In my prior post, I alluded to the betrayal of General Pablo Morillo by one of the most despicable scoundrels of South America’s 19th Century revolutionary wars, Juan Bautista Arismendi. For generations, this man, like Bolivar and others, has been held up as a noble, heroic, unselfish paragon of righteousness. And, as is often the case, the writers of modern history are actually agents of propaganda. Arismendi was a cruel, pitiless spawn of 18th Century Enlightenment doctrine. Like Robespierre, he loved ideology and blood more than his fellow man, including his own wife.
One example of his coldness was his reply when informed that his wife, imprisoned for aiding the murderers, and about to give birth, “I’d rather have a country (patria) than a son.” I’ve paraphrased the quote, but that was the gist. Compare that sentiment to the motivations of the North American colonists who risked it all precisely to protect hearth and home. In the case of Mrs. Arismendi, the Spaniards released her. This, in contrast to Arismendi’s slaughter — with clubs and spears — of Criollos (Venezuelans born of Spanish parents) sick and wounded in hospitals in Caracas. Lord, spare us from ideologues!
As noted in the prior post, after the massacre of the few Spanish on the island of Margarita, Arismendi sent word to Bolivar, who was being aided by the disastrous, murderous regime in Haiti. Bolivar headed back to Venezuela, intending to stop first in Margarita to meet up with Arismendi.
En route, his squadron came across two Spanish ships which were promptly attacked in a fierce, bloody battle. The Spanish were overwhelmed and Bolivar’s men, with the War to the Death proclamation still in force, slaughtered all they came across, including a gravely wounded man in sick bay and the physician, who approached the men, seeking to calm them down, only to find himself cut down as well.
Meanwhile, Simón Bolívar, the Great Liberator, was laughing as he practiced his aim by shooting at the castaways who sought to swim either to safety or even to Bolivar’s ships to keep from drowning. Bolívar, contrary to all laws of war and peace, shot them. Witness accounts note that he killed two in this way. I could find no record if any of the others were spared or simply abandoned in the open sea.
Witnesses affirmed that Bolívar was laughing as he shot, “He completely approves and encourages the killing of prisoners after the battle and during the retreat and has even sought to be a witness to these scenes of infamous carnage.”
Bolivar’s cruelty was well known before Morillo arrived in Margarita the prior year, 1815. Nevertheless, he had considered Arismendi to be sincere in his protestations of loyalty and ignorance, this despite Morillo’s own men urging him to not believe Arismendi as there was overwhelming evidence of his murderous character. However, Morillo waved this aside in his foolish initial desire to fight a raging fire with a spray bottle.
When he learned of Arismendi’s betrayal, of his murder of the men he had left behind, of numerous scenes of unbelievable cruelty beyond even that which he had witnessed in the Napoleonic wars in Spain, he hardened and determined to execute all ringleaders henceforth. As noted in the prior post, this is what he did in Santa Fe, despite the pitiful cries of wives and children.
Witness accounts relate Morillo’s regret for not having listened to his men upon his initial disembarking on Margarita. He would speak of the wives and children of the men he had left to die at the hands of Arismendi and Bolivar and of the many more Spanish soldiers who perished because of his foolishness.
Morillo is treated poorly in the history books, which must create monsters to slay in order to exalt men of low degree. However, he was a far better man than Bolivar and Arismendi.
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.
Those who grew up in El Pao will remember celebrating both the Fourth and the Fifth of July, reflecting yet another similarity between the two countries. The American and Venezuelan holidays afforded an opportunity for executives to declare and affirm ongoing genuine friendship and a collaborative spirit between both peoples while we children looked forward to having our fathers home for a more extended time than usual, and also learning a bit more to understand and appreciate our liberties. I was fortunate to have had a father and mother who, as best they knew how, taught us appreciation and gratitude for America and also for Venezuela.
Venezuela history was a required subject in school. And a most frustrating one it was for me. For the life of me, I could not understand what the early 19th century fighting was about. My teachers seemed to tell stories assuming we students possessed presupposed knowledge as to why the revolutionaries rose against Madrid. But I had no such knowledge. My father had told me about the North American colonies and how they had a history of self-government and liberties and how England had begun taking those liberties away, even to the point of stationing mercenary troops in private homes where they abused and, in some cases, even defiled the mothers and daughters.
