January 2022 – The Pull Of The Land

Simon Bolivar’s Endiosamiento

January 29, 2022 Richard Barnes

Simon Bolivar was an enigma: heroic yet cruel; capable of stratospheric oratory yet acutely dishonorable (to put it mildly); extremely charismatic yet disloyal. To see prior posts about him, start here.

With such a flawed man, how is it that he was practically considered a god in Venezuela?

As he approached his final years, his luster had suffered greatly, given his openly carnal personal proclivities and, more alarmingly, his inclinations to tyranny. By the end of his life, he was little more than a repudiated dictator, having attempted to impose a centralized, totalitarian system on his Great Colombia. He died in Colombia in 1830 at the age of 47. A sketch of him shortly before his death reflects a man twice his age, the effects of tuberculosis but also of his dissolute actions.

His authoritarianism was so intensely rejected that the Venezuelan congress refused to approve the repatriation of his body to Venezuela, his place of birth.

However, twelve years later, General José Antonio Páez, who had betrayed Bolivar in leading a successful separation of Venezuela from Colombia (see Ranchitos III), began the intense process of resurrecting Bolivar for political purposes.

Páez requested the repatriation of Bolivar’s remains and, with much pomp, had him buried in the cathedral in Caracas. However, given the longevity of memories of people who had suffered much under Bolivar, more needed to be done later to divinize him.

In 1870, Guzmán Blanco initiated a systematic process to rehabilitate Bolivar’s image. Over Guzmán’s remaining years (he died in 1888) great public works were named after Bolivar, long-winded laudatory speeches extolled him with uninhibited exaggeration, and slowly but surely the former goat began to become the Great Libertador once more.

These rituals, motivated by political convenience, converted Bolivar into a sacred political military symbol, whose importance could not be underestimated.

Other political leaders continued this divinizing which, in many quarters, produced a cuasi religious cult to the dead hero. Nowhere was this cult more apparent and abundant than in the armed forces who were taught to consider themselves the heirs of the Libertador.

Fidel Castro and Douglas Bravo, a Venezuelan Communist whose ultimately successful strategy was to infiltrate the Venezuelan army (here), further converted Bolivar into a revolutionary saint. In fact, interestingly, it was Venezuela’s dictators who were most responsible for resurrecting Bolivar and elevating his memory to godlike status.

This could be done because it was not too difficult to take Bolivar’s heroic deeds and super-stratospheric writings and make him into a mythological figure, especially after several generations of hagiography by dictators who used him for blatantly self-serving political purposes. Juan Vicente Gómez, although greatly hated in some quarters, successfully pacified Venezuela and built roads still in use today. He ruled from 1908 to 1935, and built unnumbered plazas, buildings, and more, naming them after the Libertador.

Gómez died, fortuitously, on the anniversary of Bolivar’s death 105 years before. It is undeniable that Gómez had created an environment of stability that Venezuela had not seen since her separation from Spain over a century before. He did this while venerating Bolivar to an almost fanatical degree. For more on Gómez, see here.

Gómez legacy in infrastructure and consolidation of the country into one nation are undeniable, but those were not his greatest bequests. That honor belongs to his contribution to the rehabilitation of Simon Bolivar. Innumerable plazas, each one with a statue or bust of Bolivar, dotted the country and the cult of Bolivar became firmly established.

In addition, and portentously, Gómez, more than any other leader, professionalized the Venezuelan armed forces. Although ignored, Gómez, far more than Bolivar, was the creator of Venezuela’s soldier class. And he ensured that soldier class felt itself to be the heir to Simon Bolivar.

I was at a dinner in Venezuela early in the first decade of this century where, in the midst of a discussion about the direction of the country, a young lady spoke up, “Given all the adulation about Bolivar and how his name is being used as justification for the actions taken since the late 90s, I am having second thoughts about just how great that man really was….”

I’ve not been back to Venezuela since then. But I was left wondering whether the cultish hagiography is the same today as it was when I was young.

We’ll have more to say about this, given that Hugo Chávez rose to power as a “Bolivarian”. What is the meaning of that term? Why is it important to both Venezuela and the United States?

Bolivar as seen in innumerable plazas and city centers throughout Venezuela

Sketch of Bolivar made shortly before his death at age 47 in 1830.

