PEOPLE ARE DYING FOR MY COUNTRY
Michelle Goihman, 3rd year, Brandeis University,
as told to Daniela Gerson on January 29, 2003
Americans are impressed when they hear I’m from Venezuela. They think it’s exotic. But nobody here seems to know that Venezuelans are marching in the streets. Nobody knows that people are dying for my country.
Three weeks ago, I too was marching in Venezuela. The administrators, teachers, and students of the school I attended in Caracas, the Catholic University, have been on strike since the beggining of December. Instead of going to classes, I joined the demonstrations to oppose the government. \tOur president, Hugo Chávez, is a former army officer who once led a military coup. I believe he is incapable of running the country. Over the past four years, Chávez has done nothing good for us: The economy is in its worst state in 20 years and people say money has “disappeared” from the treasury. Though most Venezuelans oppose Chávez, he won’t allow an election. That’s why 60 percent of the country’s workforce has gone on strike.
Apart from demonstrations, I was stuck in my house. I couldn’t use my car because the oil workers were on strike and there is no gasoline. All the theatres and restaurants were closed, and it’s dangerous to go out at night because the police can no longer be depended upon for security. My family had stocked up on food—they wanted to be prepared if civil war breaks out or the government closes the roads. At home, I listened to news reports about the crisis all day long. There was nothing else on because all the actors and production staff had also gone on strike.
Venezuela’s Jewish community of roughly 14,000 people is concentrated in the capital city of Caracas. Many of the city’s synagogues are closed now. They are located in a violent, crime-ridden section of Caracas. The police force is not large enough to patrol the whole city and is largely inefficient. Usually, teams of young Jews provide security for the synagogues. But because there is no gas, nobody can drive in to town to protect the synagogues from anti-Semitic attacks.
Almost all of the Jews I know support the opposition. The Jewish school, Hebraica, is on strike. As a result of the crisis, our once-prosperous community is sliding into poverty. The economy is horrible, you can get killed on a march, and people worry there is no future in the country. Many Jews are leaving for the States. But most of them are still praying that things will work out in Venezuela so they can return.
“All the Jews are leaving. They don’t fight,” one non-Jewish friend said to me. And it’s true that most of my Jewish friends aren’t willing to die for Venezuela. Perhaps it’s because Jewish Venezuelans have generally lived here for no more than two generations, while most of my gentile friends have family lines that stretch back to the country’s founding.
It doesn’t seem right for Jews to just leave. Venezuela has been good to us. When my grandfather sought refuge there, he was accepted and suffered no anti-Semitism. I love Venezuela, its culture, and its people. But I also understand that people are leaving because they are afraid of being killed.
I didn’t leave because of the crisis. I wanted to perfect my English and have a better college life. Now, in Boston, I try to find news about Venezuela on the dorm television but never find any. I see that President Bush is trying to go to war and needs Venezuela’s oil. But he has done nothing to solve its problems. It disturbs me that other nations are unaware of what is happening in my country. Venezuela needs the world to learn about the crisis and show solidarity with its people.
Editor’s Note: On February 2, Venezuela’s opposition alliance announced an end to the strike.
KIDNAPPED IN OUR CITIES
Jacobo Celnik, 3rd year, University of La Sabana
translated by Mira Edmonds
Thirty-two people were killed yesterday when a car bomb exploded at El Nogal, one of the most prestigious social clubs in Bogotá. The government blamed the Revolutionary Army Forces of Colombia (FARC)—Colombia’s most powerful armed guerilla group. To me, the bombers’ message was clear: no matter what class, religion, race, age, or nationality, everyone in Colombia is a potential victim.
Until last night’s bombing, Bogotá was the only place in my country where I felt safe. The surrounding countryside has been ravished by guerilla violence, perpetrated primarily by the FARC and its rival, the Army of National Liberation (ELN) for almost 40 years. To fund their efforts, these groups cultivate cocaine and rely on extortion. Last year, 2,986 innocent people were kidnapped, according to País Libre, an organization devoted to fighting abductions.
Kidnappers usually target the wealthiest members of society, who can be ransomed for large sums. But there are exceptions. Four years ago, Ana María Gómez, then a psychology student at my university, was on a plane headed to Bogotá when ELN guerillas seized control and touched down on a secret landing pad in the remote mountains of northern Colombia. For two years, the ELN kept her prisoner in the jungle, under the custody of children often no older than 14.
What happened to Ana María could happen to any of us. Jews, recognizable by our foreign-sounding names, are prize victims. The guerillas assume we are wealthy. Various businessmen from the Jewish community have been abducted. Many of them only survived because their families paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to the guerillas. Others are not so fortunate—Benjamin Khoudari, a Jewish businessman kidnapped four years ago, was found dead in the jungle. His family had made three ransom payments but the guerillas killed him anyway.
Many Jews have moved abroad in search of safety. Perhaps, when I complete my studies, I too will leave and go to Europe or Israel to look for a better future. As long as there is no peace in Colombia, our lives will be in danger.
POVERTY, UNEMPLOYMENT, HUNGER
Yael Catan, 4th year, Catholic University of Uruguay
translated by Mira Edmonds
As I walk through Montevideo on my way to school, I see dozens of young people waiting in front of the Italian and Spanish embassies hoping to get visas so they can leave Uruguay. Some sleep in the embassy doorways to be first in line. Enterprising Montovideans even charge a fee to hold a person’s place in line.
Until a year ago, I had never thought about leaving my country. But then the economy crashed and many of my friends and relatives started to leave. Poverty, hunger, and unemployment are now rampant. Every day, I see more people begging in the streets or on the bus, and going through the garbage for food.
My family’s business failed. Though my brother and I are university students, we both went to work to help our parents. Sadly, the magazine that I worked for went bankrupt. Like most Uruguayan households, we have been forced to live with only the essentials: We got rid of cable television; we talk on the phone only at night when the rates are lowest; and instead of taking the bus, we walk.
My great-grandparents, Jews from Turkey, came to Uruguay in 1923 seeking a better future. This country has been good to my family ever since. But soon, I may have to pack up and look for better opportunities in a foreign land, just like my great-grandparents.
I don’t want to go into economic exile. I love Uruguay. This is the country where I want to marry, and raise my children. Recently, people have started to put decals on th
eir cars bearing a simple slogan: “I am Uruguayan. I was born here. Don’t make me leave.”
