Tag: Venezuela

Singapore III

Richard Barnes

This is the last of three posts on my recollections of visits to Singapore a decade, and more, ago. This last post shares my amateurish attempts to explain the “why” of Singapore. I’ve not given this much thought ever since returning from Asia years ago, but my notes remind me of my puzzlement in seeking to unlock the key(s) to Singapore’s unique success.

The usual platitudes did not do anything for me: tolerance, multiculturalism, strict enforcement of laws, educational excellence, and more. All those characteristics can be found across the world and throughout history; they come and go. And, for all we know, they could also go from Singapore.

What is (or was) the ground from which sprung such invigorating and nourishing fruit?

Attraction

If I had before me the offer of an all-expenses-paid visit to one place in the world, other than the United States and its territories, I’d be hard pressed to choose between England and Spain. As much as I like and am attracted to Singapore, my paternal and maternal roots are in England and Spain and I am ever-drawn to them, despite their decline and forsaking of their own histories.

My attraction to Singapore obviously lies in my childhood where I thrived in the Venezuelan tropical jungles, shorelines, and rivers. Singapore evokes memories that mesmerize me in ways that are difficult to express, let alone explain. And, yet, it is not so much the geography that pulls me to my parental roots; it is the history, the culture, the religion, the home. I am sure the reader understands, whether he grew up in a tropical jungle or in the Alaskan tundra.

So when I was in Singapore, I often thought of Venezuela. Very counterintuitive, I know. About the only thing the two countries have in common is the tropical setting — and not all of Venezuela is tropical!

But I grew up in the tropics and Singapore elicited thoughts of childhood from me.

Culture

Henry Van Til, the early Twentieth Century theologian, famously said, “Culture is religion externalized”. With that frame of reference I sought to better understand as I reflected on my visits to Singapore. 

Singapore’s ancient history does not help us much here. Although academics differ and debate the particulars, they generally agree that in the 14th Century Singapore was a trading port known as Temasek and under the influence of Greater India but also China. However, wars and banditry eventually depopulated the island and not much is known about these dark ages.

Sir Stamford Raffles saw the strategic importance of Singapore’s location and secured control thereof in 1819. This portentous event was not applauded by the British at the time as Raffles’s initiative brought England close to war with the Dutch, who claimed the island as within their sphere of influence.

The dispute was resolved and war avoided by the Anglo-Dutch Treaty of 1824 wherein England ceded certain areas to the Dutch and vice versa. Singapore became a wealthy free port for trade between Europe and Asia. 

A few data about Sir Raffles illustrates the kind of men who walked the earth at that time. He was born on a ship off the coast of Jamaica (the British were everywhere) in 1781. He was a visionary to whom we owe the founding of modern Singapore as a “free port” in 1819. He had great opposition and died in 1826, the day before his 45th birthday. Some say he would have remained unappreciated were it not for his faithful wife who, long after his death, worked hard to make his work known and to correct the slander and calumnies that had been hurled against him. Today Singapore honors him with street names like Raffles Avenue and Raffles Boulevard. There is also a Stamford street somewhere, not to mention the colonial Raffles Hotel.

The 19th Century was England’s world empire era when the sun never set for her. A seldom reported corollary to that era was the Christian missionary activity that followed the empire throughout the earth, including Singapore, which remained an English colony from 1819 to the 1950s. 

Raffles established schools and churches in the native languages and opened the doors to missionaries. He abolished forced labor and slavery and although he did not impose English as the native language, over time that did become in effect the prevalent business language of Singapore. Another “English” characteristic is its traffic: to this day cars are driven on the left.

Finally, Raffles respected and provided for religious freedom, which also permitted Christian schools to be founded throughout that part of the world, including Singapore. 

By the time of his death, Singapore had flourished greatly on British principles, most significantly, “a specific regulation in the constitution called for the multi-ethnic population to remain as they were; and no crimes were entirely based on racial principles.” A crime was defined as a criminal act, not as something one believed or professed.

So Singapore’s culture, although decidedly multi-ethnic, would not have developed that way without genuine Christian tolerance which has persisted well into the modern era.

