Cafe Weltschmerz: Venezuela is one of the most dangerous countries in the world with 27,000 murders annually. 96% of those go unsolved. Journalist Michel Baljet needs a team of locals to feel somewhat protected to walk through Caracas. A report on developments in a neighboring country of the Kingdom of the Netherlands.
Yesterday in Venezuela, following an investigation into "illegal exchange rates," 86 people were arrested, 112 arrest warrants issued, 596 raids conducted and 1133 bank accounts frozen. Maduro calls it the outcome of one of the largest criminal investigations in history. But really, it is nothing more than a distraction from the real problem.
Unlike many other countries, there are no official exchange offices for foreign currency in Venezuela. Exchange can only be done at the government, but they no longer have money. Exchanging foreign currency such as Dollars is therefore prohibited. However, the black market trade is gróót, and the price has skyrocketed. In 2014, it was 80 bolivars per dollar. Today more than 550,000 bolivars.
In contrast, the government kept the rate of the Dollar artificially low for decades. 1 Dollar was 10 bolivars, but only obtainable by companies that were friends of the government. Since 85% of products are imported into Venezuela -and there was almost no production in its own country- the government managed to keep power over the food trade this way. In recent years, the government did move somewhat away from the one rate policy. Now they operate several. All still far from the black market rate.
Don't unhook yet. If you want to understand how one of the richest countries in the world can be poor, let's go through this. Foreign reserves, 9.8 billion left. To paint a picture. The budget of the Netherlands (2018) is 277 billion. Back to Venezuela. 95% of Venezuela's income comes from oil exports. The country's oil production has halved in recent years (refinery failures, etc). The price of oil has seen better times, but is still higher than when Chavez came to power.
come from the country comes from oil. Production has been cut in half. Now a word about the debts. To keep paying for everything, the regime has borrowed a lot of money (from China). Their weapons they buy with loans (from Russia). Those loans they pay back with oil. In total, more than 2/3 of oil exports go to paying back loans.
So oil production goes down, what does come out of the refineries goes into debt and the import-dependent country runs out of foreign currency. Airlines can no longer be paid and stop flying into the country. Food can no longer be imported; a scarcity occurs. Medicines can no longer be imported; people die.
The food shortages
Food shortages combined with government-regulated prices on some products stopped the last bit of food production in the country. Queues grew in front of state supermarkets. A black market for food emerged with rapidly rising prices.
People still need to eat, medicines are desperately needed. The government says there is no humanitarian crisis in the country, so international aid is not allowed either. People have to get their food and medicine from neighboring countries. No one accepts their currency, the Bolivar. The government has no Dollars, a black market in Dollars is developing.
Wage of 2 Dollars per month
Meanwhile, the minimum wage is falling rapidly. With today's average black market rate less than $2 a month. People are selling their possessions, getting into crime or whoring themselves out. Corruption was on the rise. Hundreds of thousands of people fled the country in recent months.
Back to where I started. The government is calling yesterday's arrests an outcome of one of the largest criminal investigations in Venezuela's history. And as Bart Schut also points out, the country has bigger problems. And this example is just the tip of the iceberg. Meanwhile, Brazil is considering closing its border, it is harder to flee to Colombia, Chile is making stricter visa requirements, and we are sending Venezuelan refugees back.
Distraction
Maduro will continue to do everything but distract from the real problems (including corruption). Meanwhile, hundreds of thousands will die from shortages of medicine, food and from rising crime.
We will not see much of this. Many journalists are stuck, have fled the country, and communication to the outside world will become increasingly difficult. People will give up hope for international help. That's about it for today. Had to get out. Thank you for your time. Don't forget this country, you are hereby warned.
To begin with. I am aware that I have the choice to do what I do. I see it as a privilege. In many countries, people don't have a choice. I could have done something else. I also know that I don't exactly have the greatest resume right now. Those who know me a little know that I have a big backpack.
And from a homeless situation a few years ago, I'm trying to find my niche. That said; so like many freelancers, I am trying to find a place in journalism. It's a conscious decision not to review movies or write about the latest soccer games.
We unfortunately live in a world where not everyone has equal opportunities. A world where innocents become victims of oppression, corruption or a war they did not ask for.
Let me say up front that I didn't start doing what I do to get rich. I place little value on material things, but I do want to be able to pay my rent at the end of the month. I take the risk of working in crisis areas, and of course no media house is obliged to take anything from me. But I do worry about journalism.
In recent years, mergers and budget cuts have changed a lot. Permanent staff were replaced by freelancers and social media and citizen journalism have gained an important role in newsgathering. The (foreign) correspondents who are still permanently employed are given an increasingly larger area to cover, sometimes even one person for an entire continent.
One liners and populist articles win out over in-depth research, and the delusion of the day seems to have become an object of suffering. An attack no longer has news value and wars that continue seem forgotten.
It is sometimes frustrating and despondent to walk around somewhere where people are literally dying of starvation or lack of medicine, and to look around me at a world that seems blind.
A substantiated article about 25,000 murders in a country like Venezuela I can't get rid of on the street, but let me voluntarily lock myself in the country's most notorious prison, that scores.
Before a trip, of course, I try to get letters of intent; this is difficult, sometimes because I don't know what I'm writing until I'm somewhere, but mostly because no commitments can be made in advance.
I pay for what I do mostly out of pocket, up front, and then have to gamble that the misery I come across is hip enough to sell. Sometimes I try to raise some money through crowdfunding. A trip to a crisis area is not free. Besides costs of lodging, tickets, sometimes some food, a major investment is safety (yes, I'm not tired of life, and my mother likes to see me return home safely).
