date, I haven’t heard back from the other program; so given the fact that there’s been more than one month since I sent all the application materials and that some admissions have already been sent; I’m expecting to receive a rejection from them as well.

I started looking for alternative places and programs where my stats could make me look as a desirable candidate with strong chances to be admitted; but those programs have few if none scholarships available. The few that have some scholarship programs include only the benefit of a partial remission of tuition; which is not enough aid for me. So I really don’t know what’s the next step for me, or if there is actually a next step I can take.

At this point I feel a bit tired and frustrated. The application process requires a lot of effort and energy- specially the emotional type – and when it all comes to nothing; you just don’t know what else to do. You don’t know what to tell to those professors you annoyingly chased for months asking for a recommendation. You don’t know what words you should use when friends and relatives ask you over and over again what’s up with your plans. You have always been so centered, so responsible, that they always thought you were smart and you could achieve anything. That the sky was the only limit. They don’t know I’m like anyone else; not bright, not smart, not “special”. I don’t have an outrageous talent. I’m just me. And maybe, unlike most around me and who are apparently like myself; I’m not going to hold a masters’ or a doctoral degree’.

You hear conversations everywhere, between your family and your work place; and the university you went to. Everything leads you to the idea that you are nothing without at least a masters’ degree. I have heard too many stories that start with “Mr. X is an idiot. He couldn’t study anything beyond a licenciatura” or “Nevermind, she’s only a licenciada” (licenciatura is our equivalent to Bachelor’s degree, although it requires a bit more of coursework, usually five years instead of four and the coursework is far more focused). Am I an idiot?

I have always wanted to teach but no serious university, logically, will hire me without at least a Masters. I want to publish. I have so much things written here and there, in English, in Spanish, from novels to essays and topics I’ve been studying at work… but am I going to be taken seriously if the book cover says only “licenciada”?

The clock keeps running and people keep asking what am I going to do with my life. It seems I must have some things defined before I turn 30, but I have none. Maybe it’s due to money, politics, lack of opportunities, a Revolution in the middle, low salaries, high inflation… or maybe is just me who’s trying to adjust to a certain expectation without knowing if this expectation belongs to me or to others; and if I should continue or if I should just give up and look for some other dreams. Maybe is time for me to sit down and think, beyond my circumstances and beyond expectations that were settled even before I was born; what am I really want to do with my life and specially, what can I do with my life? What is the kind of life I want to live? Am I suitable for grad school or am I suitable for something else?

The pressures for a woman my age are subtle, but endless. If I want to be a mom, I should do it in less than 10 years because otherwise I will be too old. My biological clock can’t be cheated. If I don’t get married and settled independently before I turn 30, I’m going to be part of that obnoxious groups of “forever single”. And before I turn 30 too, I should have a more respected position in my work, it will not look good if I still hold the position that a recent Bachelors graduate could hold. Grad school also goes to the list of things I should do before I’m 30. And I’m 26, one day I’ll wake up and I’ll be 30 and there is no way, realistically that I can do so much in so little time. If I keep trying to do that, you will be reading endless stories of – what else? – frustration.

It’s time for me to be an adult, to take failures and live with them. To realize I’m never going to be what everyone is expecting me to be. That I live in a environment hard enough, and sometimes even harder for a woman. I live in a place where women salaries are considerably lower than their male counterparts, where you can’t use a short skirt for going out in hot humid day because man will “compliment” you in a rather disrespectful way, where you are expected to do all the household duties plus go to work while your male counterpart is not forced to help you (thankfully, this is changing), I live in a place where woman most be extra careful when walking alone because they can no only be mugged but also raped; I live in a place where sanitary pads have disappeared off the shelves and there is no one making a big deal out of it.

Maybe is time for me to look for what really makes me happy and do my best effort to achieve it. If it’s grad school, it should come to me; some program, some institution should accept me; some scholarship should be available and I should have merits enough to fulfill it. If It’s not grad school, none of that will happen. Maybe my life won’t be about that. Maybe it’s photography, or the piano, or the paintings, or my writings – the narrative part of my writings, perhaps not much the “serious” studies…- Maybe it’s art or music. Maybe it’s my own business. Maybe it’s a life focused in a family life alongside with my boyfriend and my hypothetical kids. Maybe it’s just something else. Somewhere else. Maybe I’ll be someone helpful, somehow “important”. Maybe I won’t be any of that. Maybe I’ll stay exactly as I am now, irrelevant, oddly normal – except for one person. And maybe it’s enough.

Or maybe it’s just me, whining over and over because of a simple e-mail; unable to know how to deal with a rejection.

Image taken from HERE, no desire to steal anyone' copyright.

Pilieri, the students and our lack of power division.

2011-02-23T15:26:00.000-08:00

Before going to work, I passed by the OAS office to see how things were going. Some students are still there with their tents, accompanied by a big placard with one of the most remarkable political prisoner’s photo: elected depute (and Daniel’ representantive) Biagio Pilieri. A 20 year old girl with brackets assured me with a smile that Pilieri is now free as a result of their negotiations and their long hunger strike; suspended yesterday. The strike had, besides Pilieri’ release (which is only partial, as I’ll explain later), some achievements: they set up a negotiation table with the government, some of the political prisoners’ cases will be revised and they were promised to visit a prison

If those achievements were enough to suspend the strike and to celebrate the way these students did last night, it is not for me to judge. Perhaps inside the regime we have, what it can be seen as only small achievements, are actually huge; and hard to get. To fight against this regime you must do it one step at the time. And to keep the spirits alive you probably need to cheer and take account of every single -small or not -achievement. I’m personally against hunger strikes, I respect the ones who do it and I too defend their causes; but I think we can reoccur to other ways of protests without damaging our health this much. Of course, this country situation is getting worse every day and perhaps extreme measures such as this one are needed. I’m just in the hope that we can yet use other was to pressure.

Besides that, make no mistake: the decision concerning Pilieri’ case was a political; not a judicial one. His release is only partial so the government has not yet recognized its mistake. Apparently, he’s still being judge and he has to present to courts periodically. But at least he can take his seat at the National Assembly.

Pilieri was judged and declared innocent. Against the rule of law that says no one can be judged more than once for the same cause; a second trial was opened against him with what it was even weirder, an imprisonment measure. Once he won the elections, he should have taken his seat at the National Assembly, with no possible trials against him since deputies enjoy parliamentary immunity. In violation of all possible rights and principles, this didn’t happen. Same as it was a political decision what kept him facing senseless trials and out of his seat; it was also a political decision to release him.

This clearly shows the lack of independence of powers in this country. One call and he’s in jail, because of the same cause of which has proven to be innocent. One call and he’s free. The judges do not make independent decisions; they just sit and wait for calls from “up there”. Sentences are being made even before trial starts, the president and the ministers state if someone is guilty or not, and for how long should be punished; simply by speaking “their opinion” (their orders) on TV.

Although Pilieri might take his seat, he still doesn’t enjoy the right of parliamentary immunity. He has to present to court periodically which is, by all means, a liberty with considerable restrictions it should not have.

Either way, this is a partial win situation for the opposition: we have the seat we won but it was taking from us at the Assembly and the existence of political prisoners in Venezuela and the treatment they are receiving have gotten international attention. On the other hand, this is a loss- loss situation for the government: the Revolution has been forced to give up on some issues, such as Pilieri after claiming he was a delinquent and all that blah blah… and, although interior Minister’ Aissami has declared that this was an “institutions victory”; for me and for many others, this was a proof that institutions don’t work in an institutional way, but a political one. The small concessions the government gave are by no means a proof of how “democratic and respectful of Human Rights” is; but rather of how trapped it feels for they to admit that they do have political prisoners. .

On students protests and the Venezuelan English blogosphere

2011-02-22T14:00:00.000-08:00

I wish I could have posted this sooner, but I’m unable to post anything while I’m at work. This morning I was able to accompany, briefly, a students’ demonstration that parted from Altamira with the intention of going to the Chancellery. Once in Chacao – less than one metro station away – they were forced to change their route and thus decided to go to the OAS office located in Las Mercedes. State Institutions only hear the claims of the Bolivarian Revolution supporters, if they actually hear any claim. As for the rest of Venezuelans, its doors are closed. If Venezuelans want to protest against the Revolution, they have no choice but to do it away from those institutions of which they should expect an answer to their queries.

The demonstration was in support of another group of students, who were in hunger strike at the OAS office, three embassies and 10 Venezuelan states. The strikers were demanding the OAS’ Human Rights commission to visit the country and evaluate our situation, especially concerning political prisoners. The students in Caracas were supported by students in other Venezuelan cities. This hunger strike lasted 18 days and more than 80 students joined it. A few hours after the demonstration, they suspended the strike claiming the goals were already achieved. I don't think their goals have been achieved at all (I will discuss this later), but for the sake of their health, I'm glad they suspended it. You can see pictures of students cheering after concluding the strike here

Luckily, when I encountered the march, I was carrying my hand camera. I have uploaded a brief video so you can see the mood of the protest. I felt the protesters were both angry and determined to do something. After all, a hunger strike is no joke. When the protest reached the highway, I had to abandon it and take a bus back to work. Here is the video:

The government’ response, at least until today, has been nothing but disappointing. From ministers declaring that students in hunger strike actually sneak out and eat without been seen; to government supporters cooking a barbecue in front of the strikers.

I have avoided talking about this issue because it is a very sensitive and controversial one. Hunger strike is one of the most extreme ways of protest available and it should be the last resource. Hunger strike is not a march, a demonstration, a cacerolazo, a blog or a letter… is an extreme measure which compromises your body. Hunger strikes always makes irreversible damages to your body. I see these students, hardly older than 21, just starting their lives and whom already face, as a result of this hunger strike, health issues that will hunt them for the rest of their lives; despite of the results of the protest. This is no joke and I’m extremely concerned about their health. It is unfair that Venezuelans feel forced to reoccur to such extreme ways to protest in order to be heard. And as Franklin Brito’ case has proven, is a measure far from being effective.

Those students shouldn’t be in hunger strike. They should be dancing, dating, and enjoying the rest of their youth which will not last long. Over all, they should be studying. They should have the right to live a normal life. But that’s a right no one from my generation and the generations that follow has enjoyed.

On a different topic, today I was informed that English Venezuelan blogger’ Miguel, has left the country. He will only make sporadic visits now but his permanent residence will be established somewhere else. If I’m not mistaken he was the first and remains to be one of the most prominent and respected Venezuelan English blogger. The other one is Daniel; who wrote a long post on Miguel’ departure and his concerns for being the only English Venezuelan blogger left in the country.It is painful to see that every day, someone you know - online or not - leaves the country for good.

As for Daniel' post, if you ask, he probably did not mentioned me because:

a) my blog’ style strongly differs from both Miguel’ and Daniel’. Their blogs are intended to be sources of information and smart commentary on Venezuelan situation. Thus they eagerly cover all topics. When I decided to start an English blog, I noticed that all topics were pretty much covered. Plus I lacked of the English knowledge and the experience Miguel – Daniel duo has. That’s why I developed this blog as a chronicle of a life inside the Venezuelan Revolution instead of working as a citizen reporter. With Miguel’ outside this country, I will have change this blog’ approach a little, to cover some topics and events he will no longer be able to. But I won’t publish a word on most economical issues because I simply don’t have the expertise to do such a thing.

b) I have been an inconstant blogger. I do not publish frequently (it was never my intention to do that) and out of fear, I have closed this blog two times. As a result, I’m probably not as trusted as other bloggers and this is a legitimate feeling. I will try to publish more frequently and to avoid the fears of the consequences of my writings. But unlike most politicians here, I don’t feel I can make empty promises.

c)My English is not good. Let’s face it, it isn’t. I already told you under what circumstances I learned this language and continue learning. I fear sometimes not being properly understood or to not be able to explain you things because of my language limitations. A limited English probably influx this blog’ quality, I have no doubts about it.

Either way, If we are able to, we’ll have to support each other in the dark days to come. I also extend this invitation to frequent commenters and unknown readers out there: specially if you live in Venezuela and want to start your own English’ blog, please do it; you are very much needed. I will give you any support/advice/ etc required to start this task. Venezuelan situation requires more than two English bloggers writing from the ground.

On whiny complaints, inside a privileged social class

2011-02-20T06:59:00.000-08:00

I want to go to graduate school abroad. I really do. But it seems like the world has other plans, that my aspirations are rather large if compared with my possibilities. I feel today that this grad school- abroad- plan, is reserved only for those more privileged than myself.

Let me recall...

Before being misjudged, I must say that know in Venezuela I'm classified as part of the "A" social class, in terms of social policy at least. I know that I'm privileged, way to privileged compared to most Venezuelans. But for my expectations, I'm not enough. And I haven't noticed the lack of greater financial means until I started applying to grad school.

I have a friend. Lets call him... Pedro. We went to the same university, although we choose different careers. But we share the same dream: we want to go to grad school abroad; preferably to a country were we can study in English, let it be US, UK, Canada or Australia. Programs taught in English in Germany, even France among other countries are also being considered. This is due to our desire to increase our English knowledge – specially the technical one - plus share with a different country. Or maybe the idea of studying in English just calls our attention about anything else.

However, our English skills differ. I studied a bad quality English in high school. At 17 I did not know how to say nothing beyond 1) "Hello, How are you? - Fine, thank you, and you? - Fine, thank you", 2) "My name is Julia, what is your name?" and 3) How to name school items in English: pencil, paper, blackboard, eraser and notebook. Somewhere before graduating from high school, I was able to attend a twice a week - one hour English course for three months. There I learned, thanks to a Canadian fellow, more than what I had learned in 5 years of High School. But I couldn't continue. Once at the university, out of fun but with no explicit intention of learning, I started translating songs, watching loads of TV and movies in English (with subtitles), chatting in English online, and reading from magazines to news, and books. And then, out of the sudden, I realize I was capable of writing a whole paragraph. That's how this blog started.

But this almost self- taught English has its disadvantages. First, it has many occasional grammar mistakes that I have carried with me unknowingly. Second, it is an English somehow strong in writing, reading and listening but very poor when it comes to speaking. I can count with my fingers the times I have actually spoke to someone in English. And without any practice beyond me reading out loud, locked in my room; my pronunciation is a total disaster. All this, obviously makes me less competitive for graduate school abroad. My TOEFL scores are high, but the individual speaking score is low. My verbal GRE is above the 65th percentile but the writing score is low; I guess due to my many unconscious grammar mistakes.

Pedro, on the other hand, doesn't has this disadvantage. English is probably his strongest side. We were both privileged enough to attend to private schools. But he attended a bilingual one, and bilingual schools are far more expensive than other private schools. Also, since he was 8 years old; he was sent every year; to monthly intensive summer camps in the US which my family was never able to afford. Plus, he spend several Christmas, skiing in Colorado with his family, among other trips; giving him plain of time and opportunities to practice. When he was off high school, he didn't entered the university right away as I did. Instead, his dad paid for a 10 month English course in the US. As a result of all this intensive - and expensive - study, Pedro was as proficient in English as a US native; perhaps even better than many US natives. He didn't even study much for TOEFL, only enough to familiarize himself with the types of questions. For GRE, he studied half as a I did. His GRE essays got the highest score possible and his verbal GRE was way better than mine.

GRE costs $190 dollars and TOEFL test, if I'm not mistaken, costs pretty much the same. Applications fees costs everywhere between $50 and $100, although luckily, some applications are free. Venezuelans, due to a Exchange control, are only allowed to spend 400 dollars a year on Internet expenses- only way to pay for both tests and fees is by using a credit card online. If you make the calculus, you know that it hard for us to cover all application expenses with only $400. First, I couldn't take both GRE and TOEFL on the same year. I took the TOEFL on 2009 and GRE on 2010. Fees took enough share of my $400 quota to not be able to re-take the GRE as some suggested me to do due my low scores. I had to take the risk of applying with poor GRE scores. I know it was a bad decision, since I have no hear back from the universities yet and I hold now little hopes of being accepted.

To my concerns of how I was going to able to distribute the $400 internet quota between application fees and tests; Pedro suggested me to use the money from my "US bank account". When I replied that I do not have a US bank account – and I had only made one trip to the US when I was 10- Pedro was rather confused. Until that day he believed that as we shared the same plans for the future, we also shared the same lifestyle. But it is obvious we don't.

As soon as 2011 came, bad news concerning my plans started to flow. First it was the devaluation which doubled the cost of the student - controlled - dollar. Pedro was worried but not in the same way. He is still able to cover tuition and basic living expenses "but maybe it would be better not to rent the place I was thinking of". In my case, even before the student dollar doubled, I was not able to pay for tuition but barely cover the plane tickets and some living expenses. With the news, I'm afraid I will not be able to cover anything beyond plane tickets and the clothes needed for the first winter of my life, once I go over there.

Those were not the only bad news. Afraid that I might not be accepted this year, due to my low GRE scores, I was hoping to re-take the test and increase my score with the help of some more intensive studying and my mom' Internet dollar quota. But yesterday we were informed - without further explanation- that GRE' test centers are not available in Venezuela anymore. So from now on, if you want to take the test, you must travel somewhere else; Colombia for example. Is not that I can't travel to Colombia, but a trip to Colombia is an unexpected - and by no means small- , extra expense that I might have to face.

Pedro, even with a GRE score greater than mine, still doesn't know if he will enter the institutions of his choice. Of course, he has applied to top institutions including Harvard, Chicago and Stanford. I decided to apply to less prestigious (but from where I see it, equally good) institutions; for they are cheaper and perhaps easier to get in. In any case, if Pedro decides to increase his GRE' scores, it will be no trouble for him to travel to Colombia. Maybe he won't even need to travel to Colombia since he travels frequently to the US. There will be plenty of chances for him to take the test abroad.

From there, the list of disparities on our application process, and our real possibilities are countless. His greater GRE scores will probably give him more chances to get a scholarship, even considering he does not need one. The years of intensive English studying and interesting trips around the world will be seen as an asset. If interviewed, he will impress the graduate committee with an English so well spoken that it is hard to detect a foreign accent. And for "diversity" or all those things that attract a foreign institution to admit a Venezuelan, he stands pretty much the same I am. Thankfully we are not applying to the same programs, but if we were, the universities will probably discard my application and take his; considering that we are both Venezuelan and we both come from the same undergraduate institution.

Our disparities might be unnoticed by most. Most people are concerned only about the greater breach between the "real poor" and the "real rich". Those breaches are more dramatic, that's for sure. But we don't realize than inside those breaches, inside those groups we take as homogeneous, even the smallest differences play a whole deal in the way we can conduct their lives; in the opportunities we can access, in the greater or lower stress level we can bring to our routine and our expectations.

If you look at Pedro and me you will find us very similar. His girlfriend dresses almost the same way I do. In Caracas we frequent the same friends and the same places. We are invited to the same weddings. If interviewed, we have the same opinions on most topics. We share a common story from our Alma Mater and the private schools we previously attended. On etiquette, we follow the same rules; we were educated under astonishingly similar parameters. But from there, we are as different as if we have come from different worlds. To a great extent, even if it passes unnoticed, we have.

Of course, Pedro is a very talented fellow who has really make the most of every opportunity and privilege that was offered to him (Unlike many others who having the same opportunities he had, simply wasted all away). For that I give him credit and he gets all my esteem and my respect. I don't know how our talents compare, maybe he is indeed smarter than me, and thus deserve better opportunities. But I cannot help but wonder, what would it had been of me; if I had the same opportunities he had?

I'm certain that later this year or the next, Pedro will start his academic year at Harvard and will show me pictures of the place he is sharing with his newly wife at Boston. I will feel both relieved of being able to progress in his career and going away, at least for a while, maybe forever - off all this mess.

Perhaps I can do the same, perhaps I can reply with pictures of another institution, one that has giving me not only admission but also a scholarship. Perhaps from there those disparities we have will finally lose its effects.

But today I feel – doesn’t everyone like this feels at some point of their lives? – like the cheese of a social sandwich, pressed by both breads of lives having too much of something of lacking of everything that could dignified them. I’m more privileged than many. I have a life style that only a few in this country can afford. I have a least of achievements, talents and a degree that someone as talented as me, but being born in a lower social class could not reach. I’m perfectly aware of this and I try as much as possible to take all the privileges life has giving me with responsibility. But in a world greater than our understanding, there are others, many others, who can have a life I could never dream off. Even small, I feel a certain injustice in this matter.

And the injustice is this: being disheartened by all the news which plays a role in my graduate school plans, I feel that while Pedro' journey is for certain; might is almost impossible. Only thing that doesn't make my journey impossible is my desire of pursuing it. I have allowed my environment and my own character to build a dream life which belongs to another social class. To another life. To other kinds of people. It is time for me to realize of this, and without entirely giving up my dreams, at least I'm ought to adjust the size of my expectations.

PS: The image was taken from here. No copyright infringement intended

Reviewing "Enlace Venezuela": thinking about a transition period

2011-02-15T10:06:00.000-08:00

A group of young Venezuelans - meaning, all about my age - have recently launched a blog (in Spanish) focusing on spreading out ideas to rebuild this country once transition starts. We feel that with the presidential elections' next year; transition might be nearer than expected, and if we do not act accordingly, our country and what we want to make out of it; will vanish.

The blog has already been praised and criticized by Caracas Chronicles' writters. I equally praise the initiative, the extented invitation to think about our country' future. I also welcome the responsability this young group has taken upon their hands, for they have recognize the proximity of an heritage we will have to handle soon. We are not kids anymore and the course of this country does not belong to our parents. Despite our folks' achievements and many, many mistakes; Venezuelan now belong to us. As simple as that.

Only trouble with Enlace Venezuela' team is - as Caracas Chronicles' also stated - the use of a language so flourished and so complicated that it is hard to understand even to an educated person. If Enlace Venezuela' is inviting us to construct a vision together, it should make it simplier. Their use of such language was no surprise to me. I know most of Enlace Venezuela' bloggers from the university, we shared the same off- curricula activities and without doubt, they are among the best of their cohorts. Most of them are already attending Harvard or other equally worldwide prestigious universities (while I'm struggling to enter at least a regular one). So I would tell them, privately and publically here, you have nothing to prove. We know you are smart, comitted, and filled with outrageous ideas. I know most of you are also fun, easy going, politically oriented and worried about reaching a higher audience; so show me that side.

