Searching for the real Venezuela
Venezuela might not be everyone’s idea of a great holiday destination, but Qaanitah Hunter wanted to see for herself if it really is the socialist paradise that the ANC and the EFF claim it is
It was the fourth time soldiers had stopped our car in two hours.
I was travelling from Caracas, along the coast to Puerto La Cruz and on into the interior of Venezuela through a lush tropical landscape punctuated by mountains. Every 30 minutes, our party of three was stopped by traffic police, or soldiers, or members of the Bolivarian National Guard.
There appeared to be no method to the madness.
At one roadblock, soldiers only asked to see our passports. At the next, a thin, unsure young man with a baby face, armed with a rifle half his height, opened my luggage and meticulously searched every item.
At the third, we were made to wait in the searing equatorial heat as the car was searched yet again and our passports scrutinised. Questions were fired at our Spanish-speaking driver: Where are you going? Where are you from? What are you doing here?
That was a good question.
An unlikely tourist destination, but …
I travelled to Venezuela on a whim last month, prompted by curiosity to see what has been touted by the ANC and the EFF as a blueprint for what SA could become.
In SA, the Venezuelan model has been romanticised and vilified in equal measure. I was disillusioned and exhausted by local politics and the theatrics of desperate politicking. I had no intention to report on the country, but simply to have a good time. Also, the glossy photographs of exotic beaches and value-for-money hotels sealed the deal.
Predictably, my friends thought I had finally lost it.
I thought so too when I landed at Simón Bolívar International Airport, with its exposed vents and dour concrete, the words of Bongani Bongo ringing in my head. Bongo, an ANC MP, led the party’s fact-finding delegation to Venezuela, and returned with a statement that all the country’s problems were caused by “Western imperialism”.
It was important to me not to be swayed by any argument for or against the socialist regime, to fairly observe the reality of life for ordinary people, and to avoid politics altogether.
On my first day in Caracas I understood the appeal. The model of socialism espoused by President Nicolás Maduro is enormously seductive to someone from a country with a wealth gap such as ours.
On paper at least, there is universal equality, free electricity, housing, water, health care and education, plus a box of free groceries per household each month. There is also a national minimum wage.
Between the dream and the reality
But as one drives out of the capital in the direction of real life in the country, the paper crumples and loses its gloss.
The free electricity comes from derelict generation infrastructure and the country’s grid hangs by a thread. Power outages last between three and 10 hours. When the free electricity is out, so is the free water. Locals are disparaging about the free education, and some corrupt officials now sell the state-supplied groceries, that should be free, at a premium price — which those on the minimum wage cannot afford. The free health facilities have barely any medicines.
Television footage, which I previously thought had to be exaggerated, cannot fully capture the horror of grocery stores with empty shelves. (I sneaked a picture of one bare supermarket, having been warned not to take out my phone and take photographs in public).
With nothing to sell, many stores were simply shut. Others had two aisles stocked with whatever items — from toilet paper to maize — they had managed to import.
Large department stores, however, were full of Turkish-made snacks and Chinese-made clothes. Shoppers told me that the situation was far better than it had been all year — at one stage a 2l bottle of Coke cost $8 (R120) — but still the shelves were bare.
We stopped at a well-stocked convenience store just outside Caracas where more than half the items cost more than the national minimum wage.
A box of digestive biscuits cost the equivalent of about R45 — which is the weekly minimum wage. This was probably why two armed soldiers stood guard over the “luxury” items, which in Venezuela are Coke and icecream.
Hearing analysts speak on international news channels about hyperinflation (80,000% in 2018) is something entirely different to actually seeing how sliced bread and fresh milk are luxuries most Venezuelans could not dream of buying.
Butter, for example, is such a prized commodity that one can only physically handle it once one has paid for it. The caps on each bottle of fruit juice are fitted with a lock that can be opened only once the item has been bought.
There was barely any locally produced food on the shelves, bar some cheese and ham. Even the government handouts — rice, pasta and maize — are imported. People survive on a diet of starch and malnutrition is on the rise.
On the roads out of Caracas, there are barely any planted fields besides orchards of cashew trees and avocados. Aside from some informal traders on the side of the road selling cheese, fruit and some nuts, there is a glaring lack of hustle.
There are few chickens or backyard crops such as those in South African villages. When I asked, it was explained to me that people are waiting for the government to provide.
Remember the good old days?
The national conversation is dominated by how great things used to be, and how bad they now are. People I met asked if they could travel back with me to SA. Warned about crime, they said they would manage it — and they were only half joking.
For those Venezuelans who can afford to buy basic foodstuffs, chances are they will not have the physical cash to do so.
One morning, driving out of a small town towards the coast, I saw a queue that would put the line outside the home affairs office in Marabastad, Pretoria, to shame. It was a queue for cash at a government-owned bank.
Because the country cannot afford to print its own banknotes, they are now a commodity on their own. In the cities, coffee shops accept bitcoin and other cryptocurrencies as payment, while informal traders rely on mobile money apps because cash is increasingly scarce.
Also, the socialist dream is now being eroded by corruption, which is evident almost everywhere.
At the airport, customs officials rely on bribes for their income. These are imposed as spot fines, and travellers to the country are warned not to pay them. A resident of the town of El Tigre told me that any government service — registering a birth or death or even summoning an ambulance — requires hefty bribes. The passport she needed for her child cost $200.
Fill your tank for small change
For this South African, though, a distinct advantage was the price of petrol — we paid about R4.50 for an entire tank. The first time we stopped to fill up, I was told the petrol price was a “suggestion” — you don’t have to pay if you don’t have the money.
The e-tolls here don’t work — the toll booths are abandoned because nobody has the money to pay. The roads, however, are hardly worth paying for. Instead of potholes they have pot craters.
But the roads traverse a magnificent country, which just over a decade ago was the richest in Latin America, thanks to its massive oil reserves. Now it appears to be on the brink of ruin, thanks to bad politics.
In 2016, ANC policy guru Joel Netshitenzhe, when reflecting on state capture in SA and comparing it with Latin America, said opportunists simply seize openings created by bad governments.
“Western imperialism” and US sanctions may be part of the reason Venezuela is in crisis, but the genesis of the country’s problems dates back to long before sanctions were imposed.
After 10 days in Venezuela, I now better understand the appeal for the ANC and the EFF. The state has a firm grip on all facets of its people’s lives — from where they live and what they eat to how much they earn.
Venezuela’s socialist model requires a utopia to work. We adopt it at our peril.