That's Hugo Chavez Frias, a modern-day Don Quixote. With inexhaustible optimism, he's trying to keep the inexorable forces of Crony Capitalism from sweeping away his policies of government reform and redistribution of wealth. He is fearless and inspirational, and rightly blames the tragedy of December 1999 on the corrupt politicians and businessmen who allowed the shantytowns to be built in the steep valleys in the first place. He is right that the Capitalists don't give a damn about the 50,000 poor people, street vendors mostly, who perished; or the illiterate and malnourished people we saw on our visits to the missions. He is right to appropriate the land of the big companies, which have deforested much of Venezuela, and to give it to poor people to farm. He is right, even heroic, to thumb his nose at the little prick, George W. Bush, who would like nothing better than to dip his blood-soaked hands into Venezuela's oil fields.
I shall leave you with this thought, which was burned into my brain by mighty Gala. The Capitalists are hunting wolves around the world. They call it the war on terror, but in reality, it is simply cruel Imperial sport. They have set up their red flags everywhere, marking the boundaries of freedom. Through their cult of celebrity, and cosmetic materialism, they have destroyed the last vestiges of humanism in America. Bush's hunters are our pride and glory.
Like Maria, will America applaud when Bush gets Chavez in his crosshairs, and finally pull the trigger?
Is Chavez the archetypal hero, fighting the raging ocean waves with his sword? The gods drown the man who challenges nature. Like Hamlet, is he preparing to die?
Or will Chavez leap over the red flags and escape, and bring the Revolucion Bonita to the rest of the world? Can love triumph?
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