Today

Although there are many churches in Singapore as well as other places of worship, most would describe the island as pluralistic and secular. Lee Kuan Yew, was the first and longest serving prime minister of Singapore (1959-1990), then Senior Minister (1990-2004), then Minister Mentor (2004-2011).  

After barely surviving the Japanese occupation, Lee was educated in Singapore and in England and gained a reputation as a “left-wing” troublemaker. He distrusted the British because of their failure to defend Singapore against the Japanese conquest. However, in the aftermath of left-wing riots and Communist betrayals, he also turned against the Left for the rest of his life.

I would describe Lee as extremely pragmatic, which led him to avoid throwing out the practical and worthwhile colonial heritage with the colonial bathwater. Under his leadership, Singapore became one of the “Asian Tigers” and still boasts one of the highest per capita incomes in the world. 

In a sense, Singapore reflects much of Lee’s cultural and philosophic makeup: pragmatic, practical, and secular. This is true despite a growing but still small Christian community. 

Some of its major laws proceed from the Christian heritage. For example, divorce requires grounds — there is no “no fault divorce” in Singapore (although there have been and are efforts to change that). As for care for the elderly, children are required to care for their parents when the need arises. Ironically, based on my limited conversations with Singaporeans, I don’t think they “need” such a law, as the family is very strong. Thus far.

But secularization is also very strong and, in the West, such has always worked to obscure if not erase the Christian heritage. For example, in several photos from the early 20th Century, the caption referred to “Western Women”. They were actually Christian missionaries. Yes, they were “Western”; however, the caption did not accurately portray who they were in reality and the labors they wrought in Singapore. Such dishonesty prevails in much of the West today.

When one visits the Chijmes, one sees a shopping mall; however, it was once a convent which for decades would accept baby girls brought there by Chinese mothers who were being pressured to either abort or abandon them. These mothers knew that the Christian missionaries would care for their infant daughters and give them a chance in life. This history, although very real, is hidden today.

The Fullerton properties belong to a company founded by Ng Teng Fong (1928-2010). A plaque in the Fullerton Building quotes his favorite Bible verse: “I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever (Psalm 23:6)”. At the time of his death, he was the richest man in Singapore. Yet he was known as a humble man who did much for his town. 

“He went on to develop innovative homes, build the first shopping malls in Orchard Road, and pioneer the development of vibrant waterfront retail and commercial centre en Tsim Sha Tsui East, Hong Kong. [His companies] have built more than 1,000 developments in Singapore, Hong Kong, China, and Malaysia, attesting to the entrepreneurial energy and vision of our founder. To God be the Glory.”

“He considered himself to be an ‘ordinary working man’ with a dream to satisfy a desire for homes among Singaporeans.” He was the eldest of 11 children. He and his wife had 8 children, very much “against the grain” in modern Singapore which for a time had a “2 is enough” public campaign.

Conclusion

Much more can be written about Singapore, including stories of incredible courage, heroism, and fidelity during the Japanese occupation. Also, the accomplishments of men such as Sir Thomas Raffles, Lee Kuan Yew, Ng Teng Fong, not to mention heroic nurses and soldiers during the Japanese occupation can keep one engrossed for hours and days.

I wish all the best for that beautiful city and island state. However, if she forgets or neglects or otherwise does not acknowledge the heritage that produced her success, she will see that her success will become as dust and ashes. I do not wish that for her; quite the contrary. So I do hope her sons and daughters are encouraged to learn that heritage and to keep it alive.

Boat Quay, circa 1900

Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles (1781-1826). He was not only a great visionary, he also loved the peoples of Southeast Asia

Lee Kwan Yew (1923-2015) — First and also longest serving prime minister of Singapore

The Fullerton Hotel, which used to be the Singapore Post Office. 

View of the Marina Bay Sands, Singapore. One of countless striking views of modern Singapore

Essequibo

Richard Barnes

Mostly under the radar to the rest of the world, but very much on the minds and attitudes of the people of Guyana and on the Venezuelan political class, the long simmering Venezuelan claim over a vast, oil rich area of the Guiana Highlands is dangerously close to erupting.

The highlands are “a heavily forested plateau and low-mountain region north of the Amazon and south of the Orinoco River. This extensive natural border, coupled with nonexistent infrastructure and insufficient political willingness to cooperate from both sides, has left Guyana — and its institutions, customs, culture, and people — as an enigma to the majority of Venezuelans [Caracas Chronicles, February 2, 2024]”. No doubt the same can be said about the Guyanese people’s perceptions about Venezuela.

