LONDON. In a development so predictable it could have been scripted by a committee of nodding donkeys, British intelligence has finally noticed that Venezuela is in a bit of a pickle. The report, leaked from a source who shall remain nameless but probably smells of stale tea and bureaucratic despair, warns that the aftershock of last year's earthquake has been compounded by the state's benign neglect. Or as the spooks put it with typical understatement: 'Hazardous cocktail of seismic instability and institutional collapse.'
Let us translate this from Civil Service into plain English, shall we? The ground is still shaking, the government is about as useful as a chocolate teapot, and the people are caught in the middle like bewildered extras in a disaster film they didn't audition for.
The earthquake, which rattled the already shaky foundations of Nicolás Maduro's regime, has given way to a secondary crisis: the aftershock of abandonment. Hospitals that were already crumbling now have new cracks in the walls. Aid convoys that were promised have been rerouted to somewhere else, possibly the private Swiss bank accounts of the ruling elite. And the international community, that great amorphous blob of concern and inertia, has issued statements. Oh, the statements! They are as plentiful as they are useless, each one a monument to the art of saying nothing while appearing to care.
But British intelligence has done more than just issue a warning. They have, in their infinite wisdom, suggested that the aftershock could trigger a full-blown humanitarian catastrophe. Full-blown! As if the current situation was merely a half-blown catastrophe, a sort of starter catastrophe for those who like their misery in smaller portions. The report highlights that the state's neglect has turned a natural disaster into a man-made one. Which is rather like blaming the rain for the fact that your roof is made of newspaper and hope.
Meanwhile, the streets of Caracas are alive with the sound of desperation. People queue for water that may or may not arrive. They barter for medicine that expired before the current government was even a bad idea. And they watch as the country slides further into the abyss, a slow-motion car crash where the brakes were removed years ago.
The British response? A few extra million in aid, some sternly worded letters, and a phone call to the UN that will be politely ignored. Because that is how the great game is played, isn't it? We sit in our nice, safe islands, clucking our tongues and writing reports while others choke on the dust of our indifference.
And what of the aftershock itself? It is not just geological. It is the aftershock of decades of mismanagement, of corruption that turns gold mines into ghost towns, of a revolution that ate its own children. The ground may stop shaking one day, but the tremors of state neglect will continue to ripple through the lives of millions.
So here is my proposal, dear reader. Let us stop pretending. Let us admit that Venezuela is not a crisis of nature but a crisis of politics, a crisis of priorities, a crisis of a world that looks away when it is inconvenient not to. And let us raise a glass of gin (or kerosene, depending on your budget) to the people of Venezuela, who deserve better than aftershocks and neglect.
Biff Thistlethwaite, filing from the edge of the abyss.