Furthermore, the English parliament had decreed the assignment of Church of England bishops to the colonies: a last straw. I could see why folks would resist and seek to stop that, even if it meant overthrowing the rule of the English king.
Although my mother and father taught me to respect and honor Venezuela, my teachers told no stories about Spain’s abuses against Venezuela. We heard much about concepts of liberty and fraternity and equality. However, all stratospheric disquisitions about intangible concepts did not satisfy me as to why the criollos rose against Madrid initially, let alone explain the eventual extermination of over one-third of their number. The entire country churned with violence and at the end had been practically depopulated. It was clear to me that the savagery and atrocities occurred not prior to, but during the Revolution. I do remember hearing a teacher quote the words uttered by Simón Bolivar as he approached death in the late 1820’s, “I have plowed in the sea….” And, “…those countries will infallibly fall into chaos and dictatorships….”
But why cast off Spanish rule for intangible concepts only to install tangibly cruel “chaos and dictatorships”?
To read the July 4, 1776, and the July 5, 1811, declarations of independence back to back is an instructive exercise which might help explain why.
The Venezuelan is over 800 words longer and reflects allusions to French revolutionary thinking that is absent from the American. Consistent with the American, it also alludes to the Christian religion which sounds discordant if one has a basic understanding of Rousseau and the Declaration of the Rights of Man.
The Venezuelan opens by alluding to a former declaration (April 19, 1810) which was adopted as a result of Spain’s occupation by France. It goes on to complain about three centuries of suppressed rights and that recent political events in Europe had served to offer an opportunity to restore those rights. They then, following the 1776 Declaration, proceed to justify their actions.
The United States [American] declaration does not complain about 150 years of colonial rule. Rather it expresses concern that, when abuses make it necessary to dissolve long-standing political bands, that such action must be taken carefully and with strong justification. It expresses the need and the willingness to “suffer, while evils are sufferable” before abolishing government and relations to “which they are accustomed.”
I know this is simplistic, and historians will disagree, but to the layman, the 1811 comes across as willful, the 1776, as reluctant.
The longest body in each is the justification. The Venezuelan uses 1,156 words, beginning with another allusion to 300 years of Spanish rule and affirming that a people has a right to govern themselves. Then the author expresses a willingness to overlook those 300 years by “placing a veil” over them (“corriendo un velo sobre los trescientos años“) and proceeds to recent European events which had dissolved the Spanish nation. It goes at length criticizing the Spanish monarchy for its abandonment of her throne in favor of the French and how this state of affairs had left Venezuela without legal recourse (“dejándola sin el amparo y garantía de las leyes“).
It asserts, furthermore, that the vast territories of the Americas with far more population than Spain itself cannot be governed from afar, etc. Here, the author presumes to speak for all the Spanish Americas. The layman is justified in wondering if this misdirection is inserted to remove attention from special pleading in the document that does not wholly stand up.
This section is not easy to follow today without some knowledge of the events current in 1811.
This was not a unanimous declaration; three provinces did not join, presaging the terrible bloodletting which was to follow.
For its justification, the American declaration uses 824 words (332 less than the Venezuelan), to list the abuses and their attempts to humbly address these legally only to have their attempts rebuffed. They make no allusions to 150 years of oppression or of unhappiness with their colonial status. They address only relatively recent abuses, including violence against life and property, mercenaries on their way to fight against them, war waged against them, threats to their religious liberty (the Quebec allusion), and much more. These are listed almost in bullet point format, but without the bullets, and are easy to understand, even 244 years later. It reads as if the document were a declaration of the right to self defense.
This was a unanimous declaration signed by representatives of each of the thirteen colonies.
In their conclusion, the Venezuelans, yet again, allude to centuries of oppression and their natural right to govern themselves. They assert they have a right to establish a government according to the general will (“voluntad general“) of her people.
It is hard to miss the influence of French revolutionary thinking in the Venezuelan document, despite allusions to a Supreme Being (“Ser Supremo”) and to Jesus Christ (“Jesucristo”). Its reference to the “General Will” is Rousseauean and is also found in the atheistic French Declaration of the Rights of Man.
They also state they will defend their religion.
The layman can’t help but be impressed by the schizophrenic nature of this document which contained appeals to atheistic revolutionary thinking then in vogue, while recognizing that the “regular folk” were still very religious and needed to hear allusions to religious fidelity.
The American conclusion appealed to the Supreme Judge of the world and in the name and authority of the people in the colonies they declared independence.