Fortunately, the latest entry shows a more plain use of the language. Not to mention it really touches a nerve in my generation (and probably many others). The post is about the lack of orientation high school graduates recieve; and how, Venezuelan' system demands them to choose without basis nor information, the career they are going to be stuck with for the rest of their lives; all at the tender age of 17. It's not a priority - we Venezuelans, Third of Fourth world country have a lot more important issues to care about: poverty, insecurity, Human Rights, household, health.... you name it. But there are a lot of people out there, just wasting productive time while finding something they want; or spending five years or more getting a degree they won't ever practice. And without properly motivated human capital, how do we address the rest of the issues?

I was, like most, 17 when I got my high school diploma. A sick childhood filled with surgeries, doctors visits and medical exams; made me think, as a teenager, that it was my destiny to become a doctor. My GPA was not high enough. So I studied like crazy during my two last highschool years for the medicine entrance exam (there is only one medicine school in my city) which demanded deep knowledge on math, chemistry, biology and physics. I was waitlisted with fewer hopes as days passed by of finally getting in.

My father - worried about me wasting a year of my life- encouraged me to apply somewhere else, to pursue another career while I was giving a second shot to my doctor' dream. I present the exam required to enter UCAB my alma mater. I choose a career randomly out of a brochure. In a few months I was starting a career of whom I had no clue of what it was about. After a while, I started to like professors, classmates and classes quite enough to stay; or maybe I was just feeling lazy to knock on Medicine school' doors all over again.

Five years later I finished all coursework required. A year and a half after that - thank you, horrible thesis - I graduate. People believe me to be very talented and suitable for my field. But what they don't know is that I have struggled greatly to find a job and still haven't found one that suits me. I do not dominate my field entirely to be competitive; I feel only inspired by one part of it. I have all my hopes put in a future graduate school admission that will focus all my energy in this particular part of my field; and from there, I might finally shine.

But in the meantime I often think that, if I had had at 17, more time to make an informed decision, I might have choosen differently, or I might have drawn a career path differently.

It is only when are truly working on what you were made for, that you are able to be productive, and thus become a greater contributor for society.

So I'm glad Enlace Venezuela' people are thinking about health, poverty, insecurity, economics etc etc etc. But I'm also glad they are also thinking even beyond that. I'm also glad that most of them, even abroad, are thinking about home. Probably some of them will be offered great opportunities abroad and they will not come back. But the fact they are at least hoping to do it, is somehow heartening.

If you ever come to Madrid...

2011-02-12T06:14:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was one of those days where I was unable to focus at work. The reports I was working on were a disaster. Tired, I decided to take a walk for a change.

A few blocks away from my office, I casually met an old friend from the university. I haven’t see him in years, ever since we graduate and life turned out to be complicated enough to worry about planning friends’ meetings.

We enthusiastically said hi to each other and started to catch up with out lives. “So what are you up to?” – He asked – “Well… you know… work…”- “You’re leaving, right?” – He asked all of the sudden, without warning. I stayed quiet for a few seconds, planning my answer – “That’s the plan” – I said – “But…”- I quickly talked about my grad-school-abroad’ plans while carrying a sad look on my face because I have no heard back from the universities I applied to. He replied with his plans: he’s getting married in a few months and next moving to Spain to pursue a Master’s degree – “If I get in and also get a scholarship” – and try some luck.

Son of an immigrant, he recalled his family’ history: “My dad came here when he was 24 years old, with the idea of moving back in five years or less. But then Tito stayed there for longer. Much longer than that. So he had to stay here. Same will happen to us. That’s how things are” – He assured, with great sorrow. He looked up and asked me next – “Have you considered Spain?” – “Spain its expensive in my field… but I’m considering all options…” – “You should, we must leave” – He put a special accent in that “must” (well, in that “tenemos que”) and looked at me right in the eyes like saying “please save yourself, do not stay here”

Next, we complained about the latest shortages and how due to one reason or another (but all reasons have the government to blame); we are in risk of losing our jobs here – in case we stay.

“Best of luck with your plans” – He wished to me as his duties were calling him back to the office - “If you ever come to Madrid, make sure you pay me a visit. You know you’ll have a house there, with doors wide open for you now” – I have “houses” everywhere: Germany, Mexico, Brasil, Australia, Belgium, even Russia and at several US’ cities. I have “houses” in many places I might visit in the future, or I might not. For sure, I will happily trade all my “stay- for – free- when – you – travel” options for having the people I care about geographically close to me.

I thanked his offer. We said good bye, take care, say hi to your boyfriend/girlfriend. He waved and smile. I put his silhouette and of all our common friends who already left; back in our university days, in the halls, at the meetings. All the parties, trips and dances. All the dreams we had back then. They’re all gone.

We walked in opposite directions. I was walking back to my work place – and my horrible reports – I got the feeling that I will never see him again.

Everlasting power

2011-02-05T06:12:00.000-08:00

Usually, I wake up at 6:00 am. At 6:30, I'm standing at the bus stop. Around 8:00, I'm at the office. I have a degree and a relatively well paid job. I have a boyfriend and a few friends. I have a couple of dreams. I look myself in the mirror. I'm 26 years old. I do not longer think about "What am I going to do when I grow up?..." - Seems like I already did. Wherever I look, I'm an adult.

I have a very girly face, but if you look in my eyes you will found out that some years have already passed by. I have lived a lot and yet so little. I thought by now I would had everything figured out. But I haven't. And the future sometimes looks a bit dark. A lot uncertain.

I went to the university. I signed up in a political party. I also partied. I got involved on more issues that I was able to handle. I failed a stats course. Once. I fell in love. Twice. I was heartbroken, at least three times. I attended a few demonstrations. I dated someone I did not like. Once. Twice. I ran while tear gas bombs were being dropped. Once. Twice. More than that. I kissed a stranger. Once. Twice. Won't say if it was more than that. I started teaching. I fell in love again, now for the last time. I started attending my friend's weddings. I said good bye to many of them. I learned English. I buried someone I loved. Once. Twice. More than that. I started writing. I blogged. Losed count how many times I have done that. I dyed my hair. Only once, thank God. I saw Chavez' speaking on TV. Every day. My sister god married. once. She had kids. Twice. We moved. Three times. I traveled abroad. Once. I played the piano. I said I love you, feeling it for real. Once.

I woke up at 6:00. At 6:30, the school bus picked me up. I arrived at school at 7. I had a math exam which I failed. Then I explored a cow' heart at biology' lab. Alicia was dating the boy I liked. Trouble was, he wasn't quite aware of my existence. I liked Backstreet Boys (I know, shame of me!) but my favorite song was Offspring "Why don't you get a job?" but I didn't knew the lyrics' meaning. I went to the "15 años" of an older girl. I whore a yellow dress my mom made me. I did not danced much. A boy tried to ask me out. I thought he was joking and I ran away. I was 14.

12 years. One Revolution. 12 years to learn about the odd similarities that proposed changes have with destruction. Yet, I feel nothing has changed and perhaps that is the biggest trouble.

One lifetime. One president. One girl eager to see progress, hopes and smiles.

Some people are out there celebrating. I am not. Power shouldn't be a reason to celebrate. Power should be used cautiously and for a limited amount of time. Otherwise, the damage it causes can be overwhelming.

But here, for almost half of my life; power seems everlasting.

An odd ode to sanitary pads

2011-02-02T16:45:00.000-08:00

In silence, Venezuelan women are the ones suffering the newest shortage: sanitary pads. Although I have enough for this month (naturally, I always buy one extra package in advance); when I heard about the shortages, I panicked. On my way to work I visited five different places - including four pharmacies and one supermarket - only to find out, to my disdain, that all sanitary pads of any type and any brand, had magically disappeared of the shelves. In their place, I could see some tampons, alongside adult diapers and pantyliners (of only one brand) unsuccessfully halfway filling the empty spaces.

Food and other basic products' shortages are now insanely common in Venezuela. But till this moment I did not had a lot of trouble adjusting myself to them.

No more black beans? That's ok, I can live without eating them, I didn't like them that much anyway.

No more milk? Now that was a rough shortage phase, probably what caused Chavez to lose its first election in almost a decade. But like I said it was just a phase. It was hard to adjust, specially considering my stomach is fully accustomed to low fat milk. But either way, milk as remain as an elusive hard to find product ever since, so we are used to always come back home with an unfamiliar brand or to not drink milk for a few days.

No more meat? We ate chicken, pork and fish until meat "comes back"

There was also a shortage of toilet paper that did freaked my family out about a year ago. Fortunately, it was only a shortage, in the sense that toilet paper did not disappeared completely. Only one package per person or family was allowed to buy; and for sure, you couldn't find the brand you were looking for. Although troublesome and extreme, we could still have access to it.

Some mayonnaise brands usually disappear and reappear again. In my house, home-made mayonnaise has proved to be a better solution than buying an unfamiliar brand.

The deodorant brand my boyfriend likes, “magically” disappeared a few months ago so he's still trying different brands until he can find one he's comfortable with.

To make a long story short, it seemed to me that there were always creative ways to "survive" shortages. I even thought that this hard situation was teaching me something: nothing is truly indispensable. Us humans tend to lay on so many things and we tend to think that without those modern commodities we can't survive. But shortages were proving me so far that that's not true. I thought I could even be happier if I effectively learned that life does not consist neither does depends on what we find or not, what we can buy or not at the supermarket or shopping mall.

I got to fell even prouder about leading my life into this new (odd) "philosophy". I was even preparing a long sentimental post on the subject.

But I just made the mistake one cannot make under this Revolution: to take something for granted.

Probably not intentionally, but I did took sanitary pads for granted. I never put myself in the nasty scenario of a sanitary pads shortage; even less a sanitary pads disappearance.

Once it all happened, all that speech of being creative about shortages and learning to live without things we consider "basic"; stopped making any sense to me.

Like I said, I had never previously thought about it. But now I'm convinced that a modern women can live without make up, high heels, purses, even without meat, black beans and milk but it cannot survive without sanitary pads. That's our one truly basic item. Our idea of a modern woman does not exist without sanitary pads. How could us go out to the streets, wearing skirts and tight yeans, during our period days without those holy extra slim items? Without them we could excuse from all work, love and social life to lock ourselves in the bathroom for at least three days once a month.

Sanitary pads are a miracle. Our body goes throughout a crazy - and not exactly pretty - process, our hormones revolve, our mood changes, our belly hurts and yet; thanks to the sanitary pads; our lives can continue (erasing in a disposable item all our chaos). The best about it is that no one notices perhaps your boyfriend after your over sensitive complain because he called five minutes late (it always happens...)

I regret not seeing the possibility of a sanitary pads shortage - disappearance before, of not saving enough packages in my room. I regret always being ashamed of them, hiding them in a remote inside pocket of my purse without realizing how valuable they actually are.

I hope the government and the business sector can find a prompt solution for the sake of us modern - and very concerned about out personal hygiene - Venezuelan women. Because truly, I haven't figured out - nor think I ever will - a creative way to keep living with this shortage. A friend of mine seemed unworried: "I'll used tampons instead" - She said, while she was buying a few boxes of those.

To be honest, I don't wear tampons, I simply dislike them and I don't feel tempted to swim while I'm on my period anyway.

To be honest, I'm just a woman who doesn't fully understand how this happened. But she suspects strict government controls have something to do about it. I'm just a woman looking throughout empty shelves for this one single item I can't function without.

In the meantime, some women are wearing tampons, some men are unworried because "it is not their business". The government is looking to impose more controls to make us believe with artificial low prices that it is all ok. And some business people, I hope, are figuring out how to sell what I can't find.

So welcome to Venezuela. A place where at least today, sanitary pads are a rare, scarce, and precious item.

PS: There is also a diapers shortage. Moms and dads speak angry on the radio daily about the sizes and brands they can't find. Perhaps I'll post more about it lately. I prefer to talk about one shortage every time.

The End of one of my life' stories

2011-01-26T08:10:00.000-08:00

(The next personal note, more than an apology, will explain you why I haven’t posted anything lately)

Only trouble one can’t find a solution is death. Only thing life has for certain is death. Death can come slowly, as for an elderly person, tired of living and ready to reunite the ones who had lost in the past; leaving enough memories in those who leaves behind. But death can also come quickly. It can even surprise the most alive person you have ever met. It can surprise him in the garden, one Sunday morning just after coming back home from a soccer game. One normal day. One heart attack. One free fall and that’s it. Just fifteen minutes between saying “I feel dizzy” and leaving the world; just like a García Márquez’ novel. Without warning nor preparation. Without saying good bye.

That’s how I recently lost a very dear and close family member. I don’t think we are still fully recovered from the shocking events; and even less we are accustomed to his absence. What we have for sure is that life has changed completely and has taught us some lessons in the road. I still think God should figure out other ways to taught us some lessons than to take us away the privilege of having someone we love around. But like one of my uncles said “God’ time differs of our time, we are unable to understand it and it is useless to try doing so using our yet limited human logic”.

Our complicated, modern lives, are filled with many spheres. There is the work sphere, the political- country sphere, the world sphere, the one filled with acquaintances we mistakenly think they are “very important to us” and so on. We easily get lost between those spheres and do not realize what’s really important. We spend an incredible valuable amount of time, worrying about little relationship fights and quirky looks at work. We spend nights awake imaging possible catastrophic events out of political decisions being made here and there, away from us. We invest another amount making sacrifices to reach higher and higher: studying, then working, then doing off curricula activities during the weekends to engross our CV, then applying to grad school… And between this and that, we lose our perspectives, we do not realize what’s really important.

We think that what’s really important is going to be there forever. That you will always be able to gather the ones you love for a barbeque or that you always have time to simply live, smile and have fun… “but right now I have to take advantage of this opportunity…” You think they are going to last forever and they are always going to be there for you. That you can always knock at their door and they will open his arms to welcome you.

But that’s not true. While we are busy caring for other “important” things, time goes on and does not ask nor waits for you. Time is an independent entity. Time is not concerned about you, whether if you are ready or not, if you have shared enough with them or not. One sunny day time simply ends.

I’m sorry. I’m grateful for the time we shared together but I’m sorry for the time we missed. I’m sorry I skipped so many lunches, trips and meetings you invited me to under the same old excuses. I’m sorry sometimes I didn’t stayed longer at the ones I did went. I’m sorry I locked in my room studying while you were home. I’m sorry I answered you the phone impatiently because you were interrupting something. I’m sorry I criticized you as much as I did, because I took your jokes too personal sometimes. I was never mature enough to admit you did made laugh, a lot. I’m sorry I never realized of how much I loved you, until it was too late.

If I only knew how this story was going to end, I would had acted differently. I would have rushed to take us a picture together the last time we were dancing an ugly Vallenato; just one you and I, laughing. I would had pay more attention to your work, which I never did because I was too proud to respect it enough. I would have come to appreciate your terrible cooking.

I promise to never lose again my priorities. I promise to always keep in mind what’s really important. I promise not to waste my time worrying about little fights, silly work issues, and even, yes, politics and our not so dear revolution (you hated it as much as I do, that’s for sure). I promise to not take family and the ones I love for granted. Because life is brief and does not have guarantees for anyone; not even for you who always seemed the healthiest, happiest, youngest and most alive of all of us. I promise to learn from you; from the good, bad, and ugly things you did; from the tiny footprints you left in pictures, videos, writings and memories.

I promise to embrace life as it comes, even considering that life, as I know it; will be completely different from now on.

Happy New Year!

2010-12-31T17:44:00.001-08:00

My blog readers already know I have no reason to celebrate. But I'm not the kind of person who carries a sad face all the time. This blog might tell you different, but I'm generally a happy person. So I put on a short black dress (because I will always be in love with classical black dresses), my favorite not-so- high but quite comfortable heels, and used more make up than usual. We prepared the table with grapes and all kinds of entries. After midnight, my boyfriend will come for a short visit. I will be watching an endless repeat of an old three tenors Christmas concert, I'll raise my glass for all the good things we have and make a check up list of New Years Wish. Might this New Year bring us more patience, trust in others, serenity, wisdom and love. Happy New Year to you reader, thanks for keep following my stories, thought and complaints. I will be back in 2011 with this blog' fourth year, bringing you what I have: an insiders perspective from Venezuelan Revolution written in a not so perfect English. See you all next year, best!
THERE IS NO REST-

Dreams in Jeopardy (about the latest Bolivar' devaluation)

2010-12-31T07:21:00.000-08:00

Our currency has been devaluated once more. The way our exchange rate works can be a bit difficult to understand to the foreigner. But in short words let me just say that during this year we had access to dollars at the rate of 2,60 Bolívares for “primary need products” and for students studying abroad; while there was another, far more expensive rate (4,3 Bolívares per dollar), for travelers and the rest of the products. Now the preferential rate has disappeared and the official dollar cost 4,3 Bolívares for everything.

Some people consider this irrelevant since the preferential 2,60 rate was hardly accessible. Some others consider this necessary since too many exchange rates obviously create an economical distortion. But necessary or not, this devaluation is another punch to our economy, which has arrived as a New Years’ eve gift.

First, we can expect all prices to rise even more since even more people will be forced to look in the black market for expensive dollars to pay for their imported goods. We are expecting most rises in the food and health market. The “black market” rate doubles the official one. But also this comes as another excuse for speculation . Opposition might say speculation is only a government’ idea but outrageous prices for not so outrageous goods are a reality in Venezuela. A pair of US’ shoes can cost almost a quarter of my salary: anywhere from 500 – 800 Bs and when you do the math, you realized they are priced with a dollar that doubles even the black market rate. I’m not an economist and I’m totally ignorant of most economic issues, so I’m probably complaining for something that should be like that; but for us common costumers it is just abusive and weird.

Second, and most important, it is true that the preferential 2,60 rate was rarely given to anyone. But it is also true that as far as I have heard, it was given to everyone studying abroad. I’m applying to scholarships and all sorts of financial aid because there is not way for me to pay for my entire graduate education at any Bolivar per dollar rate. But with my savings, I could at least pay the fees and my living expenses for a few months which always helps. From one day to another, my dream education cost’ has doubled; and my road to grad school seems farther than ever. I would have to get a scholarship that could cover virtually every expense I have expect for the plane ticket; and if you are on this page you know how hard it is for an average student.

From one side this could be the beginning of the end of preferential rates and exchange controls; I hope one day dollars can be legal and fully available for those who wants to buy them for whatever they need. Because we will always need of others outside our boarders (which is something that our nationalist Revolutionaries will never understand) and we should have the right to access everything not only the country, but the world has to offer us.

From other side, I realize now that CADIVI was not only an endless chain of paperwork and bureaucratic steps to get a limited and ridiculous amount of dollars. It should have never been created but now that it was, it represented a help for me to pay for my education. And many others who are already studying abroad and could find themselves in trouble to pay now that the exchange rate has changed.

In a country where there is no respect for the citizen and key decisions and announcement are made on midnight, on vacations without warn or consult; everything gets more difficult than what it should be. Applying to grad school is difficult already, for anyone, anywhere. But under this circumstances, is not only difficult but almost impossible, a constant heartbreaking process.

I had a dream of going to grad school next year. When you turn 26 years old you have to admit to your friends that you will never be the endless party girl, and you will rather spend your money on books than on clothes. You have to look at them and tell them what they already know: “I’m a nerd”. I loved and constantly miss my undergraduate years. Not only because of the parties, or the friends or our naïve political struggle.

I miss discussions. I miss being up at 2:00 am finishing a paper I should have done two weeks ago. I miss the place where my own criteria was respect and valued. Something different happens in a work environment when they ask you to do “what the client wants” which is rarely what you want. I don’t like to “write a quick report, this is not a thesis, don’t pay attention to every detail because we need it now…” – I like to have time to think because the liberty of thinking is the most valuable of all liberties; and the most enjoyable. I like to think on apparently useless topics. I like to answer questions by asking more questions. And I think that for a while, somewhere outside Venezuela with people all over the world; the experience will be far more rich and productive.

Once I do that, once I go to graduate school abroad, once I officially become what I am inside: an academic; I can come back here. I can give shape to the graduate program I could not find inside Venezuela and had to look for somewhere else. Or I can be hidden while waiting for things to change. Or I can be prosecuted not because I’m rebel but because my dreams and expectations do not fit with impositions. But whatever happens, I will always have those years in my mind. They can seize my properties, limit my movements or my speech; but I haven’t heard of any political system able to erase my memories, guess my thoughts or erase my education.

That is the reason for me to pursue a graduate school career instead of taking another path. This is my bet and my purpose. Which is now in jeopardy, just as everything else in a normal life inside a never normal revolution.

PS: For more info on how this change in the exchange rate works for us Venezuelans, read a brilliant entry on Caracas Chronicles: Happy new taxes, human beings!. You should also look at Daniel' version of this story, which same as me but in a different way, has touched a personal side. Do not miss it.

A coup against the Constitution

2010-12-29T07:55:00.000-08:00

I know my blog usually lacks of context. It is because I'm more focused on how life is personally lived in the Venezuelan' Revolution rather than the events that usually make big headlines. The article I'm linking to, from the Economist', provide a quick summary in English of the latest even that have made me write many blog post lately. You could say this diary is very "right oriented" but its possible political orientation is not a valid argument. What the article says is the true, nothing less and nothing more. If you like it or not, is truly your trouble how you face it. Here is the link. I would say "enjoy" to be polite, but the contents of what you will read are not what we call "enjoyable". There is no rest.

A delayed Christmas message

2010-12-29T06:59:00.000-08:00

This was a weird Christmas. It rained and as a far as I can remember, it has never rained on Christmas before. Christmas here feels a bit colder than usual but not too much, and the sky is perfect blue without a single cloud. But this year it rained. It rained outside and it rained inside too.

Even with all hard times we have had in the past, including one Christmas we spent in the middle of a General Strike; we have always felt happy during this particular day. Is not that this year we didn’t do what we usually do, we did gather with our large family and gave away presents. But, unlike previous years, we could not raise a white flag to our constant worries. This year the threat and the war that goes inside our heads, drowns in the media, and its constantly talked in the streets; could not have its well deserved Christmas’ white flag. Almost everything we have long feared of, became reality in a matter of just a few weeks before Christmas.