And then comes the time when an editor responds to your pitch, or picks something up from you. Regularly a request if you can briefly do a live report on a current situation. For free. But fortunately also paid assignments. Then the negotiations begin, well, you don't really have much of a bargaining power as a freelancer. A radio interview earns me between €45 and €145, an article of 1600 words with photos max €350 and for an inside report of 6 pages I can be happy with €900.
Once I sell something then come the payment deadlines. With luck I get an invoice paid within a month, but more often I have to wait three months or more for it to finally reach my account.
I always try to live as frugally as possible when on the road. Cheapest airfare, public transportation whenever possible, lodging instead of hotels, you name it. But it's not free. I also don't travel with a large team (outside of my possible security), often alone. Camera, audio recorder and notebook in the bag, as having to be able to deliver all forms of content is a requirement.
More and more in recent years I get the feeling that the news is not coming from the field, but more from the delusion of an editorial board and the news feeds of agencies like the ANP and Reuters. Fast news rules. As an example. Take the clearing of the refugee camp in the Jungle. Been there several times, and was there several days before the announced evacuation. A day beforehand a current affairs program called that they might need my help the next day, A similar request from a radio station. On the day itself I saw that they had sent a reporter of their own, there was no way to cancel the call. Radio was still possible, but there was no budget. 400 journalists stormed into the clearing. Broadcast cars were driven in, no expense spared. The first asylum seeker was pulled in front of the camera a few minutes after arrival and not much later the media circus left again. And with that, the viewer at home had to make do.
I feel the Netherlands is lagging behind in journalism. More and more newspapers are coming under large media groups. We do not have a 24-hour (TV) channel.
And then there is trust in journalism. A combination of populism, black-and-white thinking and general distrust is blurring news value. We no longer seem to care about content, but instead argue about titles.
Well, that had to come out. Purpose: In my mind, something has to change. For a rich and prosperous country like ours, we need to be better at dealing with this. Have a nice day.
After a seven-month manhunt, a standoff took place yesterday in a suburb of Caracas (El Junquito) between security forces and several people from Oscar Perez's group. This standoff could be followed minutely via social media until 16:11, the moment when another part of his group indicated they had lost communication with him. In his latest Instagram video a few minutes before, Oscar Perez shouts with a bloodied face "We have wounded, we have wounded, and they keep shooting at us. We're going to surrender! Stop shooting!".
The story begins June 27, 2017, when former CICPC agent Oscar Perez appeared over Caracas in a stolen police helicopter and launched an apparent attack on President Maduro's government.
Who is Oscar Perez.
Oscar Alberto Pérez (36) was born on 07-05-1981, was an inspector of the CICPC (investigative police) for the past 15 years, also a member of the Special Actions Brigade (BAE) and Chief of Air Operations. Oscar Perez is also known as an actor in an action film called Muerte Suspendida (Suspended Death) . Oscar Perez was a father and describes himself as 'I am a man who goes out without knowing if he is going back home'. He was very active on Instagram in which he displayed his knowledge of weapons in cinamatic videos.
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He gained notoriety in Venezuela when, on June 27, 2017, he stole a helicopter from the CIPC and carried out attacks over downtown Caracas. This occurred at a time when many Venezuelans had been taking to the streets for months to demonstrate against Maduro's government. During this demonstration, over 100 protesters were killed.
Perez hung from the helicopter a banner reading "Article 350, Freedom" a slogan used by protesters who oppose the ruling party.
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During his flight on June 27, Oscar Perez threw two grenades from the helicopter at the headquarters of the Superior Court, 15 shots were reportedly fired in addition. No one was injured. Shortly thereafter, the Guardia National stormed the national parliament, injuring several parliamentarians, and detaining journalists and attendees.
Oscar Perez's action came during an eventful few days. Earlier, President Maduro evoked much outrage with the statement "we will never give up, and what cannot be done with votes, we can do with weapons, we will liberate the homeland with weapons. And as the demonstrations continued in the streets, Attorney General Luisa Ortega Díaz (a formerly staunch ally of the government) was expelled. She eventually fled the country.
Maduro described Perez's action as an act of terrorism, Oscar Perez instantly became public enemy number one, and the same day government forces reportedly went to Perez's home to arrest him. Oscar Perez released a video on the Internet later that day explaining his action earlier that day and his plan for the future of Venezuela. He indicated that he supports the protesters and the people of Venezuela, that he is not alone and that he wants to fight for a free Venezuela.
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Óscar Pérez has been the center of doubt, criticism and inspiration from both government dissidents and protesters and the government itself over the past six months. Some believe Oscar Perez is an invention of Maduro's ruling party to distract people, but others consider him a hero.
The following months
A day later, the helicopter used by Oscar Perez will be recovered in Vargas. Only a few days later, on July 4, we hear from Perez again through a series of Instagram videos. He indicates having made an emergency landing, being in good health "we will be there to defend our people.
After a lull, Perez appeared in public again for the first time on July 13. This was during a demonstration in Plaza Altamira (downtown Caracas). After a brief statement accompanied by several masked men, Perez quickly disappeared on ready motorcycles. In the months that followed, Perez appeared only in some exclusive interviews and through posts on his Instagram and Twitter account.
Under the name Operation Genesis, Perez appears in a video on Dec. 18. He indicates having taken control of a National Guard post near San Pedro de Los Altos. It would later be revealed that, among other things, 26 machine guns were taken during this action. On Dec. 30, Perez's former home is set on fire; family members are injured. In a message, Perez condemned the action, indicating he would not give in.