Two months ago, on December 3, 2023, the Maduro regime claimed an overwhelming “victory” in a referendum where over 95% of the Venezuelan people in effect voted to take over the region and to reject any past or future international arbitration agreements. Of course, since the early naughts any results from “elections” or “referendums” in Venezuela are trusted only by those who believe in the tooth fairy.

Nevertheless, the Maduro regime is proceeding as if an invasion is the “will of the people” (Rousseau is very much with us, no?).

As noted by the Caracas Chronicles, “In the slums of Caracas and in towns closer to the border with Guyana, people remain focused on their many other problems and see the chauvinistic campaign as a bad thing.” 

As well they should.

Since the referendum, the people and authorities of Guyana see the 20,000-plus Venezuelan immigrants as Trojan Horse infiltrators and are making life increasingly difficult for them. These are not “military age single men” such as are being seen in the United States southern border, but rather very poor people who escaped Venezuela in search for a way to feed their families. Guyana has historically never refused them entry.

Brief Background

British Guiana was a possession of England since long before Venezuela had come into existence in the 19th Century. It was only after the terrible revolutionary wars of South America that Venezuela, seeing that the British region contained gold deposits, claimed much of the British colony for herself.

The British were not impressed; however, they were willing to settle the controversy. As far back as 1840 they commissioned Sir Robert Schomburgk to ascertain the true boundary. He made a careful survey which the Venezuelans promptly dismissed. 

Then, in 1895, the Venezuelans turned to the United States whose Anglophobe Secretary of State, Richard Olney, wrote a fierce letter to England’s Prime Minister, Lord Salisbury, who replied several months later, correcting Olney’s interpretation of the Monroe Doctrine, which barred European powers from imposing their systems of governance onto the Americas but did not enter into border disputes. His reply also had the air of a college professor correcting a freshman student’s obvious grammatical errors.  

Salisbury was undoubtedly correct; however, he was diplomatically unwise, not having read the American mood at the time, which was not very pro-British. Lord Salisbury turned his attention to England’s far flung empire, no doubt figuring the Americans would not bother further over that jungle-matted territory.

He figured wrong. President Grover Cleveland sought approval from Congress to appropriate funds for American arbitration of the border dispute, which request was approved unanimously, with a whoop and a holler, by both houses of Congress. The mood was of war with England, should it be necessary.

This was, of course, foolish on the part of the jingoists. England’s navy alone could wreak havoc on America’s coasts. Also, most American’s did not even know where British Guiana was on the map and could not care less, meaning enthusiasm was only temporary.

Across the ocean, similar sentiments prevailed. Most Englishmen agreed that a mosquito-infested piece of the South American jungle was not worth any war, no matter how many gold reserves it might have; after all, England had a corner of the world’s gold without counting the disputed highlands. Besides, the British were far more concerned with the rising power of Germany and also the obstreperous Boers in South Africa, which Germany was cheering on. 

Europe’s discords continued to work to America’s advantage.

So the British agreed to arbitration and provided the Americans with massive amounts of documents and data which helped greatly in the push towards a reasonable and fair settlement. The Americans persuaded the Venezuelans to sign a treaty with England which called for the submission of the border dispute to international arbitration. This was a significant concession by England who knew that arbitrations tended to “split the difference”. The concern was that Venezuela, most unreasonably, claimed most of British Guiana, while England claimed far less of Venezuela.

The decision was issued about two years later and generally followed the Schomburgk line, with two important exceptions. “First, Venezuela secured a considerable area at the southern end; secondly, and much more significantly, she obtained control of the mouth of the Orinoco River [A Diplomatic History of the American People].”

It was Venezuela who had sought “Yankee intervention”. And when Cleveland died in 1908, Venezuela lowered her flags to half mast.

Current Situation

And now, Venezuela has moved “light tanks, missile-equipped patrol boats, and armored carriers to the two countries’ border in what is quickly turning into a new security challenge…. [Wall Street Journal, February 9, 2024].”