I know that professors delight in pointing out that Thomas Jefferson was the “author” of the American declaration and that he was not a Christian, etc.
However, one does not read the Virginia Fairfax Resolves (1774), or the Virginia Declaration of Rights (May, 1776), both of whose primary author was George Mason, a Christian, nor does one read clergyman, John Wise, who in 1710 wrote, “Every man must be acknowledged equal to every man,” and “The end of all good government is to cultivate humanity and promote the happiness of all and the good of every man in all his rights, his life, liberty, estate, honor, and so forth…” and “Democracy is Christ’s government in church and state.” Jefferson drew from a rich, deep Christian well. According to President Calvin Coolidge, Jefferson himself “acknowledged that his ‘best ideas of democracy’ had been secured at church meetings.”
The American declaration was followed by seven more years of war whose official end was the Treaty of Paris in 1783 and a constitution, still in effect, whose final ratification was in 1790. The Venezuelan declaration was followed by nineteen years of wars (plural) characterized by unspeakable cruelties and tortures, including a proclamation of “war to the death” by Simón Bolivar. By their end in 1830, one third of Venezuela’s population had perished. These wars were followed by more wars and rebellions which continued to the end of the century. She’s had 27 constitutions.
In sum, the American hearkened to her Christian heritage and history; the Venezuelan, to French revolutionary atheism, most starkly demonstrated by yet another revolution, the Russian, in 1917. Both the American and the Venezuelan shed blood. But the latter, like the French, shed it more abundantly.
I love the United States of America and its history. I love her Christian heritage and her pioneers. She is a wonderfully great country with a people who will always pull at my heart. I also love Venezuela and the warmth and genuine friendship of her people. I am grateful the Good Lord has exposed me to both and shown me that, in Christ, our best days are yet ahead.
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. Juan Vicente Gómez (1857-1935)
We have considered the encomienda and the hacienda systems and how the former did not grant title to the land, whereas the latter did. We have also seen that in both cases the intent was to help, protect, and instruct the native populations in the Spanish colonies of the Americas, including Venezuela.
That point is important and we will have more to say about it in other posts. For now, let us simply state that the Spanish crown, for all its failures, desired the best for its colonies in the Americas and did what they could in the 15th, 16th, and 17th centuries to realize that desire. I’ve added emphasis in the prior sentence in order to point out that their concern and their efforts were progressive (in the good sense) and humanitarian at a time when life was “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short” and many did not think it important to care for “savages” in other lands.
In both systems, the character of the “owner”, whether the encomendado or the hacendado, in large measure determined the actual treatment of the Indians (or indigenous peoples). There were many cases where encomendados just ignored the temporary nature of their trusts and outright kept the lands entrusted to them. In some of these cases, but by no means all, the land remained with these after transition to the hacendado system where title was granted by the throne.
An important point to remember is that with both systems, although monetary consideration may not have been given, some service to the crown had been rendered, whereby it was demonstrated that the owners had earned their lands, and the lands had legal title. And, in turn, in many cases, under both systems, the Spaniards and their descendants granted lands to faithful or industrious laborers on their haciendas.
(As to the legal aspects of lands owned by colonists and not by the Indians, that is beyond the scope of the posts on ranchitos, but will be addressed in the future.)
Fast forward with me to very recent times. My Puerto Rican father-in-law owned land which he farmed. During his active years he hired a number of men who remained with him and whose children also eventually worked the land. In at least one case that I’m aware of, he, in effect, granted (very low price) a portion of the farm to a faithful foreman who had served him for years. That foreman is now gone but his descendants continue on the land, holding legal title. None live in ranchitos.
Multiply that example by thousands and you get an idea of the evolution of land ownership in Venezuela and throughout the former American Spanish colonial empire up to the 20th century.
And throughout these centuries, there were no ranchitos and no evidence of death by famine, although too much evidence of hundreds of thousands of deaths by revolutions and upheavals in the 19th century. That’s been covered in other posts (for example, see here and here and here) and will be addressed further in future posts, because Venezuela (and her neighbors) cannot be understood otherwise.
Before arriving to the 20th century in our narrative on Venezuelan ranchitos, it is necessary to note that the era following the blood-soaked revolutionary wars was one of decades of convulsive rebellions and multiple, and at times simultaneously competing governments, led by strongmen (caudillos) of varying ideological persuasions.