Jan. 15, 2018
Early in the morning on Monday, January 15, 2018, reports arrived that a large-scale police operation was underway in a suburb of Caracas, El Junquito. Rather quickly, Oscar Perez published his first of eventually 14 videos of the day. He reports being surrounded by police and negotiating.
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We don't see you as enemies! We didn't do this for ourselves. We did this for you, for your children, for your families....
Oscar Perez: We are here on the new highway in El Junquito. We are negotiating. We don't want to fight these officers, in fact, we know some of them. We are patriots, we are nationalists who fight with conviction. To those of you who doubted: here we are, fighting. They opened fire on us and we are taking cover, but now we are negotiating with the officers [incomprehensible] and the officials and the press. Venezuela, don't lose hope. We continue in your name. May Almighty God and Jesus Christ accompany us in this mission.
Man with gun: The God of Israel is with us. People of Venezuela ...
In the videos that follow (see Instagram) Perez and his men reiterate having done it not for their own gain but for the people of Venezuela. He indicates that civilians are also present in the house and that they are being shot at.
In the seventh video, an Oscar Perez appears with a bloodied face.
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Oscar Perez: They shoot at us with RPGs, grenades-grenade launchers. A man is yelling at the authorities: we have families and we want to see them again! There are civilians here! We told them we wanted to surrender, but they don't want to. They want to kill us!
Several images that later appeared on social media show a grenade launcher being used.
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This video then. Yesterday, Oscar Perez indicated via online videos that he wanted to surrender voluntarily. Looks like the police had a different plan. pic.twitter.com/IjHkElP8UA
- Michel Baljet (@michelbaljet) Jan. 16, 2018
In the videos' that follow, Perez and his men repeatedly report being shot at and not shooting back. 'They don't want us to surrender. They literally want to kill us. They just told us that. Be strong. In his latest Instagram video, Oscar Perez shouts: 'We are wounded. We're wounded and they're still shooting at us. [Shouting] We're going to surrender! Stop shooting!" after that, there is silence both in the Caracas suburb and on Instagram. On Perez's Twitter account, a moment later, a message appears.
Cuentas manejadas por compañeros directos de Oscar Perez.
No sabemos nada de la situación actual, llevan minutos sin reportarse.
- Oscar Perez (@EquilibrioGV) Jan. 15, 2018
The account is managed by direct colleagues of Oscar Perez. 'We don't know anything about the current situation, they have already reported for several minutes'.
In the hours that follow, much remains unclear about the situation of Oscar Perez and his men. Until CNN reports that a senior member of the Venezuelan government, who asked to remain anonymous, confirmed that Oscar Perez would have been killed. In a speech later that day, Maduro indicated that 5 people were arrested, 2 police officers died and 5 police officers were injured during the actions. There is no word on the number of wounded and casualties among Oscar Perez's group. At the time of writing this post, it has not been officially announced that Oscar Perez would have died.
The photo below was allegedly leaked to various media outlets by a government employee. You would see the lifeless body of Oscar Perez.
Update 3:28 p.m.. National police confirm the death of Oscar Perez.
Like many people, I often take a moment to reflect on life during the month of December. At the events that have made our world more beautiful and a lot uglier in recent months. At the people I have had the pleasure of meeting, and unfortunately had to lose. I then dwell on friendships that have been formed and think of the wonderful people I have had to leave behind sometimes in hopeless situations in their home countries.
In my work, sometimes you wish you had a little button that you could turn so that you no longer feel connected to the things you see, the poverty, the dead, the sadness. I can tell you that there is no such button. It is nonsense to think that I don't fall asleep with it, wake up in the morning and dream about it in between. And the day it won't touch me anymore is the day I will look for another profession.
Today I pause to remember the people I met in a refugee camp in Bulgaria, where the situation is so degrading that no human being would want to live there. I pause today with the former residents of the Jungle in Calais, many of whom are still wandering around the old camp this winter month without shelter. I pause today with the children in Donetsk whose parents are no longer there due to the ongoing war in the area. I pause today with the street children of Caracas who may look for their Christmas meal in the garbage bags of leftover garbage.
But I also reflect on the tens of thousands of Dutch people who will spend Christmas in their own country on the streets, or in an emergency shelter. The Dutch who have to get their Christmas meal through the food bank and the Dutch who are isolated in their homes due to loneliness.
When I look at the decaying world around me, I am often proud to be a Dutchman. Often, just with shame. We have become good at distancing ourselves from the problems around us. We have become good at closing our eyes and turning our backs on the problems. We have become good at worrying about futilities that we sometimes seem blind to reality. As if it's a button that makes us sleep better, dream nicer and get up finer.
Nevertheless, I wish everyone, here and far from home, Merry Christmas.
Our fixer Cheo runs back and forth to the gate of the prison while Joris and I sit just down the street waiting anxiously on the hood of our car. A daily market develops on the street outside the prison; it is a coming and going of visitors and vendors at the gate of Venezuela's most notorious prison.
Yesterday, When we visited the prison, not everything went as planned. It was not the first time we visited the Tocoron prison. While we were convinced that everyone was properly bribed before we entered the prison, all of our equipment was confiscated by the national guards guarding the outside of the prison. When we left the prison, we did not get our equipment back. Later that evening, after some conversations between our fixer and some prisoners, we were told that the inmates' boss had taken our things from the Guardia National and that we could get them back at the prison gate.