Historically, “revolutionary” regimes, which emphatically include Communist and Socialist inspired governments, seek confrontations and conflicts as they point fingers to “the other” as excuses for their own failures. History has ample evidence of this, from the French Revolution and it’s progeny throughout the earth, including the South American revolutionary wars of the 19th Century, the Russian Revolution and its progeny in the 20th, and the thirst for wars of the “free” governments of the 21st.

Essequibo refers to the name of a major river in Guyana. Venezuela aims to push their territorial claims to that river as they seek to take over most of her neighbor’s territory.

Pray for the peoples of Venezuela and Guyana.

Sir Robert Schomburgk, 1804-1865

Lord Salisbury, 1830-1903

United States Secretary of State Richard Olney, 1835-1917

United States President Grover Cleveland, 1837-1908

Georgetown, British Guiana, circa 1900

Christmas 2023

Richard Barnes

Lillie and I married in 1984 and that year we wrote our first annual Christmas letter. Our intent was to write one annually. We did so through our 2018 letter, marking 35 Christmases touching base with our friends and loved ones.

We’d like to resume our letters, not because you badly need to hear from us; but rather because we need to communicate with you.

The “big event” this year was my mother’s passing away from this earth and into glory with her Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, Whose birth we celebrate this season. The events leading up to, and including, her death are very vivid in my mind and I suppose they will remain so for the rest of my life. We buried her in Fairburn, Georgia, next to her beloved husband, Charles, our father, who preceded her in death by 41 years. 

Life with father and mother seems like yesterday. I can still hear my father’s voice announcing his arrival from work or from a trip to the store. And I can hear my mother’s reply.

Memories can be a great joy, so long as one does not live in the past but rather uses the past as a stepping stone to advancing his calling in life. We do not worship our ancestors; rather we honor our parents and our elders — those who came before — because we know that unless we stand on their shoulders we will not do well in life. But, more critically, because God commands us to. To worship ancestors is to stagnate; to denigrate them is to destroy the future; to honor them is to progress and to help our children and grandchildren do so as well.

I am grateful for my parents and seldom do I live a day when I do not recall or act upon a gem of truth or a piece of advice given to me by them. I hope I will be half as profitable to my children and grandchildren as my father and mother were to me. I am also grateful for my birth in El Pao, Venezuela, and my childhood years there. I had good childhood friends and wonderful teachers whose wisdom persists despite the passing of the years. I am thankful for the privilege of having grown amongst Americans of different states and Latin Americans of different countries. Looking back, I can clearly see what an honor and benefit that was to me and to my own family.

Whenever I visited my father’s burial place, I would walk past Shingo’s grave. Shingo was a member or our small country church in Fairburn. The site always had flowers which I understood were placed by his sister who cared for the site for decades. In my last two or three visits to my father’s site earlier this year I noticed that Shingo’s tomb had no flowers. During my mother’s burial and for two visits afterwards, Shingo’s tomb remained bare. I can only suppose that his sister has either moved out of state or has passed away.

I know that over time, most graves will become unvisited. That thought saddens me and reminds me that most of us will not be long remembered after we leave this earth. It is good to know, however, that our Lord does remember and He will accompany us throughout our lives and as we walk through the valley of the shadow of death. And He will also raise us from our tombs on that Great Day to live eternally in a New Heaven and a New Earth.

That, too, is part of the great story of Christmas.

Two grandchildren, James and Ada, were born in March and January to Elizabeth and Tyler and to Charles and Essie, respectively. They have added to the rambunctious joys of family visits, along with their siblings and cousins, Grace, Ebenezer, Emily, and Beverly. And there are two more on the way: one to Esther and the other to Essie. 

This year marked my 70th birthday. My children gave me a great gift, the Folio Society edition of George Eliot’s great novel, Middlemarch, which I look forward to reading early next year. In closing this year’s letter, it is appropriate to quote from that work:

The growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.

Be faithful. 

Merry Christmas to you and yours, now and always. 

Taken on September 11, 2023, after my mother’s funeral. I was not feeling well and had no idea that my children had aligned behind us in birth order. Thank you, dear children. And beloved wife.

My parents’ graves in Fairburn, Georgia.

