Abstract
In We Created Chávez, George Ciccariello-Maher examines the paradoxes of participatory power in the Venezuelan revolution. He examines social movements and community groups that simultaneously value their autonomy and pledge their loyalty to Chávez. The author’s starting point in addressing this paradox is the suggestion that “The Bolivarian revolution is not about Hugo Chávez,” or, to use the informant statement that inspired the title of the book: “Chávez didn’t create the movements, we created him.”
The author traces the strength of popular movements before the Chávez era. He reviews the failed rural foquismo of Venezuela’s 1960s guerrilla movements and their transition into urban community activist groups. He also looks at the the history of the student movement, the violence it was subject to, and the rise of afrovenezuelan and women’s groups. All of these movements struggled against Venezuela’s elite pact democracy in the second half of the twentieth century, preparing the way for the rise of Chávez’s Bolivarian movement in the late 1990s.
This narrative provides a welcome correction to portraits of Chávez as an unmoved mover who singlehandedly changed the democratic game in Venezuela. But while it is true that Chávez connected with the radical movements of Western Caracas after he was released from jail in 1994, their importance in his ascent to power should not be overestimated. Chávez, after all, took power through a democratic election. And during the time when radical movements provided his base of support, the popularity of his candidacy was in the single digits. It was the confluence of an increasingly acute economic and political crisis and the moderation of his message that allowed him to appeal to a broad swath of the population. By the time he was elected, he was presenting himself in terms of the “third way” represented by Bill Clinton and Tony Blair.
It was not until they vigorously defended his presidency during the coup attempt of 2002 and the effort to oust him through referendum in 2004 that Chávez realized the importance of participatory groups. After this Chávez worked hard to mobilize them, building upon existing participatory groups but sponsoring the creation of many others.
When Chávez turned towards “twenty-first-century socialism” in his second term, he sought an ever tighter engagement with radical groups. At the same time, his government was as diverse as any government, and many sectors saw radicalized, frequently armed movements and collectives as useful but dangerous exceptions to the effort to build a functioning socialist government.
Thus it is simply incorrect to believe radical movements when they claim they created Chávez. The sources of Chavismo are multiple and still are. Even if radicalism has become ever more important, “we protected Chávez,” “we maintain Chávez,” or “we grew up with Chávez” would all be more accurate than “we created Chávez.” This latter is the narrative urban radical movements tell about themselves, and their reason for doing so should be obvious. If they were the kingmakers who created Chávez, then Chávez (and now Chavismo) would be obligated to listen to them. They are effectively warning that what they gave, they could take away.
And this leads to perhaps the most important point. Overestimating the importance of radical movements in Chávez’s ascent to power leads to a parallel overestimation of their ability to impact the direction of the government. Ciccariello-Maher argues that these radical groups support Chávez to the degree that he is pursuing their interests. If he were to lose his revolutionary focus they presumably would turn on him and hold the government to account. This is the familiar Leninist concept of “dual power,” the idea that parallel to the revolutionary state, organized popular movements would emerge to hold it accountable.
Of course, in twentieth-century socialism it didn’t work out that way; it most likely will not in twenty-first-century socialism, either. Social movements and community groups—even those that are armed—are simply no match for a petrostate with a justice system and armed forces at its behest.
The case of Nora Castañeda, which Ciccariello-Maher presents in detail, is telling. Rather than exercising any kind of “dual power,” she finds herself supporting Chávez unquestioningly and suggesting that the distinction between state and society is a thing of the past, that Chávez is as much subject to as in control of the revolutionary process. “So you could say that we are losing our autonomy, or you could say instead that the President is losing his autonomy. Why not?”
So at what point will these groups exercise “dual power” if they no longer see a distinction between their interests and those of the Chavista governments? Of course in Georg Simmel’s classic observation, all relations of subordination are two way streets. And, without a doubt, ethnography can pick up the subtle moments when subordinate affects superordinate. But these moments are most likely to look like James C. Scott’s Weapons of the Weak and most unlikely to look like anything close to desirable forms of citizenship.
We Created Chávez is not so much a “people’s history” as a “radicals’ history.” But taken as such, it provides the reader with a key window into understanding the popular movements that provide the bedrock of Chavismo. And this window is embedded in a committed radical scholarly narrative that does not beat around the bush. While I take issue with the overall thesis, I think Ciccariello-Maher has the dilemma right. How can participatory democracy be part of a far-reaching revolution of the state, economy, and society without losing its autonomy? Venezuela’s revolution provides an important case that is still working itself out. And We Created Chávez provides a conceptually rich, well-written exploration of it. For students of participatory democracy in Latin America and elsewhere, it is a great book to think with.