Tocoron, a prison for 750 inmates was built in 1982. Today it holds 7,500 prisoners. Guards and government personnel are not welcome in this prison run by prisoners. Chief among them is inmate Hector Guerrero Flores aka Niño Guerrero (The Warrior Child). The ruthless leader has two faces. While he runs his prison and his criminal empire with an iron fist, he is otherwise known as a benefactor. He lifts families out of poverty and gives wheelchairs and medicine to those in need. Niño Guerrero not only runs the Tocoron prison, but his former residential neighborhood of 28,000 residents is completely under the control of Niño and his men. Many others tell us that his power goes even much further in Venezuela.
In recent years, Niño has transformed his prison into a small town where nothing is missing. As we walked through the prison, we saw a swimming pool, a zoo and a disco. On the main street are restaurants, stores and amenities such as a bank, a television provider and gambling houses. Niño and his armed friends ride around the crowded prison on motorcycles undisturbed.
After an hour and a half of waiting in front of the prison, there is rescue. One of Niño's henchmen walks out of the front gate of the prison with our shoulder bag. When we open it, we see that all our equipment is still in it and wonder how much this prank has cost us? Nothing, courtesy of Niño .
Relieved, we continue on our way to Venezuela's capital, Caracas . A mass demonstration is planned there today. For years there has been unrest in the corrupt country ravaged by an economic crisis. In previous demonstrations we visited in recent weeks, there were clashes between protesters and authorities. So far, 43 protesters have been killed in these clashes.
When we arrived in Caracas, we exchanged our car for motorcycles. Because of the protests, there was almost no other way to get through the congested streets of the capital. Once we arrived at one of the highways serving as the route for today's demonstration, we saw that the first protesters were already preparing for what was to come. Logs are being dragged across the road, fences and anything else they can find are being used for the first barricades. In the distance, we see the first clouds of smoke from tear gas coming our way. In the hours that follow, a battle erupts between the authorities and the protesters, and the protesters are gradually forced to move into the center of the city.
While there is no money to import food into Venezuela, there is no shortage of tear gas canisters, which are sometimes shot at protesters by the dozens. As night begins to fall, the mood grows grimmer. As Joris and I make our way to our car, we witness the first car fires, stores and offices being looted. As the protesters continue their struggle, a new demonstration is announced on social media for the next day. Joris and I continue toward our next stop, the city of Maracay.
Axel (23) holds open a refrigerator to show its contents. He lives with his brother Billy (27) and mother Glenda (55) and father Rosvelt (60) in a middle-class neighborhood of Maracay. At the kitchen table, the family talks about the effects of the crisis.
Glenda worked as a bioanalyst at the hospital for 20 years. Since yesterday, her minimum wage has more than doubled to 105,000 bolivares. That is equal to $18. Until yesterday, her full-time job earned her less than $9 a month. The father of the family has been a merchant all his life, a job that today, with the complete collapse of imports, is almost impossible: "Nowadays the only merchant in the country is the government, but I trade in clothes. There is no trade for me now."
The family has lived together for 22 years in a safe middle-class neighborhood in Maracay. The father explains to us that the neighborhood has changed in recent years. "People with money used to live here. When the crisis got worse, many of our neighbors left. The government expropriated many of the houses in this neighborhood and gave them to "government-related people," people with almost no income, sometimes no job, no education. They don't maintain their belongings, don't care about the neighborhood and have no respect." "We used to be able to talk to our friends and family about politics in Venezuela, that subject is too sensitive now."
"We don't have money for the car or the house anymore. All the money we have, we spend on food and medicine, it's too expensive." From his closet, Rosvelt pulls out a strip of medicine. "Take this for example. This strip of 14 pills, enough for a week, costs 25,000 bolivares in Venezuela." In his other hand, he holds a box. "This box, with 300 of the same pills...., and enough for five months, costs me 55,000 bolivars in Colombia."
"I suffer daily when I work in the hospital. It is terrible not being able to give people the help they need because of the shortages of medicine and medical equipment. The government watches but does nothing to change the situation," continued an emotional Glenda. "Every day people die unnecessarily, people stay sick unnecessarily. The government is more concerned about their image. All hospital employees are required to participate in pro-government demonstrations and the government spends a lot of money on propaganda materials.
"A shortage of food and rising inflation have forced people to queue for hours at the supermarket every day in the hope of getting basic items like bread, rice and milk. Food prices are rising daily, and for a simple lunch on the side of the road you easily pay 7,000 bolivares. With luck, you can find a pack of pasta for 4500 bolivares, which is more than a day's wage.
Before yesterday's 60% pay raise, Glenda, the sole breadwinner of the house, earned 48,000 bolivars a month. How can you live with that? "Little by little, any money that comes in goes to food or medicine," she said. Does yesterday's wage increase help the family? "No, in fact it makes the situation even more difficult. Every time wages go up, prices go up twice as much," Rosvelt replied.
"Almost all the teachers have left my university, I think 80% is gone," Axel says. "The oldest students have taken it up and are now teaching." Axel worries. "You can study, but who am I going to work for in Venezuela? There's no one to give me a job. If you're realistic, I have to say it's unrealistic to think that studying here in Venezuela is worth anything."
"Many young Venezuelans have left the country," he said. "My family also offered me to leave Venezuela, but I wanted to finish my studies, I would like to call myself a professional. But I also have ambitions. My dream would be to move to Canada, but that is not realistic, I would go anywhere possible at the moment."
