Venezuela’s ‘Bad Boy’ reputation

Jul 19, 2015 Countryman, Features / Columnists

By Dennis Nichols
Back in the late seventies near Guyana’s northwestern frontier, the phrase ‘dem Spanish man’ was a common one. It was used by Guyanese living close to the Venezuelan border, and occasionally carried an undertone of undue respect and servility; even fear. This term referred to the suave, but tough-looking, red-faced men (and the occasional sultry mujer) who came to trade in oil/gasoline, timber, and certain food items, and also engage in other more social activities. Business, especially on Tuesday market days at Kumaka/Mabaruma, was usually brisk and boisterous.
Another palpable undercurrent was the tacit acknowledgement by both Guyanese and Venezuelans, of the controversy over Essequibo. As a teacher there during this period, I was alternately amused and amazed at the position taken by some Guyanese concerning this matter, who felt inclined to endorse the Venezuelan stance. Understandably, because of the distance from Georgetown, nonexistent overland travel, and the sometimes unreliable sea and air transport, they no doubt felt at least physically alienated from the rest of the country.

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Also geographically and culturally, they appeared to relate more easily to their neighbours beyond the Barima/Imbotero boundary line in the north and the Amakura River to the west, than to Georgetown. Many of them understood and spoke a little Spanish, which increased with proximity to the various border settlements. And at one of the schools where I taught, some pupils spoke English and Spanish interchangeably, while several of them had exercise books which depicted maps of Venezuela showing the entire Essequibo region as part of that country. No one seemed bothered by this.
I had a number of friends and acquaintances who made regular trips to Venezuela, and several more who migrated and settled there. To this day there are tens of thousands of VenGuys (Venezuelan Guyanese) living in places like San Felix, Puerto Ordaz, Tucupita, and Curiapo. Back then, boats packed with oil drums, lumber, engine parts and small quantities of dry goods, including some banned items, plied the Barima-Aruka route with major transit points at Morawhanna and Kumaka. Flour, potatoes, split peas and cooking oil were certainly not as difficult to get there as they were in Georgetown.
Folks in those areas, from Grandpas to schoolchildren, joked about the so-called plight of Essequibians, and were wont to compare how things might be under Spanish rule as opposed to governance from our capital city. But it was no laughing matter when at election time in Venezuela, Spanish officers reportedly made it ridiculously easy for Guyanese living in the North West and other parts of Essequibo, to be issued with identification documents enabling them to vote as Venezuelans. On several occasions I was urged to get my ‘Papel’ and go teach in the neighbouring country, but politely declined. My patriotic sensibility wouldn’t let me.
Additionally, I had listened to too many stories of the cavalier cruelty of Venezuelan military patrols which stopped Guyanese fishermen and traders engaged in supposedly illegal activities in Spanish waters. For this infraction, I heard, you could be given a good ‘planass’ on your upper torso with the flat blade of a machete bent backwards to increase the sting of the lash. I have neither the chest nor the stomach for such painful humiliation, so I stayed on my side of the border, venturing beyond it only to buy a few items at a Guyanese shop about 100 yards from the Imbotero boundary creek.
Once however, I did attempt a long shot scheme to get medical attention in Venezuela for my three year-old son who had been diagnosed as hearing-impaired. It was a poorly thought-out plan that entailed copping a ride on a Spanish boat (to Curiapo I think) and then somehow finding my way to the state of Anzoátegui where my cousin, who lived there, would meet me. I and my son boarded the vessel at Kumaka, and we started out toward the border. But my gut intervened.
I knew no one on the boat, spoke virtually no Spanish, had little money, and even less knowledge of exactly where I was going. The Venezuelans chattered away in Spanish and seemed to be eying me suspiciously, at times sniggering as they did so. As the boat approached the border the foolishness of the undertaking hit me, along with a wave of apprehension and panic emanating from said gut. Then I spotted a house, the occupants of which I knew, and sheepishly indicated that I wanted to be put off there.
Thankfully, the captain complied, and just as thankfully I stepped off the vessel. We stayed there (at Larry Gouveia’s home) for the night and returned to ‘my people’ on the Aruka River the next day. Even now I feel that I would have experienced severe physical and psychological trauma had I gone through with the journey.
Looking back, there was just something about the Venezuelans (and surprisingly, some VenGuys) I had met and observed from time to time, that suggested a kind of contempt for Guyanese, especially the indigenous Warrau, many of whom appeared to suffer from an inferiority complex. This was probably bolstered by an underlying notion that they could do as they felt in their ‘zona en reclamacion’, along with a belief that our country’s small population and military wouldn’t dare stand up to theirs. The situation on the border island of Ankoko is a notable reminder of this kind of thinking.
That island, claimed and occupied by Venezuela, was previously the site of skirmishes between its forces stationed there and Guyanese soldiers at neighbouring Eteringbang in 1970. It was supposed to be shared by both countries following the 1899 arbitral award that established boundaries between them, giving half of the island to each. The award was ratified by a Venezuela-British Boundary Commission a few years later.
Subsequent Venezuelan leaders dealt with the issue diplomatically, but the current administration headed by President Maduro seems intent on ‘ramping up’ its claim rhetoric and attempting to intimidate us. Is it merely a diversionary ploy to get his countrymen not to think about the grave problems, including food and other shortages, facing the oil-rich state? Does it have anything to do with the ExxonMobil oil find in Guyana waters and/or some far-fetched anticipated provocation from our new government headed by an ex-military officer? The first two, yes, the last one, hardly plausible.
A recent article in the Washington Post suggested as much, and even before the May elections, Guyanese professor, Dr. Mark Kirton, had warned Guyana to be on the alert for an upsurge in Venezuelan sabre-rattling following the ExxonMobil activities and a United States declaration of that country as a national security threat. How seriously then should Guyanese take the news that President Maduro has assigned a retired army colonel to head an ‘Essequibo Rescue Office’ which plans to issue 200,000 ID cards to Guyanese living in Essequibo?
This agency is purportedly devising a campaign for Guyanese families there, aimed at ‘approaching them, getting to know them, winning them over … earning their love’ and making them Venezuelan citizens. Exactly how it plans to do this is unclear, and to my mind shows how ridiculously contemptuous the Caracas administration may be of Guyana’s sovereignty.
As far as I am concerned, Venezuela’s ‘bad boy’ reputation in relation to Guyana remains intact. But it may well be more that of the big schoolyard bully who picks only on the smaller, weak-looking children. Monkey, we say, know which limb fuh jump on, but appearances as we also know are often deceiving; furthermore the apparently weak may have strong and observant friends willing to stand up for them.
Our country is the only English-speaking nation in South America, strategically located on the continent’s northern Atlantic coastline. It is a ‘friendly’ gateway to giant Brazil and the other non-English-speaking countries in South America. England, the United States, the United Nations, and Caricom are no doubt listening and watching movements keenly but circumspectly. Our ‘Bad Boy’ western neighbour needs to do the same.