In a conversation, a former ambassador to the UN described him as “a detestable dwarf.” His counterpart in Caracas added: “a cigar-chomping criminal dwarf in a fancy suit.” But who is this character? Since Alek Boyd published details about a secret $40,000 payment made by BOD to Ignacio Arcaya Smith to buy his silence, and with June 3 marking the birthday of this former minister, foreign minister, and ambassador, this writer (who had retired from Infodio to focus on certain student and counter-revolutionary matters) feels compelled to pay tribute to a character that resembles a mix of caricatures: a self-conscious buffoon with a heavy dose of moral and financial corruption, intertwined with a self-obsessed caviar leftist opportunist.
To understand this character, let’s first let Ignacio present his credentials. I recall the famous letter to Moisés Naím from 1991, in which “Ambassador Arcaya,” as Ignacio likes to be called ([email protected]), talks about the “flowers he throws at himself” and how he “preens” with other things he only comments on with close friends, “to prevent making the common crowd green with envy or enraged, the freedmen, or the lower classes.”
Ignacio considers himself “a member of a philanthropic family” and states that he “performed invaluable services for his king.” In other words, his platform for existence—the pride of his life—comes not from personal achievements, but from his last name and social status. I say social, as for the misfortune of Ignacio Arcaya Smith, his father was a leftist activist with no fortune. The son, upon becoming an ambassador and entering diplomatic service, finally got the budget necessary to live the good life he so desired. And what did that good life consist of? Returning to the same letter Ignacio wrote in 1991: “Why wouldn’t I go well?” asks him. Ignacio mentions that “his sports are polo, golf, skiing, and tennis.” Continuing (of course, writing in the third person), he recounts that he “recently learned people buy ready-made clothes and shoes.” He was also “amazed to discover that airplanes had classes and that the space behind the curtain was not for his luggage but for other passengers.” What a funny ambassador for all Venezuelans, right?
Now that he’s on Victor Vargas’ private jet, looking for a way to resolve the lawsuit from Otto Reich, Ignacio doesn’t even have to worry about the other passengers. Not a chance!
Ignacio’s letter tells us, with annoying bursts of English, that the individual also “hunts” and “has at his disposal all the Michelin three-star chefs… and savors Beluga caviar with a soup spoon.” For us, the “lower classes” reading the letter from the distinguished ambassador, it’s essential to understand that the noble servant of our government spent much time and blew the entire social representation budget dining in very expensive restaurants in France. But there’s more, as Ignacio, mentions, “He is thankful for being born free and not a slave, a man and not a woman, white and not black…” concluding with “imagine how many pages I could write if I keep going down this path….”
The ambassador jokingly flaunts his “privileges,” his “immunities,” his “duty-free” and “tax exemptions,” and surely mentions the doctrine of “noblesse oblige.” Yet the greatest secondhand embarrassment for this being that writes in 1991 is what he states “in matters of elegance.” Ignacio gives suggestions on good dressing: “I must confess that this topic is complicated: shoes can be any color as long as they are black: brown, never in town; a serious suit is always dark-colored and should never look new.” Ignacio claims that appearing like him “is not a matter of books; it’s about breeding, background, details, know-how, and knack.”
The delusions of this man, perfectly laid out in this letter, translate into reality throughout his career. He always seeks a financial “prank” or showcases his vanity. For example, historian Rafael Arráiz Lucca writes in his book “Imago Mundi” an anecdote about Ignacio taking possession of a new embassy. The ambassador “had decided that his office should be in the main hall of the residence because there, in that enormity, the polo tableaux looked better. Also, the size of the desk shone brighter, and the smoke from his large cigars could fill the room freely. Yet all this display of grandeur was imposed by a man barely five feet tall. A dwarf, indeed, who found spaces inadequate. The household staff hated him: the office had to be converted into a salon every time he hosted a cocktail party.” Arráiz Lucca concludes: “When someone rises to the top of an embassy without having naturally acquainted themselves with the nuances of power, they generally create a sad parody of a petty king, a disgrace, a folly. That same gentleman spoke loudly, as if imposing an order, far from whispers and kindness.”