Charlie’s Lament and Chironjas

January 18, 2022January 18, 2022 Richard Barnes

“I knew I wasn’t young any more, but it never came to me I’d gone so far down the hill. Long as a man’s young he can take trouble in stride. Time is with him no matter how bad a jam he’s in. Then one day it slaps him in the face. It’s not with him any more, it’s workin’ against him. His friends fall away . . . scattered, or dead, or just changed. His kids are grown up and gone from him. All the old principles that he anchored to, they’ve come a-loose; nobody’s payin’ attention to them any more. He’ an old grayheaded man livin’ in a young man’s world, and all his benchmarks are gone.” — Charlie Flagg in Elmer Kelton’s The Time It Never Rained

My youngest son and I had finally decided that the best way to reach and pick the chironjas (orangelos) was to extend the ladder as high as it would go, place it beneath the clusters of citrus, and reach up with the fully extended pruner pole. This required us to locate the ladder’s footing as best we could on the steep shoulder on the edge of the jungle precipice. The tree is one we had obviously neglected to have pruned over the years. Not only is it impossibly tall, but it grew on the edge of a steep bluff.

The chironja, a cross between an orange and a grapefruit, is thought to have originated in Puerto Rico. It is very juicy, can be eaten in sections, like grapefruit, or squeezed for drink, like oranges. It is popular in our household, especially at breakfast.

I climbed the ladder, intending to step onto the second to last step as I had done so many times heretofore. However, this time, especially as I raised the extended pole, I felt myself swaying just a bit, but “up there” that little bit was magnified into more than prudence would allow. So, I stepped down one level and harvested what I could, regretting that I could not do what I used to do.

Nevertheless, we figured it out and, between my sons and I, the chironjas will have been harvested in the next few days. Plus, the tree will be pruned, we now being in waning moon.

As I descended the ladder, I remembered having read in The Time It Never Rained, “Then one day it slaps him in the face”. The fact that time is not on your side can become very clear by means of an everyday action such as climbing a ladder. Those more wise among us know that time is really never on our side: we are encouraged from early age to “number our days”, and although most do not, yet in the lives of many, they do come to that point when reality becomes impossible to ignore.

A friend tells of the time he was “slapped in the face” as to his encroaching years. He was about to do something that he had “always done”. One day, he could not. He says it was an almost one-day-to-the-next thing. After the initial, momentary shock, he recognized that those particular days were over. And now it was up to him to make the remaining days — which can be many still! — count.

Beyond the physical activities that are naturally curtailed, there remain what Charlie Flagg called “the benchmarks”.

By God’s grace, those will remain, because the principles and ethics that are moored on Eternal Truth will outlive us all. My prayer is that they will endure in the lives of our children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and on to a thousand generations. Our offspring will do the right thing in the end, “if they’ve been brought up in the proper way”.

After Charlie uttered his lament, Manuel, the boy, now a man, who came to respect and love Charlie, replied, “The good benchmarks are still there, Mister Charlie.”

Yes, the good benchmarks are still there, and they will be there till the end of time.

Grapefruit, left, Chironja (Orangelo), right

I Remember

January 13, 2022January 13, 2022 Richard Barnes

A friend sent me a note this week which I’d like to share with you as encouragement as well as challenge. If you have children or grandchildren, do your best to inspire them to love God and country.

That is easier said than done, of course. But reminiscences like those of my friend are a good starting point.

He alludes to the “shacks around Caracas”. For more on that, see my series on “ranchitos” beginning here: Ranchitos I.

Here is his letter:

Dear Richard,

Thanks for the info about Venezuela. It’s sad to see a beautiful country taken down by evil men. The people are the ones who suffer. I remember all the shacks in the area around Caracas and that the city was noted as the pick pocket capital. I know I lost all the Upjohn travel money I had to a gang of pickpockets. It makes me worry about the US and the direction we are headed.

I remember life in Kalamazoo when I would walk to school and to church, about 6 city blocks; we had no car. We would see the little flags with the blue and gold stars in the homes of individuals with sons in the war. But I still remember Sundays as a day of rest: no lawn mowers, no sports, no car washing. But the sound of church bells announcing the start of church services. There were 3 large churches in our neighborhood, and we attended the farthest away. We walked there 3 times a Sunday, rain or shine, seeing all our friends on the way.

Now, no church bells; they may offend someone. It’s all about sports, baseball, golf, basketball, football, and only one church service on Sunday.

And political corruption.

Are we headed in the same direction?

God bless you and yours.

J.V.

Looking north on Burdick St., Kalamazoo, Michigan, 1950s

Looking east on Michigan Ave., Kalamazoo, Michigan, 1950s.

(Although I found photos of individual Kalamazoo churches in the 50s, I was unable to find any panoramic prints that showed at least several of them in one photo)

The Twelve Days of Christmas

January 7, 2022January 7, 2022 Richard Barnes

For our family, today, Epiphany (or Día de Reyes) marks the end of another Christmas season. We have celebrated the past few weeks through today with gratitude and rejoicing. Most of our children were able to be with us for at least a time in December and/or thus far in January. We know, in these modern times when people tend to atomize, thereby forsaking the critical need and importance of family, it is a privilege to spend time together, to pray together, to worship together, to work and play together in multi-generational groups.