Courteous Behavior

Richard Barnes

The photo below was taken in our home in El Pao, circa 1955. At the left, is my uncle, Alfred Barnes; to the right is Mr. John Tuohy, a dear friend to the very end. 

I do not remember the two gentlemen in the center.

The painting on the wall was held by my mother to the end of her days. It is one of the constants throughout my entire life. Whenever I think of El Pao, invariably that painting comes to my mind. It is of huts in Lake Maracaibo in the late 1940s or early 1950s.

The late Otto Scott used to say that the primary reason he enjoyed watching older movies was not so much the plot or the acting, although both might have been very good in a given picture. The primary reason was to be reminded of how folks used to behave; how they talked; how they dressed and how they exhibited courteous behaviors. 

Mr. Scott’s point was not that folks were necessarily “better” or “purer”; rather that they observed restrictions that are necessary for the proper functioning of a society. 

Courteous behavior is like motor oil in a finely tuned machine. If the oil runs out, the machinery will collapse.

As you observe the photo below, which was sent by a family friend to my sister, you will notice that the four gentlemen are dressed in coats and ties simply for a visit to a home in the mining camp in a jungle. You will also notice that they are well groomed. Based on my personal knowledge of my uncle and of Mr. Tuohy, I can tell you that they also carried on lively, knowledgeable, interesting, and — most importantly — respectful conversations.

Again, no one is saying these men were “good” — there is none good but God — or that they had no blemishes or dark spots. That is not the point. 

What I am saying is that the courtesy they learned at home and exhibited throughout their lives enabled society to proceed despite rough spots and sharp edges. 

As that courtesy and rules of manners have eroded, society also has eroded alongside.

What maintains such courtesy? Well, readers of this blog will know my position: Christianity is what produces such courtesy. Christianity gives us the law of God by which we live, and by which we agree to function. 

Last Sunday was the First of Advent. May we all enjoy this season and also ponder its significance.

Mami

Richard Barnes

I was blessed with a happy childhood. Part of what enabled that blessing was having a mother and father who did not allow a complaining spirit in the home and who were astute enough to remind us of our blessings and daily provision, not least of which was food on our table every day.

I tended towards a bit of “shyness” but my parents did not allow me to shrink away from social events or gatherings; on the contrary, they pushed me into them, which sort of “forced” me to swim or sink. And I am grateful, because to this day gregariousness is not my strong suit; nevertheless, I remember my parents’ and now “force” myself, instead of relying on mother or father to do so.

Ada Barnes, née Rodriguez, was born September 30, 1930, in Upata, Estado Bolívar, in the interior regions of Venezuela. Her home was typical of the era and the region: a rustic, colonial type structure, meaning a front door and heavy wood casement window facing the dirt street. Beyond the door was a small rectangular receiving room. Farther on, an entryway led into an open hallway which led to the kitchen, and beyond it, a larger garden area with fruit trees, chickens, turtles, and pigs.

My mother’s earliest memory was of the men who would be hired to come and slaughter a pig for food. It was a very loud affair and she would run as far away as she could within the house, find a corner, and stop her ears. That memory stayed with her to the end.

She had formal schooling through the third or sixth grade (I heard both versions and was never able to confirm either), however, her grammar was impeccable and her handwriting, beautiful. After a secretarial course, she was hired by the Bethlehem Steel and worked in San Félix until she met and married my father who also worked at Bethlehem, known to all as he who “nos pagaba todas las semanas (he paid us every week)”, as an elderly friend recently wrote to me. But he was better known outside the company as a wonderful baseball player and manager who skippered his rag tag team into Double A championships. Mom was his biggest fan.

They moved to El Pao and our family grew to four children: two girls, Brenda and Elaine, and two boys, Ronny, the youngest of the four, and me, the firstborn.

In that time and era, our parents’ friends were also our friends. So, I remember with great fondness, Mr. and Mrs. Berán and Ninoska, and their patriarch, Mr. Axmacher, and matriarch, Mrs. Panchita. Also, the Belafonti’s and Jackson’s, Carmen Luisa, who was also my godmother (Madrina), Mario Pérez and his wife, Oladys, Paco, who ran the camp gasoline station, and also Sr. Medina, Dad’s mechanic, and Mercedes, his wife, and Mr. John Tuohy and his wife, Clara, and Mr. Giliberti and his wife, Lucila, and Charles Abaffy with whom my father had a hilarious, continual repartee, Mr. and Mrs. Ivanosky from Russia. Those are the names that come up immediately, and more and more also are making their way from my memory banks, but I must stop. The point is that all these folks were adults who, later in my life, were also my friends and advisors. My parents’ friends were my friends. Practically all are gone now. But my gratitude remains.