Months before this Christmas I was planning to go to grad school abroad with my boyfriend next year. We thought that for this Christmas we would be more certain of our plans, as we would both be sending off our applications to the same schools. But things turned out differently and for reasons I won’t explain here; he couldn’t apply and I did. Thus I spend Christmas seeing myself in a huge dilemma I never wanted to put myself into.

I don’t want to live somewhere else forever, I want to raise a family here, where I belong. But is quite obvious that right now, I should seriously consider spending some time somewhere else. Due to the political and economical situation; the place I work at is in serious jeopardy of closing so I could lose my job next year or the year after. I could say no to grad school, or save my seat for 2012 but a jobless girl can’t give much help to a boy when they are both thinking on starting something. Therefore, If I get in, and have the possibility to go to grad school abroad, I should do it but; at least in the beginning, I will have to do it on my own. Sometimes I want to get a positive answer from the universities and sometimes I don’t.

“What is going to happen to us next year?”, “How long we’ll have to wait till circumstances let us be together as we want to? “, What is going to happen to us now?”, “Who’s going to keep its job?”, “Who’s going to lose it?”, “Which person sitting in this table will be the next to leave it?”- we all asked to each other. Each one of us looked at each other during Christmas dinner like expecting an answer but no one knew what to say.

We talked briefly the Coup the government launched this month; disrespecting people’s will and installing (finally) a dictatorship. We usually have trouble defining what’s going on in Venezuela and I have always been cautious when using the word “dictatorship”. A part of me thought that maybe, if I didn’t use the world, it won’t come true. But it did. This is not “an autocracy disguised as a democracy”, “a military democracy” or whatever odd name you can come up with. As heartbreaking it is, another part of me feel relieved of finally being able to call things by its name, without having the need to give explanations. The facts speak for themselves.

We spend the rest of the dinner talking about anything else. We turned on Skype to speak with those who already left and couldn’t make it for Christmas. We talked about this new haircut, those wedding plans, how much this baby is growing and that lady who recently got a plastic surgery and now looks older than ever. But I know them well, I know no one could make the necessary Christmas disconnection from reality.

And as rain was pouring and wine being served; I knew I will always remember this Christmas with a bittersweet feeling.

So this was a Christmas message and it turned into a long whine. I thought this was going to be a short post wishing everybody a Merry Christmas but as I kept typing, it became something… quite different.

I hope you all have had the same Christmas I had, and a very different Christmas from the one I spent; all at the same time. I wish you all had the opportunity to look at your family to realize that no matter how crazy, odd, irrational, particular they might are; they are there. They are there for you; they are made to spend good and bad times together at the same table and that’s a relieve. For me; a family is always a table, always a meeting, always a company.

I hope you had the opportunity to presence the kids’ excitement for Child Jesus or Santa, unaware of their parents’ complicated and awful world. I hope you shared their stories of bells and presents suddenly appearing under Christmas tree. I hope you woke up at 4 am, quietly without bothering their dreams, to eat the cookies and keep contributing to their fantasy. A fantasy so beautiful, that shouldn’t be touched or destroyed before is the right time.

I hope you spent Christmas with the ones who love, with that less than perfect man or woman who visited every single shopping mall in the city to find you the perfect present even if they couldn’t afford it. And you opened it with a million dollar smile; gave him/her a hug and promised that despite hard times; even with the panorama of a temporal geographic separation; there is always a light, there is always a way…that we will search for it constantly, until we find it.

I hope you had the opportunity I had, to look at him and say you are not afraid of the future, because don’t know how or under what circumstances; he will be a part of it.

A part of a Christmas without a rain; with a plain blue sky outside and inside us.

Our Shrink and other things

2010-12-21T16:45:00.000-08:00

As I write this, I'm hearing a Cacerolazo. For the newbies, a Cacerolazo is a way of protest which consists on hitting (empty, of course) kitchen tools, specially saucepans. The empty kitchen tools symbolizes the lack of something: there is no food to put on them (and/or freedom, rights...), therefore we hit them. The noise a Cacerolazo makes is a sound of disagreement. As a form of protests, the Cacerolazo is an extremely comfortable one: you generally protest safe at home or no farther than your street, using kitchen tools near you. I have also come to realize that Cacerolazos are a therapeutic way of protesting.

Seriously, there is something quite relieving about hitting a spoon against a saucepan when you are overly mad or sad due to any controversial Revolutionary move. You might not able to take part on streets protests, due to work or more likely fear; or because your family is afraid and won't let you. You might are not even involved on any political task because is not your thing. But you are angry, and feel how Revolution has taken over your life, as deep as anyone. And when you hit a saucepan using a spoon, and hear this strange percussion in your neighborhood composed of your neighbors doing the same; you feel safe doing it. Most importantly, a Cacerolazo probably won't make much difference but you feel like at least you are doing something.

A Cacerolazo also reminds me of the country I want, of the type of society I want to live. A Cacerolazo is a disturbing symphony composed by all kinds of percussive sounds. Each person from its own window, using its own kitchen tools in its own way: maybe hitting a saucepan against another saucepan, or using a metal spoon or a wood one... produces a different sound that goes through its own rhythm. A Cacerolazo is uncoordinated by nature.

The only time I presence a coordinated Cacerolazo was during the General Strike in 2002 when my neighborhood date' brought a huge drummer to the streets and played it. I was 17 years old, and his attempt called my attention so we dated a couple of times but turned out that he wasn't as interesting as his drummer. Back to our story, since the sound of the drummer was far superior than that of our saucepans, we all decided to follow him.

Exceptions like that aside, the fact is that the Cacerolazo makes our differences, our particularities, our inability to be coordinated obvious. But still it shows that it is possible to do something together no matter how different we are; and even better: each one of us can do it in its own way.

I love differences. I love when every individual has its right to act as an individual.

The Revolution (nothing unexpected) disagrees. Today, they approved a law on which no depute can't change its vote or its criteria. Under this new law, the parliament seats will belong to a political party and not to a particular depute. No coalitions will be legal and each depute will be forced to vote on any issue as its political party does. If a depute doesn't follow this law, the risk for him is to be expelled off his charge, and unable to run for any political charge again.

So from January, new deputies will be forced to think like the party does. Inside the Assembly, we are going to find a drummer boy to make sure everyone hits a tool at the exact same time. But out there, in the streets and inside our homes, each one of us is still free to hit a saucepan in the way and with the rhythm we like.

On Internet censorship

2010-12-21T04:48:00.000-08:00

The law which officially establishes Internet censorship in Venezuela was approved a few days ago. We are still unaware of the consequences it might have; as always it is not about the law but how others apply it. The terms in the law are vague, giving Revolutionary functionaries freedom to act at its discretion. As Daniel' clearly put it, this is not about blocking sites; it is about prosecuting the ones who write them. Honestly, I can't possible know what will happen to my blog under this new law. I have no idea where I stand.

My blog is, unfortunately, nothing important: it gets no more than 50 visitors a day so is not really a threat; however, Twitters that had less than followers were prosecuted early this year due to what they posted. Also, due to the fact that this is a blog written in English, has limited influence on a Venezuelan audience (and that's OK since it was designed for a foreign one). I read somewhere in the law draft that all contents made in Venezuela should be done in Spanish language or indigenous thong; but I don't know if this article was approved (If it was, this blog is already illegal then).

Still, I got the sense that if they want to silence dissidence on Internet, they will go first after the big broadly visited Spanish language sites and specially, their writers and/or owners. Examples of those sites now endangered are:
- Noticias24
- Noticiero Digital
- La Patilla
- Chiguire Bipolar (A brilliant political humored blog)

Daniel has translated an article of this controversial law, that lists a series of "crimes" under Bloggers, columnists, politicians etc etc etc could be prosecuted under this new law. I deeply recommend reading it. It seems like if you don't want to be prosecuted, you better don't write anything at all because anything could be interpreted as "crime".

The dictatorship has begun. And under it, could us Bloggers resists the temptation to write against it? I think not

Our Christmas

2010-12-17T09:37:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time there was a family; expecting, after a rather hard year, to celebrate Christmas. They knew they lived in a land far far away from democracy and near near near Revolution. And is quite hard in those circumstances to plan a celebration and expect it all will turn the way we thought it to be. But still, as they were decorating the Christmas tree, joking and exchanging wish lists; they never could never predict what was coming.

First came the rain. They have been expecting it anxiously. For almost a year they didn’t have water service at least once a week; and it was quite annoying. Not to mention electricity cuts off… So when rain came they were happy. But when it never stopped, they were not. Besides some water filters on the roof, they didn’t suffered a lot. But others, with less luck than them did. They lose their houses, some their lives, most; everything. They saw how politics were eager to deliver the best of them to help those in disgrace; and to earn some votes in between. Politics from one side accused the other of not doing the right thing when the people just wanted to see them all together, working for what it was needed. And so the rain, the neighbors tragedy and the endless fight that turns into politics everything that it is not; stole their Christmas.

Then, came the deputies. To the family they proved to be even worse than the rain. Those functionaries, always serving everyone except themselves, their dignity and their criteria, worked non- stop for a questionable end: to stole this family’ Christmas. They did so under Esteban’ commands (Esteban of course, is not its real name, but its real name can’t be legally used). Esteban wasn’t worried about Christmas but what it could happen later; after his faithful group of deputies were changed for another not so faithful to him.

All kinds of law were put into the table, one more controversial than the other. One more destructive than the other.

One gave several restrictions to free speech by imposing new regulations to TV, radio and even Internet’ Web sites. Considering that at least one family member is a blogger, and other works at a production company; you will probably understand what this was specially concerning for them.

Another went against science: created to forbid researchers at public universities to research whatever they like, but only those topics the government’ judges as useful. Considering that this family has at least three members dedicated to academic research, you will probably understand why this was specially concerning for them.

Other, a short one, prohibited all financial aid from international organizations for political parties and non profits organizations. Considering two members of this family work for non profits; you will probably understand why this was specially concerning for them.

The family soon lost the count of how many laws were being discussed and quickly approved before January (and before Christmas). But each law released was a hit on the face for this family and for the country they lived in.
Still, the family decided to celebrate Christmas. This decision was made, primarily because they still had hopes in the new Assembly, to take functions in January. The new Assembly still was holding a majority of Esteban’ deputies but there were now a lot, quite a lot of new people; people who were not at Esteban’ disposal; and they were a breeze of fresh air. The family also thought that some Esteban’ deputies could eventually changed their minds (it has happened before) and from there; they could derogate most of these laws, among other things. They dreamed about a country with a democracy near near near, and a Revolution far, far away. In the name of that and in behalf of their Christmas; they decided to toast.

The toast was interrupted when one member came with news, with even more news. Esteban’ was speaking (Esteban speaks all the time). And among the whole bunch of things he was saying that this family will never remember; two things stole this family Christmas for good.

First, Esteban proposed a law (that their fellow faithful deputies were surely going to approve any minute) that would prohibit any member of the Assembly to change its mind; forcing them to follow them forever. If they didn’t, they could be disqualified and removed off their charges. From now on, the National Assembly’ seat would belong to the party and not to the person. The family read the news, feeling the lost of the free criteria of any person; member of Parliament included; very deeply. The law also brought the lost of their hopes; because under this new law it was going to be impossible to collect enough votes in the Parliament, even if the people inside it dared someday to think different.

Secondly, Esteban proposed another law. The law that would make him completely free and everyone else – this family I’m talking about – imprisoned and unable to make decisions. It was called the enabling law; and it would give him special powers to rule by decree with no need of anyone’s approval for at least a year. The family read yet again the news; feeling the ghost of dictatorship they always feared coming closer.

Esteban said he wanted this because of tragedy created because of the rain. But the family knew no enabling law is needed to take care of those in misfortune; just political will of doing things right. They knew Esteban had other intentions and they were quite aware of his strategy. The new Assembly, the one they had put their hopes in; was going to be useful for a year because Esteban would dictate all the laws from his office.

The family was also aware that this year – 2011 – by the way – was a crucial year because it was a year before presidential elections in this land far far away from democracy. The family feared (still fears) that Esteban would launched a decree suspending those elections and ruining any hope for a change.

The laws were approved. Or they will be approved soon. The family is still unaware of the million consequences it might has in their lives; but they fear those consequences are more serious that they would had imagine. Most family members could lose their jobs soon, and all feel a bit reduced, a bit unable to speak their minds. It was just a sad, a very sad day for all of them.

With all future hopes being stolen; Christmas did not made much sense. But they looked at the family kids’ and they decided to celebrate Christmas for them; and to put their hopes in them instead of politicians and elections. Most of the woman made hallacas (traditional Venezuelan Christmas dish) but they forbid one, a Blogger, to come anywhere near the kitchen because she’s a kitchen nightmare. She retired, and decided to go out with his boyfriend to buy some gifts instead and when she came back; she sat at the computer and wrote this story.

A Gaita (Christmas music) is being heard in the background while she’s writing. She knows that everyone in her family daydreams about a day, were planning a Christmas celebration doesn’t turn into an emotional battle against the circumstances.

Back in Twitter

2010-12-13T14:59:00.001-08:00

I deactivate my old twitter account when I decided to close my blog temporally. It was the most stupid decision ever. I didn't pay attention to the messages but once your twitter account has been deactivated, you can't recover it. I open a new account. Find me at http://www.twitter.com/Julia84Caracas. That would be it. Don't click anywhere

“How to keep a low profile in Venezuela?” or questions people ask to Google and expect my blog to answer

2010-12-13T04:54:00.000-08:00

This is the second post about Google questions. I just found it fun to do. It includes weird things people put in search engines and they, somehow, end up in my blog. I’m posting the most common ones:
1. Google question number 1: “Venezuela naked girl picture”
Are you serious? I don’t remember ever writing the word “naked” in this blog before this post and if I did, I’m sure it was in a VERY metaphorical way. Look somewhere else pal, this is NOT a porn site and you will NEVER, EVER, EVER, get a naked picture of any girl from any country here. Thank you very much.

2. Google question number 2: “Things to know about girls in Venezuela”
Are you by a chance a foreigner and you are dating a Venezuelan? Oh boy, what are you doing? No, seriously, I don’t think this blog is the proper space to find an answer to your query. Maybe if you read enough you could guess a bit about my temper or what’s going on inside my head. But I really don’t know if I’m an average Venezuelan girl or not; I think all of us girls are troublesome, no matter where we are from. Best regards, good luck next time.

3. Google question number 3: “Exchange currency control Venezuela, Cadivi students”
I like to think of you as some administrator of some college abroad trying to figuring out why this Venezuelan student can’t pay on time; and why when you ask, he always give you the same answer which sounds to you as a code: “CADIVI”. We have a very strict foreign currency control system. There is a special dollar rate for students and requires a lot of paperwork to be approved. All of my friends studying abroad are enjoying Cadivi student dollars, haven’t heard of anyone who has not get them but who knows? What is for sure is that they don’t always get them on time. To access foreign currency on other ways is illegal and it can make our education abroad to cost double or triple. So please, be patient, we will pay you (I have never heard of anyone who doesn’t) and it is truly not our fault if we cannot do it on time.
PS: Why don’t you offer us a scholarship or some kind of financial aid? We have already proven to be great students, I hope.

4. Google question number 4: “Grad school abroad do I need the GRE?”
Well it depends on what do you want to do. For some programs you don’t need the GRE or any standardized test other than TOEFL and that only if you come from a non English speaking country or you have never studied at an English Speaking country. Most business schools prefer GMAT over the GRE. Many engineering and humanities programs are more inclined towards the GRE. It also depends on where do you want to go. Most Canada and United States institutions ask for the GRE, I know most UK ones don’t… So do your homework, research your dream school website and you’ll know what to do. Good luck, I’m having the same nightmare here.

5. Google question number 5: How many times do you take GRE to get admitted to graduate school?
As many as you need. Many – to not say all - schools have cut off’s, those cut off’s usually don’t appear in the school’s web site but you have to e-mail them directly. Another way to answer this question is: take the GRE as many times you can afford until you get the score you need. In my case I didn’t got an stellar score, but I couldn’t pay another 190 dollars for a re-take this year. I simply emailed all schools I liked telling them about my situation: “My GRE score is this one, I can’t afford a re-take…my GPA is this one, my TOEFL is that one and here is my background.. do I have any chance to at least be considered?”; a few ones said yes, others kindly advice me to retake. I couldn’t apply to the last ones, I prefer to think they missed it.

6. Google question number 6: “How to keep a low profile in Venezuela?”
In Venezuela…everywhere; is the same procedure. Try to have some common sense. Don’t wear any jewelry, don’t wear clothes (specially shoes) of any visible important expensive brand; same goes with women’ purses: avoid visible brands, huge sizes, anything that looks expensive. Consider that some brands might be average abroad but are hard to find here and therefore considered classy and expensive in Venezuela. Don’t use brand new or very expensive cars; try your car to be the last anyone would be tempted to steal. Don’t show up cash or count money where strangers can see you. Avoid to carry a lot of cash with you and a lot of credit cards with you as well.
Over all, I think to keep a low profile is more about the attitude than anything else: be humble, be simple. Do not brag about your earnings, your expenses, your life style. To talk out loud in a public place about your private jet or the cruise you just took in Europe isn’t exactly the best way to keep a low profile. How much did you spent on your daughter’s wedding can only be interesting for two people: you, and any potential kidnapper who might be hearing you; so you better keep the story to yourself.
To keep a low profile is, unfortunately, the key to stay in one piece in this country.

I hope this was useful to anyone out there… Until next time!

I’m still here (An urgent read on upcoming Internet Censorship in Venezuela)

2010-12-09T18:18:00.000-08:00

Honestly (I apologize for this), I wasn’t planning to blog until next year. I’m way too busy between my job and the endless- time consuming applications for grad school. To make things worse, I’m just recovering from a dengue fever that kept me a few weeks in bed, so I’m way behind on my schedule. But I read the news and this time, couldn’t help to publish. To make the long story short, there is a new law reform project which pretends (and if approved, will effectively do it) to control Internet contents. There are strong reasons to believe this law will be approved.
The specific procedures are all well explained here (In Spanish). You can also go to the blogs at the bottom of this page who will surely make detailed and valuable analysis on this controversial law. For now, let me just say that the part which worries me the most is the prohibition to make anonymous publications online and the prohibition to publish any text, image, recording or video which contains any explicit or implicit way of violence. The law allows a lot of discretion of what could be violence and what is not; in short words every message that the government doesn’t like will be qualified as “violence” or “offense to the public powers” and will be censored.

As far as I know this blog is not a Venezuelan site and it shouldn’t be subjected to those rules. But still, I believe it could be blocked arguing any disposition of this law let it be anonimity or “violence” or “public power offense”; or the fact that it is written from inside Venezuela by a Venezuelan citizen. What is for sure is that many vital information Venezuelan sites that I visit daily and that they are my only source of live, minute by minute news will never be the same after this law.

I’m afraid to wake up in a few weeks and see a totally misinformed country, an even more static country than what it already is. The Revolution is so obsessed with regulations. To every problem they find, to every aspect that bothers them; they come up with a law as a “solution”. They are eager to restrict every single one of our moves. And as a result, Venezuelans don’t move so much any more. They think it twice before they move, because who knows? anything they do might be illegal. And that makes us rigid, static, un- human, just sad, plain sad.

Internet means freedom for me, the only window I can fully enjoy at the moment. Once this law is approved, I can say I have officially lost my freedom. Internet with censorship is not Internet at all, is just something else. All I know that my life as I know it will change significantly.

If you live abroad (most of my readers do), your life won’t change. Venezuelan sites will probably find the way they can be seen abroad, although blocked in here. You will probably know the news long before us; you will have more access to Venezuelan information than any Venezuelan living in the country will; which will make us second class citizens (and you, even if you are a foreigner, a first class one). You might be able to keep reading this blog. Or you might won’t.

If you come back here some day and this blog doesn’t exist or you haven’t seen an entry in quite a while; keep in mind that I’m still here. I’m still here and I’m still living the things you hear.

I’m like you, I’m a normal person, nothing extraordinary.

I just turned 26 years old and asked my boyfriend to take me to see the new Harry Potter movie as my birthday present; which he did, but he added a perfume to that gift list: “Happy” by Clinique. It’s the perfume I wear, because it’s sweet and it has the name I want to be described as: Happy.

I grew up in an average middle class family, nothing special. I have a huge family. I was lucky enough to receive a good education; I’m a college graduate and I’m applying to go to grad school abroad (is just a dream really, I have to be accepted and get a scholarship, otherwise I won’t be able to go; so the scenery is not very optimistic). I have a job which has allowed me to pay my applications expenses but makes it impossible for me to move out from my parents home (which is very common between us 20 something’s in Venezuela).

I’m in love with a man I met almost three years ago; we daydream about getting married some day and have kids of our own, but our future is not certain yet. I love to dance and to have long coffee talks with my female friends – most of them now live abroad so is “Skype talks” instead of “coffee talks” for me. I also love to write and I want to be a writer some day, to publish something someone says “this is quite good and enjoyable!”.

I was born in Caracas, I have lived here all my life. In one of the most dangerous cities of the world, I have the record of never being mugged except for those couple of times I was distracted and someone took my cell phone from my purse and I didn’t noticed until I came back home. I think the key is to always keep a low profile. I don’t have a car of my own and I have developed a strange fear to driving which drives my mom, my boyfriend and the rest of my family; crazy. I know they secretly detest me for it. I like to take long rides on busses, preferably sited, watching all the people, and listening to music on my mp3 player. I love languages, I think they are an amazing door to get to understand other people, other ways of thinking. I’m learning French and my goal is to speak English and French perfectly so I can move to Portuguese and German.

I have put myself in a lot of ridiculous situations in the past, and I’m afraid my clumsiness will forced me to continue doing so in the future. I was not popular at Highs chool so this explain why I wasn’t kissed until I turned 16. I don’t remember the name let it alone the face of the boy who did it. I smile too much. I cry too much. I’m corny. Sometimes I don’t take things so seriously, I can develop a very sarcastic and unbearable humor. But I do take things seriously, more seriously than what I would want to. I don’t tolerate injustices. I’m way too sensible. I’m not strong or brave. I’m just a freedom lover who happens so be in the wrong place for freedom lovers. A dreamer (Don’t we all are dreamers at some point?).