"Yes, leaving Venezuela leaves the country without professionals, but we have to think of ourselves, of our family. The government gives us no choice but to leave. Personally, I am not protesting, several students have already died in demonstrations and death is not part of my future plans."
Later in the evening, over a beer from the cost of almost a day's wages, Joris and I talk about the day. It remains incomprehensible what has happened to one of the most oil-rich countries in the world. We wonder what tomorrow will bring, because every day in Venezuela seems to consist of unthinkable and unpredictable developments.
[This article was previously published on VICE.com under the title: Así se ve la Venezuela que no aguanta más la crisis]
By: Michel Baljet Photos: Joris van Gennip
Those who still had doubts about democracy in Venezuela need fret no longer. The last little bit of democracy was thrown overboard the sinking ship yesterday. While the world watches and slaps Maduro's regime around with sanctions and requests for dialogue, Venezuelans are fleeing the country en masse. Those who remain behind are getting ready for an increasingly violent struggle.
Maduro's regime had called an election for last Sunday whose results were known in advance. Yesterday Venezuelans were allowed to go to the polls to elect the 545 members for a "Constituent Assembly. The 5,500 candidate members were all affiliated with Maduro's party. The goal of the new parliament is to rewrite the constitution, with Maduro taking even more power to himself. The opposition, which has held two-thirds of parliamentary seats since 2015, denounced the elections from day one and boycotted them. In a self-organized plebiscite earlier this month, it called for new presidential elections.
It was not only the opposition in Venezuela that went head-to-head. Countries like America and Colombia saw nothing in this "sham" election. Colombia indicated it would not recognize the result and America announced it would come up with new sanctions. The European Union also had an opinion and called on Venezuela to reach a solution through "dialogue, political will and courage.
Meanwhile, violence in the streets is increasing. For months, members of the opposition have been taking to the streets to call attention to the humanitarian crisis in the ravaged country and to protest Maduro's policies. The atmosphere is getting grimmer by the day. Whereas when I was there last month I was still shocked to see the Guardia National gas canisters firing directly at protesters and the press, today my Whatsapp floods with images of large explosions and soldiers armed to the teeth.
But anyone who is honest sees that there has actually been a dictatorship in Venezuela for a long time. Maduro has ruled by decree for years. The parliament where the opposition has held the majority since 2015 has been out of power since day one. Opposition members are usually locked up and elections that should have already been held have not taken place. Government employees have been pressured for years to support government policies. If not, you lose your job, house or both; that threat was no different in last Sunday's election.
Until recently, the world seemed to look the other way with closed eyes, and comparatively almost no attention was paid to developments in the country. Now the world is watching. Naively and from the sidelines, this while a major humanitarian crisis is unfolding before our eyes.
The opposition's diplomatic paths that were full of holes all turned out to be dead ends. As it stands, the Venezuelan does not have to expect much from the international community either, beyond some sanctions and "well-meaning advice.
The hungry Venezuelan has no choice but to try to stay on his feet and fight for change. Claiming victory in last weekend's election, it is clear that Maduro has no intention of throwing in the towel anytime soon. However, Maduro no longer had very many friends, and there will be even fewer once he will lose total control over the people who keep him in power, his friends armed to the teeth in the Bolivarian National Armed Forces.
While Venezuela is on its hiatus, in prison life goes on as usual. Journalist Michel Baljet and photographer Joris van Gennip are met at the entrance by two armed prisoners, meant to keep guards out. Welcome to Tocoron, one of Venezuela's most notorious prisons.
Next to me walks a young soldier with an oversized machine gun around his shoulder. Joris, the photographer who traveled with me to Venezuela, walks behind me on the right, our fixer on the left. We have been walking for a few hundred meters along an unpaved dirt road, which we feel leads nowhere, when I again ask Joris to be extra vigilant. From the other side comes a motorcycle with two more soldiers.
Over an hour earlier, Joris and I arrived at Tocoron to do a report on life in one of Venezuela's most notorious prisons. What was supposed to be a routine job did not go as planned. While we thought we had bribed all the soldiers guarding the outside gate of the prison, our belongings - some cameras and other equipment - were taken away by a major. After mutual consultation, he sent us and the young soldier up the deserted road that ran alongside the prison.
The motorcycle carrying the two soldiers comes to a stop and the soldier accompanying us talks to his colleagues. After a few skittish glances our way, it is decided that we should turn around, to walk back to the prison gate. It will never become clear why we had been sent in this direction in the first place.
After that, things moved quickly. At the gate, we didn't get our stuff back, but were allowed to walk through. In my pocket was another phone that we could use to take pictures. We decided to go in without equipment anyway. Walking into the prison, we breathed a sigh of relief, both with the feeling that this might have ended very differently. From here we encountered no guards, no military and no government employees. Indeed, from here on out, it is off-limits to them.
We walk into the world of Niño Guerrero, an inmate who has been running this prison along with his accomplices for years. The authorities gave up controlling the prison years ago and now focus only on guarding the prison's fence. In 2012, Guerrero escaped with several accomplices, a year later he was back and since then he has not stopped for a day to build his empire. Héctor Guerrero Flores, aka Niño Guerrero (The Warrior Child), is a ruthless leader with two faces. Where on the one hand he keeps the prison and his criminal empire running with an iron fist, on the other he is known as a benefactor. Like a modern-day Robin Hood, he lifts families out of poverty and distributes wheelchairs and medicine to those in need. The Warrior Child not only runs the Tocoron prison; his former neighborhood of 28,000 is also completely under the authority of him and his men. If our fixer is to be believed, his power goes much further.
