Venezuela after the flood
By PAUL JEFFREY
Special to the National Catholic Reporter Carmen de
Uria, Venezuela
As Fr. Felipe Colmenares makes his
pastoral rounds through what remains of this seaside town, the priest is
welcomed by dogs standing guard over the eerie rubble. Weeks after floods and
mudslides assaulted the north coast of Venezuela, the few animals that somehow
survived are still waiting in vain for their masters to return. The dogs
timidly greet Colmenares as he picks his way through the hardened mud and
gigantic boulders that cover what was once a bustling resort community.
As many as 5,000 people died here, roughly half of Carmen de
Urias population. The exact numbers will never be known, as many bodies
were swept out to sea or buried under a four-block-wide swath of debris that
extends 300 yards into the Caribbean, its blue waters muddied by the erosion
that continues with every new rain.
Colmenares is pastor in Naiguatá, three miles east, but
since the December 1999 disaster, he has taken charge of three other parishes
in the state of Vargas, the most devastated portion of Venezuela. In one
parish, the priest broke a leg during the flooding. Another took a leave to
help his family relocate after their home was destroyed. And the priest in
Carmen de Uria left in a daze after watching half his flock disappear in a few
minutes when a torrent of water, mud, boulders and tree trunks poured off the
steep hillsides that loom above the town. The priest told NCR he was too
confused to talk about his experiences.
Colmenares doesnt have much to do in Carmen de Uria. The
parish chapel is half gone, its floor covered with a yard of mud that may cover
the bodies of some who sought refuge in the sanctuary. The town is under
military control. Some suggest turning what remains into a memorial park.
Most of the survivors live in emergency shelters elsewhere. A few
residents come back to dig vehicles out of the muck. When bodies are found,
Colmenares prays over the remains before soldiers load the cadavers onto a
helicopter for the trip out.
For the most part, Colmenares just walks, remembering people he
knew here. At the ruins of one house, where relatives have pasted a photo of
the disappeared Botia Juliao family in hopes theyll turn up somewhere and
be recognized, Colmenares leans against the wall and breathes heavily. I
baptized that child, he says, pointing to the photo. He pauses, seeming
as though he wants to say more, but instead can only walk off into the silence
of a town that today belongs to the dead and disappeared.
Where life has begun again
In Colmenares home parish of Naiguatá, however, life
has begun again. Not as hard hit as Carmen de Uria, Naiguatá had better
community organization, which allowed neighbors to more quickly spread the
alarm. Only nine people died in Naiguatá. Perched safely on a hill over
the town, the Our Lady of Coromoto School served as a refuge for residents
fleeing rising waters. School director Teresa Pacheco, a Sister of Charity of
St. Anne, said that during the crisis she couldnt even walk through the
building -- there was no free space to set her feet.
In the weeks that followed, the school became a way station for
pilgrims trekking along the shattered coastline, some leaving behind lives
wrecked by the mudslides, others hiking in from the capital to search for loved
ones. The coastal road, covered in places by six yards of mud and plagued by
fresh slides, opened in late January to four-wheel-drive vehicles whose drivers
could convince the military they had reason to venture into the disaster
zone.
Colmenares, who the night of Dec. 15, 1999, was swept by the
current for 100 yards before grabbing onto a doorway and climbing to safety,
admits its been difficult. My feelings have failed me at
times, he said. I had to leave once to spend time with my family.
Im human. Yet Im the only pastor in these communities, so I have to
be strong to strengthen others, to be a fortress for those who are
weak.
Colmenares said much of what has kept him going is the solidarity
that has come from all corners. Cuban physicians set up a clinic next to the
church. Students from a nearby university, their campus covered with mud,
sorted emergency food. UNICEF provided school supplies so that classes in the
parish school could begin in mid-January. It welcomed dozens of new students
from neighboring towns where schools no longer exist.
