Juan Guaidó, the self proclaimed interim president of Venezuela stands smiling in a photograph that is narrow enough in frame to leave the viewer guessing whether he is surrounded by a multitude or just his loyal crew. With the look of a photo-fit cliché forged in the mind of Netflix writers sketching out the next season of Narcos, he embodies a kind of Trump-friendly South American. Not too indigenous but neither European looking enough to matter if he doesn’t make it past episode two. He is perfectly acceptable, malleable and expendable; a one stop shop for casting directors. Projecting unabashed, irony free confidence with other potential Narcos cast members at a rally – or small gathering, he has just declared himself the man to lead Venezuela back onto the path of democratic values from which it has strayed. Juan has almost inspired this writer to throw his hat into the ring as potential interim leader of Spain or the UK. Both would surely benefit from my guidance as unelected leader as they bump up against the walls of their respective crises.
A shades wearing heavy, complete with shaven head and trimmed beard, seems to scream silently at the camera that he needs this role to feed his drug habit and closet sexual proclivities. He stands alongside another scowling with god fearing patriotism that thinly masks a possible penchant for strangling cross dressers. It could turn out to be a win-win for both with a future incarcerated in El Helicoide in Caracas offering ample opportunities to embrace their innermost demons. Conversely they may yet be set loose on the population in the capacity of state security something or other. The future is bright for both.
No respectable presentation snapshot would be complete without the wife or future wife whose own masochistic tendencies are interwoven with her ambition to be first lady and rub shoulders with despots and other billionaires. She has seen enough TV dramas to know that the saviour, her man, will inevitably cheat on her by banging a few dozen coke snorting hookers doing lines that resemble road markings.
It is a time honoured plot staple to provide the CIA with the requisite leverage to keep him on the straight and narrow. US corporate interests will require some guarantees in place before going about their business unmolested and getting assassinated is far less fun. The concerns of everyday Venezuelans are potential revenue streams that can be examined in time. They should of course have access to food and healthcare and other such luxuries once the market is prepared.
Perks of the job.
The curiously named President Nicolás Maduro (mature) once boldly attired in Venezuelan flag coloured shell suits as he waved to cheering supporters,
has switched to a style preferred by men of his position in a last ditch attempt to be taken seriously. His other wardrobe choice is the humble foot soldier’s khaki shirt that allows him room to bend and twist to keep the military on side. No stranger to gaffes, the great man recently had a ‘let them have cake’ moment with his decision to be served steak by a pantomime knife wielding celebrity chef in Turkey. Salt Bae, the chef in question, also known as the Meat King, is quite something to behold. Dressed as part flamenco dancer and part Pink Panther styled assassin, he bends and twists his own moves whilst slicing meat. The collective breath of most Venezuelans was probably held in a fleeting, common desire for the blade to deviate a little. The moment passed as Salt Bae continued as host. He had no dog in the fight which made for common ground with many Venezuelans who have been left with little to eat but their domestic pets. President-for-the-time-being Maduro relaxed as he chugged on a cigar blissfully unaware of anything but his own good fortune.
Somewhere off in the distance amidst the dumpster fire of brexit negotiations, a British Conservative Foreign Office minister felt suitably emboldened to weigh in on Venezuela. Chiming with the current trend for offering unsolicited opinion, Sir Alan Duncan leapt onto the brexit clown car of freedom fighters with support for Juan Guaidó’s claim on the £1.2bn in Venezuelan gold reserves held in Bank of England vaults.
Perhaps both Sir Alan and Juan should read up on just how much gold has disappeared whilst in the safe keeping of others. After all, the shit storm brewing on the near horizon may see the UK in as much need of Venezuelan gold as Venezuela itself. Being recognised by a few international heavyweights doesn’t give one the right to more than a nice pen to sign away your country’s national resources once installed as puppet poodle. It is doubtful the Venezuelan gold will ever make its way to Venezuela, but with more than enough oil to burn off the last traces of Earth’s atmosphere, there will be plenty left over to sooth any chaffing.
Behind the marketing of freedom and human rights and many of the other sound bites often used as throat clearing for regime change, there are other factors that may further muddy the waters. Factors like China and Russia who may well have their eyes on the wellbeing of Venezuela’s natural resources. Why shouldn’t it be they who come to the rescue of this poor deprived oil? The solution as always is to find a balance in which everyone is kept happy and believes they have won. But this is the real world and balance and happiness are in short supply, elbowed to the margins by greed and contentment at the cost of others.
Venezuela’s history makes sorry reading since the discovery of the world’s largest oil supplies at the start of the 20th century. A few paltry years of anything like democracy, a number of military coups and their attendant corruption, brief economic highs followed by catastrophic collapses and economic ruin, all whilst sitting atop a sea of cursed black gold.
Even if Salt Bae had slipped while cutting meat and the unelected upstart Guaidó found his way to the presidency, as long as there remains something to fight over, the fight will never be over. If it’s any consolation at all to Venezuelans who can’t buy decent food or basic medicine, they aren’t alone and at least the lubricating qualities of oil are guaranteed whoever and whatever come next.
Every cloud…
