We drove past the club to the left and continued by the sports field — simply an open pasture or clearing; the same area which served as a heliport but was used primarily for softball games — and beyond to the only entry and exit point of the mining camp: the alcabala (guardhouse), manned by a member of the camp’s security force.
I sat in the back, our maid, Elena (not her real name) sat in the front, and my mother was at the wheel.
It was night.
I waved at Sr. Bello and laughed as he gave an exaggerated faux salute, smiling broadly, open-mouthed. Whenever I think of a wide, genuine smile, I think of Sr. Bello, as he would greet or say farewell to us coming or going, all the while working the lever which lifted or lowered the crossbar blocking the road.
Upon exiting the camp, shortly after passing the alcabala, the road split: the right would lead to the labor camp; left would lead to the Orinoco, the Caroní, or Upata and points beyond. That night we turned left, intending to go a short distance, some 4 or 5 kilometers on the road to the Orinoco to drop Elena at her roadside home, a structure I would probably call a hut today, but in my childhood it was someone’s house.
“There is someone there!” my mother exclaimed to Elena as we approached.
“Oh! Well, I wasn’t expecting him to ever come by. I’ll tell him to leave,” Elena replied, as she looked towards her house.
The rest of the exchange was sotto voce. I did not understand why my mother seemed so upset and why her tone sounded so urgent, but could tell this was not the first time the two had discussed whatever matter they were now talking about.
She drove a few kilometers more beyond the hut, all the while going back and forth with Elena, who seemed to be seeking to reassure my mother that she was in control of whatever the matter was. My mother found a place to turn around and drove to the hut.
This I do remember: the light was on. A mean looking, swarthy fellow (at least to my childhood eyes) was standing inside, shirtless, doing I don’t know what, while a radio was blasting some cumbia-salsa type music. He did not seem to be a good guy and my mother’s concern inchoately became mine.
“Spend the night with us, Elena,” my mother said, but to no effect.
“Do not worry. I’ll handle this.”
We drove home, Mr. Bello once again lifting the crossbar, this time to let us back into the camp.
Some weeks or months later, I arrived home from school, either for lunch or after the end of the school day, to find my mother speaking sharply to Elena, who meekly agreed with whatever was being said.
And months later our family gave her gifts for her newborn child and my mother sought other ladies in the camp to also give….
One of the most frequent themes of conversation during my preschool and early school years was how Venezuela was so low in crime under Gómez or Pérez Jiménez and how crime exploded under democratic rule. One of my first memories after the fall of Pérez Jiménez was looking out the inlaid windows during a visit with my aunt. Some youths ran behind two young ladies and, to our utter shock, disrespected them in a most vile manner. That event triggered the topic of conversation the rest of that visit, with the refrain, “That never happened under Pérez Jiménez.”
Later, a Venezuelan friend and her family visited the United States for the very first time. Upon their return she told me about visiting a park in Miami or New York and purposefully dropping litter on the grass. “And, no policeman rebuked me or arrested me.”
I was too green to know to reply that the United States system of government presupposes a people who can practice self-government. It does not need police on every corner to jump down one’s throat for littering. As self-government decreases or ceases, crime increases dramatically and littering becomes the least of our worries.
One of our founders said something along the lines of, “You will either govern yourself or, by God, you will be governed.” This was clearly a derivation of Proverbs 25:28, “He that hath no rule over his own spirit is like a city that is broken down, and without walls.”
And this brings me back to that story about Elena. Growing up in South America I often heard that crime in Venezuela was very high whereas in Chile it was low.
Why?
Answering that question requires an expertise that I certainly do not possess, but, given the track record of supposed “experts” on sundry matters, including viruses, perhaps the rest of us should at least make use of Ockham’s razor and take a stab at what is most obvious.
And what is most obvious is the home.
Venezuela has historically had high rates of unmarried cohabitation and illegitimacy, in contrast to Chile, where such rates have historically been low.
For example, in 1970, cohabitation percentages for men 25-29 in Venezuela and Chile were 30.6 and 4.4, respectively. Women’s rates were similar. By 2000, the rate in Venezuela had soared to 56.4, and, ominously, in Chile it had spiked to 29.3.
(Why the earlier statistics between Chile and Venezuela vary so wildly, given that they were both Spanish colonies with presumably similar backgrounds, is a matter for another blog post.)
Even more inauspiciously, well over half of all children in South America today are born to unwed mothers. Per NPR, the rate in Colombia is 84%.
Throughout this blog, I’ve made the plea for rapprochement and better cooperation and understanding between the United States and South America, noting that our respective backgrounds in many respects have more in common than with modern Europe not to mention other areas of the globe. Both North and South America are now grappling with the consequences of family breakdowns, yet, in South America, the family still manifests a pull which surpasses that of North America.
For example, in Chile, 81.8% of all single mothers live with their families and receive support and encouragement there. In Venezuela, it is 79.4%. In contrast, the United States has more than three (3) times the share of children around the world who live in single parent households. In other words, they live apart from their extended families.
South America can re-teach North America the value of extended family.
North America can re-teach South America the absolute necessity of self-government.
And both North and South America need a Reformation and Re-Awakening to God.
For readers with further interest in this subject, the links below will be helpful.
https://phys.org/news/2010-07-crime-linked-out-of-wedlock-births.html
https://ced.uab.cat/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/Chapter_2.pdf
