An army that looks like a carnival troupe. Men with belly and beina, housewives women, tanned face retirees. All aligned with impeccable camouflage uniforms freshly ironed, gleaming boots, tactical vests, caps with badges and rifles. The first impression is almost grotesque: … the contrast between the outfit of a professional soldier and the clumsy figure of who saw it. There is no muscle, there is no skill. There are slow, messy bodies, with more neighborhood neighbors than soldiers. And yet, there they are, marching with apparent discipline, shouting slogans of fidelity to the revolution and swearing to die for it.
The Bolivarian militia is that: a staging that seeks to impress, but that when looking at her closely, the comic is touched. ‘Molones’ uniforms, yes, but taken by those who never stepped on a military academy. They are not soldiers: they are obliged public workers, grandparents who should be at home, young people who lend themselves to the photo. What intimidates is not its combat capacity, but its number and its function. Because its true power is not in weapons, but in surveillance, and in a waist of guaranteed votes for the revolution. Each of those militiamen is an eye, an ear, a witness that reports any gesture of disagreement. His role is not to defend the country from a foreign invasion: it is to keep the neighbor at bay, to quell the protest spark, reinforce the fear network that sustains the regime.
The laughable becomes disturbing when the role of this force is understood. They are millions of registered in doubtful, but sufficient records to flood the official narrative and fill places in televised parades. They accompany the armed groups as a perfect complement: they intimidate from the motorcycles, the militia does it from the daily closeness. The revolution saw them with elite uniform, delivers gleaming rifles – many without ammunition – and proclaims guardians of the homeland. But what they really represent is a militarized civil network at the service of repression.
More general than soldiers
Faced with that image, the regular army looks even more broken. The armed force of a country with almost more general than soldiers, hungry in the barracks and desmotivated intermediate controls. Only the dome is saved: a nucleus of senior officers united by illicit and loyalty of blood, a closed block that has never yielded to the siren songs of the opposition. That elite does not defend the country: defends its survival and its fortunes.
Men with the uniform of the Bolivarian militia lift rifles on high during an official act. Between tanned faces and unjustified bainas, the discipline of the parade is mixed with clumsy gestures and messy bodies
In this scenario the current crisis is inserted, different from all the above. The US administration no longer treats Chavism as a political problem, but as a drug trafficking cartel. That makes its most visible figures legitimate military objectives, under the logic of US security an open invasion is unlikely, but not surgical operations, selective attacks, captures. Naval deployment in the Caribbean is not mere exhibition: it is a reminder that, this time, external power can directly touch the vital interests of the dome.
Tanks in formation while behind, miles of uniformed militiamen fill the avenue. The flag waves on armored ones, between slogans and applause of the public
The response of the regime has been expected: mobilizing the militia, announcing millions of combatants willing to die, display images of peasants and workers in a camouflaged uniform shouting sovereignty slogans. A resistance choreography that aims to hide the obvious: none of them would stop a foreign military operation. Its true role is another: continue to control inside, keep paralyzed to an exhausted society, prevent rage into action.
A group of women march in formation, mostly with serious appearance, while in the background hundreds of more uniformed. One of them, in the center, returns the look directly to the camera.
What is at stake is not the war capacity of Venezuela, but the solidity of internal loyalty. If the external pressure translates into harder sanctions, precise operations or the real risk of capturing regime figures, that block of high controls could crack. Because faithfulness has a limit when personal fortunes, privileges, the future of their families are put at risk. The question is yes, the point comes, those blood loyalties will remain or if anyone will decide to change the side to save themselves.
A group of militia women travel at the back of a military truck, accompanied by drums and redoubles. Its uniforms and caps, perfectly aligned, contrast with the tired and distant expression of some of them
Fear and corruption
Today Chavismo continues to show muscle in squares and screens, with brand new uniforms and lit speeches. But under the surface the fragility of a sustained power in fear and corruption is perceived.
An old man with white beard and camouflage jacket observes from the window. On the descascara, a poster of Hugo Chávez watches it with the phrase “Eternal Commander”
Meanwhile, the civilian population continues with their lives, regardless of the headlines that announce crisis or invasion. Too tired of false promises, without strength to get excited again with a change that never comes.
Painted eyes, reproduced in vinyl, overlap in view of a popular neighborhood. The severe and omnipresent look seems to float on Zinc’s roofs
His day to day passes between scarcity, inflation and instinct to survive. And even if they do not say it out loud, the yearning persists: that at some point, once and for all, the dictatorship falls.
