The lionising of Venezuela betrays a preference for the idea of ‘socialism’ over actually fighting inequality, writes James Bloodworth

Venezuela has been rocked by anti-government protests in recent months. Demonstrators have taken to the streets to vent their frustration at shortages, rampant crime and the increasingly authoritarian tendencies of the government. Already a deeply polarised country, its president, Nicolas Maduro, has exacerbated divisions by responding heavy-handedly to demonstrators and seeking to delegitimise the opposition as ‘fascists’ and ‘terrorists’.

As the Venezuelan economy disintegrates and violence in the country escalates, there will be attempts to pin the blame for the crisis squarely on Maduro. It will once again be a case of the revolution betrayed, with Hugo Chavez, like Che Guevara and Leon Trotsky before him, fortunate enough to die before his ideas have reached fruition. Yet anyone who has been following events in Venezuela for the past decade or so should have seen this coming; for in truth the direction of travel has been clear for many years.

The first and closest alliance formed by the Venezuelan government shortly after Chavez came to power in 1999 was with the Brezhnevian dictatorship in Cuba. Five thousand Cuban military and ideological specialists were incorporated into Venezuelan government offices and military bases and Chavez regularly played host to the notorious Cuban minister of the interior, Ramiro Valdes (Valdes was the minister responsible for Cuba’s labour camps which imprisoned homosexuals and religious believers). Medical personnel were also sent to Venezuela in large numbers. In return Chavez helped prop up the Castros with shipments of oil, in the process shutting down fledgling liberalisation on the island. As the Cuban dissident blogger Yoani Sanchez has noted, it was the rise to power of Chavez which was a key element in putting a halt to government reforms. ‘With a powerful and nearby partner lavishly giving us oil, why continue to deepen the process of relaxations that resulted in a loss of power?’, Sanchez wrote.

As well as offering life-support to the elderly Stalinist gargoyles in Havana, the close relationship between the two governments led to the adoption in Venezuela of some of the ‘democratic’ methods of its northern Caribbean neighbour. Yet, unlike Cuba, which long ago became something of an embarrassment to all but the Stalinist fringes of British politics, Venezuela retained the affections of many western leftists. Indeed, those usually keen to cite human rights organisations and evoke ‘international law’ when applicable to the west have been happy to ignore the things the same groups have been saying about the governments of Chavez and Maduro.

In its annual report in 2011 Amnesty International described Venezuela under Chavez as a country where ‘those critical of the government were prosecuted on politically motivated charges in what appeared to be an attempt to silence them’. Human Rights Watch was even more damning, and said that the ‘accumulation of power in Venezuela’ had allowed the government to ‘intimidate, censor, and prosecute critics and perceived opponents in a wide range of cases involving the judiciary, the media, and civil society’. In one particularly egregious violation of democratic norms, in 2009 the government jailed Maria Lourdes Afiuni, a judge, after she made a decision to follow United Nations guidance on sentencing which angered Chavez. She subsequently spent four years in jail and was only released last year – after the former president had died.

Far from being a nascent workers’ democracy, the Venezuelan government also takes a dim view of independent trade unionism. According to the International Trade Union Confederation, hardly a hotbed of anti-worker reaction, during 2012 ‘anti-union discrimination, violations of collective bargaining rights and the non-respect of collective agreements were frequent and persistent in both the public and private sector’.

Yet, despite all of this information being freely accessible at the click of a mouse, many western leftists still believe, as Owen Jones approvingly put it, that Venezuela is a ‘progressive alternative to neoliberalism’.

The Chavez government was certainly popular at the ballot box. The failure on the part of his cheerleaders has been in recognising that democracy is as much about what takes place in between elections as what happens on polling day. As should be obvious, the mere existence of elections means very little, and there is not a dictatorship or banana republic in the world which does not at least maintain a pretence of democracy.

Too often abuses in Venezuela have also been interpreted as a response to opposition provocation (which they sometimes are), rather than as manifestations of the autocratic form of government created by Chavez. For example, the censure of private media is often blamed on the behaviour of certain media outlets at the time of the 2002 anti-democratic coup. Yet the removal of television stations from the air more than a decade later has more to do with the state’s attempt to gain a monopoly over information, as was outlined by the Information Ministry in 2007, when it said that the government’s objective must be to achieve ‘communicational and informational hegemony of the state’.

To put it in ungenerous terms (for there is not really another way to say it), many fellow travellers have been willing to turn a blind eye to government repression in Venezuela so long as the government appeared to be helping the poor. Yet, embarrassingly, the ‘socialism’ they invested so much hope in appears to have been built on an economic foundation of sand.

Venezuela is the fifth largest economy in Latin America but during the last decade it has been the worst performer in GDP per capita growth. Anyone who does not believe such things matter may wish to consider how this sort of economic mismanagement plays out in practice. As Rory Carroll put it in his book, Comandante: Hugo Chávez’s Venezuela, after a decade and a half of Chavismo Venezuela is a land of ‘power cuts, broken escalators, shortages, queues, insecurity, bureaucracy, unreturned calls, unfilled holes, uncollected garbage’.

Add to the mix a 56 per cent rate of inflation and one of the highest crime rates in the world and it seems clear that it is not only ‘fascists’ who have something to protest about.

What is interesting is the level of western sympathy for the Venezuelan government in comparison with, say, that of the government of Brazil, which has embarked on its own social transformation in recent years. Indeed, many of Venezuela’s neighbours have made a much better fist of dragging their poorest citizens out of the gutter than the Venezuelan government has – and with a lot less repression of dissent. Between 2007 and 2011 there was a reduction in poverty in Venezuela of some 38 per cent. Impressive, no doubt. However, the percentage of people who escaped poverty in Brazil during the same period was 44 per cent, in Peru 41 per cent and in Uruguay 63 per cent. None of these countries possess anything like Venezuela’s oil wealth, yet all managed to lift their poorest citizens out of beggary without emasculating the judiciary and falling foul of just about every human rights organisation.

The fact that over the past decade it has been Venezuela rather than Brazil, Peru or Uruguay that has been lionised breeds a suspicion that it is the ‘idea’ of socialism, rather than the hard-headed business of helping the poor, which really appeals to some. For those genuinely interested in furthering the cause of social democracy, Venezuela should offer a stark lesson in how not to do things. Closer to home, it should also demonstrate that there are some among us who still view liberty as an aside in the struggle for greater equality, rather than as an absolutely fundamental part of it.

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James Bloodworth is a contributing editor to Progress and editor of Left Foot Forward

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Photo: ruurmo