The Venezuelan-Lebanese Connection

As some of you know, my dad's Venezuelan. When I was going through Syria on my way home, the officials kept asking me, "A3sl Lubnane aw a3sl Amerikeye?" (Are you of Lebanese or American origin?) And I would say, "A3sl Venezueleye." And they were very cool with that response.

I make like I'm Venezuelan a lot, especially in situations where I don't want to let on that I'm an American. Sometimes I'll do the Canada thing. But I don't know anything about Canada, so that makes me feel dumb.

In the Frankfurt airport, there was a woman from the Bekaa going back to Venezuela.

How awful--to go from a warzone to the unliveable hell that Venezuela has become since Hugo Chavez has been president.

In fact, many of the Venezuelan-Lebanese I know moved back to Lebanon only recently because the situation had gotten so bad in Venezuela.

And the situation there is disgusting. I went the summer of 2004, before I was supposed to start my job in Lebanon. I went to research my family history and to get a passport. I wanted to travel to Israel and other places and figured the Venezuelan passport would be nice.

No, I was not successful in getting a passport. Though my grandma's sister amazingly navigated us through a throng of people banging at the doors of the government agency, demanding passports. Somehow she convinced the armed soldier to let us in the building. And even though there were signs posted everywhere. "The governnment is not issuing passports. Don't ask for a passport." my great-aunt was determined. We sneakily went up some back stairs, looking for her friend. I actually thought we'd get somewhere. (How stupid--I'm not even Venezuelan, and the Venezuelans can't get passports.) But it didn't work anyhow.

Venezuelans want to leave the country. And the government isn't issuing passports. For those people, who voted in the referendum to sack Chavez (about 50% of the country), their names appear on a list. Not only do they not get passports, but it impedes them getting jobs.

In 2004, Venezuela had become a nightmare. Ever since I started visiting Venezuela in the early 90's, people were always freaked out about their safety. There were always plenty of stories of getting mugged and murdered and attacked in your home. But in 2004, people were staying at home at night. Everyone knows someone who's been a victim of a relampago (lightning in Spanish), where they come up to your car with a gun, make you drive around to different ATM's taking out your money, and then leave you abandoned by the side of some highway, while they take off with your car. And that's the best-case scenario.

When I was there, my family kept telling me, "Don't go to Sabana Grande. Don't go to Sabana Grande." But then it was the day before I had to leave, and I needed some cheap, pirated music, so I went to Sabana Grande. So I'm standing there talking to the guy, and I hear a shot ring out. I look to my left, and all these people are running straight at me. A herd of people, running. I look over to the guy I was talking to--he's gone. Next I know, I'm crouching under the table, with him, and all the other people. And before you can say, "Jackflash." Everyone's back to business. Like nothing happened.

My dad laughed when I told him that story.

I was so disgusted the last time I went, I said I wouldn't go back. Not just because of the security stuff, but because my family is also jerks.

Why was it so bad? Chavez stopped the production of oil for two months, about a year and a half before that, because he said that those rich executives are a cartel that's impeding his populist/socialist agenda for the improvement of the Boliviarian Republic of Venezuela (He renamed the country.) The economy had never recovered. All the unemployment led to crime.

(I can't stop thinking about this when I think of Lebanon. What's going to happen now that the economy is killed and it's going to take so long to rebuild?)

And Chavez is slightly maniacal. Besides getting up on TV and constantly calling Bush the "terrrorista del mundo" and an idiot, donkey, and every other kind of insult, he goes to Iran to meet with Ahmadinejad the second day of the war.

And now how many Lebanese refugees will end up in his country--many of whom are Shia and now with the continued destruction of Lebanon--much more likely to be Hizbullah supporters.

And now with that corroded Alaska pipeline, the U.S. is looking for oil. And Chavez will stick up his finger in W's face.

And Chavez's "primo-herman" Castro is about to drop dead. (Wow. My family members have been waiting for this day for a long time.)

I think Chavez and Venezuela are going to be players in this World War that's someone's trying to create that will eventually involve Iran.

A friend in Beirut is so optimistic. He thinks the fighting will be over soon. And then they'll be able to start cleaning up the beach, which he said was, "disgusting," but he didn't really dwell on it. . . . like everything, the situation is too depressing.