The referenced embassy was Ignacio’s time in Argentina. Before Argentina, this little man was sent to London, where several agreements existed between Venezuelan private foundations and the universities of Oxford and Cambridge. Ignacio, feeling extremely insecure about his degree and cautious socio-economic status, having replaced a popular dermatologist as ambassador in London, concocted an extravagant project: to ask the other two countries of the G3 (Colombia and Mexico) for millions of dollars (as a counterbalance of trust funds invested in various Colleges of Cambridge by Venezuelan institutions and individuals) to establish a new Latin American College. This crumbled once it was revealed that the trust funds did not belong to the Venezuelan state, but to private institutions that had never been consulted or authorized this “confiscation” of their assets by Ignacio Arcaya. When Dr. Jaime Requena (then Simon Bolivar Professor at Cambridge University) opposed what Ignacio wanted to do, he called him with a barrage of insults and told Requena that his physical safety was in danger if he dared to enter the Venezuelan Embassy. All this contributed to eroding the relations between British Colleges and Venezuelan donor institutions. Ignacio’s audacity became part of history, with the sole anecdote of his stay in London being the unique distinction (in the history of contemporary Venezuelan diplomacy) of having been expelled from Buckingham Palace for refusing to extinguish his cigar during an official dinner. Ignacio, drunk and smoking, was shocked when a royal equerry instructed him to put out the cigar. He responded by saying he was the representative of the Venezuelan people, and putting a hand on him would be tantamount to assaulting all Venezuelans. He was quickly shown the door, before the dinner concluded. That marked the end of this “little rooster’s” diplomatic career in the Fourth Republic.
How does Ignacio, a career diplomat, become a “finger appointment” diplomat in Chavez’s government? The man who rose to power promising to end the privileges of a few and help millions appointed him, given how incapable, corrupt, and deceitful he was in the Fourth. Why? By direct suggestion from Fidel Castro.
Ignacio is the son of Dr. Ignacio Luis Arcaya, who served as Minister of Foreign Relations (for twelve months) between 1959 and 1960 and was expelled by Rómulo Betancourt when Arcaya opposed Fidel Castro’s expulsion from the OAS. In other words, Arcaya the father defended and supported the Cuban dictatorship wholeheartedly. So much so that even today they celebrate Dr. Arcaya in Cuba as the “Chancellor of Dignity.” And how did the Cuban communists repay old Arcaya for his revolutionary loyalty? With free medical care; they operated his eyes and left him blind.
Ignacio was a godson and protégé of Luis Miquilena, thus becoming Minister of the Interior and Justice under Chavez (protecting his godfather Miquilena while he served as President of the Constituent Assembly… the one of the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela).
While serving as minister, he sent that illustrious Venezuelan named Arturo Uslar Pietri a revolver, a box of bullets, and a badge. With this, he tried to credit him as “Advisor to the Minister of Interior Relations,” to which the great writer responded in an official correspondence: “I recognize your goodwill in this case, but given the many procedures that would practically convert me into a kind of honorary ‘lackey,’ I prefer to continue as I have been and trust, like most compatriots, in good luck.” Ignacio was furious.
To our great misfortune, but especially for his eternal personal embarrassment, Ignacio was minister when the coastal landslide occurred. Due to his incompetence (as all Ignacio knows how to manage is a menu and a wine list), he supposedly suffered a stroke at that tragic time (the illness was feigned to avoid Chavez’s wrath over what was the first international catastrophe of chavismo).
But what concerns Ignacio most about his ministerial position is the issue of the FARC. In 2000, the testimony of Jesús Urdaneta Hernández, chief of DISIP, comes to light, stating that Ignacio had called him in a panic because President Chávez ordered him to deliver, as cooperation, $300,000 to the Colombian guerrilla. Urdaneta reportedly warned him about the dangers of complying with the order. The revolution’s big wigs didn’t offer him Paris: they sent him on diplomatic errands with pals Tirofijo and Mono Jojoy. An excerpt from the book “Habla el Comandante Irreductible” (1999-2000) by Agustín Blanco Muñoz recounts the words of the former director of the Intelligence and Prevention Services Division (DISIP). The issue also appears in “The Threat Closer to Home: Hugo Chavez and the War Against America” by Douglas Schoen and Michael Rowan. Ignacio claims he knows nothing about the FARC. Who do we believe?
From that ministry, Ignacio returned to his position as ambassador to the United Nations and was later appointed ambassador in Washington, D.C.
As ambassador in the U.S., Ignacio established “indefinitely” a “media campaign consisting of message development, press release drafting, and media relations,” to improve his personal image. The contract was created on August 1, 2001, at Ignacio’s request, costing $40,000 monthly through The Dukto Group, a U.S. lobbying firm. Its validity extended until January 1, 2002, and from each $40,000 payment, Ignacio pocketed a share.
These are just a few episodes from a long, yet untold, story of envy, “pranks,” and resentment.
Ignacio, to our knowledge, has never gone to “temper” in Trincheras, nor has he taken his annual vacation in “Los Caracas,” nor has he deposited the proceeds of his plunders in a comrades’ Castro bank, as in this particular case, the taste is in the developed world. Mr. Arcaya (I suppose this is how we should refer to him now that he is no longer the ambassador of the Republic) has, after nearly 30 years abroad, only resided with us, here in the country, for the few months he served as Minister of the Interior and his current stint as an employee of Victor Vargas.
Are we surprised that today, Ignacio Arcaya, the one from privilege and elegant dressing, ended up as a minister under Chavez and is now a steward at the Banco Occidental de Descuento?