Seeing Venezuela's democracy up close and personal

In a bastion of the opposition, a festive atmosphere follows hard-fought elections

(Denise Delaney photo)

In Maracaibo, a sign directing voters to the polling place at the Udón Pérez school features images of President Hugo Chávez, left, and the chavista candidate for governor, Gian Carlo di Martino.

Denise Delaney, from Leominster, is in Maracaibo, Venezuela as a Fulbright Scholar. A recent graduate of Harvard University, she is teaching English at a Venezuelan-American center and researching the social dynamic of Colombian refugees and migrants in Maracaibo, the second-largest city in Venezuela.

By Denise Delaney

Monday, November 24

MARACAIBO, Venezuela -- Early Sunday evening, after millions of Venezuelans had gone to the polls to vote for 22 governors, 330 mayors, and other local positions around the country, it was announced that Pablo Pérez, an opposition candidate, had won the gubernatorial race here in Zulia state, a bastion of opposition to President Hugo Chávez and one of five states that went to the opposition. Then, late at night, the news came that opposition candidate Manuel Rosales had been elected mayor of Maracaibo, spurring spontaneous celebrations.

At the Venezuelan-American center where I work, many people are visibly happy. I am hearing many stories of people staying up until after midnight when the government announced Rosales’ win. Many anti-chavista citizens here in Zulia state (a chavista is a supporter of Chávez or his party) were nervous that the chavistas might win even though opposition victories were predicted here and elsewhere. “He [Chávez] has never won here,” one co-worker told me with a satisfied and proud smile, “He would trade all those 17 small states for Zulia if he could.”

Another conversation with a co-worker really struck me. She looked as happy as many Americans did on November 5th, after Barack Obama's historic victory in the United States. She tried to stay up for the results, falling asleep just before the announcement. She woke up to celebratory text messages from friends and her mother screaming. I do not think I can say I have ever witnessed such a meaningful set of local elections.

I commented that the festive and triumphant atmosphere was reminiscent of what I saw happening in the U.S. through the television and internet when Obama won. “For us, it’s the same,” she said.

I had the opportunity to go to the polling station here in Maracaibo on Sunday. The family of the house in which I am renting a room for my 10-month fellowship with the Fulbright program was actively campaigning for Gian Carlo di Martino, the PSUV (Partido Socialista Unido de Venezuela) candidate for governor of Zulia state and current mayor of Maracaibo. He was the “chavista” candidate.

The gentleman of the house suggested last week that I accompany them to see what the democratic process is like in Venezuela. Decked out in their Sunday best, at about 1:45pm, we set out to vote at the nearby Udón Pérez school in the Las Mercedes district. I had actually seen the school on television that morning when Rosales, running for mayor, went to vote. Outside, the couple pointed out two houses that were unofficially hosting the “punto rojo,” or red stop, where some of the chavista supporters were gathered and another similar gathering spot for the opposition. To be honest, the only difference was that the chavistas were wearing red, symbolic color of Chávez. Today, some co-workers commented to me that the chavistas were openly campaigning with larger “puntos rojos” at their voting centers.

Most people have to wait anywhere from one to three hours, maybe more in some cases, to vote. Many bring umbrellas to protect against the sun and chairs to wait. Street vendors set up shop along the lines selling all kinds of refreshments like chicha, a local rice milk, and ice cream. Fortunately, there was a bit of cloud cover here in forever hot and humid Maracaibo. Despite the lines, it was reported that more than 65 percent of Venezuelans voted. Arriving at the school, the line was snaking around the block. I lucked out; the elderly get right in. Assisting the lady of the house, who suffers from severe scoliosis and has trouble walking, I was allowed right into the school.

En route, we ran into a family friend who was a voting official that day. The couple proudly introduced me and explained that I wanted to see how Venezuelans vote. He greeted me with a wide smile and the standard hug and kiss on the cheek saying “Su casa,” which translates to “your house.” Even though I stick out like a sore thumb here in Venezuela with my blond hair, blue eyes and pale complexion, I felt most welcome. Any anxieties I had about being looked upon strangely or suspiciously as an obvious foreigner at national elections were dispelled. Even the observing military dressed in their army green uniforms and combat boots with rifles over their shoulders did not look twice.

While her husband went off to vote, we met up with their daughter. She was a volunteer observer and had been there since 5:30 a.m. The daughter and I guided her mother to a row of laptops manned by voting officials. In Venezuela, people are called to election duty much like we are required to fulfill jury duty in the United States.

(Denise Delaney photo)

At this point, individuals checked the voter’s identification, took their finger prints with a scanning machine, and gave them a slip indicating which classroom they would vote in. Skirting the line once again, we made our way to the first classroom. Here, we waited no more than a couple of minutes. It was a welcome rest for our voter. Her identification was verified once more before moving behind the flattened cardboard boxes that concealed the voting machine. An official asked if she was ready, and pressed a button initiating the session. She then had three minutes to make her selections for the seven-point ballot (five other local positions were voted on in addition to mayor and governor). The machine spat out a confirmation slip that she then placed in a cardboard box. These slips are counted to ensure that the number coincides with the computerized results. The final step entails dipping one’s right-hand pinky finger into a jar of blue ink to signify that they have voted. It is a measure to ensure that no one votes multiple times.

In the classroom, I commented that back in Boston (the easiest point of reference for most people here) I had never voted by a computerized mechanism. In Leominster I have always used a paper scantron sheet and marker. This elicited a surprised reaction. For a moment, maracuchos (which is what people from Maracaibo call themselves) seemed to wonder if their voting process was not more sophisticated than that of “Boston.”

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