One persistent whisper, coursing like a wily salamander throughout speeches, pronouncements, declarations, proclamations, and publications was the attack on “large landowners”. With authoritative conviction, the “tragedy”, the “injustice”, the “offense”, or the “scandal” of a few men owning so much land was condemned and denounced.
This was sheer demagoguery and it had little impact in moving large numbers of people to take whatever action was urged. However, it did move these men’s armies or their armed forces and their political fellow travelers.
As to the “post-independence” epoch of the 19th century, following are generalities and a brief mention of some of the more critical personages; deeper analysis and discussion will have to await other posts in the future given that our concern at present is how we got to the ranchitos.
José Antonio Paez – 1830-1848
Having betrayed Simón Bolivar, he led the separation movement from Gran Colombia in 1829 and in 1830 called a constitutional convention for Venezuela as a country, separate from Bolivar’s Gran Colombia. He (Paez) dominated Venezuelan politics until 1848.
He led the Conservatives, who espoused property rights and property qualifications for voting. He also promoted exports, in particular cacao and coffee.
Most historians agree that his years in power were characterized by stability and economic growth.
José Tadeo Monagas – 1848-1858
He was elected in 1846 as a conservative, successor to José Antonio Paez. However, as Paez had betrayed Bolivar, Monagas, in turn, betrayed Paez by abandoning and actively opposing the Conservative party, including attacking land ownership and, in 1848, he exiled the former president (Paez).
His period in power, shared with his brother, was characterized by turmoil. By 1857 the Monagas brothers attempted to extend his rule, which prompted a rebellion wherein he was deposed. But 5 years of terrible bloodletting, known as the Federal Wars, followed, wherein control of the reins of civil government swung from one party to another or were mired in utter confusion.
By 1863, the “Liberals” were in control and power was assumed by:
Antonio Guzmán Blanco – 1863-1888
More rebellions ensued along with more bloodletting. Guzmán consolidated his power in 1870, having swung from Conservative to Liberal to Conservative and finally back to Liberal. He was in power, off and on, through 1888 and was succeeded, after more turmoil, in 1890 by:
Joaquín Crespo – 1890-1899
Following a now all-too-familiar pattern, Crespo’s rule was more turmoil, confusion, and nastiness. But he still found time and energy to pick a fight with England over a vast wilderness in the East where gold had been discovered. We need to leave that adventure for future posts.
The period from 1830 to 1899 confirmed Simón Bolivar’s exasperated complaint in 1829:
“From one end to the other, the New World is an abyss of abomination; there is no good faith in [Spanish] America; treaties are mere paper; constitutions, books; elections, combat; liberty, anarchy; life, a torment. We’ve never been so disgraced as we are now. Before, we enjoyed good things; illusion is fed by chimera…. we are tormented by bitter realities.”
This, from a man who was largely responsible for the chaos he now bitterly laments. A man who proclaimed the glorious unity of the continent, saw it irredeemably fractured and destroyed. He died, embittered (“I have plowed the sea!”), a mere year later.
The Andinos – 1899-1958
At the threshold of the 20th century, Venezuela was about to embark on a period of dramatic progress, peace, and prosperity. In a few years, her foreign debt would be completely and honorably paid off, a vast network of roads constructed, and the foundations laid for “democratic” government.
In general, land ownership and respect for private property continued as it had since colonial days.
Yet the undercurrent of envy in the mouths and hearts of an energetic minority persisted.
José Antonio Paez, one of the most remarkable figures in Venezuelan and South American history. More on him in future posts. He died in exile in New York City.
José Tadeo Monagas. Betrayed José Antonio Paez and the Conservative Party. His perfidy was rewarded with rebellions, bloodletting, and instability.
Antonio Guzmán Blanco. His name is still mentioned in Venezuela. His time in power (or the power behind the throne) was uneven, but included periods of tranquility and peace. However, overall, turmoil reigned.
Joaquín Crespo, in power at the end of Venezuela’s turbulent and blood-soaked 19th century. He managed to appeal to United States President Grover Cleveland to arbitrate a territorial dispute with Great Britain. The arbitration did not please him nor the Venezuelan elite. He was deposed shortly thereafter.
My late father-in-law (right) with his foreman circa 1960My late father-in-law (right) accompanying my son harvesting plantains. My father-in-law’s example was a microcosm of the hacenderos with good character and their treatment of laborers and their descendants.