So I just wanted to say that if you don’t see me, remember that. Remember that whatever you read in the news its real, its real as long as someone like me lives it. That’s what I’ve been trying to prove with this blog. The possibility of not being able to do it anymore makes me sad, angry and disheartens me a lot.

This is a bad day. This is a bad day for clumsy- freedom -lover dreamers. This is a bad day for naïve people like me, who always seek to open windows wherever a door is closed. Internet Censorship is worse than a closed door; it’s an entire house with its doors and windows blocked and me; just here, struggling to keep living a normal life; feeling stupid and unable to re- open them.

PS: I don't know it its related to this or not, but I haven't been able to access my blog all day. I can only do it via Proxy. It happens with many blogspots from time to time..
PS 2: In Spanish you also can read this and this brilliant post about it by Chiguire Bipolar

Twittelections

2010-09-28T18:40:00.000-07:00

We had to wait eight hours to get the results of the legislative elections. Readers are probably thinking: “What did you guys do during those eight hours, besides eating your nails?” Well; we looked at a door for eight hours – an exhausting but now iconic image that Globovision brought us -, knowing that inside that door where the CNE authorities counting the votes and that they could go outside any minute to announce the results. When looking at the door became, well, boring; we twitted. Venezuelans dragged their anxiety publishing messages of 140 characters or less. We twitted a lot: All ten global trending topics of Twitter, during Sunday night belonged or where about Venezuelan’ legislative elections.
So, what all those Tweets were about?

Mostly, they were jokes. Yes, J-O-K-E-S. One of the very few things I love about Venezuelans is that we know how to answer to adversities with a smile. People mistakenly believe we don’t take anything seriously, but we do. Joking is not our way to reduce seriousness or importance of an issue, but quite contrary, joking is our way to deal with it, to make it more visible, and at the same time, more bearable. Joking is surviving. If you let me choose, I prefer to survive with a smile than with a grumpy – serious face I’m forced to make because of the “seriousness” the situation requires.

Someone started a label called “#cosasquepasaranantesdelboletin” and it soon turned viral, becoming the number 1 trend topic on Twitter for at least a few minutes. This label translates to “things that will happen before the electoral bulletin” and we used it to make general jokes about impossible things (like Alice in Wonderland “think of seven impossible things before breakfast”). I was so tense, and anxious, and angry… but those tweets made my night. As a tribute to all those serious jokers, I’m bringing you translations of some memorable “#cosasquepasaranantesdelboletin”:

1. Venezuela will be part of a World Cup
2. Venezuela will host a World Cup
3. RCTV gets its signal back
4. I’ll be old enough to vote (posted by a 15 year old)
5. I’ll get a raise
6. Gustavo Dudamel will straighten his curls
7. Julio Borges will have two eyebrows
8. Chavez will stop liking the red colour
9. Power will be out, the results will come out but we won’t find it out until tomorrow noon
10. We will all have to go to work
11. I’ll be president of the Republic
12. “He will speak to me, we will date, we’ll marry and have kids together”
13. Paris Hilton will become a nun
14. “Robert Pattison will be mine”
15. Silvester will eat Piolin. And Tom will finally eat Jerry
16. Lady Gaga will have a “Good Romance” – Plus, she will dress with jeans, a white simple t-shirt and sneakers. – Plus she will decide if she wants Alejandro, Roberto or Fernando (There were loads of Tweets about Gaga under this label)
17. Lindsay Lohan will spend one day without f… it up
18. The trilogy “Tibi Potter and the mistery of the Bulletin” will be published
19. Only God knows the “cosasquepasaranantesdelboletin”

Last but not least, the funniest part, foreigners wondering what does that weird task meant:

“It's from Venezuela, dude... > @Aye_Pistol_Pete: i really wanna kno what does #cosasquepasaranantesdelboletin mean...”

“#IWannaKnowWhy they got this long ass #TT #cosasquepasaranantesdelboletin like wut fu*k is tht about it aint even english !”

When the bulletin finally came out, a part of us were secretly sorry. #cosasquepasaranantesdelboletin was over. But Twitter will never be the same after that night. Venezuela will never be the same after that night.

My election day post (Done at 2:27 am)

2010-09-26T09:46:00.000-07:00

2:27 AM. Madrugonazo!!!. Finally, just when five trending topics on Twitter are about this election...Told you I'll wake up. CNE launches it first bulletin, it says it's only partial (After more than six hours! only partial! Amazing how ineffective this high-tech voting system is) but it shows an non reversible tendency. The results: PSUV (Chavistas) got 90 seats, MUD (Opposition) got 59 seats, PPT got 2 seats. According to the MUD, they got 52% of the popular vote, more than Chavismo. Yet, as electoral rules are today, Chavismo is comfortable with more seats. Still, Chavismo does not hold the 2/3 majority they expected. I'll probably post about it in a few hours. For now it's over, off to bed... good night

11:50 PM. The cacerolazo ended as fast as it begun. CNE hasn't launched any results yet and this girl has decided to go to sleep at Cinderella time. Tomorrow, my day starts as early as 6:00 am. Believe me, when CNE finally launches the official results, I will know. Either someone at home will wake me up, or the fireworks, screams, cacerolazos or whatever will do the rest. Besides, I doubt I'll have a profound, deep, good sleep; given the tension I feel inside. If you are reading, see you later! (hopefully soon).

11:32 PM. A "cacerolazo" (for the newbies: people hitting kitchen tools as a way of protest) has started in my neighborhood. I feel tempted to join, but my six-month old niece is staying here and has finally fell sleep. So I will not. We are all tense, irritated, angry and tired of this waiting. But I can't say I didn't knew, as unfair as it is, it always happen and early in the day I assured you we wouldn't going to know a thing before midnight. I was right.

11:13 PM. Both candidates and leaders from government' party: PSUV and opposition political alliance: MUD (goes for "Mesa de la Unidad") refuses to speak on TV. Not even a message of tranquility "lets wait for the CNE results" type of message as they did on past elections. Reason? They probably don't want the "carometro" (read 8:46 Pm message) to give any information. So people are now trying to apply the "carometro" to reporters from both the only opposition channel (Globovision) and the main government one (VTV). But I can't read anything on those faces, do you? This "carometro" story gives me enough material to write a magic realism novel.

- Speaking of something else: My page has had more than 300 visitors today and that's a lot for a site that usually gets about 50 visitors a day, but no one has left a comment so I wonder if someone is actually reading, anyone out there?-

11:00 PM. I'm still waiting for the official results. Most voting centers closed at 6:00 PM. Our electoral system is almost completely automatized. And yet, five hours later, we still have no results. There is no excuse for it, and this is totally unacceptable. Be aware that exit polls are not trustworthy; so don't look for them. My boyfriend is off to bed, well I doubt he's really sleeping but trying to, tired of waiting. And I'm about to follow his example. I just heard a truck passing by playing a very loud music - someone celebrating? - but couldn't figure what that was all about.

9:42 Pm. Still no results. Some voting centers are still open, but most are not so CNE should at least say something; and the opposition members too. But the opposition has announced they will give a press conference after the CNE speaks out, I'm not sure what could that mean. I refuse to give credit to any rumors. Twitters have stopped giving numbers and they are now asking CNE to launched the results. We all wonder, what are they waiting for?

8:46 Pm. No results still. Twitters are driving me crazy. The "carometro" says there could be good results for the opposition. For those new in here, "carometro" ("face-metter") is to look at the faces of the political leaders on TV to see if they "seem" happy or sad. We know they already know, but is not legal to say anything before the CNE launches the official results. Sounds odd, but since official results take too long, the "carometro" its the only tool we have to know what's happening before midnight. And it has proven to be effective. This blog is saying something. With Carometros, Bloggers, and Twitters; we'll have to wait and see

8:07 Pm. Two hours after the official closing of the voting tables and still no results. Considering our electoral system is automatized, this is an scandal. But like I said earlier, we are accustomed to not expect any result before midnight, and even then, CNE usually don't give us all the results but only an "irreversible tendency". Rumors come and go, my phone hasn't stop getting calls with the same question "What do you know?" - And my answer "So far, nothing but Twitter says..." Since Twitter escapes from CNE regulations, everyone is posting numbers they supposedly got from a friend of a friend who has an uncle who works at the CNE or belongs to a political party etc...I don't know which tweet I should trust and which tweet I should not. In the meantime, the tension is killing me. Working on my graduate applications? Yeah... right, What was I thinking?

7:32 Pm. Most voting tables should be closed by now. We are waiting for the results and rumors come and go. History tell us we won't get any official results until midnight at least, so this is going to be a long, exhausting night. I'm off to work on my graduate school applications (or at least try to focus my mind on anything else)

3:41 Pm - It's raining in Caracas, hope that doesn't stops voters from doing what they have to.

2:19 Pm Another delayed but important news: three members of an NGO called Voto Joven (means Young vote) were detained and their laptops were seized, without a judicial order. This happened early this morning.

2:14 pm Some news: our general prosecutor says everything is normal... except for the death of one person at Las Clavellinas, in Miranda State, in hands of the army in charge of the protection of the public order. If you speak Spanish, here is the video

11 am Done, I voted. Here's the proof: my purple - inked finger. If you have a blog, post a picture of your inked finger as well to call others to vote. In Venezuela voters are marked as cattle... go figure. I'll come back again if anything comes up.

Blogging from inside a voting center

2010-09-26T06:13:00.001-07:00

Follow Miguel at Devil's Excrement . He will be constantly updating this post during the day, showing us a microcosms of how elections are in Venezuela. Now I'm out. When you read this, this blogger will be going to her voting center.
-There is no rest -

PLEASE! VOTE! NOW!

2010-09-26T05:57:00.001-07:00

I just woke up and I'm getting ready for going to my voting center. I'll post the traditional picture of my inked finger when I come back. I'll also keep posting if anything extraordinary comes up. This blog is read all over the world, by foreigners but also by Venezuelans, must of them living abroad. This message goes to you, if you are Venezuelan, no matter where you live, please dedicate a couple of minutes of your day and go to vote. You are still a Venezuelan citizen even if you don't live here and it is your responsibility to act like one. You might say "the Parlantino is not so important" but on this election; that Chavez has turned into another plebiscite about him; every single vote counts, every single vote can send a strong message, no matter if its a vote for the assembly, indigenous vote or the Parlantino. So be responsible, mature, adult, think for once about the country you left; and specially about those you care who still live here and will live here forever. If you care, please, please, I beg you, stop reading and go to your nearest Venezuelan consulate and VOTE. I mean NOW!!!
- Don't click, there is no rest -

"Is Cadivi a Scholarship?" or question people ask to google, and expect my Blog to answer

2010-09-25T08:23:00.000-07:00

People put the following questions in the Google search engine and they ended up in my blog. Most of the questions are rather odd, but I hope next time Google takes you to my blog, you truly find what you are looking for.

- Google question 1: Is Cadivi a scholarship?
Hell, no. You are not even close. We have a very strict foreign currency exchange system. Common citizens are allowed to spend only 400 dollars a year on Internet expenses and no more than 2500 dollars a year on traveling ones (it can be less, depends on the destiny of your trip). Cadivi is the system that authorizes you to use those dollars.

- Google question 2: why does hugo chavez wear red?
Because the red is the color commonly used for both right and left oriented regimes that limit democracy (think Soviet Union, think Nazi German…); it has been also used by left oriented guerrilla groups (FARC) and communists parties worldwide. The red is the color of power and conflict. The red is a color hard to ignore, and easy to be bothered by it. So it can often be a smart choice in politics or any other scene where you want to stand up.

- Google question 3: What does vinegar and toothpaste can do?
Well, I don’t know the scientific explanation but if you ever find yourself into a situation where a tear gas has been dropped, the smartest decision you can make is to either smell vinegar or put some toothpaste under your eyes and nose. Your eyes will cry less and the effect of the tear gas will also be more bereable. I personally prefer toothpaste instead of vinegar, has proven to be more effective for me (and I’m not a fan of vinegar smell, so maybe that’s why)

- Google question 4: what are the forbidden jobs for Venezuelan women?
As far as I know, none.

- Google question 5: how to accept Cadivi credit cards?
I don’t know how to answer you this question. Either you decide to accept them or you don’t. I have no idea of the troubles international business can encounter with our credit cards…

- Google question 6: reasons why Venezuelans study abroad?
Well, we have different reasons. In my case the graduate offers for my career are scarce plus I want to have the experience of studying abroad, in a different language, with people all over the world. A degree earned abroad can also translate to better payment and better job opportunities.

- Google question 7: a list of things you can buy in Venezuela with one dollar
Hmmm, depends on the exchange rate. You could buy either a coke, a juice, the newspaper, several metro tickets, a few bus rides, bread and that’s pretty much it.

Egocentric, Hypocritical and Stupid

2010-09-24T10:57:00.000-07:00

If we lose this elections (and chances are that we will), many people will start blaming the voters. We will see history repeating, the same speech I have heard on every election I have lived, except for the only one we ever won. I will heard, see, and read many people from the middle class whining about belonging to a such undemocratic country where its citizens are simply stupid enough to vote for the Revolution. I will see many people packing their bags to leave because “they can't stand this behavior”. I will hear that “the problem is with the culture, this barrio culture Venezuelan have”. One uncle/friend/columnist/academic/blogger will raise his glass and say “We have the government we deserve”

I have held the same speech, I said the same things when a Constitution Reform was approved allowing the president – and everyone holding a public charge such as governors and majors – to postulate on elections as many times and for as long as he wishes. I felt so bad of that result, that I quickly started blaming every single Venezuelan who voted different than me, calling them stupid, ignorant, irresponsible and so on. By doing so, I quickly forgot that I'm a Venezuelan as well and I'm not so different from the ones I blamed, the “culture” equally runs inside me. And if by some reason I'm “better”, I'm not doing anything to improve present conditions and turn the rest of the citizens into “better people”. I was just laying in bed, crying and covered with blankets, blaming the world for my own mess.

So lately, I have developed a certain allergy to such speech. I now consider it EGOCENTRIC, HYPOCRITICAL, and STUPID.

Egocentric because the ones who hold such speech consider themselves to be better than average Venezuelans. They usually made such claim based on the fact that they received (and took advantage) of a better education than average Venezuelans. I graduated from a private, prestigious school and then went to another private and even more prestigious university to earn a licenciado degree. Chances are that I will go to graduate school abroad to earn a masters, and then possibly a doctorate. Given my all time nerdy enthusiasm, I have a wide knowledge on a variety of subjects, specially history and political theory. I'm, without question, a cult and educated person. But does that makes me “better”?

Many educated people have voted for Chavez throughout this years, truly believing they were doing the right thing. Many educated middle or high middle class people have also voted for Chavez to make some juicious contracts with the government while assuring at social cocktails that they were oppo's. Many educated people claim to be against Chavez just because “he's a communist” or “I can't travel as much as I used to and my properties are in danger”... those are not “smart” reasons to give a vote to a candidate or proposal. If you are so educated, you could dig deeper, just saying... And many non educated people (which are usually the same people who didn't have resources to afford the education we brag about, but we often forget that) have proven to be smarter than educated ones. That's probably because

1) their creativity and their audacity remained intact given their lack of access to the formal and sometimes limited educating system. They are not afraid to make mistakes.
2) They are more humble, since they don't have a degree to boast about.
3) They found their own ways to learn, outside of the system. They probably could not learn as much as you and I, but they did learned a good deal.

Also if you are so educated then you are probably aware that many totalitarian regimes were possible in highly educated society (I'm not thinking about Franco obviously but does Nazi regime sound familiar?).
Hypocritical because some Venezuelans critique Venezuelans as if they were not the same kind. Venezuelans are this, and Venezuelans are than, but I'm not this or that. Or they do this or that but I don't. I'm not very religious, but in my catholic school they always remind us of a story of Jesus were he challenged a group to trow a stone to a prostitute, if anyone in the group could claim to be out of any sin. It's the same situation. No one is perfect, and no one can claim to be a perfect citizen. No one has always made the right political decision. We say Revolution supporters are this and that, but we pay to obtain a drivers license among many other documents, we ignore red lights every time we can, we trow garbage on the street when no one is looking or our cigarets despite looks. We miss treat employers, specially domestic ones, demanding from them more than what they can give us for the ridiculous amount we pay them. And then we travel to a foreign country and behave as model citizens just to come back home talking about the numerous advantages of the first world.

Stupid because such argument: to pretend to be better people than the ones who voted for Chavez, only leave us to intolerance, to intolerance, division and nothing else. Explaining an adversary electoral result based only in the behavior and will of its voters, ignores the broad context on which an election occurs and that a vote is not always a decision of a conscious will. More often, for our case and theirs, the decision comes from the heart, the decision arise from our most primitive emotions and instincts. When it comes to politics, we do not make rational decisions. I know this is extremely inconvenient: that something as delicate as politics lays like love in our hearts. But it is just how it is. This is not Disney Land and this not, for sure, your political theory book. Maybe this guy voted for Chavez because he's one of the few lucky ones who received benefits from a social mission and he was never considered by anyone before; maybe he voted for Chavez because he doesn't see the opposition as a viable option, maybe he's in a Chavista environment and from his scale of values it just seems right, maybe he's in love with Chavez and feels a religious fervor and reverence to Chavez. Yes, he might be in love. This political process has a religious component we can't ignore.

This religious component will not vanish just because. People will not “wake up” just because the government made a mistake or even a dozen mistakes. If things worked like that, none of us would be catholic by now, but most Venezuelans are, right? You might say “oh but this is different”. I think it is not, I think Chavismo is a religion. Sociologist have spoken about political religion for decades so I'm not saying anything new. I'm just stating It will require a lot of time and work and alternative options.

If you don't consider all this, and pretend your political opponent is just misinformed, ignorant or stupid; you are denying any way of negotiation or understanding from the start (and those are the keys of a democratic process). Chavez holds a language of hate, excluding anyone who opposes him, and calling this electoral campaign a process to “demolish” the opposition. And simply accusing of ignorance the ones who vote for him, you are acting just the same, paying with the same coin. I'm not saying acting like this is not fair, it probably is. I'm just saying that answering with an intolerant behavior to another intolerant behavior is stupid, since it not leads to any solution. Solutions sometimes compromise our ideals and can leave us to think on ways we never consider before. If you are not able to do that, if you are not able to even try to start understanding your political opponent, no matter how hard it is, if you just limit yourself to call it stupid or commie or ignorant instead; you are being the most stupid person ever. Your only way out is to leave the country to keep holding your stupid speech in the comfortable first world or lock in your house crossing your arms. I think that, despite if we stay or not, because some of us will inevitable leave just for looking for better life conditions, it is wiser to work to understand the other. At least try. No matter how painful and hard it can be, because believe me it is.

So if we lose this elections (and we probably will), I will blame no one. I will only consider it as the probably course (not curse) of a country which has had so many events, good and bad decisions, deep economical divisions, ignorance and stupidity (in general, and not exclusive of some groups) that has lead us to this. We don't deserve it, no one does. But we can do it better, because even the most stupid people inside the most stupid regimes have manage to make smart decisions. But we need to lower our heads first, to start considering the other, and to stop listing our degrees every time we introduce ourselves. We should be better than that. Just saying...

Elections, Harry Potter and me

2010-09-21T12:06:00.000-07:00

A couple of years ago, I told you the story of the controversial series of events leading to a very particular election: a "referendum revocatorio" on which voters were asked to decide if they wanted Mr. Chavez to stay in power or not.I clearly remember that day. It was the first time I was able to vote in my life. Before voting, I had to wait eleven hours in line (yes, 11!) which allowed me to read more than half of the 5th book of Harry Potter.

By the beggining of this book, Harry Potter is the only one who has seen the dangeours, killer magician Voldermort alive. But the Mister of Magic, fearing a political convulsion as a result of this frightening and very serious information, refuses to believe Harry and starts a campaign to descredit him instead. Dumbledore, principal of Howarts (Harry's school) stands at the other side of this political battle, by believing Harry and supporting his statement. The minister sends one of its employees: Dolores Umbridge, to Howarts to work as a proffesor of "Defense against Dark Arts"; forcing Dumbledore to accept it. Dolores' classes are everything but "Defense against dark arts", a master pretending that no danger really exists, and therefore, no practical defense against dark arts should be taught; instead his classes are filled with pink color as her office and beautiful readings. The metaphor can be fully applied to this government, which has always used propaganda as part government' policy, in an attempt to hide the real, dangerous and compromising events.

But the paralelism goes further: Dolores Umbridge, under commands of the minister of Magic and without respecting Dumbledore's authority, quickly becomes "Howarts General Inquisitor". As Inquisitor, Dolores creates all sort of rules and specially prohibitions, detains and tortures students who believe in Harry and Dumbledore and on top of that, removes Dumbledore of his charge.Harry, united with a group of friends, create a resistance movement called "Dumbledore's Army". The students involved sign proudly a document which acredites as members of such group. Dolores discovers this list and prosecutes the signers. Pretty much like our government did, with the signatures of the opposition members that made this 2004' referendum possible, prosecuting all them as they were criminals just for signing a petition. Then, somehow (in a way that is too long to explain); the truth is finally found out by all the Magicians, in a way – way too obvious to be ignored, the minister aknowledge Harry's version to be true; and both Harry and Dumbledore see their prestiges back. During a boring Dolores Umbridge' examination, a couple of trouble-makers twins decided to sabotage the exam, using magic fireworks; the sign with all Dolores' rules crashes and all students find themselves free and happy again.

Back to our business, on August, 2004, I waited 11 hours in the line as I coincidentially read this story. I distracted myself finding paralelisms and let the general mode of the line, mostly composed by oposition minded people contagied me. I could already see the fireworks and the joy, once the elections gave us our favorable result. From there, it would be true that Voldermort – all our troubles – do exist and we should work against them efectively, not with plain political propaganda trying to hide our diseases.

