My mother is the personification of the Venezuelan saying, "in bad weather, keep a good face", as long as "bad weather" means living in a failed Narco-state and "good face" means a pathetic smiling emoji. It’s our communication in the 2.0 era: a little yellow figure that looks like Pacman's retarded cousin, that intuits, peeks and suggests emotions. Under his fake smile, phony like the curved lips of a first runner-up in a Miss Venezuela beauty pageant feigning “happiness”, hide all my traumas of absence and remoteness.
My family thinks that because I left, I don't have to suffer Venezuela anymore. It is true that I have relocated to the old continent. It was a necessary leap, a change of latitudes and climate. However, as I have not undergone a brain transplant operation yet, the country where I was born still burns in my mind.
It is an uncomfortable itch, a wound that I cannot heal. It reappears when I feel I am doing well in life. If I enjoy a good old wine, if I sink my teeth into an exquisite cheese, that Venezuelan itch manifests itself. What is my mother eating. Rather, in these fateful days of blackouts and shortages, the question is, is my mom eating? Will she have water?
Then, I turn my attention to that loathsome gadget, Mephistopheles of the 21st century: the cell phone. This gleaming object, assembled by tender little Asian hands locked in some Macau sweatshop, is as close as you can get to owning a Pandora's box. In Greek mythology, it is the curiosity of the first woman, named Pandora, that opens the way to all the evils of the world.
Thus, I advance like Eve approaching the apple, ready to receive the knowledge of evil. Just like Pandora, just like Adam's companion, I can't resist: I pick up the phone and fall mesmerized before its dazzling colors.
I open Whatsapp and read:
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March 4, 2019:
VUS: Shall I call you (18h59).
MS: No CANTV [Venezuelan phone company]. I’ll go up to the second floor and ring you (20h32).
March 8:
MS: No electric power. (02h16)
March 9th:
MS: Power went out 23 hours and 15 min. I come back (sic) and it lasted less than 1 hour I think 45 minutes. No power again (13h32).
Power came on at night. Hopefully there will be some internet. (13h43)
VUS: God, how horrible. When do I call you? Do you have CANTV? (17h55)
March 10:
Power out last night and came back today. Hope it lasts. Dead networks. I think now 9:36am there is wifi. Don't call I will have the phone off. Occasionally turn it on. Save battery (14h54)
No CANTV I haven't had it for over a YEAR. I am incommunicado. Don’t worry all’s good (15h)
Don't call (15h)
Enjoy your Sunday with the family (15h01)
VUS: I wanted to talk to you, I can't imagine how it is over there. Let us know how you’re doing, we are waiting to hear from you (18h23)
March 11th:
VUS: How can we help you? That sounds horrible over there
March 12th:
VUS: How are you?
March 13:
MS: With electricity and no water. Internet on standby
March 14th:
MS: Everything has come back. Water ok but we have nothing but empty tanks. That forces you to show courage because bathing after walking and sweating with a paltry drop by drop shower, like an intravenous drop, with cold water to boot; is for the brave, son... I am brave yet frozen. Kisses (3h04)
No wonder people are fleeing the country (3h05)
When I didn't answer you (sic) it was because there was no internet. The phone died and I can't call you normally (3h06)
Today was an incredible day. We got power back yesterday night. I went to work: I ran out, because I thought I was staying home ‘cause no power and did not get up early, so I had NOTHING for breakfast. I arrived on time at the office and put up a sign: I'm downstairs getting a coffee. I went downstairs happy because bakery and soda fountain open=coffee and 1 pastry... Hello Gabriel, I said to the attendant and then silence and loneliness: NO CANTV=NO CREDIT CARD PAYMENTS. Goodbye pastry. Please, can you run a tab for my coffee... It's a country for psychopaths, I swear to God... But we are still hopeful... I don't know why (3h14)
March 15th:
VUS: I'll call you (13h16)
MS: I ring you back (13h29)
MS: You don't answer, it sounds like dialing (13h31)
VUS: I don't have much connection here (13h32)
MS: Try again (13h32)
MS: Power is coming and going. Now there is some (13h32)
VUS: I'll call you from home, I won't be able to here (13h33)
MS: Don't worry, I can't seem to get calls through either. Call me when you're home. Thanks for the joy of knowing that we will talk. I'll send you a selfie of coffee at home.
MS: Call (20h49)
MS: Network down [whatsapp icons] not allowed to communicate (20h49)
MS: It comes and goes, don't call, it's not worth it. It is unnerving, I have not been able to work today
[Voice message]
VUS: Well, but we can send voice messages. Around here we are all fine, thank God, but we are pretty down because D, Andrea's friend who went to the wedding, died because of the hospital crisis. So we are dealing with that.
[Voice message]
MS: What a disgrace of a country, son. What a horror, what a horror, it can't be that a guy like your friend would die because of the hospital crisis. Really. But anyway, I already knew but wasn't going to tell you anything, because I didn't know how to tell you, but I'm going to the morgue now with M. M., he's coming to pick me up, and we're both going.
March 16th:
MS: The internet is coming in as if stabilizing. It seems ok. I try (sic) to call (13h02).
March 27th:
Again no power it’s exasperating (04.13am).
VUS: For Christ’s sake... (07.54am)
MS: It's back but it's 11:30 so I'm not going to the office. Car=gasoline=shortages. It's scary to spend gas if there is another shortage (16h49).
March 28th:
MS: Power gone again (00h07).
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This is how my Whatsappian days go by. I try, to keep my sanity, to only concentrate on the "chats" of my family and close friends. A while ago, I gave up the hysterical groups passing gossip and rumors: that a cousin of an uncle who is a driver for a military officer heard that the Generals are up in arms and are about to overthrow Maduro. I had some affection for those texts because they reminded me of my childhood with the Chavo del Ocho*: That Don Ramón said that Chilindrina told him that Kiko said that Doña Florinda... etc. Maybe I’ve gotten old, but this silly game makes me laugh less in the current Venezuelan context.
However, I can't stop being connected, I can't stop reading and getting contaminated with our toxic reality. For many Venezuelans abroad, these little messages are the only contact with our country. We are reduced to laconic, disturbing, incomprehensible tweets: "SEBIN imprisoned Luis Carlos and blames him for the electricity crisis", "massacre of aboriginal Pemones on the border", "Chavismo wants to shoot Guaidó".
That is our reality. We live glued to the telephone like a telegraph operator during the First World War: "Heavy losses to stop the Germans in the Marne", "They are machine-gunning the allies in Verdun", "they are throwing mustard gas at us and we are suffocating". We live the horror in 2.0, with little emoji drawings of punches and poop dropings with beady little eyes.
Venezuela’s psychological attack doesn’t care about latitudes. Diosdado Cabello and his nefarious disinformation laboratories spare no resources when it comes to confusing, distressing and terrorizing Venezuelans, no matter where they are. They will take images of Syrian children and leak them to the opposition to discredit it. They will use homophobic insults against their enemies. They will imprison, torture and kill, leaving us with only a half-minute video on our tiny phone screen to know what is happening.
We must take comfort in impermanence: everything passes, everything changes, nothing is perennial. Documenting the barbarianism, that's our job. As difficult as it may be to read violent and aggressive threads on Twitter, by recording them we guarantee one thing:
History will not absolve them**.
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(Unpublished text, written in 04/2019).
*Very popular ‘70s Mexican TV Sitcom known in all of Latinamerica
**This references a famous sentence used by Fidel Castro in his trial after the assault on the Moncada barracks: “History will absolve us”.
same here, brotha...