Why I Decided to Leave Venezuela
It was a Monday — October 26, 2015, to be precise. I haven’t forgotten, because during the winter league season in Venezuela, teams usually don’t play on Mondays. I was director of communications for the Caracas Lions, and we were off that day. My wife Yngrid and I had invited a friend over to our apartment for dinner, and at 7:05 p.m. I went downstairs to wait for him. Because of my job, I always carried my phone with me. But in certain sectors of Venezuela today, to carry a phone in public can attract trouble.
In my country, there’s a legend called El Silbón, or the Whistler. Think of him as a lost soul looking for revenge. As he approaches, the closer he gets, the lower his whistle, and the bigger the chance of danger. In this case, the sound I heard was the rumble of a motorcycle, getting quieter as it reduced speed.
And suddenly, the Whistler was upon me. The motorcycle came to a stop with two men on board. The pilot looked to be in his 30s and his companion much younger, barely 20, a kid wearing a red T-shirt emblazoned with the slogan from the 2012 elections, Chávez, corazón del pueblo, “Chávez, heart of the people,” a reference to the late President Hugo Chávez, who died of cancer the following year after winning reelection.
The kid was carrying a gun with an extra-long magazine clip. Instinctively, I turned and ran. The kid got off the motorcycle and began chasing me while his companion yelled, “Shoot that scumbag in the head! Shoot him!”
The security guard in my building saw me running, opened the gate, and I jumped in. But the kid was right behind me. He tackled me and fell on top of me. With the guard watching in terror, and a security camera taping the whole scene, the kid put the gun to my neck. I was face-down, unable to see my assailant while my life flashed before my eyes.
After what seemed an eternity, the kid decided not to shoot and instead took off. He didn’t even grab for my phone. But he did grab a piece of my soul.
a most dangerous country
I could have been another statistic. According to the Venezuelan Violence Observatory, a non-governmental group, there were 27,875 murders in 2015, making Venezuela’s homicide rate one of the highest in the world at 90 killings per 100,000 residents.
VVO found that the rate climbed even higher in 2016, based on 28,479 deaths, or 92 per 100,000, making it on par with El Salvador for the title of the most dangerous country in the world. For comparison, the rate in the United States is less than five per 100,000.
The news right now is focused on the anti-government protests that started in early April, which have cost approximately 80 people their lives. The violence has not abated. Police and National Guard continue shooting with live ammunition, killing a protester at point-blank range two weeks ago.
Last week, Luisa Ortega Díaz, Venezuela’s chief prosecutor and the highest-ranking government official to break ranks with President Nicolás Maduro, charged the former head of the National Guard, Antonio Benavides Torres, with systematically violating human rights, claiming that military and police officials were responsible for 23 deaths and 853 injuries to date. Ortega Díaz has since asked for protection for herself and those in her office.
At La Vida, we’ve covered the Venezuelan crisis mainly from a baseball perspective. The number of Major League Baseball academies in the country has dropped from 22 in 2000 to four today. MLB players from Venezuela, worried day and night about the safety and welfare of family and friends, have taken to social media to criticize the government and demand new elections.
Will baseball survive?
As the conflict continues, the future of baseball in Venezuela is becoming an open question. The Caribbean Professional Baseball Confederation moved the 2018 Caribbean Series from the host city of Barquisimeto to Mexico, partly because of the triple-digit inflation that is ravaging the local economy and partly over concerns about security.
Now, after a 26.5 percent decline in attendance the past season, according to figures provided by the Venezuelan Professional Baseball League, there are new worries there won’t be any baseball this winter. It’s not just a matter of security, but also a question whether fans can afford to attend games. Only once before, during the 2002-03 season, have the games been interrupted due to political turmoil.
I’ve watched it all unfold from afar. That night in 2015 when I was threatened at gunpoint forced me to change my life. After the baseball season ended, I found a job in the U.S. as a baseball correspondent. I was not just worried about the safety of my family, but also about the future of our daughter, Ana Lucía, now three years old. At that time in Venezuela, when she was still a mere baby, we couldn’t get her vaccinated.
The crisis has prevented Venezuelans from even receiving food or medicine. You can’t ship it from abroad. My mother-in-law, who lives in Maracay, suffers from high blood pressure. She sometimes will go three or four months without her pills. We are constantly on social media asking whether friends back home have seen a pharmacy with a supply of her medicine.
We’ve sent her food and fortunately, she has received the shipments. But as players have noted previously, more and more shipments are getting intercepted in customs or by the national guard. Partly because the government has banned a long list of assorted items — from first aid material to sporting goods such as baseballs, bats, catcher’s masks, chest protectors and shin guards, branding them as terrorist weapons — courier services in the U.S. now refuse to guarantee delivery to Venezuela.
Yngrid, Ana and I have been in the states since February 2016. We know we are fortunate. But like the players, we worry every day about family back home. You never know who is watching.
I never thought I would say this, but I’m afraid to go back.
Featured Image: Federico Parra / AFP / Getty Images