Pushing our infant son in a stroller, my wife and I stepped out of the terminal at Simon Bolivar International Airport and were approached by several taxi drivers offering to take us to Caracas. One of them, a soft-spoken young man in his 20s, offered the lowest fare by far, and I handed him one of our bags.
The small white car crawled up the hill in the darkness,
then slowed and stopped. Doors opened. Two men burst into the car, one in the
front passenger seat and the other in the back seat, pressing against my wife.
"Be calm," the young man in the back said,
holding up a revolver so that we could see it, a frightened look in his eyes.
"Don't worry, nothing's going to happen to
you," the man in the front said, turning another gun on me. "Don't
look!"
That ordeal eight years ago introduced me to life in
Venezuela, a country where events often collide in unpredictable and dramatic
ways and where a wide gap frequently separates the reality on the street from
the socialist-inspired dreams that President Hugo Chavez has instilled in his
followers.
During more than eight years covering Venezuela, I have
gained more street smarts, become a tougher, more resourceful reporter and
developed a deep affection for this country where I've met many warm,
free-thinking people.
Venezuela's many long-term challenges, such as crime,
corruption, a troubled economy and bitter political divisions, can seem as vast
as the sea of crude oil that Venezuela sits atop. And with Chavez battling
cancer, the country could be headed for big political shifts and possible
turmoil.
———
A couple of years after the robbery, I found myself
sitting in the passenger seat of a Toyota 4Runner while Chavez drove through
the lush, green plains of Apure state.
In our interview, he talked about his years as an army
officer plotting against the government and how growing up in the rural plains
had shaped his radical ideas.
"What hurts me most is poverty, and that's what made
me a rebel," Chavez said.
When he slowed and lowered the tinted window, passers-by
gawked and then broke into a run, screaming, "Presidente!"
One woman ran to the window with tears in her eyes and
cried out "I love you!"
Chavez clasped hands and planted kisses, while they asked
him for help replacing shacks with houses or treating sick relatives. Chavez
promised to rescue them all.
It was a role I saw him play many times: the
larger-than-life leader supporters expected to solve their many problems. At
rallies, I watched as people pressed letters into the hands of Chavez's aides,
asking for money to help their poor neighborhoods or fledgling cooperatives.
It was a remarkable up-close look at a populist leader in
the mold of the classic Latin American caudillo, who often seemed to want to
use his power and charisma for good.
But there was a downside. He could use the same force to
sideline opponents and rule Venezuela with few checks.
He dominated power to such a degree that he once said on
television that Judge Maria Lourdes Afiuni should go to jail for 30 years for
freeing a banker while he awaited trial. Today, she is still under house
arrest.
Some Chavistas told me at political rallies that a leader
like Chavez comes along once in a century, and that may be one point
Venezuelans can agree on, whether they love or hate him.
At a news conference in late 2011, I asked him
point-blank what type of cancer he was diagnosed with, whether sarcoma as some
have speculated, or another type. He had managed for months not to reveal many
details about his illness.
Chavez chuckled at the question at first, then said:
"You know more than I do."
He explained that a baseball-sized tumor had been removed
from his pelvic region and asked: "You want me to tell you more? What for?
What for? ... Isn't there some morbidity in that?"
More than a year later, after saying tests showed he was
free of cancer, Chavez won re-election. Eventually, he announced the cancer was
back, but he still has not said what type.
———
One morning in January, I noticed dozens of young men had
blocked an avenue by dumping trash in the road and setting it ablaze. Police in
riot gear lined up and pushed the embers off the pavement, while the protesters
milled around on the sidewalk.
They explained that they'd been demanding jobs at a
construction site where the government was building public housing, but the
company in charge wouldn't hire them.
"The only thing we want is to work," said one
of the protesters, John Jairo Bello. "We're hungry to work because we have
children. We have to eat."
The nervous, uncertain look in their eyes reminded me of
the young men who had stolen my family's belongings and left us on the highway
back in 2005.
With the guns pointed at me, I had wondered about the
robbers: Who are they? Off-duty police officers trying to supplement their
income? Or simply a gang of young toughs who prey on foreign tourists? What
desperation drove them to this?
I remember putting my head down and laying my hands on
the back of the front seat as the robbers demanded money and jewelry. I slowly
pulled my wedding ring off my hand and reached for my wallet.
Our son, just shy of 1-year-old, began to cry in his baby
seat. My wife hummed a lullaby, and that quiet, noble song had brought me
enough clarity to think how we might escape.
As we passed through a tunnel, I told the guy in the
front seat: "You've got everything now. You can leave us anywhere."
On a stretch of freeway flanked by slums, they finally
pulled over. The car sped away carrying our suitcases. Alone, we embraced
nervously, and then walked on pushing our son in his stroller through the
darkness.
———
As I prepare to leave, I know I'll miss the macaws flying
past my window and the spectacular views of El Avila, the forested mountain
that towers above Caracas.
I also will remember the rivers, polluted and majestic.
The Guaire River runs through Caracas filled with sewage
and flanked by the encampments of drug addicts under freeway overpasses. Back
in 2005, Chavez had pledged a full cleanup, saying on television, "I
invite you all to go swimming in the Guaire soon."
Recently, as I drove across the river, I noted it still
smelled of sewage and detergent, and it seemed a fitting metaphor for
Venezuela's many unresolved problems. They existed before Chavez burst onto the
scene, and they're likely to remain long after he's gone.
A few years ago, I swam a race at the meeting of the
Orinoco and Caroni rivers, a grueling endurance test of 3.1 kilometers (1.9
miles) that's an annual tradition.
With hundreds of others, I stepped into the mud-brown
waters, and we stroked out into the middle of the Orinoco. The challenge was
staying on course amid the strong currents, which knocked some swimmers off
track. I was proud to make it to the other shore with the majority.
Now this, too, seems like a fitting way to think of the
challenges that lie ahead for Venezuelans.
While some people call the situation here hopeless or
insist that one political camp or the other holds the answers, I take the view
that the country's problems can be solved. The challenges are many, but
Venezuela has plentiful oil earnings, creative entrepreneurs, and a strong
sense of national identity that transcends the pro- and anti-Chavez political
divide.
They must now make it across a turbulent stretch, aiming
for the shores of a better future as a united nation.
———
**Ian James has been the AP's bureau chief in Venezuela
since 2004. He finished his assignment in the country this week.