In 1978, I had planned a 3-week vacation to Venezuela. My plans were detailed and efficient — I had packed lots of experiences into that period of time. Or so I thought.

Then I shared my plans with my mother, who immediately thrust a list — a multi-page list — of names with telephone numbers into my hand. She insisted that I visit each and every one of the people on her list. 

“How can I fit these visits into my plans?!” I asked, with a bit of exasperation. 

“You must”, was the simple reply.

And I did. I visited every single family or person — with only ONE exception, and that was because the husband was ill and the wife was indisposed, or so they told me over the phone. Later, as I dutifully reported my obedience to her, when I came to the one couple whom I had failed to visit, my mother smiled, “Well, at least you called them. They cannot say they were ignored. And I am not surprised at their refusal. Life has many people like that, but you must not be like them.” 

So, she figured they’d tell me to hit the road and still she included them in her list! That’s my mother.

I must say, of all the trips or vacations in my life, including spots in exotic places of the earth, that 1978 trip, jam-packed with visits to friends and family, was among the most memorable because it was focused on people — men, women, and children who meant very much to my parents and to me.

Not too many young men can boast unapologetically that their mother planned their exotic vacation. I am proud to say that my mother planned mine on that occasion, and it turned out to be among the most memorable of all. And it was a lesson that has remained with me to this day: what endures are the personal relationships — friends, family, dear ones — more so than the spectacular sights or experiences. Life is short, too short. But we were created to live forever. In the Lord, friendships, family, brethren will live on. And we will see them again.

My mother widowed on October 9, 1982. She had no interest in remarrying and remained a widow until her own entrance into glory on September 6, 2023, 24 days shy of her 93rd birthday.

The last weeks of her life as she steadily weakened, the last thing to go was her mind. She remembered me immediately each time she saw me or upon hearing my voice. But not only me: it was the same with her other three children, and her grandchildren, and even her great-grandchildren. She was alert, even when appearing to be asleep. At times she’d exclaim, “Me duele el cuerpo“, or “¿Qué me pasa?“, or at the end of a prayer or the reading of Scripture, with great effort, she’d say, “Amén” or she’d be able to utter, “Dios te bendiga“. 

Such utterances became more difficult and infrequent.

Shortly before her passing, we received a visit from Carmen Herminia, one of our childhood friends whom we had not seen for over four decades. It is difficult for me to describe that joyful occasion, other than to say that it was impactful to my mother, who by that time could not speak. She had tears of joy as Carmen Herminia played voice mail messages from several ladies from the church in El Pao and as she heard them express their gratitude to my mother and to my father for their years of service there and their impact on their lives and their consistent reflection of love and devotion to the Triune God and the Christian faith. We sang hymns and prayed and Mami was content.

In addition to her husband, Charles, her parents, Julio Rodriguez and Eleana Pérez also preceded her in death. She is survived by her children, Richard M. Barnes (Lillian), Brenda E. Barnes, Elaine M. Childs (Christopher), and Ronald M. Barnes (Heather); 21 grandchildren; 15 great-grandchildren; many nieces, nephews, and extended family.

She is the last of the fathers, mothers, aunts, and uncles with whom we grew up. My sadness is deep, but so is my gratitude. She died midst her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. 

Thank you, Mom.

This is not Upata; however, structure on the far left offers an idea; my mother’s birthplace front facade was a single door and casement window in a space slightly wider than what is seen above just left of the utility pole.

This gives a clearer idea; however the above is far “nicer” and beautified for contemporary consumption.

From left: Aunt Sarah, Uncle Wichy, Father, Mother, Miami, Florida, circa 1956. Mom was the last surviving member of that generation in our family.

Mother and Father, September 25, 1957

A day where most but not all her children and grandchildren visited. She talked and smiled much.

Mom received children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. The photo does not reflect her gestures and smiles, but they were there. She was content.