The message from the Bloomberg reporter read:
«Hi, I’m a reporter doing something on Derwick. Can I give you a call to ask a couple of questions?»
By this point, it’s clear that emails and calls are standard practice for journalists and researchers covering Venezuela. They need to protect themselves by saying, «yeah, we called the guy, he gave us the usual about Mr. Betancourt and his Derwick co…»
While I acknowledge the unprofessionalism of sharing private emails without consent, I can’t conform to the norm with reporters who epitomize a lack of professionalism. After receiving the message above, I called the reporter and addressed the «couple of questions» and more. Yet, this encapsulates the flaw in editorial teams and journalists globally: thinking a meaningful article can emerge from just «a couple of questions». Often, initial pleasantries give way to comments like, «I don’t know anything about Venezuela…» or «this story is way beyond my area of expertise…»
When you ask uninformed reporters what might happen in their own countries if a Derwick-like scandal occurred, they all, without exception, respond, «yeah, I guess you’re right, it would be a scandal, heads would roll…»
So what accounts for the discrepancy? Why do corruption issues in America and Europe gather significant attention, allowing those who expose them to rise to fame, while similar stories from underdeveloped nations get downplayed as ‘family feuds’?
Venezuelans can only feel envy over what’s happening in Brazil with Petrobras, Odebrecht, and so on. As dramatic as that may seem, it pales in comparison to the situation in our country. Corruption within PDVSA and Venezuela far exceeds anything that has occurred in Brazil, yet the most infamous corrupt businessmen in Venezuela are portrayed as entrepreneurial heroes. This is utterly sickening, and it’s not the first time Bloomberg has misrepresented Venezuelan criminals.
Once, Forbes had to retract an attempt at whitewashing Derwick, but they appear to have a soft spot for Bolichoros. The same seems to be true for Bloomberg and its coverage of Derwick. Money laundering on a grand scale is framed as a «growth plan.» Corruption, bribery, no-bid contracts, and misappropriation of public funds through massive overcharges by Derwick executives are termed «a family divided over his business dealings with Chavez’s government.» Investigations by U.S. Federal agencies, Manhattan’s DA, and Spain’s anti-money laundering authorities, along with reports revealing credential issues, get summarized as «certain relatives who weren’t happy.» Such doublespeak would make Goebbels or chavismo proud.
Bloomberg’s journalists are yet to grasp the realities of Venezuelan corruption. Producing content without asking appropriate questions seems to be their lone objective. This would be acceptable if it were not a business-focused publication. As it stands, failing to establish clear links between shell companies and the proxies of criminals under investigation in at least two jurisdictions is inexcusable. It’s hard to view it as just basic unprofessionalism. Moreover, neglecting to mention ventures into areas unrelated to Derwick’s supposed expertise is concerning; it’s now common knowledge that Derwick has ties to Petrozamora through Orlando Alvarado, in partnership with PDVSA and Russian interests (Gazprom). Why is this not mentioned?
When did Derwick transition to an oil-centric company, and what qualifications, aside from the illicit millions that enabled such a shift, do their executives possess? What oil-related track record do they offer? Why does Bloomberg merely regurgitate Derwick’s claims instead of asking crucial questions that concern shareholders and other interested parties?