After voting, I waited outside my voting centre to witness the voting scrutiny. In my center, oposition obviously won and the results were cheered by all of us present. But when I came back home, my sister was in tears. The TV already had announced a result which proved my voting center was not representative of my country at all: Chavez won. This desperate attempt of the opposition to overtrow Chavez' regime, actually made it stronger, confirming him as the ultimate and most popular reader of the country. Just in case we need another reminder of this heartbreaking truth.

Then, inmediately after the CNE launched the official results and my sister was draining herself into tears; Enrique Mendoza appeared on TV. He claimed those official results were not true: "We won – He said. "Now, what we should do?" - My sister asked me while the electoral fraud was being declared. To this day, I don't know if those elections were manipulated or not, all I know if that I never trusted an election since then. This fraud claim broke my trusting system, and the trusting system of many others.

Some protest followed, but this fraud was never proved. As a protest to the CNE (Our electoral Institution) refusal to recognize what the opposition claimed to be "the official results"; the majority of the opposition decided to suspend their participation off the political life; in particular, the legislative elections that were celebrated a few months later. A big part of the opposition also refused to be part of the regional elections celebrated about a year after that. As a result, all the political institution created to balance president' weight, were taken entirety by government parties. The assembly, in particular, was officially declared as a "red one"

Since then, everything has been eassier for the government and harder for the opposition. Many laws have been aproved without consulting to anyone who differs from the government. Since then Chavez has earned "special" powers to legislate by decree twice, has disrespect electoral results, the number of political prisioners has increased same as many prohibitions. Our Dolores Umbridge has instaled an exchange system control, has closed loads of radio stations and one major TV Channel, has threatened the church and the universities, has granted special rights and priviledges to those goverment' supporters, has covered many corruption scandals and has forbid any opposition demonstration to come near any government' institution.

And all this is due, of course, to the non democratic nature of Chavez and his comrades. But it is also due to us. To all of us who, unable to move forward after the confusing events of August, 2002; commited a political suicide by refusing ourselves to take part of the few spaces that still were left for us. I did it. We did it. I can't blame my parents or my grandparents or the politicians for that. I could had left the bed and go to vote that date but I did not. Every citizen' is responsible for its own vote, you can't pose a lack of will or "being convinced by the party" as valid argument to expell us of all responsabilities. It is not a valid argument.

Six years later, new legislative elections have been called to renew this nefastous and shamefull red assembly. The opposition is now determined to be part of it, but has encounter more restrictions than the ones it had in 2004. For example, if the opposition gets the majority of votes, we won't have the majority of seats at Parliament. Crazy, but true. This red assembly that has caused so much harm, was made by you and me. By us. We let it happen, by believing abstinence was a valid form of protest inside a non democratic regime, one where you must always fight with every resourse they give you, one where you must take every single opportunity available.

So I'm going to vote this weekend. I will never stop voting again. Inside or outside democratic regimes, voting is sometimes the only tool we have left, the only resource to change our realities, even if its just a little bit. Given today's restrictions, I'm not expecting favorable results. But I just know the assembly will not be completely red and that, in these circumstances, is an incredible progress. It's a seed, an oportunity to start ammending our mistakes and facing our responsabilities. Little by little, day by day, without turning back. Someday everyone here will see Voldermort, including the Revolution itself. It will became too obvious that this Revolutionary model does not work and that we need a different Venezuela. But we need to become different Venezuelans first. And we start doing so by voting, showing some democratic behavior, even tho we don't have the luxury of being in a democracy.

WARNING - this post was published inmediately after it was written, it has not been re- read nor edited. It probably has more mistakes than usual so my apologies, I hope I can fix it as soon as possible-

"Home" or my wish list for the upcoming elections

2010-09-16T19:03:00.000-07:00

This blog has spent some time without updates because , for being honest, I have been disconnected from reality. I did had time to update it, but my life has come more personal and less political, and with those turns is hard to find “hot topics” for blogging on a blog like this. I know elections are coming. The air is out there, announcing it. A few people explained me on the streets on my way to work “how to vote” (for their party of course, but there’s nothing wrong with that). Predictions come and go, and they are all saying different things. There are people who are feeling optimist, others not so much and the rest are just skeptical.

Me, on the other hand, everyday, after receiving “how to vote” instructions, I enter my office and life goes on in a very different course. I currently have two jobs: one, my regular job which is a great job but not always easy and not always relaxing. The other, consist on applying to grad school. I thought the GRE was the worse part but it isn’t. It’s amazing how much time you spend just writing to professors of different universities to see if their research interest and yours can fit, and if is really worthy to apply to that particular school after all. Every email I send takes me at least half an hour, and often much more than that. It requires to carefully research throughout a particular professor’ profile in the Web site of the program, then read at least quickly a few papers he wrote and if everything looks promising, writing an email. But, the email is in English. So I first write it in a Word Document and carefully check for grammar errors, I’m still so inexpert in this language. If is possible or if I really, really like the idea of working with this particular professor, I send the document to my boyfriend or any “victim” available to do a second check. Only then, I finally send the email. And If I get a response and I must answer back, the same lengthy process starts all over again. I’m always especially concerned of sounding rude, over polite or just plain awkward due to my obvious inexperience of using English on a daily basis.

So between that and writing my statements of purpose, and working and having some social life if I’m lucky, I really don’t have the chance to develop a strong opinion regarding this upcoming election. I don’t have “predictions”, not even “sceneries”. I don’t have anything smart to say about the latest news, whatever they are. I can only provide you a feeling, and a consequential list of wishes.

I have no reason why, but I feel optimistic. Maybe I am unaware of our “realistic possibilities” but despite how misinformed I have been lately; I don’t always attend to “rational reasons” (sounds redundant, I know). Perhaps it’s because I’m female, but I do pay a great deal to my intuition, to this inner something telling me something good might happen. I think I told you this story already, but I met my current boyfriend at a party I initially didn’t want to go. At the end I did, and a friend kindly offered me to take me home afterwards (I don’t have a car). At 3 am, after a few cuba’ libres, some dances and loads of conversation with a guy I have never seen before; I decided to decline my friend’ offer of taking me home and going with this guy instead. The rational me would have never done that, she would have never sit in the car of a guy she just met but I got a good feeling about it. If you consider that it has been two and half years since that and that he’s looking at me as a write this; then you cannot question that my intuition was right. I have the same senseless, fighting against the “rational” me in regards to this election.

I don’t know how many votes we are going to get. How many seats opposition, or independents, or the government’ party is going to earn. Neither I have any idea of how Chavez’ is going to react to the results. All I know is that things are going to be different. The National Assembly will look different, even if is just slightly. And that’s just a start, a place to start to make my own wishes, for this upcoming assembly, and the upcoming country that might arise with it. So to those who can make this assembly look different I have a few proposals to make, in no particular order:

1. Next election, or in a couple of more elections, or in five years or at some point of my life; I want to vote for who I want. I want to vote for the person I feel it deserves it, for the person I believe in, I have research about and I got the feeling it will make a good job. I want to vote for candidate “X” because it is certainly better than candidates “Y”, “R” and “Z”. I don’t want to vote for candidate “X” because votes are split between him and a Revolutionary- Chavez – sheep candidate; so candidate “X” is really my only alternative.

2. I’m applying now for a Masters. But next, I might be applying for a doctorate and when that happens I don’t want to be in the angst I have right now, were my CADIVI dollars are insufficient to pay for the graduate school abroad application requirements. It’s hard for the graduate schools abroad to get this. But it shouldn’t be hard for Venezuelans to understand that restrictions are hardly the key for professional progress and all the kinds of progress you can think of. I know that to stop the control exchange system could leave us to an economical disaster, but please just try to make an alternative.

3. Please consider the “other”. There are many “others” in Venezuela: there are people living in rural areas and people living way inside the “barrios”, and people from the middle class and, and, and, and… and guess what? They are all Venezuelan and they are as wise and educated as you are. Listen to they want to say. Do not ever refer to them as “these people”. Do not pretend you know exactly how they feel, and exactly what they need. Ask them first, and listen. You are not alone in this world and there are a lot of people outside this pretty circled capitol who put their trust in you. But that trust doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want at closed doors.

4. A variant of my third wish: Please continue to be yourself. To be a deputy doesn’t make you a superior person. Do not demand a special treatment for your recently acquired status. You are a representative and therefore, first and foremost, a public server. This country is filled with ego- hunger people. And I feel we need just people. Not more pricks from any tendency or party pretending to be Gods and Goddess.

5. Inside the Capitol, please also consider the “other”. Your political opponents are as human as you are. For real, even if they don’t think like you. Your parish is not the world and you don’t hold the truth in your hands. Sit next to them. See what you can build with them. Agree to disagree and work on those things you do agree. There must be some, for the mental health of this country so eager of seeing some reconciliation; look for those, find them, and work on them.

6. Remember you are part of a separate power. For real, you might consider it odd but you are part of a separate power and now, you can try to actually act like one. Just saying. In case of any doubts, read Montesquieu. Yes, he wrote like a million years ago and you should feel ashamed of ignoring the fact that you, like a million years later, still don’t know a thing about independent and separate powers.

7. Sure, there are loads of issues we are all concerned of and you should work on those topics (ejem… Does “insecurity” sounds like an important topic to be consider? – I thought so). Now, I don’t mean to offend you, but this country cannot be fixed or build by using so many laws and eagerly trying to legalize every single little minimum aspects of our lives. Please focus your agenda in the really important topics; and stop wasting your time writing laws about colors, appropriate use of national signs, or the special law for the deodorant sellers, musicians and so on. And always remember, you are a legislator and a congressman. You are not a governor, or a policy maker. And social change depends of the work of all those people altogether, despite what the (useless) beautiful law you just approve.

8. Control the central government. Do I need to remind you that? It is not written somewhere as your must do and very basic functions as a deputy? Do some serious research. I mean like serious research, you know what that is? It’s like putting out something very well based and compromising before appearing in front of TV Cameras making a “denounce” on which we will never hear nothing of again.

9. Don’t call for a debate for every single stupidity that happens. Don’t lose your focus of the important things. We don’t need to see debate over short statement made by a judge, a politician, a priest, or a twitter. I’m just so sick of being sick of “debates”. The same script repeating from the capitol to the radio, from the TV to the University and the net. I don’t know if is politically correct to say that we are more in the need of conversations. Have you heard of those? People talking without trying to impose their version of the truth to others and willing to prove they are right just to win. People talking to exchange different points of view, and try to find something in common or a place where differences do not collide so much. I’m probably not being politically correct, I know (everyone says so) we need debates. But lately, I have developed a certain allergy to that word. “Debate” ugh… sounds like another fight “I’m Revolutionary, you are capitalist. I’m patriotic, you are not. I have these stats, you have others. You are a communist, I’m a progressive and blah blah blah...”

10. Smile. Be optimist. Give us some hope. I know you are all dreaming the same as me. I know you all dream of a place. Call it country, call it town, call it city, call it family. A place. Where we all feel safe. Where people don’t call you crazy if you consider staying. Where you are this, you are that, and you are respected despite if you are this or that. Where we do not feel fear, or paranoia or for God sake, hate. A place where we, the eternal optimists are not called naïve. A place to believe, to marry, to grow old, to raise your kids. An imperfect pleasant place. A place filled with troubles and constant changes and adjustments. But over all, a place filled with hopes and possibilities in the middle of our –not uncommon – modern chaos. A place whose people are filled with maturity, respect, consideration and compassion. Where gun shots are not heard as often as genuine smiles can be seen.

September, 26th can be the start of such place. Despite of how many of you made it. I don’t care if the most of you are still considered red. What matters is that you have the possibility to start something that has probably already started. It has started between our souls, and minds, so tired of so much.

I have made my wishes and I’m crossing my fingers to see what happens. I’m talking to many professors who are totally unaware of my story and my circumstances; of my hopes and dreams. Of this intuition that keeps telling me that the brief interruption I’m going to take of this application process, for walking a few blocks and voting; will be a contribution to my wish list. I’m looking forward to go to grad school. I’m looking forward to come back and visit this place, my 10th Wish, my home.

PS: The image used for this entry (Mafalda, my favorite cartoon character ever) was taken from this web site: http://www.ordesa.net/foro/files/posted_images/user_75_mafalda.jpg. I don't mean to steal anyone's right. I merely avoid to use my own images for privacy reasons and try to fulfill the place with something suitable on the Web.

He died; and I passed by

2010-08-30T19:47:00.000-07:00

About a year ago, probably a bit longer, I had a job interview in the same building where OAS office is located. I noticed a man at the left corner of this building entrance, laying on a stretcher, covered with blankets and surrounded by posters that explained why he was there. I read them at a glance, something about lands, and private property, another rough poster that declared he was making a hunger strike. I thought on talking to him moved by curiosity but I didn't do it. Then I thought maybe he was sleeping under those blankets. But I didn't do it because I was too shy to approach him, or too coward. I passed by, entered the building, and had my job interview. I didn't got the job so I didn't know what happened to that man, until a few weeks later when he appeared at the news. Then I knew his name: Franklin Brito (read about him here) He died today. I passed by when his fight was only starting, when I had the chance to say something. I went to this crappy job interview instead. I'm so sorry. My prays go to him and his family.
- there is no rest -

To my expats coffee mates

2010-08-25T16:09:00.000-07:00

I know. I should be writing about violence - ¿Again? -. I have written on the subject before, so if you want to read about the topic check the label at the bottom of this page called “Insecurity”.  I know, I should be writing about the upcoming elections, but I don’t have any particular topic on the subject to share. Instead, I’m going to talk about friendships. –Friendship? No politics, no violence, no Chavez, no campaign? No, I’m going to talk about friendship. Because even here, in a country filled with violence and political radicalism, one has friends. Or used to.

I know. We are getting older. We are not 18 anymore. We do not see each other every day at class and call at night to tell the news about this boy we like. Important news, such as if the boy actually noted our existence or if we were able to talk in complete sentences with him.

I know we have 8 hour jobs, which, added to Caracas traffic, became 10 hour jobs and we don’t have time for coffee during weekdays. I know it gets worse during the weekends, because we are adults and we have family and serious relationships to look up to. It’s not about that guy who looked at us or not the day we put our favorite shirt to class to call his attention. It’s about sharing toothbrush or plans to share the toothbrush any time soon.

I know we have let the weeks pass by, and weeks became months and soon we see each other only a few times a year for your birthday, one casual dinner, one day trip to the beach, my birthday and your good bye party which sometimes matches your wedding.

I know everyone must make the best with their lives and move on, and make decisions. I know we didn’t see or talk each other everyday so what difference does it make that you used to live ten minutes away and now we are in different time zones? We talked more now than when you were here. You feel lonely over there, and you use Facebook and Skype more often. You, the one who always criticize those who have “no life” update your Facebook status to let us know you just saw a bird outside your window...Like you didn’t see any birds outside your window when you lived in Caracas. And since even with Web cams we don’t have a street to look at anymore, a shopping mall to discover, a movie to share; all we left its our dialogues in Times New Roman font style.

I know I have friends. I have many good friends. Once you have reached a certain age, you have the friends you have, the ones who knows the worse part about, the ones you can trust, and you have to take care of that. But I only see must of my friends on Skype and no matter how often I talk about them; it doesn’t get any less weird. For some reason, I still prefer one random walk through a Shopping Mall discovering the new Zara Collection without talking about anything productive than those long talks on Skype about how life is over there, how is Chavez over here and our endless complains about work here and work or graduate school stuff there. I still prefer the old face to face style.

I know Internet its amazing. And it does have its own way to put us together. But it is not my daily life. My daily life is out there and does not always include a computer. More often than not, includes a simple place, a few tables, a waitress, a coffee, a friends and a dozen stories we heard before, but we want to hear again and again. I want to complain about silly acts my boyfriend makes, and even sillier prohibitions my mom takes. I want to criticize the brides maid dresses of last night Wedding that you also attended, not for the blurry pictures you talked in Facebook. I want a coffee talk. With just coffee, just ourselves. No cables, screens and microphones in the middle.

I know you are all happy and well. You all have great lives. Some of you found a great man to share your life with, and I’m so glad you picked a husband I could get along with because this is for life you know. Some of you are into graduate school and its so exciting to hear all those new things you are learning, and all the interesting people you are meeting. Some of you have found great jobs. You all tell me it is so quiet over there, so worry less. I don’t wish for any of you to have a life any different than the one you have now.

I know all that. But I’m not asking for much. I just wish you were available for a coffee on Saturday night.

You might laugh, but this long whine about all of you started because of something as simple as a coffee on a Saturday night. My boyfriend knows how much I love to talk to you, and he asked me why I haven’t had a “only girls night out” lately. “I don’t know” – I answered first. And then started to recount, to make the list of the people I usually call for a coffee. Out of five, there was only one left. Only one- Turns out, I did know way: most of you have gone. There’s only one of you left here. And I just wondering, what is it with this country that keeps pushing the ones I love away?

I know you are all my friends and you will always be. Since that, I know you will be in heart in the important events of my life for now on. But I don’t know if you can afford to be in person. Same works for me.

I have always dreamed about my wedding, just like any girl. After many years “in the closet”, I’m not afraid to admit it, of course it makes me feel a bit embarrass. I don’t know when this is going to happen, but I know someday it will.

I dream about a life made of two, because I think life should be made of two, three, and so on, depending in the situation. But I don’t conceive a life made of just one person. And of course, I dream about the event, the illusion and the excitement. Between the dress and the church and the party and the kiss, I have always had one particular dream, an image. I’m sitting at one café – months, or weeks before the wedding - and all of you are there, and we are talking about it. The already married ones are giving “experienced recommendations” but the whole atmosphere is filled by inside jokes. You are all there, flesh and bones, not just a small box in a computer corner. You are all really there. You are all smiling.

I know this whole sentimental letter is closer to hypocrisy than what I would like to admit it. Not because my feelings are not genuine, because they are. Neither is because my sadness isn’t real. It is because I will probably do in the future – not sure when – the same you did; at least for a while. I will be gone too. I just wonder, when I’m gone, will someone attend my good bye party? Or it would be another Skype conference?

I dream about a place where we all can be, we are all fit. I dream about shared moments in the old fashioned way: with actual hugs, not emoticons. I dream about here, with us smiling again.

And while I’m doing that, looking at the message you left in my Facebook wall; I’m hopelessly missing some real coffee breaks.

Back to the blogging world (Again)

2010-08-25T12:17:00.000-07:00

Hi readers. I’m reopening my blog after being closed for more than a month. Back then, I decided to close it for a while because I felt it was unsafe for me to keep publishing. Here, you must trust your guts to guide your decisions. Our president chooses his targets very randomly. One day can be Polar and the next day he forgets about Polar and attacks the church. In any case, the fears that conducted me to close the blog proved to be unfounded; at least for now.

But I’m not reopening the blog because my feelings toward fear have changed. I’m reopening this blog because I couldn’t stand to see it closed.

I closed this blog hoping that would make me feel freer and safer.

It didn’t happen. It didn’t work.

I didn’t felt freer. I’m not behind bars or anything, I have never been close to that situation so I can only have an idea of what is it like. But not being able to speak out at least to some extent doesn’t feel any different.

I didn’t felt safer. I mean, I’m at risk because I’m a blogger and I’m an open minder (or at least I try to be one of those). But I won’t be out of risks if I stop being a blogger. The risks are just everywhere. The danger and the feeling of being unsafe didn’t stopped when I closed the blog.

So the plan is… I really don’t know. The plan is to keep blogging because at the end that’s what I am. I’m not a writer, I’m not a political fighter, I’m not a reporter, I am a blogger. If I choose to ignore it, I will lose a part of me. I don’t know if in the future I have fears again, strong enough to make me close my blog again, but I hope to learn to beware of those feelings.

The plan is to keep giving you a unique perspective on the Venezuelan situation. There are many incredible good blogs about Venezuela in English, written by Venezuelans, most living here like me (check my links section). I think each and every one of those blogs provides something new, valuable and different to the blogosphere. My contribution, which has been done with not a lot of constancy and loads of interruptions (at least two major ones), is to provide an first hand account of the Venezuelan situation, as I live it, and as I feel it.

I’m proud of what I have done in that direction so far. I’m ashamed of the way I interrupted conspiring against my own work. All it remains for me now is to be honest. And to hope my readers can consider that this blogger is as human as the blog she tries to deliver. Mistakes and hesitation do happen, more often than what I would want to.

This is my way to say, to who ever read this: I’m sorry. I will try to keep being a blogger. I hope you can still be my reader.

The World Cup down here; and what the winners have taught us

2010-07-12T19:02:00.001-07:00

The World Cup is quite an event in Venezuela, even though we have never classified to be in it (but this year we were closer). The way a World Cup is lived here, is something that emigrants often miss about home. Maybe is not unique, I haven’t yet seen how it is in other places, but there’s something special about a World Cup in Venezuela. Everyone makes their best effort to forget about Chavez and Crisis and Insecurity and a long list of etc and starts a necessary break; a well deserved (I think it is, you are free to criticize it in the comments section) break.

Everything starts a couple of months before the World Cup; with the popular Panini’ sticker album: I collected my first in 1994. I was in fourth grade of school and asked my mom to buy it. My mom hesitated “you sure you don’t want the Hello Kitty one?” – Nope, this wasn’t a girl – boy thing, this was something every kid at school was collecting and I wanted to be part of that. For a month or more, all the breaks at school were dedicated to exchange stickers and to announce everybody, in an arrogant air that you had finally completed Colombia or Brazil´ team.

This year my boyfriend refused to collect the album: “way too expensive” – he claimed. And it really was way too expensive. But my heart couldn’t stand to see his sight get lost every time we passed by a newspaper stand and saw the album and all those people changing stickers. So I thought: "in four years, who knows where I’m going to be?"… if everything goes according to the plan; in four years I could be married with kids and filled with responsibilities; totally unable to make unnecessary spends such as a silly sticker album. This could be our last chance to collect one of those and its only once every four years. The album came as a free gift with the newspaper. I bought several stickers envelopes and the fun began.

Everyone collects the stickers. Usually, and because of the price of the stickers, one family has one album and every member puts its best effort to complete it. The kids change stickers at school, the grown ups at work or at the university and on weekends, the whole family goes to shopping malls or around iconic newspaper stands to change repeated stickers they have with, well, just everybody. People all ages and sizes, strangers that would had never exchange a word if it wasn’t for the World Cup are now talking about how hard is to find the Brazilian shield sticker and such, while they’re checking a list with the missing numbers “I found five” – “Ok, then give me five of yours. Did you finish Germany?” – “Hell no… but Argentina is complete, next to Ghana and the States...Germany and Italy players are so hard to find…” and so on.