Tocoron, built in 1982 for 750 prisoners, today houses more than 7,500. For years, the government has had no say here. In fact, at the entrance leading to the center of the facility, two armed inmates stand to keep guards out. 3 years ago this security was even more extreme, when there were prisoners with machine guns and you could find an armed prisoner on every street corner. Recently, Niño decided to replace these weapons with knives on visiting days. 'For imaging,' I later learn.
Most of the bullet holes are from a conflict that took place a few years ago. In a gunfight that lasted hours, Niño won back his power
This is not the first time Joris and I have been here. Last week we were there as well. Both fascinated by the developments inside this prison, we decided to go back today. The first time I visited this wonderful world was in 2014. I even volunteered there for a few days to understand what is going on here.
Walking through the gate of the prison, you come to a main road leading to the center of the prison. To its left are the two buildings that once formed the original prison. Inmates are doing restoration work on the flat; they are about halfway there. Under the newly applied exterior coating, bullet holes are still clearly visible. Most of these bullet holes are from a conflict that took place a few years ago. A prisoner was of the opinion that not one person should be in charge within the walls of Tocoron. Niño disagreed. In a firefight that lasted for hours, Niño won back his power. Dozens of people did not survive the power grab. The official death toll stands at 16. Videos taken by prisoners, however, show us a much higher death toll.
Right after the entrance, we find a square on the main street with a basketball court. A stage is ready and the boxes for a performance later in the day are set up. Next to the plaza is the newly renovated swimming pool with a playground for the youngest visitors.
Walking down the main street for a while, we come to the center of the prison. While there is a major food crisis in Venezuela right now, it does not seem to exist here. Several stores and restaurants offer all kinds of food and necessities. Here, unlike in the outside world, customers do not have to stand in line for hours before making a purchase.
Nor is a swimming pool lacking at Tocoron Prison, which is doing better economically than outside its gates.
While developments in Venezuela have stalled in recent years due to a shortage of building materials, developments in Tocoron have continued apace. For example, several buildings that were plywood when I visited 3 years ago are now concrete.
The small, autonomous city offers numerous amenities for those who can afford them. For example, you can get a television connection for 100,000 bolivar a week (a monthly wage). Residents of Tocoron pay an allowance to stay in prison; if you can't pay that, you become a subordinate, recognizable by a tie. You must then work for Niño to pay for your place inside the prison. Subordinates are allowed to walk around and stay in a locked part of the prison only with permission. Subordinates help visitors lift luggage, do maintenance work and drag large buckets of water through the prison. Every day they receive a government-paid meal. We see a long line of skinny men waiting in the afternoon as food is distributed from large pots.
Tocoron is structured in sectors. The closer you are to the center, the better the amenities. So you have cabins with or without air conditioning, and with or without TV. If you do very well, you can have a store on the main street, with an adjoining bedroom.
There is a bank: the Banco de Tokyo. Prisoners who want to transfer money can have it done to one of the many accounts of Niño's henchmen. After deducting a 10 percent commission, you can collect your money. Borrowing money is also possible, at interest rates between 10 and 20 percent. But oh woe if you pay back late.
Joris and I had decided that it was not smart to walk into prison with large piles of money. Due to the massive inflation in Venezuela, 100 dollars is worth 430,000 bolivars today (now even 600,000). Recently there have been new banknotes up to and including a value of 20,000 bolivar; however, these are nowhere to be had. The largest bill available has a value of 100 bolivar. Instead of putting over 4,000 bills in a backpack, we decided to bring dollars. As we had been told, we had these exchanged in no time at a good rate within the walls of Tocoron.
Together with our fixers, we do a tour of the prison. One of the fixers has been stuck here and knows many people inside the walls. With every turn we make, I see photographer Joris' amazement increase. Besides the pool, playground equipment and shopping, Tocoron has plenty of other amenities. For example, there are bars and Tocoron has the most famous disco in the region: Disco Tokyo. Famous artists from home and abroad perform there, and there is even airtime purchased on the radio to announce the next party. Currently, the disco is being renovated; from what I understand, the just-new marble floor is being replaced with a lighted floor.
A little further on we walk into the zoo. While the inhabitants of the zoo in capital Caracas are starving, here we see the opposite. A wide assortment of animals, including flamingos, monkeys and a panther live in a well-maintained area on the north side of the prison. Food is plentiful, day and night inmates keep busy caring for the animals. A new arena has been built in the zoo for cockfighting, and further along is a stable with competition horses.
Cockfights also regularly break out in Tocoron.
Through the pigsties, we walk past the baseball field to one of the prison's quarters. It is a coming and going of motorcycles, a mode of transportation available only to Niño Guerrero's henchmen. Small houses made of plywood form a kind of slum here. This is still the better part of the prison. Entering one of the houses, we enter a small room with a double bed. White A4s make up the wallpaper, the roof is neatly sealed with a system ceiling. It is cool, the air conditioning is on, a music program is on television.
With the weapons and grenades on hand, Niño and his crew can win a small war
Back downtown, Joris and I, over a beer, talk about what we've seen. "I actually feel safer inside the prison walls than outside," Joris says. Indeed, at first glance, it seems that the gigantic crisis currently plaguing Venezuela is passing Tocoron by. Developments continue apace. Food is plentiful and everything functions. You would almost forget that you are not in a resort, but in one of the country's most notorious prisons. Hundreds of people die there every year. In fact, a day after our visit, three bodies are found at the gate of the prison. And a week later another one.