We are not unmindful that, although many also share this joy of “being home for Christmas”, many others do not or are unable to and we try hard to not take this privilege for granted.

My father would often tell me of the last Christmas he spent with his own father, not knowing that it would be the last; and how important it is to be appreciative and to make every moment count.

It is wonderful and instructive — and fun! — to celebrate the 12 days from Christmas Day through Twelfth Night (Epiphany Eve). This gives us many opportunities to “compartir” with friends and loved ones and family; and to consider, during meals, family discussions, outings, and other activities, the Great Truth of the Incarnation, its continuing impact on the world, and the Ultimate Victory in Christ.

We wish you and yours the very best in 2022.

The Time It Never Rained

January 6, 2022January 6, 2022 Richard Barnes

“Charlie blinked and looked off toward the barn, toward Manuel. “I never thought it would wind up like this. I thought we was all fixed here for life.”

Lupe shrugged. “God has His reasons. He knows that when we have our bellies full, we don’t bother much with Him. He knows that we stop and listen to Him only when the trouble comes, so once in a while He sends trouble. Maybe He says to Himself, those people down there they think they are too big to need God any more…. Someday when all the people learn to pray again He will make it rain.” Lupe looked down. “I will pray, Mister Charlie.”

The Time It Never Rained, Elmer Kelton

Texas has produced fine literature over the years. Her earliest works were in Spanish, with English taking over in the 19th century. As with all fine literature, Texas works apply universally — across other states and countries and generations.

(Of course, this post does not at all deny that the above also applies to good literature from other states. In fact, I would encourage readers and friends to investigate the literature of your particular state or of a state you might be interested in. You are likely to find some real treasures.)

Although I am in Puerto Rico as I write this, reading Elmer Kelton transports me to West Texas in such a way that, even as I sit midst bright, deep, tropical green jungles, I can feel the dry, hot wind blowing from the west and see the swirling dust boiling from behind my vehicle as I take a short cut across an unpaved road southwest of Midland, Texas, in a dry spell.

As for universal themes, Kelton’s novels deal abundantly, lyrically, beautifully, and poignantly with them, most prominently, that of men or women, however imperfect or scarred, who seek, sometimes desperately, to remain true to their roots and principles in the face of rapidly changing times and values.

There are other Texas authors who also do this well — Tom Lea’s The Wonderful Country comes to mind. Not to mention fine works of non-fiction, such as Walter Prescott Webb’s The Texas Rangers: A Century of Frontier Defense. But I’ll restrict my comments to Kelton’s novel quoted above, as that is what I am currently reading.

Charlie Flagg is a decent man, a rancher determined to do whatever it takes to salvage his ranch during the terrible west Texas drought of the 50s. With a slow, elegiac, spare pace and narrative, Kelton draws you in to the life of the ranchers and cowboys as they toil with hands and brain, ideating creative solutions to lack of grass and then lack of funds to buy feed, as the drought wears on, relentlessly, year after year. Lupe and his wife, Rosa, have lived and worked on Charlie’s ranch for many years and by the time of the quote above, their three children had been born there.

Kelton manages to show that Charlie loves his son, Tom, but the reader sees that Lupe and his family are more valuable to Charlie than his own son, who lives for rodeo and whose wild, irresponsible ways eventually catch up with him. By the time of the above-quoted scene, Tom has sobered up and looks on with quiet, dawning understanding.

And Mary, Charlie’s wife, is a constant: sometimes as irritant, sometimes as encourager, but always a support and comfort whom Charlie loves and respects.

So we are confronted with a man, Charlie Flagg, who is fighting for his life, the only life he has ever known, as a killer drought consumes all before it and kills the dreams and life investments of neighbors and friends who have to fold and move away, never to return. As if that is not trouble enough, Charlie has also to deal with his stern banker, his devil-may-care son, relationships with Anglos and Mexicans, overbearing government agencies who insist that he take aid he has never taken before and refuses to do so now, and much more.

In other words, the novel presents us with the realities of life and how men and women deal with them.

For Texans who lived during that time, this has to be a very hard novel to read, as the images it evokes are powerful and wrenching, although, ultimately, deeply moving.

For all, especially the young, regardless of state or country you come from, it will grant an appreciation of your grandparents and great-grandparents’ determination to work and live for the future that they knew God had prepared but which they, perhaps, would never see. But you and I have.

And, it was all worth it.

“Time and memories — so many good things and so many bad — but strange how the bad things seemed to fade so that you remembered mostly the good. Maybe that was one of life’s main compensations, having those memories with the rough edges blunted down and the bright parts polished to a diamond gleam….”