Venezuela from a distance
We all watch what is happening in Venezuela. The clamor and democratic practice facing a regime that is no longer a government and confronts citizens with firearms and destruction.
From a distance, many Venezuelans abroad live daily this eternal doom. We watch the news, wonder, look for every kind of analysis, read international journals and try to cope with anxiety in a sort of pitched battle, but at a disadvantage because a group has power and strength, and the other just ask for respect and freedom.
It is a cruel feeling. Being so far is like taking part of a macabre game. We can feel the suffocating bombs dropped to children and elders, and the lives lost daily. It is hard to see all this evil that cripples us. We are before two opposed realities: a new culture that welcomes and offers us all its goodies and another one that is an official war to Venezuelan people by a government decided to destroy any sign of civilization in our home country.
We look at the opposition marchers, their cries, the repression. We wake up at 3 o’clock in the morning to check out what has happened. I know about friends that are living a life in hell 24 hours between their two lands, with sorrow and anger. Our reality leaks through the lenses that capture the overwhelming reality, like pieces of a movie filmed by thousands of Venezuelans with their mobile devices so that they can guarantee the immediate access to the outrage against citizens, preventing being victims of a media laboratory.
Most of the media in Venezuela were silenced. The few resisting are continuously threatened by the regime or hands tied by not receiving the necessary supplies to work.
This painful war began several years ago, and now it is in Venezuela’s streets and the thousands of Venezuelans claiming for democracy and fair election. They leave their homes aware that they may not to come back by a gunshot to the head, the hallmarks of the regime, a present from the paramilitary groups armed by Maduro, known as “Colectivos”. Despite everything, people are on the streets, willing to amend the terrible mistake of trusting in a military coup to lead a civil and democratic country.
Our hearts can’t handle the reality. It is painful to see how a Venezuelan passes; each taken life is a future tragically cut short. We are afraid of losing our loved ones and feel helpless knowing that if things don’t change, the regime will keep starving us to death, without water, food or medicines for children or terminal patients.
I close my eyes, and like every Venezuelan living these hard times that harm and divide us, I evoke our most precious values. I think of the Avila’s beauty, the story of the “Fortín de la Galera” told by the children of my childhood, the happy hustle and bustle of the robes under the Acoustic Clouds of Calder, the dance of the Chiriguare, the submission of the Dancing Devils of Yare in front of the Almighty, our childish way of reacting to chaos by telling that everything is “chevere”, the aroma from the kitchens in December while preparing our Hallacas, the afternoons of frogs singing like clockwork, the macaws flying over the black vultures across the valley of Caracas and the sacred body of an aboriginal legend named Maria Lionza and her curves.There is no distance, and the country will prevail in this belief.
So every day we see an anonymous person walking down the streets, representing our tricolor Republic, naked and with a Bible in hands, crying out to stop firing and restore peace.
We never thought we had to live Venezuela from a distance, with a faraway ticket, where we suffer in a different way, like the skin of an onion, layers torn off by tears and anger.
We have to think how to get organized on a broader basis on the other side so that divisions and impossibilities do not drown the country in a sea of hatred.
Our future is in the streets, claiming for respect and freedom. Now it’s time to support people in this struggle with heads held high, and rebirth after this dark moment as a dignified country.