Is the US Imitating Venezuela?

I returned to my favorite bar in Mexico City. It was mid-afternoon and, other than a couple making out at a corner table, I was the only patron. Trying to forget about all the horrible news in the world, I glanced up at the futbol game (“soccer” in the US) that was showing on the TV above the mirror.  And ordered a beer.

Darned if my old friend wasn’t there again, staring back at me through the mirror. “Hola Juan,” I said. “How’s life?”

The waiter shoved a foamy mug at me.

Juan and I toasted each other in the mirror. “If it weren’t for the idiotic countries, life would be great,” he said.

Oh, oh! It appeared that he was dragging me into politics – the very thing I wanted to avoid. But, not desiring to be the rude gringo, I responded, “Which countries, Juan? What do you mean?”

“He frowned. “You’re kidding, right, John? Most of them, but right now especially Venezuela and the one imitating it.”

“Imitating Venezuela? What country would be that stupid?”

He gave me a knowing smile, a conspiratorial grin. “Sure,” he said. “Act dumb.” He took a sip of beer. “Yours, of course.”

“You think the US is imitating Venezuela?”

He just stared at me.

“Come on Juan. You better explain.” I watched him carefully through the mirror.

“OK,” he said at last. “I’ll play your little game of naiveté, mostly just because I feel like talking about it.” He paused, took a couple gulps of beer. “You know Venezuela was one of the wealthiest countries on the planet. In fact, in the 1950s it was ranked among the top five in per capita GDP – in the world. During the dictatorship of Pérez Jiménez, from 1952 to 1958, the economy soared and Pérez became, it was rumored, the richest man in Latin America.” Juan gave me that smile of his. “He also couldn’t stand criticism and brutally attacked anyone who opposed any of his policies.”

“Hmmm, like. . .”

“You got it, like today – the presidents of both Venezuela and the United States.” He raised his mug, took another gulp, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “The Venezuelan economy continued to boom for the next three decades. Into the ‘80s it had the highest rate of economic growth in Latin America. But, suddenly, things took a dark turn. The Pérez Jiménez model caught fire; a relatively few families corralled the riches and grew extremely rich, while everyone else suffered.”

“Sounds a bit familiar, Juan. I recently read that the richest 1% in the US have more wealth than the bottom 90%.”

“Exactly. See what I mean, John?

“Are you suggesting. . .

“I’m not suggesting anything, just pointing out a few facts. As you well know, the statistics are totally skewed in favor of the wealthy. For example, in the US, if that 1% is making money and most of the 90% are losing money, the GDP stats will show good overall growth. While Venezuelan statistics registered a miracle in riches, the poor got poorer and people who’d been in the middle class suddenly found themselves living in slums. It wasn’t long before the inequality was staggering.”

“And that’s what’s happening in the US?”

“You yourself quoted that 1% versus 90%. Here’s another: Seven of the world’s ten richest people are from the US. On the other end of the spectrum, more than 40 million people in the US are officially living in poverty.  That’s 10 million more people than the entire Venezuelan population.”

“Sounds like the US is. . .” I couldn’t bring myself to finish verbalizing my thought.

“Like the US is imitating Venezuela?  That’s the lesson. The Venezuelan people became fed up. In their desperation, they voted in Hugo Chavez who was seen as different, not part of the corrupt system.”

“Like Donald Trump.”

“Interesting analogy. Although they represent very different ideologies, both were elected because they denounced the status quo, they seemed to be strong leaders who would stand up to the detested political system, the cronyism.”  He paused and stared at me in the mirror. “Chavez had charisma – at least among a fairly large, mostly uneducated group.”

“Like. . .”

“Un huh. Then he died and was replaced by Maduro.”

“No charm at all.”

“Right, and very corrupt. Struck all sorts of shady deals that made lots of money for his business interests, his family and friends. But. . .” He held up a finger. “Desperate people support leaders they view as strong, self-assured, against the entrenched politicos – even if they are dictatorial, and corrupt.”

“I see where you’re going Juan, but there’s a big difference. They say Maduro rigged the elections, stole the votes.”

He gave me a look. “According to official tallies, Hillary got about 2.9 million more popular votes than Trump. She won. Except for the Electoral College – which, as I understand it, is a rigged system, anti-democratic.” He raised his mug. “Then there’s the military.”

“The military? What do you mean?”

“Maduro sent his military to the boarder with Colombia to keep out supply trains. Trump sent his military to the Mexican border to keep out immigrants. Madura said the supply trains are a threat to national security. Trump echoed his words – immigrants threaten to overrun the US with drugs, violence, and crime.”

I stared at him staring back at me through the mirror. I just couldn’t quite buy it. “Juan, surely you know that you’re exaggerating. What’s happened to Venezuela could never happen in the US.”

“You may be right,” he said. “I sure hope so. But Venezuelans would’ve said it couldn’t happen there back as recently as the early ‘80s when their country was the poster child for Latin America.”

I knew that was true. I’d worked for the World Bank in 1980 and recalled that it had classified Venezuela as one of the four “upper-middle class countries” on the continent. I found myself adding, “Germans in the 1920s never suspected their country could do what it did over the next couple of decades.”

Juan nodded his head. “One thing more,” he added with that sly smile of his. “Before the last election actually happened, Trump said that if he lost, he wouldn’t accept the results. What’d you think he’ll do if he loses the upcoming one?”

I couldn’t take any more of this. I’d come to this bar to forget the news. One of the teams on the TV was celebrating. The game was over. I finished off my beer, set the mug on the bar, and slammed down the pesos I owed. “I go to get out ‘a here, Juan.” I waved at the mirror. It waved back.

I walked outside. Just down the street, another bar overflowed with people high-fiving and shouting. Their team had won. I made a mental note: Next time, go to a bar cram-full of fans glued to the TV, cheering for their team.