For a month, my “romantic dates” consisted on going on Sundays to one of those iconic newsstands to exchange some stickers. Next, we sat at a bakery to have breakfast and add our new stickers to our collection. During week days my boyfriend enjoyed exchanging more stickers at the office. I know, we are nerds, sports nerds, once very four years. We didn’t complete the album, but we certainly had a lot of fun trying to. A friend of mine who’s living in Mexico left a nostalgic message in my Facebook inbox: “No one seems to collect Panini here, at least not like people do in Caracas…”

Madness continues when the World Cup actually starts, a week after everyone has either completed the album or gave up about it. Employers know that during matches, no one is going to work for real. Even those workers that seemed to be very focused on their computers, are following the game thanks to a small window of their desk, or a tiny TV with a lousy signal in one drawer or a radio… which is the most common resource students have (or had, when I was a student) to follow the fame. Doesn’t matter if Algeria or Brazil is playing, the interest on the game is equal. Every single game of the World Cup must be carefully watched, followed and then commented with every single person you know. Doesn’t matter if this person doesn’t know a thing about football, this person will be out of your social circle if he/she doesn’t have an opinion on the match, doesn’t criticize arbitrary errors or praise the brilliant defense.

Some employers – the nice ones – simply stop being foolish, recognize that they can’t fight against culture and that no productive work can be made when Spain is playing a decisive match against Germany. So they go and install TV’s in the office. Some others simply let their employers go. Professors know that it’s hopeless to expect any student to pay attention or even to show up at class.

Soon, this group of irresponsible people, gather on squares (I counted at least three in Caracas) to see the match on big screens that a TV channel in partnership with a local government has installed for the events. Doesn’t matter if it’s raining or if the sun is burning everybody, or if the match is between countries you have never heard of before. If it’s 10 am or 2 Pm. Still, those squares are filled with fans who scream as if they were at the South African stadium.

Of course, some teams find in Venezuela more “borrowed” fans than others. Being this a nation of immigrants, almost everybody can find a distant DNA bond with an European or Latin American country. So the ones who are not watching the game in their offices, their universities, schools, restaurants, or at the squares; are still screaming as if they were at the stadiums in their exclusive immigrants club. The Italians descendants have the Italo – Venezolano. The Spanish – part of them at least – have La Hermandad Gallega. The Germans also have a place, but I just forgot the name (no, is not only Colonia Tovar), there is the Uruguayo club for Uruguay fans, descendants, and immigrants (on that issue, there is a sad note that I will probably comment in other entries); don’t remember if Argentina has also an iconic place but it do has a big community and many fans. Last, for Portugal, is the Centro Portugués. If you can’t proof any bond between you and a foreign country, you choose to go for Brazil because “it is closer to home”. Thus Venezuela is an unexpected place filled with Brazil’ team fans; that don’t have any connection with the neighbor country, except for football.

Inside, all those people giving their screams and hearts to foreign countries, players and dreams, secretly have a very nationalist aspiration: to collect some day, the Panini stickers of the Vinotinto (our football team that has never classified for a World Cup). We don’t expect them to win a single match in the actual World Cup. But we want them in the competition at least, for once. For God sake we are tired of collecting someone’ else’ stickers and we want the pictures of our own players covering a couple of pages of our Panini album.

In the meantime, my family like most Venezuelan families, appeal to a distant bond with a country who is actually competing and goes for it. Our bond, my bond, comes as no surprise. It is a bond close enough to actually claim a connection but distant enough to not be able to apply for an European Passport. I’m the fourth generation of Spanish immigrants (my great grandparents) who came to this country at the beginning of the XX century and stayed here ever since. This means that for the first time, the team we traditionally support: Spain, won a World Cup and we were insanely happy.

For the final match, my dad invited all my extended family and cooked an exquisite (and huge) paella. The rest of my relatives brought either wine or beer or more Spanish dishes. The kids wore the team uniform. Anyone dressed in orange was forbidden to enter my house. And when Iniestas marked that decisive goal on Sunday, everyone in my house screamed and jumped as if the TV screen could actually hear us. My mom even had tears in her eyes. My newborn niece got upset because of the incredible amount of noise we made. My uncle threw a glass of wine accidentally. My dad begged us, now that the tension was over; to taste his paella before it got cold.

While all this was happening, I was just sitting there, trying to see how the goal actually was because my family hysteric celebration didn’t allowed me to. But over all, I was smiling. Soon I knew I wasn’t smiling because this distant country were my roots reside won the World Cup. I don't even know the country, have never been there. At this point, Spain just represent good food we eat at some family lunch, good music we hear in weddings, good excuses to celebrate a World Cup final. I wasn’t smiling because Spain won. I was smiling because this team proved something. Something I need to know it was possible, beyond football and celebrations.

Spain proved that hard work and perseverance are keys to success. Such success is possible, even after losing the first match.

Spain proved that it is possible to win without sacrificing our values. Spain played, most of times, fair, clean, pretty. They didn’t try to cheat anybody. They didn’t change their style. Their strategy was not centered on putting unnecessary obstacles to the opponent. Their strategy was to go out there and play. In the final, it was obvious that Holland applied a very different strategy, a ruder one. They were hopping a dirty game could lead them to the World Cup but at the end it didn’t.

You might say this is just football but not only football has to be a fair play. All the games we play in life – because if you think about it life is just one match after another – should be fair. Those games should have some rules, above some ethics and we should follow them, expecting them to lead us to success.

But from Johannesburg to Caracas there is a huge distance. Most people here tend to think that if they don’t cheat, if they don’t look their way to commit a fraud, if they don’t bring home their piece of the cake, if they don’t sacrifice one value or another in order to sign a business; they will never have success in life. This World Cup is a slap in the face to all of them, football players or not… this is a message for all the corrupt politicians, cold businessman, cheater students; and it’s a message for you too, you and me as regular citizens. It’s a message for all of us, who pass a red light, who pay extra cash to have a privileged spot in a line, all of us who cheat the companies to pay less; and pretend we didn’t notice.

I think every Venezuelan that was watching the match learned something valuable that day. If you read the post, you can do the math and tell that this is a lot of Venezuelans learning something valuable: learning that it is possible to achieve success without corruption. It is a matter of another post but here is sufficient to explain that Venezuelans tend to value people who are more able to cheat the system to success that does who persistently try no to compromise their morals. Many people, fathers of family, generally “good” people, have told me that you can’t achieve anything here if you keep with that “correct attitude”, if you do not fool the rules, or sell your political ideals to the government in turn.

They could have also learned that same as Spanish struggled till the end to achieve that decisive goal, the clean, fair, ethic play is neither easy nor fast move but at the end, it could be far more rewarding.

This golden World Cup is telling us that maybe its not something corny or silly or impossible. Maybe, to have ethics, and moral, to actually do things right is not ridiculous, hypocrite, or a losers’ attitude. Maybe is even convenient. Maybe to do things the right way is the path to success and not the other. Maybe we can be like Spain. Or we can punch everybody in order to put them behind and achieve our own purposes and end only as a semifinalist. Maybe the world can work in a different way, can stop rewarding cheaters and start rewarding other kinds of people.

At least has done so in a World Cup and that’s a start.

And this is really why I’m smiling…

PS: After this long exhausting post – I’m very thankful if you took the time to read it all – My corny side wants to share this video with you. It’s another lesson Spain has left us (the captain at least). At the end, success is not about the goal you stopped and the golden cup you kissed. It’s about sharing the happiness by stealing a kiss from something a hundred times more valuable: your girl. Enjoy!

Venezuela' impossible picture

2010-07-08T05:26:00.000-07:00

A faithful reader asked me to provide here a "picture of Venezuela", o more likely, a "picture of Venezuelan life". I thought it was an easy task, and I promised to write an entry on the subject in the next few days. But I couldn't. Turns out that it wasn't so easy. In this blog I cannot provide a picture of Venezuelan life, I can only provide a picture of my life which is the same because I live in Venezuela and yet, is very different because there are many "Venezuelas" in just one nation, and even more ways to live in it.

Please take notice that I stated there are many Venezuelas in just one nation. There is a basic distinction between the term "country" and "nation", those terms are rarely synonyms. In Venezuela's case, they are almost synonyms, except for minority indigenous communities. "Nation" refers to a the cultural, common identity a certain collective has. "Country" its a political distinction. Then, one country can - and often has - many nations between its territory. A classical example of such arrangement is Spain. When I say there are many Spain in one country, I'm talking about those defined and very diverse cultural identities; but when I speak about many Venezuelas in one country, I'm not speaking about cultural identities. We are, for the most, the same nation with the same broad cultural identity. Being simplistic we all identify ourselves with the same National anthem, we all have some sort of cult to Bolivar, we all love to eat arepas, dance and value family and personal connections above everything else. Our dramatic diversity that makes many "Venezuelas" collide into one is not due to cultural identities, but to social, economical and political factors which marks a dramatic inequality.

Venezuelans are not culturally different, are economical, socially, politically different from one another. And they don't have slight differences, their differences are huge, dramatic, irreconcilable.

In order to keep my promise and the task this reader asked me to do, I'm going to offer a broad description of the many Venezuelas I see on a daily basis, of the many and very different and diverse countries I encounter every day in my daily life. Please notice that this description is not accurate, nor is complete. Is just my perception and it is the perception of many people but it is not based on facts, it does not gives you numbers and if by mistake I give you the idea of a number, please be aware that it could not be truth. This blog is more about personal perceptions and feelings than objectiveness. So I have never been worried of being fact straight. But I feel it is my responsibility to repeat over and over again that I am not being fact straight. I'm just writing from my life, to my head, from my heart, to the keys; from my opinion to the computer screen. I'm not checking even tho I have read those, any study.

Venezuela number one is rich and vibrant, is filled with some entrepreneurs, some of them luckily are very socially oriented but some others are not. This Venezuela lives in fine houses, goes to fine restaurants, sign up their kids in the best schools and send them to prestigious camps abroad during summer, and travels several times a year. Inside this Venezuela you hear the angst of a girl who is not going to be able to go to Miami four times a year like she used to due to CADIVI restrictions; leaving also greatest recommendations about restaurants in Paris and New York, about a Cruise in Norway or tells her memories on a recent U2 concert she saw in Rome. This Venezuela makes the bautism of a kid looks like an average wedding, with an exquisite menu and loads of music from a private orchestra after the brand new Catholic has go to sleep.
This Venezuela has never put a foot in a bus or in any public transportation form. They remember visiting the subway once, when they were kids, on a rare school trip and it was just from "Chacao" to "Altamira" station. Their parents gave them a brand new car when they turned 16. They crashed on a silly non sense accident while being drunk at 2 am and soon the car was replaced with another model, even newer. They love Venezuelan food and can stop their cars at the same hot dog spot where a construction worker is eating. They love to dance, same as everybody. But they think they are different, since they are educated, meaning they went to the greatest school and the greatest college one can think of. And payed a masters degree in Harvard. They complain a lot about the government but they don't do a thing. They think the trouble is the "Venezuelan culture", "the people" (meaning, poor people) who are not educated enough and thus vote for Chavez over and over again. Some of them make business with the government at day and sit with a whiskey to complain about restrictions of freedom at night. At the end, if things get really ugly, they will leave the country. Not only the young ones, but everybody, the whole family. They have either an European passport, or a green card, or the Canadian citizenship and if they don't have any of those; they have a lot of money to invest anywhere, and any country will say hi to that money and give them their legal residence status they want.
So in short they complain, and it is painful for them to leave this place. But they are the only ones who can do it in comfortable circumstances. Because of this, most of time, and despite their random complains, they are the Unworried Venezuela.

Venezuela number two is suddenly rich and revolutionary. I don't really know this Venezuela and I do not dare to judge it harshly. I don't have personal contacts to almost any of them, to be honest. But there are Mercedes and BMW filling our streets and you know, from the start, they do not belong to Venezuela number one. Venezuela number one has been rich forever, the great grandparent had some lands, the grandparent found a small business, the parent turned into a giant company and opened some other business as well and so on.. money makes money. And people with money have experience on having it, and treating it. In this country so filled with insecurity, Venezuela number one is not urged to show off as they used to do it, they prefer to be cautious and low profile. Venezuela number two shows off and you know they do it, because they have never had such amount of money and blind by it, they are desperate to show it off. Their looks quickly warn us of their origins. No intention of being racist here, but I'm trying to be more honest than politically correct on this note. Is not about how their physical looks are, what skin color, what race... is more about their way to dress, to move, to speak. Those signs are impossible to hide, scream that you are just entering the "high class" and you raised your bank account fast... thanks to the government and its magical ways to give money in return to political loyalty.
Some of them, deep inside, don't even like the government, but they are taking the most of it and same as Venezuela number one, if things get ugly, they will leave the country and find themselves with legal status at some fancy place in the developed world. With a Swiss bank account of mysterious origins, that's for sure. That is enough to give them the title of the Convenient Venezuela.

Venezuela number three its probably what you would call middle class. Even possibly high middle class. But as high as it might seem, this Venezuela doesn't know if its going to be able to pay the bills by the end of the month. Surely often interacts with Venezuela number one and they are often mistaken as if they were the same. But surely, they are not. Those two Venezuelas probably meet at the university, they probably even sent with great sacrifices, their kids to the same school. Venezuela number one and number three are friends but they sometimes can't share the same hobbies since Venezuela number three can give you a lot of references of restaurants in Paris, if any. And they have spend at least their college years taking the subway, just like anyone else. Venezuela number three is educated, just as much as Venezuela number one but it has done so under more difficult circumstances. Some of them live in good houses on their own, not as nice as Venezuela number one but good ones at least. But most live in good areas but very old buildings, or are the typical without a place on their own, living with the grandparents. Venezuela number three have the same aspirations as Venezuela number one but they cannot always achieve them.
They are against the actual situation, they feel it has going worse and do not fully understand this regime. Their ethics makes them unable to make business with the government but putting that aside they feel as isolated and desperate as Venezuela number one might feel from time to time. But unlike them they cannot leave the country, they have enough money to keep some standards in Venezuela without much luxury and nothing else. They don't have engrossing bank accounts which would allow them to make a new life anywhere else. And as the economical situation goes worse, they find it harder to be understood by their friends of Venezuela number one, who can continue making the expenses they no longer can. The unability to change their situation for the better and the fact that their situation has gone nothing than worse under this regime, gives them the title of "Frustrated Venezuela.

Venezuela number four is what you would call middle class or low middle class. Based on their income, they could be labeled as "poor" in the first world. They live in very modest appartments in suburbs or in insecure streets of the city, most close to the barrios (shanty towns). They are more likely to be connected with people living in those shanty towns than with people from the Venezuelas I described above. Most of them are educated. Venezuelas number one and three, the traditional high class, refuse sometimes to believe that they are some people even more educated beyond their limit social circuits. But those people actually exist. People from the Unworried Venezuela and some from the Frustrated Venezuela could label as "niche" (a label often used to insult people living in shanty towns and their ways of living) are people with university education sharing some class with their kids and working at your next cubicle. Primary difference is, they live "there" because they can't afford anything else. Venezuela number four lives the day by day, without country clubs or restaurants because they never were used to that, but their houses inside are very complete and comfortable with all the basic and not so basic goods including cable TV. They also complain of the regime but it is a different kind of complain. If you might, it is a most realistic complain. Its a complain based on how the government affects their daily life and what they can do to struggle and survive because it is rare that they consider leaving as an option. Many of them are also immigrants but not from Europe but rather from Colombia, or Peru, or Dominican Republic. They came to this country with great hopes and in very difficult circumstances and they are more likely to take every day as it comes and do not desperate as much as the previous Venezuelas would. This is the Realistic Venezuela.

Venezuela number five lives in Shanty towns (Barrios). But do not think I'm describing the last of the Venezuelas I have dared to characterize. They live in Shanty towns but their homes are rather comfortable and generally well built and they have the luxuries and same life style as Venezuela number four (including cable TV). Some of them, maybe most, I really don't know, are as well educated as the previous Venezuelas, maybe without the post degree abroad unless they got a scholarship. They are, as many living in barrios, the main victims of the insecure situation we are living under. They are used to hear gunshots much more often than any of the previous Venezuelas described above. They have enough income to be not consider poor since they can afford enough food and many extra luxuries and even trips. But same as Venezuela number three, they can't leave the place where they are living because they can't afford it. So they live "there". Some, might even don't want to leave the barrios but rather see the conditions inside their barrios improve: better services, more security. This is the Popular Venezuela. Some support the government, some have the same complain of the Venezuelas above but they are probably what must of us know as popular classes. They are the top of the pyramid of what we call "poor people" even if their life styles are more varied, rich and complicated than that word which only means the lack of something. They are probably the majority of Venezuelans.

Venezuela number six goes from the label poor to very poor. If you go to rural areas this Venezuela gets bigger and you can find a Venezuela number seven, and eight and nine and keep going down from there. While Venezuela number one wonder what cute restaurant are they going to pick for the traditional family lunch on Sunday; Venezuela number six and beyond wonders if they are going to be able to eat at all. While Venezuela number three is concerned about how are they going to pay the expensive private school so they kids can go to class with Venezuela number one, Venezuela number six and beyond is concerned about how far their kids can stay in school before they go to work to support the family (third grade? sixth grade? some high school if they are lucky?). Or maybe they just discard the education possibility once and for all. While Venezuela number two buys a new BMW in the name of the Revolution, Venezuela number six and beyond makes long lines begging for a tiny government benefit which can help them go through the day, always in return for political fidelity. Venezuela number four might worry for living in an apartment in a very insecure area but Venezuela number six and beyond trembles when its raining because their "house" (or a tiny square built with street signs, blocks if their lucky etc) might crash.

The rest of the Venezuelas are very concerned for the insecurity situation, and they have occasionally suffered its consequences from time to time. It is true that all Venezuela suffers the insecurity situation now but Venezuela number six and beyond has suffered always. And not from time to time but on a daily basis. The mothers of Venezuela number six and beyond have either their kids in jail, or death or frightened (with real reasons to be frightened) to see another family member in that situation. Life loses value as you go from one Venezuela to another and another. No one is completely safe, and many from the Venezuela number 1, and 2, and 3 have lost their life thanks to crime in the last few years. But no one is as unsafe as Venezuela five, six, and beyond. Venezuela six and beyond doesn't have other choice but to be named by the word I hate: "Poor Venezuela" because they truly lack of so many things...

So there you go, at least six different Venezuelas in just one country. All six with a very similar cultural identity and - do not be amazed, I believe it is truth - many similar values. But different situations, different perceptions and therefore a different behavior. And none of this Venezuelas understand each other.

Venezuela number one can't understand the show off quality of Venezuela number two, nor even can't understand why Venezuela number three can't share many of their hobbies. As for the rest of the Venezuelas, Venezuela number one only counts them as a distant reference, as "those people". Venezuela number three doesn't understand the great quality of life Venezuela number one enjoys at the same time it condemns the political accommodations of Venezuela number two. As for the rest of the Venezuelas it might have connections with number four but nothing beyond, most of them have never entered a barrio and they speak out a lot, but they have no idea how they live. Venezuela number four sees Venezuela number one as super stars and can't tell the difference between Venezuela number one and two. It might make connections with Venezuela 3 but gets frustrated because of their difference in their life style. And now they have left the barrios, it is hard for them to enter there unless they have relatives. They have a middle class mind, but more humble origins they fight to reject.

Venezuelas 5, and 6 and beyond don't know nor even understand the rest, they know they live a very different reality, from another world, and find their complains, those of high classes of what dress to buy and wether if I can afford this trip... simply amusing. They feel resentment and really, who can blame them? They will be never be able to leave the barrios under this system, but highest classes has forced them to believe they don't work hard enough. They have been historically excluded from the system and this regime has promised to make things better but it has been only a promise and not a real improvement.

All Venezuelas goes like this. Each one in their own exclusive and little inner circle, misunderstanding and rejecting the rest of the Venezuelas and ignoring how alike they are. Unable to know their life styles, unable to understand each and everyone's need, unable to reach any agreement. Venezuela is one country with many people that just go at their own, with their particular life.

So how can you provide a picture of the country in that situation? I cannot give you a picture. The most I can give you its a collage and you will not find any harmony between the pictures that compound it. The best I can give you is my picture.

It is no secret that I fully belong to Venezuela number three, because of my childhood, my education and my connections to Venezuela number one. If you judge by the place I live I might be more close to Venezuela number four. My work has allowed me to share a lot with Venezuelas 5, 6, 7 and beyond but this has not been enough to fully understand them. So I'm somewhere in the middle of social sandwich made with ingredients that do not combine and therefore it doesn't taste good. I'm the white cheese combined with the turkey pastrami that only tastes good if its combined with Dutch cheese and mayo deli but instead of mayo deli has a cheap tomato sauce... I'm just there, and I'm inviting you to judge not Venezuela but my life and how this regime influence its daily course. I wish I could be more broad, more general and more inclusive. But only this circumstances I really can't, and it will be irresponsible to pretend doing so. I write from my particular situation, I can't write anything else.

Of course all this is not acceptable. The fact that I can't understand the rest of the Venezuelas around me is not acceptable. This worries me a lot and I have tried to change it but I have not succeed, and its probably because I haven't try hard enough. But it is a tragedy when one feels like a stranger, like a foreigner in your own country because you have no understanding of the comrade walking next to you. We distrust each other and present our different visions of Venezuela and "reality" as if they were the whole Venezuela and the real state of things. No matter how "incorrect" it might sound I must be honest and say that this is so blurry that I cannot blog about reality, beyond my own. And I cannot be more accurate in my stories, beyond my thoughts, feelings, interpretations, emotions around such story.

I was hopping this post could clear your mind, but I fear it might confused you even more. I know it wasn't what you expected. But my hope is that your read of this post and of many others enlightens you and me, in order to start doing what most human beings has proven so far, to be incapable to do: fully and truly understand each other.