To maintain order, Niño Guerrero's henchmen are armed with modern, sometimes automatic weapons. In a corrupt arms deal with the government in 2014, more than 1,400 weapons were turned in. For that, at least as many more modern ones were returned through the back door. With the weapons and grenades on hand, Niño and his crew can win a small war. In addition, Niño has a court in his prison, of which he is the judge. While Venezuela does not have the death penalty, in the court of The Warrior Child, that is different. We are shown gruesome pictures of lifeless people from various prisoners, some mutilated before they were murdered.
Niño and his men live a safe distance away at the edge of the prison. His home appears to be fully equipped and is guarded 24/7. Niño's revenue comes not only from cell rental fees, but also from a commission on restaurant and bar sales, gambling revenue, his bank, extortion, drug trafficking and theft. According to officials, 90 percent of crime in the region has a link to the prison. It even goes so far that a carjacking victim will get a call from Tocoron a few hours after his car is stolen with the amount of the ransom to get the car back. The victim may then come and pay this off inside the gates of the prison, after which he or she will get back the location of the car as well as the key. The price to get your stolen car back is between one and seven monthly wages, depending on how new it is.
It is difficult to estimate how much Niño Geurerro's empire is worth. A rough calculation tells us that at the current rate he is bringing in around 200 million bolivars with the rent payments alone, or nearly 2,000 regular monthly wages. The rent payments are just the tip of the iceberg.
After talking to some people and walking around a bit, we decide it's a good time to go. On going out, the major who took our belongings does not want to give them back. A plea from our fixer does not help. Even offering money, something that is the order of the day in Venezuela, offers no relief.
A prison with a zoo, anything is possible in Tocoron.
To still try to get our cameras and other belongings back, we try to get in touch with the Guardia National outside the gate. A phone call to inmates inside Tocoron offers relief after a few hours. In the evening, when we are back in Maracay, the redeeming call comes: 'Your stuff is no longer with the major but in the prison.' The next morning we can come and pick it up.
Early the next morning, we drive back to Tocoron. And lo and behold, after an hour of waiting, an accomplice of Niño Guerrero walks out of the gate of the prison with our shoulder bag. Everything is still in it. What that cost us? Nothing, courtesy of The Warrior Child.
PHOTOGRAPHY JORIS VAN GENNIP AND MICHEL BALJET
Looking out over the now empty, weed-covered site, it is hard to imagine that just over half a year ago nearly 10,000 people lived here. I went back to Calais to see what has changed since the evacuation of the Jungle, the illegal refugee camp next to the tunnel to England.
Standing on the hill, looking out over the former camp, I imagine what it was like at the end of October last year. The camp was burning in several places. Dark clouds of smoke filled the air. Several refugees packed up their last belongings, while the massed police swept the grounds.
While bulldozers are ready to raze their homes to the ground, the 8,500 refugees are driven like a herd of animals to a large chilly shed temporarily set up as a sorting center. They are then taken away in buses to be placed in various cities scattered across France. Saying goodbye to their dream "England.
Nothing of that camp is visible today -as if it did not exist. How will the former residents fare? We don't have to wait long for the answer. Less than three blocks away, in an open field between some industrial buildings, we find the first refugees. As if we had come to bring food, the first refugees come our way as soon as we get out of the car.
I did not travel to Calais alone today. One of the others who went with me is Bob Richters. It's his first time in this area. He didn't just go along to drop off a van full of donated goods. He wants to see for himself what is happening here.
Earlier in the day, we drove past a collection shed a few kilometers outside the former camp. Well-meaning volunteers collect donated food and goods here and then distribute them to the refugees. Tower-high items are stored. Skittishly, several volunteers watch our arrival; "keep the gate closed for security reasons. What are these cameras doing here. Don't film the location of the building, we have been attacked by extreme right-wing thugs in the past."
"I don't really know what to make of this," Bob tells me. "They offer no tools, nothing will be solved with this." I have to agree with him. Indeed, with all the good intentions, it offers no solution. I also saw the bad sides of this kind of charity last year.
Many volunteers take on tasks without being knowledgeable. Some take, consciously or unconsciously, an undesirable position of power and a deeper purpose other than sticking band-aids is lacking in many cases. Today there is food again, what there is tomorrow we will see.
One of the volunteers reports being greatly inconvenienced by the police. "We get one hour to hand out food at a location, then we have to stop" The organization Bob donated items to makes food for between 1,200 and 1,500 people daily.
Bob is his own little do-gooder. In Rotterdam, he helps the -in many people's eyes- underprivileged of our society with his project Hotspot Hutspot at three locations. Ex-addicts, homeless people and a girl indoctrinated by the IS are part of his clientele. "My project evolves as what is needed, for example, I now have two homeless people who are active with me, they need shelter, so I am now working on a hot spot hot spot hotel." "You know Michel, development aid at home is what I do."
The field less than three blocks from the former "jungle" is dotted with people. In the middle of the field something like cricket is being played, next to me a little boy of a few years old is stepping along the piled up garbage, some others are asleep. One of the boys who walked up to us, a boy from Eritrea, I remember. He was one of the boys I met in the jungle in October. He was there for five months then, this means he has been in this area for a year now. He looks tired, his eyes are red. In his poor English, he tries again, as he did in October, to explain to me that he has a sister in Canada who is willing to take care of everything for him. "I don't need to go to England anymore," he asks me if I can mediate, again I give my number, a phone call I don't expect from her, still not.
