It has been a while since I’ve posted about Venezuela’s colonial and early republic history. It is not easy to write about and, should one care to peruse reader comments of the very few books critical of Simon Bolivar and his Criollo allies, one would see passionate, not to say blind, defense of Bolivar and trashing of anyone who would dare question the conventional narrative.

However, the conventional narrative must be questioned. Even as a child, it was difficult for me to understand just what the uprising was all about. The national anthem has a line that says: El pobre en su choza / libertad pidió (“The poor in his hut / asked for liberty”). 

However, setting aside the textbooks and reading contemporary correspondence of that era, or other primary documents, such as Alexander Humboldt’s (no friend of Spain!) voluminous correspondence and journals, one would not see the “poor in his hut asking for liberty”. On the contrary, one would see “centuries of civilization” — Bolivar’s own words as he lamented the maelstrom and cataclysm he unleashed but for which he never recognized responsibility.

Further, one would see men and boys, handcuffed with ropes, hauled out of their homes in front of screaming mothers and sisters, and dragged to the front lines, where the ropes would be cut and they would be ordered to fight, without any idea what they were fighting for. Or why.

Reading first hand accounts of the truly fratricidal upheavals and bloodletting of that era is depressing.

Few Americans know that the initial uprisings of 1811, fomented by the Criollos (the direct descendants of Spanish colonists), coincided with the period of the Napoleonic invasion of Spain. The Criollos saw their chance to declare independence when Spain was focused on her own survival. It is important to note that “the poor in his hut” had not idea of the political maneuverings that the Machiavellian, power-hungry Criollos in Caracas were machinating.

Little did they understand the civil war that was being unleashed against anyone — including “the poor in his hut” — who would not swear allegiance to the Criollos, or who was merely suspected of loyalty to the king of Spain for something so insignificant as “centuries of civilization”. And, even less, did anyone suspect Bolivar’s “War to the Death” decree, which hurled vast regions into a truly racial war against all Spanish descendants (who were not bonafide revolutionary Criollos).

By 1815, Spain, having defeated Napoleon’s armies, now turned her attention to her bloodied colonies. She sent General Pablo Morillo as supreme commander. This was the first time in three centuries that Spain had sent such an army to the Americas. His large fleet arrived off the coast of the island of Margarita, then under the command of Bolivar’s sadistic sycophant, Juan Bautista Arismendi. Seeing the large fleet and knowing it meant business, Arismendi immediately surrendered and with tears groveled before Morillo who was empowered by the king to offer amnesty as he saw fit. Arismendi claimed ignorance of Spain’s victory over France and that his actions were actually in defense of Spain against France. He pled with tears, “Clemency! Clemency my general! I ask for clemency in the name of this poor people who have suffered so much! Save me from a deserved punishment, for the love of the king!”

Witnesses state that Morillo was deeply moved and told Arismendi to stand and offered him the amnesty he had begged for so genuinely and repentantly. This despite others present who passionately warned Morillo not to do this; that Arismendi had much innocent blood on his hands and was not to be trusted. But Morillo was firm in his belief that Arismendi was sincere and trustworthy.

Morillo departed to Caracas where he was received with genuine joy by a desperate citizenry which had suffered much under their “liberators”. This was in February of 1815.

On May 30 of 1816, over a year later, Morillo was in Santa Fe, Colombia, as guest of honor of a banquet given by the grateful people of Santa Fe. Toward the end of the festivities, “more than 50 ladies came to the general, most crying, begging forgiveness on behalf of their husbands, sons, and brothers who had been ringleaders in uprisings and killings on behalf of the Criollos against the Spanish authorities and loyalists. The tears and supplications were enough to soften a rock. Mothers had thrown themselves at Morillo’s feet begging for pity and mercy for their sons, refusing to stand up….” 

Morillo summoned internal strength to not show any emotion, however, witnesses state that he was deeply moved. Nevertheless, he remained silent, only once in a while murmuring almost in a whisper, “Levántese usted, Señora” (“Stand up, madam”), as he extended his gloved hand to help them stand.

He allowed them to speak for a long time and then, with a firm voice, said:

“Señoras, my king, as a Spanish gentleman, has generous and humanitarian sentiments and has invested me with the most precious faculty of offering pardon so long as such pardon will work for the health of the kingdom. So, upon stepping for the first time on American soil, on the island of Margarita, I offered pardon to all who requested it of me, very much in the same way in which you are requesting it of me now…”

“Do you know how those ingrates repaid my freely offered pardon? Those who, with many tears, begged me to forgive in the name of his majesty, the king? As soon as I turned my back, they, more bloodthirsty than ever, turned upon the officers and soldiers I, in my credulity, had left behind, outnumbered by 100 to 1. Each one was cruelly murdered by knife, sword, and bayonet.”

“Each one of my men who were so treacherously murdered, each one by 100 assassins, also had mothers, wives, and sons, who today curse my name a thousand times for having been so careless in believing such fraudulent protests from such miserable cowards. Had I listened to my men and executed twenty ringleaders, instead of so facilely pardoning men worthy of death, my conscience would not be burdened with the baleful regrets that weigh so heavily on me today….”

“If I put your men at liberty, who can assure me that the loyal people who remain in Santa Fe will not perish by their hands?”

“I am very sorry and saddened for the pain I see painted upon your faces … but … I cannot pardon when the health of the realm does not permit it. No. I cannot. My resolution as to the ringleaders is irrevocable.”

General Morillo had received a detailed briefing on the treachery of Arismendi. By November of 1815, Arismendi, pardoned by Morillo, had gathered 1,500 men and had come upon the 200 men left behind by Morillo. Each one was cut down with machetes, knives, hatchets, and spears.

Morillo should have known (as his own men had tried to warn him) that savages who would drag Spanish loyalists from hospital beds and then club them to death, were not to be trusted. 

Juan Bautista Arismendi (1775-1841). Considered a hero and patriot by the ruling class in Venezuela; however, his story as another side which is not so sublime.

General Pablo Morilla (1778-1837). He is portrayed as a monster of atrocities; however, the unbiased record does not support that description. He went to his grave remorseful for his untimely pardon of the treacherous Arismendi.

Isla Margarita, Venezuela

Municipal government site in Santa Fe, Colombia. First built in 1787, but then rebuilt in 1807. This structure remained until early 20th Century.