Ice Cubes

2010-07-01T15:09:00.000-07:00

My cousin who married a couple of years ago its dennied to have children until this government changes. The whole family thinks her decision is quite riddiculous and non sense but she just doesn't think this is a fair place to bring any new life.

Another friend has refused to buy any property and he criticizes everyone who do so - "Why are you going to buy an appartment here, if the government can take it away from you?" - He claims although none of his friends have lost their apparments but its also true that one had a trouble with a land. He will pay a rent until this government ends, and only by then, he will consider of buying something on its own.

My grandmother just died and the next natural step is to sell the big house since no one lives in it anymore. But we have been warn that no one is buying big houses like those now for the price they worth. We would have to sell it at a much smaller price. But even if we do manage to sell it, an uncle claimed "What for?" - The money earned with the sell would be split between many families and it will be a lot of money for keeping it in a bank account (having more than 30.000 Bolívares in a bank account is very risky nowadays, since the government is taking over many banks and doesn't return more than 30.000 to the former customers. If you had more than that, you will never see that money again) but not enough for buying any good such as an apparment or a car. Like I have also explained on many entries before, we Venezuelans are also unable to change our money to foreign currency and to take it to a less risky country. So we are coming close to decide not to sale the house until this government changes.

Many people are leaving the country. Specially from my generation. I have four close friends abroad already and a fifth one is leaving the country in September. I'm not counting my boyfriend' friends abroad whom are also many, and all the high school and university acquantainces, plus relatives. As a result you have many broken families and many "grandparents in a box": grandparents who only see their grandchildren via a computer screen, thanks to Skype and Web Cams. Those grandparents in a box are stucked to a promise their children once made to them: they promise they will come back as soon as "the conditions allow it". Meaning, until this government changes.

So I live in a frozen society. In a society fillled with broken expectations and delayed plans attached to impossible events. In a society that does not blink, does not move, does not do anything to improve because it sees every initiative being stopped by the Revolution. And this society has made no mistake on thinking that, because the Revolution can stop every initiative and in the road, creates a fear enough to stop even, ilussions. Once a society has no ilussions, has seen itself unable to do so; I don't think there is much left. We are nothing without dreams. And dreams postponed and subjected to impossible conditions are not dreams at all. Those are only ice cubes. Ice cubes freezing us all.

The road to grad school: GRE scores and the question

2010-06-20T06:13:00.000-07:00

So I finally took the GRE and I didn’t get a nice result. I got a so-so score that will allow me to apply at least, and hopefully the rest of my credentials will grant me an admission offer from one of my choices (510 verbal, 460 quants if you are curious). I’m just glad it is over. Now I’m preparing all the paperwork requested to apply and we’ll just have to wait and see. If any university wants to reject me based only on my GRE scores, then I shouldn’t go to such place anyway.
I have a good life you know, I can’t complain. And this graduate school plans are only for making it better. But everyday I make any move towards that goal, I wonder if I’m going to be able to reach it at all.

Must people, when they apply to graduate school, they only worry about two obvious things: whether if they’re going to be accepted or not and if they are, how are they going to afford their education. I have the exact same questions and the exact same anxiety everyone in the world applying to grad school anywhere experiences. Am I good enough to be accepted? Do I have enough credentials or do I need to do something else to improve my chances? Do I need publications? Or a more relevant work experience? How do I compare to the other applicants? Am I competing against newly naïve graduates like me or against 30 year old experienced professionals? Or it is in the pool of applicant some genius with an out of average IQ, a 1600 combined GRE score, plus many extra curricula activities, two publications and a volunteer experience of three years in Sudan competing against… well… me? … And If against all odds I’m admitted, Can I get a scholarship? Are there any scholarships available for the program I want? If I don’t get a full scholarship, can I afford the first year at least with my savings?

Now add to all those questions another one. The one I think distinguish Venezuelans like me from the rest of the applicants. And is: Can I really go? In a country when rules and laws change so quickly that you can hardly catch up? In a country where they are now millions of reasons why you could end up in prison without being a criminal? In a country where inflation increases in the same amount as crime, can I really go to grad school abroad? In a country where the foreign currency is strictly controlled, can I really just take a plane with my boyfriend (who is also applying to grad school) and move somewhere else for a couple of years?

I have had this conversation many times and I can’t come up with an answer. The first trouble we have is – you guessed right – the foreign currency control. In a pill, we have a very weird control exchange system. On limited amounts, if you are a student you can have dollars at convenient price of 2,6 Bolívares Fuertes per dollar. But a lot of paper work is required to get those dollars and there is no guarantee of approval by CADIVI (the institution in charge), so really you can’t count on those. For traveling and buying things online you can have a very limited amount of dollars at the price of 4,3 Bolívares Fuertes per dollar. You also need a lot of crazy paperwork and a CADIVI approval in order to use them, so Venezuelans can’t just decide from one day to another to travel overseas. Any travel overseas must be planned carefully with a lot of anticipation and a lot of uncertainty because you never know if you are going to get the dollars and you need to buy your plane ticket in order to start the paperwork process. For online expenses one can only have 400 dollars a year, subjected – yet again – to CADIVI approval.

I have already spent 190 of those 400 dollars on my GRE and applications fees range from 50 to 75 dollars each. It’s pretty obvious why I can’t re-take the GRE: I have to choose. I can either re-take the GRE and send the applications next year or keep my scores and apply this year. I decided to keep my scores and apply this year and if I don’t get in, to do it all over again. But either way, it is a waste of time and I should be allowed to re-take my GRE and apply on the same year. With CADIVI dollars you can’t do that.

There’s a third “level” of control exchange that was launched recently to end with the parallel market but its subjected to the same levels of control that CADIVI dollars are, making it into what we call “CADIVI-to 3”. CADIVI-to 3’ dollars cost about 5 Bolívares Fuertes per dollar. I still don’t understand how this system works but in theory, as a citizen you can get as many as 6000 of them (but no more than 1000 each month) if you are 1) A student studying overseas, 2) If you have a relative overseas that needs your money to support itself and 3) If you have a medical condition which treatment can only be found abroad and 4) If you are traveling abroad. You have to prove you fill any of those three conditions, prove also that you are going to use the money for those purposes and prove that CADIVI dollars are not enough to satisfy your need. If I got it right you must have a bank account abroad which I don’t have.

There’s finally a fourth dollar for us, called the infamous black dollar. The black dollar it’s illegal, of course. And the only knowledge of its existence is enough to frighten the authorities. If I reveal here the exact cost of the black dollar, this site could be banned and closed by Venezuelan authorities. Still, you can find many sites that publish the black dollar price. Sometimes the government closes those sites and threatens its owners. But soon the sites are on the web again under new addresses and new names. One site in particular claims to be based in the United States, making it impossible for the government to ban them or to prosecute their owners. Google “La Lechuga verde” and you will find what you are expecting: that the black dollar is outrageous expensive compared to the CADIVI dollars I listed above. Either way, the black dollar is expensive, speculative, hard to get, and very risky. One could face prison for trading them.

If you are smart enough you should have notice that all CADIVI dollars conditions could fulfill many of the needs one might have for foreign currency (putting the limited amounts aside) except for one: to save. So when I ask the question: can I really go to grad school abroad? I’m thinking about me being unable to save my money in dollars in order to pay for it, or at least to pay a part, or to pay my living expenses. Each month, I carefully save more than half of my salary but its all in Bolivares and it seems that if I really manage to go, I will have to do it without a penny because I can’t trade my money to foreign currency. Plus, Inflation is high in this country, meaning that everyday that passes I’m losing a part of my savings since they are in Bolivares. There’s nothing I can do about it but to save as much as I can, then wait to get my admission offer and then get all the paperwork necessary praying to get the controlled dollars I need. If any paper is missing or it doesn’t convince them, I won’t get the dollars.

The second fear I have in regards of being able or not to go to grad school given the conditions I have in this country, is a more irrational one. It happens to me every time I’m about to achieve something important in my life; It happened when I was about to graduate both from high school and the university and it could happen now. It’s the fear of being in middle of a relevant political event that could stop me from going. With the government’ constant threats to the university, we all, more than once, feared that apocalyptic day when the government simply decided to close our university. So every year we requested for transcripts and carefully saved it “just in case”. Of course the government still threatens my university, but it hasn’t closed it yet, so our fear was totally unfounded. Yet, the moments of anxiety, fear, angst, and uncertainty were real enough to me.

Now, the demon inside me makes me imagine all kinds of apocalyptic situations that will prohibits me of going to graduate school such as the government forbidding me or people like me to leave the country unless we do this or that. I’m not putting examples here; I don’t feel in the need of giving my government and my very particular president more outrageous ideas of what they could do to restrict our freedom some more. The thing is that so far, my president has had many outrageous ideas and most of them have come to reality. In this country, under the rule of this so- called revolution, anything can be expected. Things change from one day to another. What once was good and comfortable now is ugly, imperialist, and forbidden. You never know who or what is going to fall into the hands (or more likely the mouth) of the president, changing its destiny for worse, without a warning. Everything can happen, tragedy specially included.

But after leaving the testing room with my so-so scores, I decided not to listen to those inner thoughts and questions every Venezuelan that wants to take an initiative, now has. I decided not to listen to my fears, real based or not and to the million “What If?” questions; which almost all carries terrible answers.

What if I get accepted? What if my boyfriend does? What if, better, both get accepted? What if we, against all predictions, can actually go? What if we, in a year or more, just take a plane and fly away from here for a couple of years (to then come back in a more “resting” and “in peace will this event full Venezuela” mood)? What if life smiles at us (and admissions committees too)? Maybe we won’t get the dollars we need. Maybe we don’t get in. Maybe the government won’t let us go under any crazy reason; or maybe not. Maybe we receive a “Welcome to…” type acceptance letter. Maybe I can pack my bags and start the next chapter of my life, and what’s more important: of my love story.

In six months I’ll let you know if my scores were enough or not. If the unusual circumstances I discussed above prevent us from going or not. But, foremost, if we manage to win over our inner fears and paranoia to take that plane or if we stayed at home; asking ourselves the greatest question ever invented to freeze us in time: What if…?

Paused

2010-05-18T21:18:00.001-07:00

I haven't post in a while and I think you deserve not only an explanation but also an apology. So here it goes: I'm going to take my GRE next month and it isn't easy to combine work with all the study that the GRE requires. If you have ever tried to go to grad school you know how time consuming GRE' studies can be. Considering that my English is far from being perfect and my math is very poor, multiply that by a million. I'm learning loads of English words which I know I will never use again (I doubt someone still alive actually uses them), I have learned that a few words in this language actually have accents, that there are words with more than three different meanings and I should memorize them all If I want to exceed the minimum score and so on. I also discovered that I'm not so good interpreting stats as I thought I was. And that I don't know a thing about geometry. Shame on me... So, right now, my limited free time is devoted to all that (how exciting!). The rest, to whine and complain (like I'm doing here) to my boyfriend about how frustrating GRE can be. So that's why you haven't see any new posts. So, wish me luck; I promise to be back when this its over (by the end of June, or first days of July) and I hope to find you all here.

(THERE IS NO REST, DON'T CLICK ANYWHERE)

Work and productivity are anti-Revolutionaries

2010-04-07T18:37:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I had a work meeting at another company at 10 am. My mom was kind enough to give me a ride till there. Trouble was that she left me about an hour earlier. Luckily- I thought - this company I had to visit is strategically located: just a few blocks away from a very popular shopping mall so I thought I could go there and try to find that book I’ve been looking for a while. But then I remembered, it came back to my mind like those things you know but they are dragged inside your routine and escape briefly from your knowledge: Shopping malls can’t open its doors till 11 am, due to a government decree.

Not so long ago I wrote a long whining postabout this decree that forces shopping malls to only open its doors from 11 am till 9 Pm. I explained there how important shopping malls are for us Venezuelans in all possible senses. I merely complained about the decree because it made shopping malls close early; but not because of its late opening time. Soon after I wrote that, the government “fixed” the decree, allowing some business like movie theaters and restaurants to remain open after 9 but the opening hour was not changed. The shopping mall was closed, and every single business in the street: bookstores, boutiques and so on, were also closed. I walked about four blocks not in a ghost city, because people kept passing by, probably going to their offices and stuff; but in a closed one. Government claims this decree is for saving energy, but to citizens like us who needed to make the long waiting time somehow productive seems like a big lost.

On the week before Easter, Chavez proclaimed out of nowhere, another measure to save electricity; the three work days before Easter time became Holidays. He probably thought that people would preach him with rejoice, after all he gave us all three more days of vacation. Perhaps a few secretaries smiled but I don’t think the most of us really praised the decree, specially the ones who owns any business – big or small – ; and the ones who have non changeable due dates for a project, the ones who are working partnerships with organizations abroad that did not stopped working during those three days and the list goes on and on and on. A friend of my dad, who works on the construction field, was worried about the due dates for his projects so he opened his office despite the decree even through it meant to pay his workers twice its day salary. I don’t know the details of this story, how exactly it happened. All I know is that he was fined and forced to close his office on Tuesday (the Holy Week and the new Holidays started on Monday, 29th, March).

Back to my unproductive walk yesterday, while waiting for my meeting, I finally found one business open: a small bakery (when the shopping malls and business decree was “Fixed”, food businesses were put outside the rigid schedule); I bought an orange juice and then kept walking throughout the same closed but not empty streets, counting the minutes till it was finally time for my meeting, and thinking only one thing: how this Revolution has banned productivity. It seems to me that working is not necessarily a revolutionary value, as incredible as it sounds.

I can’t understand the logic behind it. The energy’ saving argument does not suffice my sought for an explanation. And the fight of this government against productivity and hard work can be seen everywhere, it is not just about some “saving energy” decrees (the effectiveness of those decrees had been questioned by many; it is not a matter of this entry to explain it any further, or to quote those critiques). The war of this government against productivity can be seen in their many threats against entrepreneurs and their many limits to their work, can be seen in a speech that promotes invasion of the private property and that more often than not, when those invasions do occur, it support the massive illegal act. It can also be easily seen on its many attacks against private property, including illegal expropriations of lands and companies for years now. Venezuela is a risky place to do business, that’s obvious. But what people doesn’t tell you is that it is now also a risky place to work at; not because of the obvious rampant crime and stuff but because of government measures determined to limit the time you can dedicate yourself to work and your freedom to decide for how long you want to work.

Some might argue that it is all about communism, all communist are like that etc. But people often use the word “communism” as a general insult or to name every thing that threats its life conditions. Just to make it clear, I don’t like communism: not the “intellectual” one found in Marx, Engels and later, for some, Lenin; certainty not the “real” one represented by the former Soviet Republic, China, Vietnam, North Korea, Cuba and so on. But it is not obvious in the values of any revolution – right or left, self proclaimed communism or not – this despise for hard work and productivity. Usually what can be found is a war against established work forms, or economical models but always offering a choice to replace them – of course, we usually don’t like that choice but that’s another topic. If I read Marx and Engels correctly, I recall their works as being critical against labor conditions and exploitation, but not against work itself.

I could go farther in this, but I have no desire to explain all the factors of this trouble in one entry. Many I believe are cultural ones. For a big extent, my country is lazy and cheers every extra day of free work. Sometimes I’m tired of working too, and I just want to sleep till noon but every one of us understands that we have to make our living, that the best way to earn some money and from there some opportunities, and from there, some life is by working. I recognize that I’m not the hardest working person ever. I’m combining my work for this post with a last minute retouch of a report I must deliver tomorrow and I did not finish on time so I’m not going to give you a moral speech about how lazy others are because I’m part of this stat.

Next thing I know is that I’m ruled by a president who thinks that the best way to save energy is to not work so hard. Or to not work at all. And his thoughts are making me work harder than ever, especially if working means to stand against all this madness. Because next time I complain about working, I will think of my long one hour walk in a closed country, in an unproductive country, in a dead world of people wondering around with nothing to do, I will think of the total disillusion I felt during that hour, the hour on which work and productivity was simply gone. And a bit of... just life!, seemed gone aswell.

About the image: "Exito" is a supermarket net recently expropriated in a controversial government move. I found the image here. Not copyright Infringement intended.

It's enough

2010-03-26T08:57:00.000-07:00

I wrote this post so many times. Four times to be exact. When I finally wrote the final draft, I was at the office and I can’t post from there. And then, when I came back home, ready to publish my final draft, I realize it was useless, because another event related to the post I had planned erupt; and I couldn’t leave it out. The truth is that, as I write this, at least two people have been detained for speaking in public against the president Chavez and its government. That’s something I have done at least 152 times – one for each entry of this blog – 153 times; counting this one. Of course, I’m not nearly as visible as the couple of victims I’m talking about.

One of them is Oswaldo Álvarez Paz. He’s just one of those guys that every Venezuelan knows who he is: long term committed politician; first governor of the powerful, oil filled Zulia State when I was a kid… No one ever imagine that he some day would be where he is: expecting possible a 16 year long sentence. He spoke on Globovision, the only opposition TV Channel that is left now, saying what everybody says: that Chavez has vinculums with FARC, and ETA and Narcos. He didn’t discover America in a glass of water, a Spain judge already said it and the news were across the globe. But he’s now accused of spreading false information and conspiracy; among other ridiculous political charges. Just because. He’s behind bars now, waiting for a trial.

The second is case is even more outrageous. Guillermo Zuloaga, the president of Globovision, spoke at the SIP (Sociedad Interamericana de Prensa, Inter – American press Society). And his words, guess what, were also against the regime. If memory doesn’t fails, he said that Chavez might had legitimacy in his origins, because he was elected as president with a majority of votes; but ever since then he’s dedicated to rule only for some Venezuelans and not for all. He said other things, if you speak Spanish read what he said here, I’ll translate it later. He was later released by the court, but have many restrictions and charges against him. What it’s really outrageous about his case is that he made those statements outside Venezuela, in Aruba where the SIP meeting was held. Our justice system only answers for what happens in our territory and have no jurisdiction for what happens outside (If I’m not mistaken).

We have already a third case in the making. A deputee has been also detained under suspicious circumstances.

I don’t really know how to say. To write almost four different posts about the subject for then publishing neither of them, is enough signal that I can’t find the write words.

First I’m shocked. It’s obvious there is no such thing as “free speech” in Venezuela. Gustavo Azócar, a famous journalist, its in jail; Patricia Poleo – another journalist – its exiled. And like them, many others. The government has closed one opposition TV Channel and as many radio stations as he could. They launched several years ago, a law that really restricts free speech under the excuse of “non suitable content for kids”; among other things. The government owns at least 5 major TV Channels and the rest, except for Globo, are not government critics. We are all aware of that. But from there, to detain a politician or an entrepreneur just because they said something against the government; it’s a whole new level. It’s when you say “this is too much”.

This is when you say: It’s enough. Really, it’s enough.

Second, I’m afraid. When the whole “Zuloaga” issue was developing, the vice president of Globovision spoke with a CNN journalist about it. At the end of the interview, the CNN journalist farewell the woman (Globo- vicepresident) saying something like “We’ll be following Zuloaga’ case, so we’ll probably call you again; if of course, you don’t end up being imprisoned for what you just said here”. She raised an eyebrow. It was priceless.

What this reporter really meant is that it could be anyone. It could her. It could any of the politicians, PhD’s, community leaders, students; anyone who makes a public statement on TV or at an international meeting every day. And why not a blogger? It could be Daniel. Or Miguel. Or me. Because a blog it’s also public. And we are not speaking well of the government’ that’s for sure.

This is on a big extent, work of our infamous general prosecutor. I wrote about her not so long ago. And I still think the same of that woman: she scares the hell out of me. She’s capable to do anything, to show Chavez her true revolutionary character. She doesn’t hesitate like the rest; she doesn’t believe there is a limit. She just twists the law, find terrific charges and it’s done.

Third, I’m embarrassed. First because it took me so long to speak on this blog about and I feel that it is my responsibility to do so. Second, because besides publishing this, I’m not doing anything else to stop this absolute madness. I haven’t even heard of any street protest, not even a comfortable cacerolazo, nothing yet. I’m ashamed of living in a country when these things can happen. And they are now in the media but soon, just like anything else that had happen under this revolution, it will be considered normal.

I wish I had smarter and stronger words to speak about this, to make a statement, to show my support and my solidarity to any actual or potential victim of this move. But the best I can come up with is that I’m embarrassed.

Fourth and last, I have hopes. I can’t explain why really but I don’t feel like other times, lying in my bed or complaining non sense with my boyfriend about the end of our world. I don’t feel defeated. I should but I just don’t. If the government is taking such extreme move; it must be for a reason. They are behaving like someone who is inside a very bad relationship, when instead of trying to save it, they start liking other people or treating the significant other worse, or showing non sense begs for attention. They seem desperate. And maybe the upcoming elections on September give us the answer. Maybe they won’t. But it is that possibility what keep us standing.

PS 1: I'm going to ask my readers a favor. Please consider that I don't do that very often. I think this situation is so serious that everyone should know it, no matter where in the world they are. So spread the news. If you have a blog, publish something this. If you don't, e-mail this post or some information to your contact. If you feel lazy about sending an email put something in your Twitter or in your Facebook status - it can be "People are going to jail in Venezuela just for speaking their minds" - Well, I can't come up with a good line... I trust you will. If Internet doesn't appeal to you, talk with the ones you know about it. To your family and co-workers. Make people aware that this is no socialist heaven.

PS 2: This can help you with the favor I'm asking. I'm giving you a short list of links of what other Venezuelan bloggers in English have said about this. This blog is for getting views, thoughts, feelings, personal anecdotes but not for accurate information. However, these links can give you that.
1. Daniel at "Venezuela news and views" has already four post on the topic. Read his post about Oswaldo's case and a conclusive piece "Chavez seeks open conflict"
2. Caracas Chronicles its also covering all. Their latest post titled "But... what did he say?" about Zuloaga, couldn't be more eloquent.
3. Check also Miguel at Devil's Excrement his post included borrowed cartoons that speak volumes.

PS 3: The brilliant image I used for this post was taken from this site: http://unadulteratedtruth.files.wordpress.com/2009/07/no_free_speech.jpg - No copyright infringement intended.

