|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Caracas Stories:
In a raddled, refuse-strewn
city, even the potholes have
names
By Phil Gunson
By night, viewed from a classy
restaurant in the better part of
town, and under the influence of
a full-bodied, Argentine vino
tinto, the Venezuelan capital
can easily be mistaken for a
sophisticated, modern
metropolis.
But like an elderly beauty
queen, sans make-up at seven in
the morning, she's not such a
pleasant prospect viewed in the
cruel light of day. Especially
for those condemned to live and
work in and around the centre of
Caracas or in its western slums.
It isn't just the piles of
refuse, spread wider by stray
dogs and the homeless in search
of food, nor the pavements
crammed with illegal stalls
selling pirated goods. Nor even
the cavernous holes in the road
that can cost you a wheel or
your suspension - although
that's part of it.
Not long ago, a popular tabloid
ran a competition in which
readers were invited to nominate
their "favourite" hole. The
holes were given names, and the
best and biggest won prizes for
their sponsors. The city, it
sometimes seems, is falling
apart.
Until a few years ago, a friend
reminisced recently, there was
scarcely a capital in Latin
America - outside elegant Buenos
Aires - that could compete with
Caracas. Now even Costa Rica's
tiny San José is a worthy rival.
The futuristic twin towers of
Parque Central, once the tallest
skyscrapers south of the United
States, still rise high above
the valley floor. But the top 20
floors of the east tower are
charred and blackened - burned
out in a still-unexplained fire
last October.
Public monuments are a disgrace:
destroyed by leftist
demonstrators (the Columbus
statue), awaiting repair after
decades of no maintenance, or
dismantled by thieves for their
scrap value - as was the late
Jesús Soto's remarkable kinetic
sphere, now reduced to a sad
collection of hanging wires.
Not surprisingly, many
caraqueños experience a frequent
and intense desire to be
somewhere else. But not to
worry. You can travel to a
different country for free
simply by changing your viewing
and listening habits.
&3149; I decided recently to see
what life is like for those
fervent supporters of Hugo
Chávez's revolutionary
government, whose version of
reality is exclusively provided
by state radio and TV.
There are disadvantages to
eschewing the opposition media,
despite their sometimes
hysterical coverage. State
broadcasters habitually omit
inconvenient news items, or
reduce them to a brief,
enigmatic mention. And there are
hours - I mean hours - of
meandering, repetitious,
dogma-laden speeches by the
great leader.
But in return for voluntarily
remaining ill-informed, you
often get a wonderful sense of
being wrapped in cotton wool and
transported to a magic land,
where diligent revolutionaries
strive day and night to make
life better for the masses.
Occasionally, however, the
cotton wool is pierced by a
brief shaft of light,
accompanied by a rush of cold
air.
The other day I caught a few
minutes of a radio programme in
which listeners were advised
that Venezuela was already
immersed in a "fourth-generation
war" in which the weapons were
the media.
"The way to asphyxiate the
[opposition] media," the
presenter informed them
enthusiastically, "is to stop
buying the products they
advertise." She did not say
where freedom of expression,
pluralism or democracy fitted
into this Orwellian landscape.
&3149; No doubt the Information
Minister could explain. Not to
me, though, having concluded
(and publicly announced) that I
am a leading participant in a
campaign against the government,
paid for by the US State
Department.
Not long after this revelation,
the head of the Land Reform
Institute gave an interview in
which he advocated fomenting
hatred against gringos, in
preparation for a forthcoming US
invasion, adding for good
measure that the American
government was a puppet of
British imperialism.
I conclude that I am probably
slated for asphyxiation. Unless,
of course, I fall down a hole in
the road first.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