The relief operation in Naiguatá has been coordinated by
the military, and Colmenares said the church is cooperating well with the
soldiers. Such cooperation seems strange after a recent war of words between
President Hugo Chavez and Caracas Archbishop Ignacio Velasco García. The
prelate opposed a new constitution that Chavez submitted successfully to voters
Dec. 15, the day of the most serious flooding. The archbishop claimed the
arrogance of the president provoked the wrath of God, resulting in
the disaster. It was an observation that cost Velasco points even with his
supporters.
The archbishop says things in his own way, and sometimes
perhaps he should say them differently, Janeth Marquez, the director of
Caritas Venezuela, told NCR. But I dont think he ever intended to
offend the president.
Chavez, former coup leader who was elected president a year ago,
responded to Velasco by asking aloud why church leaders were so critical of him
when they had turned a blind eye to the poorly hidden mistresses and scandalous
personal enrichment of previous presidents. Wildly popular with the poor of
Venezuela, Chavez claimed that pastoral workers at the grassroots supported
him. He suggested the archbishop needed an exorcist.
At the grassroots, such squabbles seem far away. The military is
in control of all of Vargas. A chaplain to local army and police units,
Colmenares is treated with respect, even deference, by both officers and
troops. The armed forces asked the church for help, Colmenares
said. This tragedy is bigger than any single institution can manage, and
we work well together. There may be political problems at times between some
bishops and the president, but when the words end, we extend the hand
again.
Redefining role of military
There have been complaints about extrajudicial executions of
suspected looters and rapists in Vargas, but otherwise the militarys
response to the disaster has earned kudos from all sides. This increased public
profile was in the making before the rains. Shortly after taking office, Chavez
-- often dressed in his red paratroopers beret, black combat boots and
olive green uniform -- filled many government posts with officers and moved
100,000 soldiers from the barracks to the streets to rebuild schools and roads
and set up special markets where the poor could buy vegetables at subsidized
prices. It was good public relations and began to redefine the militarys
role in national life. The army never had a social role before Chavez. If
it went onto the streets it was to repress people, said Manuel Larreal,
director of Ecumenical Action, a nongovernmental organization helping out in
Naiguatá.
Yet Chavez and the generals appear to realize that Decembers
disaster is more than they can handle alone. They need a civil society that is
organized and willing to work with the government in carrying out
reconstruction. So the president recently paid a visit to a church-sponsored
project in Caracas that he wants to serve as the poster child of such
cooperation.
Over the last 40 years, families migrating from the impoverished
countryside into Caracas have built shacks along the steep ravine where the
Catuche River flows into the center of the capital. Hundreds of houses were
built right up to the edge of the river -- and in some cases directly on top of
the river, leaving just a small tunnel underneath for passage of the water.
Many dumped raw sewage directly into the river, which is just a small trickle
most of the year, and the ravine became an unsightly and unhealthy place.
Engineers warned that serious floods would violently rip through houses in the
ravine.
Things began to change along the Catuche a decade ago when Jesuit
Fr. Jose Virtuoso pushed Jesuit philosophy students living in the neighborhood
out of their seminary to work with residents to clean up the ravine. What the
seminarians started soon blossomed into a neighborhood-wide organization that
brought together church groups, city government, local builders and
international funders in a partnership designed to improve the quality of life
along the Catuche. Sewage pipes were installed, and families slowly began to be
relocated out of the ravine, some into two church-sponsored apartment complexes
overlooking the river. Residents dreamed of a river where fish, frogs and birds
might one day return.
Then came Decembers flooding, and within minutes hundreds of
families along the ravine lost their homes. Yet the communitys
extraordinary organization meant neighbors communicated and cooperated as the
waters rose. Perhaps as few as 15 people died in Catuche, a small number
compared to similar neighborhoods where hundreds lost their lives. Estimates
for the death toll nationwide range from 15,000 to 50,000.
Although they face staggering challenges in the months ahead,
Catuches leaders are markedly more hopeful than their counterparts in
other affected areas. We lost our homes and personal possessions, but our
organization remains, said Liliana Padilla, a researcher at a Jesuit
center in the neighborhood. That gives us hope at a time when hope is in
short supply.
