– What the heck!
– I know.
– What the hell are these guys thinking? Do you really think talking about inorganic money is a good way to convince people to vote for the candidate?
– Hey, Michael and I have been trying to get them to see it, but these maracuchos just don’t get it.
– In fact, let’s do a little test right now, here in this elevator: ma’am, what do you understand by inorganic money?
– “Honestly, I don’t know that, son.”
While descending from the top floor of Centro Lido, the elevator stopped again, and a young man entered.
– Hey, sorry to ask, but what do you understand by inorganic money?
– “Inorganic money? No idea.”
– That’s two out of two, Eric.
Another stop. This time three people entered, and Alek asked loudly:
– Good afternoon, sorry for the intrusion, but can any of you explain to me what inorganic money means?
– “No way, boss,” replied the only one who dared to respond, to the uninterested glances of the others.
– See, Eric? If we did a survey right now among those who watched the press conference, I’m sure most would have no clue what Alexander was talking about. And these guys want to win elections?
– I know man, I know…
– Who chose those who spoke at the press conference?
– Cesar Morillo and the maracucho clan.
– What about Alexander?
– He was probably pushed in by someone from Caracas.
– Well, all we can do is ask Cesar who made the decisions, and who the hell was the genius who decided to waste this opportunity talking about inorganic money. Will you come with me to talk to him?
– Sure.
The conversation took place in the elevator of the Centro Lido hotel after a press conference organized by the campaign team to announce the “Mi Negra” plan through the media. They had chosen a rather conservative economist and an old-school copeyano politician now riding the rebranded adeoco platform, transformed into the “Un Nuevo Tiempo” movement.
Eric and Alek crossed the Francisco de Miranda avenue, which was, as usual, almost jammed due to the heavy traffic. The only things moving were the motorcycle riders. They entered Torre La Primera and went up to the 6th floor, where the communication and strategy command office of Manuel Rosales’ campaign was located. The atmosphere in that office was very tense, as several groups, who supposedly were supposed to work together towards the same goal, were fiercely competing with each other in a hidden and hypocritical manner. All the little factions that believed they had some power within the opposition were represented or showed up: the maracuchos, represented by Cesar Morillo; the old diplomacy, represented by Diego Arria; the supposedly aligned media, by Alberto Federico Ravell, Teodoro Petkoff, Miguel Henrique Otero, Marcel Granier, and Victor Ferrere (man of Gustavo Cisneros); the economic power, represented by Oscar Garcia Mendoza and German Garcia Velutini; alternative media, with Gustavo Gervasi or Roger Santodomingo; the opposing political class, where a plethora of pseudo-leaders from the radical right to their counterparts on the other side of the spectrum were vying for the candidate’s attention; PR and communication agencies, with ARS leading the way; international advisors; ex-chavistas… Essentially, the criollo fauna, or criollized, in all its glory.
Once in the office, Eric and Alek headed to Cesar Morillo’s cubicle. This Zulia sociologist, who had reached the pinnacle of his political persona as head of communication and supposedly the candidate’s trusted man, spent the whole day, like the rest of his kind, talking on the phone or answering messages on his Blackberry. He was rarely seen engaged in other activities. He suffered, like everyone else of his kind, from “attention deficit disorder.” Anyway, Eric and Alek entered his office. Morillo gestured for them to sit and wait for him to finish his phone call.
– What did you think of the press conference, Eric? I was just speaking with Maria, and she said it was a success.
Before Eric could respond, Alek spoke up.
– Who decided to put Alexander Guerrero and that other guy to talk about Mi Negra?
Morillo didn’t like the tone and replied:
– That was a decision we made here in the command, and the candidate approved it.
– The candidate approved it?
– All communications must be approved by the candidate.
– But Cesar, the candidate is just that, a candidate. His job is to voice the message we, as the communication and strategy team, provide. The candidate can’t be everywhere, and decisions about communication should come from the experts. Is the candidate also a communication expert?
– Listen, Alek, that’s not how you raise an issue, and here we do what the candidate says. It’s happened before that people from agencies here in Caracas suddenly launch a message or a spot, and the candidate doesn’t like it. That’s why it was decided that the candidate must approve all communications before they go on air.
– So why the hell are we getting paid?
– Well, hold on! We’re here to produce messages, strategies, press releases, coordinate with the media, but in the end, the final decision has to be Manuel’s.
– What the heck!
– What the heck what?
– Listen, Cesar, the actions and decisions of the candidate affect the entire opposition collective. If the candidate, due to lack of knowledge, preparation, ability, or time, sends the wrong message, or doesn’t win, we’re all screwed here, and I don’t want to suffer because of someone else’s wrong decisions. The candidate needs to hit the streets, which he does very well, and that’s why he’s a candidate, and we need to produce all the messages he should convey every time there’s an opportunity in front of the cameras, especially since we only have two minutes of approved propaganda a day by the CNE. The same goes for all campaign spokespeople. A press conference like the one we just witnessed is an opportunity to communicate the message effectively, understandably, and in layman’s terms. If you put some fool up there speaking in technical terms no one understands, we are in deep trouble, buddy. And if the candidate has to approve absolutely all decisions regarding the campaign, then he’s just another caudillo, just like Chavez.
– What do you mean? How dare you say such a thing?
– I didn’t say it; you did.
– No, no, no, that’s not how it is, man!
– Oh, it’s not? Then how is it? Explain it to me! Because you just told me that all decisions must be approved by one person, which is just like chavismo. We are not getting out of this!
Eric, who was merely a spectator of the heated discussion, nodded as if agreeing with Alek. He had been dealing with Venezuelan politicians for many years, and made expressions as if to say, “don’t waste your time.” Morillo was livid with anger. He could not believe that Alek, totally unknown to the political class, who didn’t even live in Venezuela, and whom someone from the old guard had recommended, had the audacity to speak that way about his candidate, the caudillo who had given him the chance to probably reach the most relevant and “powerful” position of his life.
– I won’t allow you to speak like that, come on! That’s not how it is! You have no right…
– Cesar, Cesar, listen to me. I’m Venezuelan, just like you, just like the candidate, just like those who didn’t understand today the nonsense about inorganic money that Alexander Guerrero was talking about. I don’t need your permission, nor his, or anyone else’s. I was brought here and paid to advise them on communication and strategy. Besides, even if I don’t live here, I still have every right to say what I want, especially about matters that directly affect me, like the coup-supporting military remaining in power while the opposition continues to screw up. Everyone is needed to get out of this mess, Cesar, absolutely everyone. One person can’t decide for all, because if they do, if that’s the dynamic, it’s just another caudillo, just like Chavez.
– I have nothing more to say to you. If you don’t like how things are run here, then go back to London.
– That’s exactly the thing, Cesar, I don’t want to go to London. I want the candidate to win, so I can tell my people, “let’s pack up, we’re going back to our lives,” and if Manuel loses because of the submission, coercion, and lack of vision of those around him who are getting paid to advise him, then we’re all screwed.
– Talk to Diego, I have nothing more to say, and please, I need to make some calls.
This was the first clash. More would come until Alek realized he was merely a pawn on a board where his actions had no relevance and didn’t receive any consideration. His role was just filler.