The refugees in this field report sleeping in the open. A few say they are harassed by police, "They come at night, take away our belongings and spray pepper spray in our eyes." Some report being regularly picked up only to be released a few hours later. There are no facilities on the field, including water.
Last year I met Zimako, a Nigerian refugee who fled his country in 2011 after the elections. His Togolese father who had worked for the previous government was threatened. Via Libya and Italy, he ended up in France. Unlike others here, Zimako does not want to go to England. He wants to stay in Calais.
Zimako has grown fat when I meet him today, he is here because he is meeting with Bob and with Veerle. They have brought a washing machine, a dryer and monitors for him.
Until the eviction, Zimako had a school in the refugee camp the jungle. His -handily built- school was razed to the ground along with the rest of the jungle. Even before the eviction began, Zimako had a new project, a laundromat for the refugees and residents of Calais. Now he also wants to start an Internet cafe.
I don't know what it is but unlike last year, I miss the confidence with him when he talks. The washer, dryer and monitors end up in a basement of an apartment complex and the story he spins in front of my camera seems too scripted, including his jokes. Is Zimako still the do-gooder and ray of hope in the gates of hell I wrote about last year? Was it just me, have I become too suspicious because of the refugee hatred in the Netherlands?
As I stand on the edge of the field, staring at what is taking place before me and watching my half pack of shag being distributed to a dozen or so refugees, Bob comes over to me. "And Michel? How do we solve this, do you know the solution?" I don't think I give him an answer to that question. And as we drive past -the police cars parked just around the corner- I hear Bob say to two of his boys who are along for the ride "Customization, talk to them one by one and come to a solution."
Personally, I think Calais is a great example of how we, in Europe and also in the Netherlands, deal with refugees. We don't solve the problem, we move it and pretend that everything is cake and egg. We continue to make the same mistakes we made in the past. We segregate, create a new class and get distracted by discussions of whether we as human beings have any responsibility at all for another human being. Only to find out ten or twenty years from now that these new Dutch people are going to turn against the established order.
And as we do so, not only are the thousands of refugees in Calais sleeping in the open, waiting for the day that may never come.
July 18, 2016 posted Judith brockhoven on Facebook a call:
"I
am looking for people to join me in throwing stones at the Beringen Mosque, at least 500 people, as a "playful" response to the radical Muslim violence of recent nights. Date and time to be determined later. :D"
The post was shared many times on Facebook and there were also several comments on Twitter, including that of Nourdeen Wildeman
Judith Brockhoven - a fan of PEGIDA and Wilders - has her own interpretation of the word "playful. pic.twitter.com/To1gekSjF2
- Nourdeen Wildeman (@nourdeenw) July 19, 2016
and Anne Fleur
Fine type this again, too. pic.twitter.com/IO2kyThLby
- Anne Fleur ? (@annefleurdd) July 18, 2016
Anne Fleur's first post is mostly met with outrage, with one person asking her if it is a fake account and another asking if it is serious. The message has been shared a total of 18x.
An hour later, Anne Fleur posts another message on the same subject. In her post she says: "Who will join me in throwing 500 stones at Wilders? Do I think it's a 'playful action'.", later this post was deleted.
(link to tweet which has now been removed )
July 19, 2016 4:33 PM Anne Fleur posts a print screen of the two earlier posts on Twitter saying "Parody is extremely difficult, apparently. Muslims are outlaws. But if you say something about Wilders you should die."
Parody is extremely difficult, apparently. Muslims are outlaws. But if you say anything about Wilders, you must die. pic.twitter.com/yTkyf8iYtK
- Anne Fleur ? (@annefleurdd) July 19, 2016
But it doesn't stop there. Later that evening, Judith Brockhoven posts another facebook update "So seh, today my furlough officially started, yeah, when am I going to storm that rotten mosque ???" the message is once again shared dozens of times on Facebook.
Anne Fleur posts a print screen of the message on her Twitter 'Judith continues her 'playful actions' for some time to come'
Judith continues her "playful actions" for a while. pic.twitter.com/dj7pgJfeEK
- Anne Fleur ? (@annefleurdd) July 18, 2016
A day later, Anne Fleur posts a blog on its website, ze indicates therein "That made me decide, as an experiment, to turn the call around: what if someone called for a "real Dutchman," to go pelting? You don't get any closer to Dutchness than Wilders, so voila:
And as expected, this did create a shitload of fuss. Experiment successful, then, as my hypothesis was confirmed."
In the blog, she says she has had several threats following the tweet.
Except for a few comments on her blog, things remain (relatively) quiet, until March 18, when the website "love of Holland" published a post dedicates to Anne Fleur.
In the article titled 'Green Left activist was chairperson of polling station, calls for stoning Wilders. PVV votes gone?" they show tweets from last year without mentioning Anne Fleur's other tweets. They also make no mention of the Facebook post of Judith Brockhoven to which Anne Fleur responds. The post from "Love for Holland" also makes no mention that Anne Fleur never ended up chairing a polling station. 'Given her political background, the municipality decided not to allow this.' (Update: Anne Fleur indicates opposite the IJmuider Courant two weeks before the election itself said it could not be president "it appeared I would not make it")
Geert Wilders shared the message of "love of Holland.
GreenLeft extremist Dekker did write, "Who will join us in throwing 500 stones at Wilders?"
This week I am going to press charges against her https://t.co/EnqJKFrZuR
- Geert Wilders (@geertwilderspvv) March 27, 2017
Following threats, Anne Fleur decided to go into hiding.
Judith Brockhoven and Anne Fleur were unreachable for comment.
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