Misery (written a few weeks ago)

2010-03-14T08:35:00.000-07:00

Life is miserable. Not my life, but life in general, as a whole. Even through we try to keep standing, with our heads up; even through we try to be the best in our jobs and return home to comfort our families and our couple, even when we smile and have good moments and joke. I see movies of people having personal struggles, or issues and I realize that I have a perfect life. I have a loving family who would do anything for me, I have a perfect boyfriend for me, I have loyal friends, a career, a full time incredible job, a couple of hobbies; not a lot of money but enough to keep decent standards sometimes. And yet, life is miserable.

That line comes as one breathtaking truth every time I enter a mall and its lights are half on: only the necessary ones for you to walk through the hallways. The rest are of: the lights of the shelves are off; the lights of some areas of the parking line are off.

Whenever I enter a place from the subway to a shop to realize that there is no air conditioner on; where you used to need a sweater, people are now sweating and you can read it in their eyes: the heat is a reminder of how miserable our lives have suddenly become.

Whenever feel guilty every time I turn on the TV or plug any other equipment, or charge my laptop; it is miserable or avoid turning on the lights even at night; because if your electricity bill arrives and you have no lower your watts consume, you will be fined and even have your service cut for 24 hours; you realize that life is miserable.

Life is miserable if the streets look darker than usual in one of the most dangerous cities of the world.

Life is miserable at least twice a week and during this week it was miserable five days of it; because we didn’t have running water and our tank, as a result, is now empty. We were getting used to run every time we noticed we had running water, to take a bath and wash the dishes and, if we were lucky; our clothes.

Now my mom is telling us that we might have to use our clothes more than once and take more baths using pots and saving every drop of water that we can. Tell that to someone like me, a girl like any other, accustomed to the comforts of a middle class life and with very high hygiene standards.

My sister just went out to buy as many bottles of water she can find, big or small because we don’t know when we are going to have current water again.

My days are now hot and dry, and dirty too. Uncomfortable, sad, always asking me how much I can take.

I can’t scream, I can’t complain. There is nothing we can do about it. We are in the middle of dry season and no proper investments were made to go through this season without lacking basic resources.

We are here fighting hard to keep our living standards, but our living standards seem now distant to me. My bathroom looks now like an ornament because nothing of it works without water. And the TV, DVD, lights, microwave, and washing machine are also ornaments because even if we have electricity, we are warned to not use them much. My whole house looks like a reminder of another age, where resources were abundant and we did not have to worry about it. We could have the luxury of worrying about anything else.

You know, today is my second anniversary. I’m remembering my first anniversary and I’m carrying a smile. I was worried about looking beautiful and nothing else. Now I’m filling some pots to take a bath, I feel ashamed because I can’t take a complete bath in the shower to go to my anniversary lunch. Before going to lunch, my boyfriend and I must stop at some supermarket to buy as many water as we can and bring them back home, even if this bothers our initial budget for having a lunch at a good restaurant.

I feel ashamed, sad, and over all miserable; when I should be smiling because I’m going to celebrate the joy of spending two years with the greatest person I have ever met. But no life is perfect if you are missing some drops: some drops of water, some drops of dignity, some drops of respect, some drops of freedom.

No smile is complete, if is surrounded by misery.

I live in a war... (and I say "I love you")

2010-02-26T17:41:00.001-08:00

I live in a war. Of course, no one ever uses that word. When it comes to speak about Venezuela, everyone’s agree we are in some sort of “crisis”. “Crisis” sounds abstract to me, like something afar; something that intellectuals use to explain things we more often than not find hard to understand: “a political crisis”, “an economical crisis”, “an institutional crisis”. Whenever I hear this, I imagine “politics” as some teenager having a “crisis”: pushing pillows and screaming, complaining non sense over phone, writing long whims at some Facebook’ wall. No one uses the world “war” and if they do, it’s only a figurative term: “this is like a war”. I doubt there is something in the middle, something between being in a war and not being in one. What is it like to live under a situation “war alike”?
Since this is my blog and I can say whatever I want in the way I want it, in the way I feel it, the way I sense it and the way I live it; I’m going to say that I live in a war. I know this is hard to fall for.

We are used to very strict definitions of war, maybe we owe that to Hollywood and World War II movies. Because of those we like to think of wars as several formal armies fighting against each other, with sophisticated weapons, planes, ships, huge battles, submarines and an overwhelming devastation; a devastation everyone can see, a city destroyed from head to toes, houses down, refugees, death everywhere. The elements we use to commonly identify a war are not useful here. If we go to the shopping malls on weekends and to elegant weddings on Saturday nights, if we call our boyfriends only to speak about how was our day in the office and to dedicate the remaining ten minutes to endless declarations about how much we miss each other during work days, if we take our kids to a birthday party and gather with the family for a barbeque on Sundays, if we have a romantic dinner at a restaurant and go see a movie afterwards… If you live like that, would you call it “war”? My answer is yes.

This is a war. There’s nothing official about it. There are not signed documents, there are not ONU meetings, and there are not concentration camps and no headlines or tweets updating you about the latest events of “the war in Venezuela”. But just because is not official doesn’t mean that is “less” war. Its like seeing your friends; Tatiana and Fernando, hanging out together, sending corny text messages to each other, making out when they think no one is looking, holding hands and attending meetings together… and to believe that since neither of them calls each other boyfriend or girlfriend; there is nothing between them. It is love anyway. Same as war, it doesn’t need to be official to exist, to fulfill your life, to take over your senses.

Just as love doesn’t need to be told out loud to be felt, war doesn’t need to be named for us suffer its effects. Same as love revolves first inside, disturbing your stomach and why not? Your concentration; long before anyone notices it, long before you notice it… This is a war that everyone feels but no one knows it truly exists. This war is happening inside us, inside our moods, our minds, our hearts. It revolves our stomach but not to give us any excitements but to fill us with worries. But we don’t ever say it, not even when we talk about it.

I live in war that doesn’t comes at once, but comes slowly, moving like a gentle shadow and stopping at your door from one day to another without warning, stopping at some friend’s door; and then leaving again.

A friend was briefly kidnapped a couple of nights ago, at 7 Pm, when he was visiting another friend. His family didn’t know if he was okay till 6 am of the next day. I don’t know how the kidnappers let him go, what were the negotiations in between. My friend doesn’t tell the whole story to anyone, not even to the ones who are closer to him. His kidnapping and all the details are now a family secret, fearing possible sequels, possible revenges, you don’t know from what or who. A girl in my office refuses to take the bus. Her parents pick her up at the office everyday or she takes a taxi, even considering that she lives far away from the office, there’s a lot of traffic and cabs are ridicule expensive. But a few months ago she heard a story about an armed gang which entered a bus, ordered the conductor to stop by at some lonely area and then, ordered all male passengers to get off the bus; leaving only the women there. Then, the gang systematically raped all the women inside the bus. I don’t know if this story is true and neither does the girl in my office. But since this supposedly happened in her route, she decided to never take a bus again.

I don’t go to certain places, I don’t carry a lot of cash, and I have neither expensive cell phones nor expensive clothes. I try to look as much “low profile” as I can; which is just non sense; If you consider my low salary. I’m careful not to speak out many opinions in certain places. Every time I write this blog I’m a bit scared. I fear of possible unknown consequences. A possible Internet censorship it’s the least of my fears. Prison is the highest. So I always write every word carefully, trying to control every thought that wants to come out but it wouldn’t be appropriate, try to speak and not speak at the same time, to not provide details, to change those that are necessary, to miss clues, to use words that would possible classify me as a “traitor”. You watch your mouth and open and close your door quickly, you not leave stuff in your car, you don’t safe stuff in your bag’ pockets and gently put your arm above the clap to secure your belongings. You are already used to look to all sides when you cross a street: both sides of the cars coming, both sides of the sidewalk in case a motorcycle its also coming; and then to your left, your right and your back in case someone suspicious is following you. You perform all those rituals unconsciously in a couple of seconds. It’s only when you detect a weird look, a strange movement and walk quickly and refugee in a shop; when you notice that you are doing that every single time, every single day. It’s on that moment when you realize that this war has been here for some time, I’m not sure for how long.

I live in a war that goes inside; in a war feed with uncertainty. I live in a dark war. In a war that lacks of information except for the stories passing from mouth to mouth and from Tweet to Tweet. I live in a war where I don’t know who the “good ones” and the “bad ones” are; I don’t know whose the armies belong to, I’m unaware of their power, of their tactics; I’m far from delude their intentions. I just suspect that this lack of information is convenient for at least one side, or maybe for everyone involved. I suspect this is a war of everybody against everybody, against all things that are worth for no reason, against me and what I represent. But I’m not the victim of this war. I do not exist in this war. I’m not involved. I’m just living it, living inside it without playing any significant role in the game. I’m just here, standing and breathing its suffocating air, smelling its remaining, overwhelmed by all tangible and non tangible destruction that leaves behind.

This war smells like loneliness, like anxiety; it gives me the same sensation of that when one enters a room that is messy, disorganized, filled with papers, 40 year old files and books with woodworms. A room that is old but it looks more forgotten than old. The fact that it was left like that it’s the important part, not how much time it has passed. This war smells like that dust that spreads when you try to clean up the mess, that enters your nose and your eyes until you can’t take it, until you start sneezing and you know that the only thing that will stop your allergies would be getting out of there. I’m allergic to dust. I’m allergic to war too. The dust’ allergy runs inside your nose while the war’ one enters your chest. It’s emotional; it oppresses you and it can control you if you let it; if you think for too long about that story you just heard, if you feel too much sorry for the leading roles of such story, if you become aware that they are like you and you could have their exact same luck. We like in the war of the “what if”, which petrifies our senses. What if I’m next? What if this is what will happen next? This possibility which might not be real but feels like it petrifies your senses.

Sometimes it make us lay down in bed thinking that if only we could stay there all the time – and our love ones too – then maybe, nothing would happens to us. Perhaps that would be another way out: to lock down in our shelters and close our eyes until it’s over. The sleeping beauty tale makes now more sense to me. But something always wakes me up. Even at home, we hear gunshots out there sometimes. We don’t know if they were really gun shots or fireworks or if the fireworks we are hearing were used to hide the sound of the gunshots. We don’t know if someone has get hurt or has been killed and where, and how, and because of what. We hear sirens. We secure our doors. We make sure our must precious belongings are not visible from the street.

This is a war that has discovered that fear is the most powerful weapon of all. Forget about guns, AK 47, tanks, airplanes, ships, antrax, bombs, grenades… The fear it’s the only weapon that can be used over and over again without leaving any visible print, without facing any legal responsibility. The fear can be created with relatively low effort gaining outstanding results. The fear can withdraw a whole population, keeping them in line; in their line, to their rules. The fear is simply effective. Fast, cheap, clean, even innocent, but overall; effective. The fear is contagious and has the ability to expand. If one fears the spiders it also fears dark corners where spiders might hide, fears the slight touch on the back from a annoying friend; or the breeze or the palm tree… since it reminds the walk of a spider.

We fear about us, about all of us. And is that extensive fear what makes us look at our love ones in an entire new way. We easily became over protective. My boyfriend knows that he must call me as soon as he gets home after he drops me at my building. If he takes more than ten minutes to make that call, I start worrying. One day his cell was running off battery and he didn’t not call me till it was half an hour later than usual. I was near crying. My mom usually picks me up at work if I have to work extra hours because I can’t afford to come home when the night has fallen. My boyfriend asks me over and over again to take care of myself.

I live in a war. I have no doubt about it. I don’t need anyone to declare it. The reality is so overwhelming that I would consider an offence to see someone calling the press and openly admitting it. But I also live my life. Life does not paralyse abruptly when this kind of war erupts. It keeps moving. The sun keeps shinning. The office expects you at 8 am. Your family expects you at 6 or 7 Pm. You spend the weekend wondering around malls, you are looking for a dress to attend to a wedding of a very close friend in a few weeks.

Your boyfriend calls you at 10 am laughing and saying “I love you”.

You don’t say that you fear for him, that you fear for yourself, that food is scarce and money even more, that whatever you used to call freedom its now seriously injured. Is not that you don’t want to hurt him or worry him more, is just that you are who you are: a dreamer. A dreamer who’s certain that same as war can conquer all; love might have the same prerogative. It’s a cliché, I know it. Sounds like the typical phrase one would expect to hear in a beauty pageant. But the cliché stops being so when you really understand it, when you feel like you really need it.

You smile. You just say “I love you" back to him.

You keep moving. And keep living your life; in a war.

My deepest respect

2010-01-28T11:07:00.000-08:00

I’m not a student anymore. I’m 25 and I finally got my degree last year. I’m too old to be part of it and seeing pictures like this one, taken a couple of hours ago in my city, makes me feel a bit nostalgic. I’m glad that what it started in 2007, when I was still a student and fully a part of the movement, still remains, and it has improved ever since. I’m glad to see new generations fighting for the same ideal, approaching to it even with the new difficulties and in new ways. To protest in Venezuela is now harder than ever.
When I started going to protests, back in 2002, a detention was something unthinkable. They started to become something normal, if I remember correctly, in 2007. Now, is weird to look at the balance of a student protest without at least ten students spending a few hours or more behind bars. Repression has always been something “normal” to expect when you are at a demonstration. As years pass by, the repression has become more violent and more severe. Students need to perform some activities in secret to avoid the encounter with the police forces as much as possible. The route of the student’ demonstrations is kept in secret until the morning of the protest, when they are announced in student’ assemblies on every university of Caracas. The final point, the goal of the march is not revealed until the crowd is obviously approaching that spot. The communication is done via Twitter or text messaging. With all that under consideration, this picture is a miracle. And every person in it, every little dot, has my deepest respect.

Source: http://tweetphoto.com/9798629

On loving Blogging, Twittering and the rest of 2.0 wonders

2010-01-27T05:48:00.000-08:00

Last night, I was talking to my boyfriend about how much I love blogging. “Could I get paid for blogging? And blog as a full time job?” – I naively asked him. I know they are some people, who earn money thanks to their blog, but I’m not familiar with the ways and I’m not comfortable about using publicity that it might distract the readers. But putting that aside, Blogging about this, about anything else; would be like my ideal job. To engage with a story or a feeling, to carefully – or not – prepare an entry on a Word Document, to copy it and paste it in a blogger entry template, adding some necessary html codes, to carefully –if needed – select an image, to click on publish and wait for the comments; to delight yourself when the comments reach – if they do, unfortunately they not always do – or when your visits increase. To create your own space that anyone, everywhere, can see and read and make a stance about it.

In Venezuela, Internet is our best source of information. Of all Internet sources, including Blogs; Twitter and Facebook have proved to be more effective because of their ability to transmit the information shortly and immediately. For the rest, the traditional media is pretty much banned for us. There is only one channel with an open TV signal who dares to pass on information and commentary against the government: Globovision. But this Channel is forced to follow many government regulations which include to broadcast long “cadenas” of government’ propaganda, speeches and event; and to not inform about certain news (especially does about violent events and street protest) immediately because, government argues, this would multiply the protests thus creating a chaos 1989 like. Plus, the channel doesn’t have the necessary equipment to broadcast live sometimes. On cable we had RCTV but RCTV is not a 24 hours news channel, like Globo has many troubles to broadcast live and, hey! It was closed by the government – again – last Saturday.

The government designed what we call the “RCTV law” which established that if the production of a cable channel was made in Venezuela in a percentage equal or above 70%, this Channel would had to enter the same regulations as open signal TV channels, including the broadcast for hours of government’ propaganda for free. Plus, this “national cable channels” would not be allowed to interrupt any program to broadcast any publicity. Virtually, the only channel that fell into this regulation was RCTV. 4 other Channels also got the same luck, one from Chile, but I have never seen those to be honest – and I have cable. RCTV claimed the measure was illegal, refused to broadcast a few “cadenas” and argued that the publicity issue would kill its finances. Soon before we know it, RCTV screen was black again, giving us an odd memory back in 2007 when RCTV was the oldest open signal Venezuelan channel and the government closed it at midnight, thus forcing it to move to cable.

The radio used to be an excellent source of information. In my family it was mandatory to carry a small radio to the marches and demonstrations because thanks to the radio we could follow the route of the march, to be informed about how massive it really was, what effect it was having and over all, beware of any troubles. The radio was my boyfriend’ faithful company every afternoon, stuck in traffic, on his way back home from work. Sometimes, he called me from his cell phone to tell me about some news he just had heard. But those kinds of calls stopped a few months ago when the government decided to massively order the closure of about 30 radio stations. Since then, the radio is about 90% silent. You can roll and roll throughout the whole FM frequency without finding any dissident voice.

Most of the few radio announcers, who didn’t lose their jobs, are now practicing self- censorship, fearing they would follow their colleagues luck. Others still hardly criticize the government, but this last, maximum, two or three hours a day. As you can expect, in the frequencies that belonged to the closed radio station, now you can hear many pro- government voices. Lately, I have heard the weirdest Revolutionary programs, including one about “the Socialist Philology”, hosted by some Argentinean who didn’t seem to have a clue of what he was talking about. The rest reminds me a bit of Orwell’s 1984 (one of my favorite books, in case you haven’t noticed yet); the simple and repeating songs that the “prole” (the poor ones without any class conscience or hope to have one) happily sang, feeling that everything was ok: on Venezuelan radio now there’s a lot of music everyday. Less than a year ago, at some peak hours it was hard to find any music on the radio. The stations were filled with commentary, debates, news, talks, calls… Now I regret every time I complained because sometimes I just wanted to listen a song and I couldn’t find any between all those radio talks. Now I can have all the music I want, but not a single opinion.

As for the press, is still there to some extent. But to be honest, I don’t like most of the Venezuelan press, I think is poor and incomplete. The papers usually spend a lot of space with big, useless pictures that accompany articles or news that do not need pictures in the first place. Those pictures are followed by a small, narrow, synthesized text, which always leaves you wanting more. You buy a 60 pages newspaper feeling that you waste your money if you judge by 55 pages of it. Even if the press were good enough, the press can only give us delayed information: on the afternoon or at the next day. In this fast moving world, printed press is usually delayed. We need to know if a few blocks away from home, the police are throwing tear gas bombs, or if there are wounded in a protest at one university because a relative is studying there and cell phones usually collapse on those kind of times.

So, logically, we have Internet. Thank God for Internet. Thank God for Blogging. Thanks, even more, for Facebook and Twitter. Thanks for giving us the opportunity of reading something more elaborated or worthy than what we find in the press, in the comfortable format of Blogspot, Live Journal or any other. Thanks for allowing comments and forums on nationally known citizen’ journalism pages such as www.noticierodigital.com and www.noticias24.com. Sometimes the information those pages contained is not well written or is not totally inaccurate, but is totally free of any type of censorship (including the most dangerous one: self censorship) and their discussions are music to my ears, the necessary catharsis for the appealed Venezuelan’ citizen. Thanks for those status on Facebook on which we laugh, or cry, or inform about those things we used to hear on the radio and now we can’t.

And every since this week, that I have just discover (late, I know, but I did) its true potential, thanks for Twitter. Same as I love blogging, I’m finding out that I also love Twittering. I opened my Twitter account a few months ago with the sole propose of informing my readers every time I publish something new, here or at my Spanish “light” blog. But since RCTV – second closure – happened, and painful events at my university and in many other places erupted, Twittering became almost as important as breathing. If it wasn’t for those 140 characters messages in my screen; it would have take me hours to find out that my university was a battle field since the police started to repress a demonstration, that protest against RCTV closure had erupt from Merida till Puerto La Cruz and that the “cacerolazo” in my neighborhood was not the only one. I knew that two students had died in Merida long before Globo or any other news agency dared to say something about it. And I had the plus to find it out directly from witness, who shared pictures and thoughts, who begged that the vital info they were passing on could be Twitted and re- Twitted all over the screens of this country.

Internet 2.0 – Blogging, Twittering, Facebooking – is the only effective, immediately, massive way Venezuelans have now to be informed when we need to know. Is that part of us, the scream, and the anxiety which used to be broadcasted live on several TV channels and now has gone. Now, that we cannot recognize ourselves in the TV or radio, that the TV and the radio are merely arms of the government and not tools for the citizens, we are rebuilding ourselves throughout Internet. In a place where no street is safe, no entertainment place can be frequently afforded, no government institution or program seem to give us any benefit unless we “prove” to be “revolutionary”… Internet is a beautiful alternative. Internet is young, fresh, easy, fast; but most important, is ours. We have lose the power of even whispering outside unless we are up for huge police reprisal, but by hitting the keyboards we can scream just so hard that it seems uncanny. In a country where nothing belongs to us, Internet is ours. And that’s one wonderful, incredible, challenging power. Whatever it is to speak about politics or this new movie we love or not, we have this one space to be ourselves.

The bad part is that Chavez knows it. Disturbed by the way protests against RCTV’ new closure spread across the country, he –words more, words less – qualified our Twitters as “terrorist rumors”. Ok, I’m with you on that, some of them were rumors, but only a few proved to be not true. And most people, who spread a rumor, did it only in the hope to confirm it, twittering something like this: “I heard they are deaths in Merida. Can someone there confirm this?” – I read Tweets like those loads of times. I just hope that Chavez do not use the name “terrorist” to put some bloggers and twitters hardly needed in jail. Anyway, Miguel O. blogged about this - in English for your pleasure – and the phrase he uses to end his post is so priceless, that I’m going to steal it, to end mine:

“But in the end, besides feeling the threat from a weapon Chavez does not control or understand totally, maybe his key problem is that he could never make adequate use of it. For a man accustomed to uninterrupted speeches of six to eight hours, it must be simply impossible to even consider the possibility of communicating anything in 140 characters”.- So true!

Today at my campus

2010-01-25T14:33:00.000-08:00

It has never happen before. The students at UCAB (a private Catholic university) have protested many times before against many government measures. Today was different. The police, for unknown reasons, entered the campus trowing tear gas bombs and pellets in places like the cafeteria. Some students are injured, still don't know how many but someone just sent me the picture of one of them. I can confirm 100% that this photo was taken at UCAB. I recognize the curtains in the left from my visits when I was a student like her. Only difference is that I visited that infirmary because of a headache or a period pain. Not because of a crash with the police. It is painful to see my campus like this.

Source: http://twitpic.com/zr9fw

(There is no rest).