It is a sad day, no doubt about it. Millions around the world are mourning the death of Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez. I first saw him on television around 1996 when I was living in Caracas. He was a charismatic young army officer who had recently been released from prison after his failed coup attempt of 1992. He became a national figure in early 1992, when he told his men to return to barracks and that the struggle against a corrupt government was called off 'Por ahora' (for now).
Twenty one years later, after winning power and leading a 'Bolivarian revolution', he is gone. He was an educator and an enabler of his people, the majority poor of Venezuela, to whom he gave a unique voice in the presidency. While in the rich north, the working class have been largely excluded from political debate since the rise of Thatcherism and neoliberalism, in Venezuela the president unashamedly spoke for the toilers and the poor. For the privileged and highly educated, it is hard to imagine what this kind of articulation means.
I remember seeing Chavez work his way meticulously through the national accounts and the international reports of ratings agencies, explaining to the audience of Alo Presidente what all this elite language meant. He did not dismiss it, he explained it. I could never imagine such a scene on British television where politicians speak in soundbites and patronising cliches.
I remember going on holiday to the beach in 2006 where a Dutchman and his Venezuelan wife ran a small hotel. While the owner complained about Chavez, his Venezuelan cook explained in detail why his boss was wrong. This man may have slept in a modest room adjacent to the kitchen, but he understood Chavez's transport strategy and was able to articulate his view clearly and confidently. The Dutchman's half-baked complaints did not stand a chance. This for me was an object example of what the Bolivarian revolution meant. A people armed with ideas and facts, able to defend their own advancement and their own government. They could criticise it too, but not based on the lies and distortions of a capitalist media, which they were able to see through.
Viva Chavez!
Twenty one years later, after winning power and leading a 'Bolivarian revolution', he is gone. He was an educator and an enabler of his people, the majority poor of Venezuela, to whom he gave a unique voice in the presidency. While in the rich north, the working class have been largely excluded from political debate since the rise of Thatcherism and neoliberalism, in Venezuela the president unashamedly spoke for the toilers and the poor. For the privileged and highly educated, it is hard to imagine what this kind of articulation means.
I remember seeing Chavez work his way meticulously through the national accounts and the international reports of ratings agencies, explaining to the audience of Alo Presidente what all this elite language meant. He did not dismiss it, he explained it. I could never imagine such a scene on British television where politicians speak in soundbites and patronising cliches.
I remember going on holiday to the beach in 2006 where a Dutchman and his Venezuelan wife ran a small hotel. While the owner complained about Chavez, his Venezuelan cook explained in detail why his boss was wrong. This man may have slept in a modest room adjacent to the kitchen, but he understood Chavez's transport strategy and was able to articulate his view clearly and confidently. The Dutchman's half-baked complaints did not stand a chance. This for me was an object example of what the Bolivarian revolution meant. A people armed with ideas and facts, able to defend their own advancement and their own government. They could criticise it too, but not based on the lies and distortions of a capitalist media, which they were able to see through.
Viva Chavez!
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