As the Fifth Republic undergoes significant deterioration, it’s essential to reflect on the damage inflicted by the accomplice society of the Fourth Republic, to avoid repeating history when chavismo becomes a distant memory. Let’s take a look back at a random afternoon in the summer of 1977.
Imagine for a moment the Twelve Apostles of Carlos Andrés Pérez (the cronies who plundered everything in sight while supporting CAP and his mistress). Envision all the apostles gathered at Cecilia Matos‘ dining room in La Lagunita. The air is filled with a colorful mix of crude language and local slang that typically precedes lunch and their whiskey. Present are Pedro Tinoco, Gustavo Cisneros Rendiles, Enrique Delfino, Concepción Quijada, Julio Pocaterra, Jesús Muchacho Bertoni, Aníbal Santelíz, Siro Febres Cordero, Arturo Pérez Briceño, Ignacio Moreno, and Carmelo Lauría. Now picture that once they leave the gathering (a little tipsy, some even drunk), suddenly Venezuelans change, offering no greetings to these parasites. Imagine it’s 1977, and from that moment, no one accepts them. No one invites them. They go ignored. If civil society had rejected these villains, would we have chavismo today? No, folks. These human wastes would have fled, and we could’ve enjoyed a state governed by the rule of law, as a government is a reflection of society. The white-collar thief needs direct accomplices, but also requires silence. A society with shame and decency knows how to reconsider and react, even if the state does not. We completely lost that in the ‘70s and realized it in the late ‘90s, choosing as our anti-corruption leader a frustrated military man who ended up being the obstetrician of a hydra of corruption that devoured a century’s worth of oil revenues.
The approval of my parents, uncles, and grandparents for Pedro Tinoco, for the crooks of Banco Latino like Gustavo Gómez López and Eloy Montenegro, and for the corrupt contractors of the Fourth Republic like Carmelo Lauría, is the reason we have the stench of a society that soils its pants, yet no one acknowledges the smell.
As chavismo kicked off its corruption spree, many dishonest characters from the Fourth Republic, including some of the names mentioned and Fedecamaras executives, became fierce opponents of the regime. They had their banana cut. And yet, it seemed we were all united against a greater enemy—a president on the verge of establishing a dictatorship. But when they realized red politics was strong, and that Chávez was “solid,” these mercantilists switched sides quicker than you can say “fascists” to “Bolivarians” in less time than it takes to make a stew. The chavistas welcomed them with open arms. A boliburgués once explained it to me this way: “If we’re all stealing, then no one is a thief.”
One of those who switched sides is Edgard Romero Nava, who even became president of Fedecamaras during the Fourth. In the past, Romero Nava had some legal issues and his debts undermined his moral authority. But in the Fifth Republic, he lost all shame, creating a harmony between his appetite for fine dining and his desire to fatten his wealth through extravagant contracts. For perspective: Edgard Romero Nava was at the ceremony for Pedro El Breve. In Miraflores, he was pushing people around, positioning himself as Carmona’s future advisor. Ten days later, he was back in Miraflores, currying favor with José Vicente Rangel.
On one hand, Romero Nava mingles with the high society of the Country Club (though this maracucho isn’t yet part of our club). On the other, he has been profiting immensely through his company PetroLago, C.A. PetroLago had millions in contracts with the government. Could that be why, when Chávez decided to abruptly expropriate all subcontractors in the South of the Lake, they left Romero Nava’s company alone? How curious.
Romero Nava could be labeled a boliviejo. Not because we wish to coin a new term (or borrow from Zapata’s brilliant depiction of the bolichicos Derwick) in this text, but because Romero Nava is distinguished as one of the founders of the Derwick electric plants business. Many confuse Edgard Romero Nava with his son Edgard Romero Lazo. They set up the first Derwick office in the La Pirámide Shopping Center. It was from there that Derwick installed its first fax machine—through which a mysterious payment order of $500M was transmitted (from former CVG president Rodolfo Sanz directing a payment to Gazprom). It’s the same office used by Javier Alvarado Pardi, son of the CORPOELEC minister and classmate of Pedro Trebbau at the Instituto Cumbres, to export a Porsche from the Dominican Republic to the U.S. This information stems from the excellent investigative work by Cesar Batíz in Ultimas Noticias. What Batíz didn’t provide was the context behind the car. On one of those trips to La Romana—by private plane—the revolutionary Alvarado spotted a classic Porsche in mint condition. And with funds stolen by the bolichicos, they gifted him the car and even covered the shipping costs so he could have a vehicle in the U.S. for his escapades in the northern fascist empire.