Chavez spotlighted that hope Jan. 23 when he visited Catuche.
Count on us, Father, Chavez declared as he embraced Virtuoso in
front of a cheering crowd. Were going to work with you in this
project, with the help of God and this united people.
At a neighborhood center run by Fe y Alegría (Faith
and Joy), a Venezuelan Catholic service organization, the president
studied maps of the ravine with project officials. We should send people
from here to other places where people are just lying in hammocks, being lazy,
waiting for someone else to solve their problems, Chavez told them.
This is a project that should be multiplied.
Catuches experience is unfortunately exceptional. With few
such grassroots organizations, Chavez will have a harder time responding to the
needs of over 100,000 people who remain in official shelters. He has promised
homes and jobs to those willing to relocate to the sparsely populated interior,
but his government is in serious financial straits, even without the disaster.
Although a dramatic rise in oil revenues will provide some cash for
reconstruction, unemployment and inflation are up, and the economy is
shrinking. The government owes $3.6 billion this year on its $35 billion
foreign debt. Besides those who lost houses in December, many more Venezuelans
-- 3 million in Caracas alone -- live in substandard housing.
Chavez also must overcome a heritage of clientalism (patronage).
The citizens have grown accustomed to political bosses providing favors to win
votes. Four decades of such democratic but paternalistic rule have left many
Venezuelans dependent on Chavez to solve their problems.
We trust the president
Cristina Gonzalez is one of them. Since losing her house in La
Guaira to a mudslide, Gonzalez has sat in a gymnasium in Valencia with 800
other storm victims. The governor of the state of Carabobo showed up to discuss
alternatives, but she wasnt interested. Weve got no
confidence in him or the other politicians. They just make promises they
wont keep, Gonzalez said. Who were waiting for is the
president. We trust him. The way he talks to us gives us confidence. We know
hell help us. Theres always a rumor hes coming here, but we
know hes had a lot to do since the tragedy and hasnt had time to
come here yet.
Given such attitudes, churches and nongovernmental organizations
have their work cut out for them. This dependency on the government means
people dont want to organize to solve their own problems, theyd
rather just wait for the government to make decisions, said Loida Valera,
Venezuelan coordinator for Action by Churches Together. This is a good
moment to change that attitude. The challenge for the churches and
[nongovernmental organizations] is to help people learn to solve their own
problems, to rebuild their own communities.
In Blandin, the Caracas neighborhood hardest hit by the disaster,
Capuchin Brs. Dave Villarroel and Yarmans Vegas walk through the rubble talking
with survivors who are sorting through whats left of their lives.
Especially for Villarroel, its not an easy journey: He grew up in the
neighborhood and lost several friends to the wall of water that swept off the
steep hillsides. The house he grew up in survived only after his parents broke
holes in the walls to let the water flow freely through the structure.
It has been an emotional experience for Villarroel. During
that first week, I felt depressed, he told NCR. But the people who
live here, who dont study theology like I do, they were giving thanks to
God that they were still alive. Villarroels voice broke. He walked
up the rubble-filled street, finally picking up cement chunks and hurtling them
hard against a pockmarked wall.
When something like this happens, you want to blame
someone, Villarroel said. And the easiest one to blame is God. Yet
were the ones at fault. When you rob space from nature, sooner or later
it will take back that space. Were surrounded by proof of that.
Compared to Catuche, Blandin is more typical of Caracas poor
neighborhoods, and in the wake of the disaster, residents have been at the
mercy of nongovernmental organizations and government agencies descending to
help. After Sunday Mass at the local chapel, the two Capuchins meet with
survivors to organize a neighborhood association that will represent residents
with outside institutions. The government and Caritas are up there and
are willing to help, but the question remains about who will work with the
people from below so that they can clearly define and articulate their
needs, Villarroel said. Thats a job for the church.
National Catholic Reporter, March 3,
2000
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