What’s interesting is that the Romero family has remained under the radar. Edgard Romero Nava has such a look of innocence that when Ultimas Noticias inquired about Derwick, he stated:
that he rented the office for a year and a half to an American company whose name he couldn’t recall. He claimed Derwick was not the tenant and expressed ignorance that his son is a director of Derwick, as noted in the Barbados registry.
His son received 12 contracts in 14 months for some power plants, and the father says he’s clueless that his son, with whom he shares an office, is a director at that company. If things were honorable, he’d say, “Yes, my son is a director, and I’m proud of it,” instead of pretending to be oblivious. Curiously, this valley aristocrat also forgot that the first “office” address for Derwick in Madrid was theirs. Nowadays, with all the ruckus about Derwick, it’s crucial for them that no one connects the Romero family with Derwick Associates.
Some people claim that Edgard Romero Jr. is the real boss of the Bolichicos. He’s not only the oldest, the one who fancies himself the smartest, but he also maintains a more “low profile.” Trebbau had connections with Javier Alvarado Pardi, being from the same class at Instituto Cumbres. But Romero capitalized on his father’s infrastructure to launch Derwick. The intriguing aspect of the upcoming trial in the Reich case is that it may reveal all the truths about this emblematic case, and if I’ve been mistaken or this turns out to be exaggerated in some way, I’ll gladly apologize and will then be subjected to public scorn.
A source has informed me about another company that has been infused with the Bolichicos’ money: Venemergencia, owned by Romero Lazo’s brother-in-law. It turns out to be a “very successful” first-aid company linked to a relative of Edgard Romero Lazo, which suddenly acquired state contracts and purchased a substantial fleet of ambulances through inorganic growth. I’ve seen the young owner frequently at gatherings within our group. People wonder how a small company becomes a reference in the sector when private healthcare in Venezuela is in despair. This topic will require close examination. The issue is that there’s so much corruption, so many permit traders, so many schemes, that an entire museum would be needed to archive the numerous crimes committed by the kids in my neighborhood.
The two Edgard Romero also have a questionable connection to Derwick’s hacker, RaFa Núñez, as the websites edgardromero.com, .net, .info, among many others, have been created by Derwick to post unrelated information and mask any internet searches for “Edgar Romero.” You’ll find blogs and odd pages. But that’s not a crime; it simply shows that the Romeros fear a simple internet search. Ultimately, which global entrepreneur with a business looking to expand internationally wouldn’t want to be found online? All of them. But Venezuela is the only country where businessmen want to be invisible from the day their bank accounts swell. Could it be modesty? Humility? I think not. It’s due to fear of being investigated and losing what they wrongfully possess.
Since I began writing for INFODIO and sharing my dismay regarding what this bunch of wrongdoers has done to my country and our future, I’ve been waiting for some opposition politician to call them out. I’m still waiting. As new information comes to light, many fellow countrymen have undoubtedly joined in what is a widespread crusade against corruption. However, what’s disheartening is that there’s not a single politician in Venezuela who will lead the anti-corruption effort. Everyone talks about vampires, the plugged-in, the corrupt, and schemes, but no one names names. It seems a leader must arise from civil society. Forget the MUD, which is in the hands of BOD director Ramón José Medina. Still, the opposition has other leaders. Do they all have some family in this mess? Or is it that there’s not a single politician who hasn’t benefited from political donations from what is clearly a massive network of permit traders, schemers, and bolichicos?
This is all so disgusting. It tears the soul to witness the deterioration of leadership and how this scum, including a former president of Fedecamaras, mocks all of us.