CHAPTER 5 Contested Community Politics Every night throughout the week, community meetings are taking place across Venezuela: at plazas, in the street, in a basketball court, at the neighborhood corner, at the local school or in whatever space available. Mostly they meet at 7 or 7:30, between dinner time and bed time, but due to people’s notorious habit of showing up too late the meeting sel- dom starts on time. Often they are sitting on plastic chairs, or they are standing in a disorderly circle. More often than not, the majority of the participants at the meeting are women. Sometimes they have a child or a toddler with them. The spokesperson for the executive unit of the com- munal council will, if present, most often lead the meeting. If not, it will be led by one of the other spokespersons, or the person with the most informal authority. What the meeting is about varies widely. Sometimes it is a citizen assembly, where the whole community is urged to show up because some important information has to be discussed, elections have to be invoked or binding decisions have to be made. The meeting is normally announced with hand-written posters around the neighborhood a few days ahead. The poster usually lists the time, place and agenda for the meeting, and ends with the word asiste! (attend!) followed by various exclamation points. Sometimes it is just a meeting for the spokespersons in the communal council. The topics of the meetings depend on what stage of the work they are on. It can be that they are recently elected and have to register with the © The Author(s) 2017 111 I.Å. Strønen, Grassroots Politics and Oil Culture in Venezuela, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-59507-8_5 112 5 CONTESTED COMMUNITY POLITICS state institution Fundacomunal in order to be legally constituted. Perhaps they are having trouble opening a new bank account. Perhaps they have just received the message from a state institution that their project for fixing the pavement or for repairing houses has been approved. Or perhaps they are having problems with the state institution in getting their project approved. Sometimes the voceros will have some kind of conflict with other mem- bers of the community, and fights will erupt. Sometimes practically no one shows up and the voceros that are present will be frustrated with the apathy that their fellow neighbors demonstrate. Sometimes there will be political discussions, but more often than not, the practical challenges are the most important. Often one or more of the voceros have spoken with someone in a state institution or assisted a seminar, forum or workshop, passing on whatever information they got. Sometimes there will be a rep- resentative from the state institution present to give them some infor- mation and answer questions. Sometimes the atmosphere will be tense and quarrels will erupt, or there will be optimism and hope. During the meeting, people will play with their mobile phones, smoke a cigarette and smaller discussions will frequently start within a smaller group until some- one yells “one discussion, one discussion!” Sometimes it seems as if the meeting will never end and that the discussions will just go on and on. And then, suddenly the meeting is over, time and place for next meeting is agreed upon and most people rush home, while some stay behind and talk in small groups. * * * Seen from a bird’s-eye view, “social change” or “political struggle” or “social policy reform” often remain abstract concepts, because we are unable to fathom the actual real-life dynamics that shape the unfolding of events. In the case of Venezuela, radical social policy reform took place in parallel with the formation of new modes of grassroots organization and grassroots involvement in state politics. These multiple processes of change threw up a host of unexpected social and political dynamics that can only properly be understood through a keen ethnographic attention to detail. To that end, I will focus on one particular case in this chapter, which concerns grassroots mobilization for the building of a state hos- pital in the parish of 23 de Enero. Through this case, I hope to reveal two important dimensions of popular politics and state-grassroots inter- action during the Bolivarian process. Firstly, I will show the complexities UNDERSTANDING “COMMUNITY” 113 and nuances that circumscribe ideas and practices constitutive of “com- munity,” or “grassroots mobilization.” Indeed, it will become clear that barrio communities are heterogeneous social landscapes composed by a diversity of differently positioned social actors, different social identities, networks and organizational formations. If we get a proper grasp on these complexities, we are better equipped to understand not only the richness of grassroots mobilization that evolved during the Bolivarian process, but also the inherent challenges of rolling out social policy reforms through bottom-up participation. Moreover, as a second point, the case illustrates the opaque dynamics characterizing the Venezuelan state and bureaucracy, and the multiple strategies deployed by people in popular sector com- munities to make it more responsive. Seen together, this case provides a solid platform for our continuous explorations in subsequent chapters into how the Venezuelan state was sought transformed both from the inside and from below, and the numerous challenges and contradictions that this process implied. Understanding “CommUnity” Within the Bolivarian political discourse, la communidad (the commu- nity) became a key idiom through which popular sector neighborhoods and social movements constituted themselves as collective political sub- jects, as well as the idiom through which local conflicts and differences were negotiated. Vested with particular rights and responsibilities as well as certain social attributes, the concept of la communidad became a potent signifier in both political and everyday discourse reflecting the legitimi- zation of “the local” as a sovereign space and of el pueblo as a politi- cal community. Simultaneously, “the community” was constituted as the legitimate recipient for the redistribution of oil wealth through collective consumption. Rather than individual “drops of oil,” social welfare, and hence social justice, had to come about through “collective solutions to collective problems,” as one activist worded it. “The community,”1 in its various forms of organization, was also ideo- logically defined as the legitimate representation of popular interests and agencies in the eyes of the state. This view was constantly reinforced in political discourse, and supported by a range of legislations, resource allocations, policies and reforms aimed at increasing popular sector wel- fare through state-community co-operation. The role of the state was to support community initiatives based on the notions of soberania popular (popular sovereignty) and el poder constituyente (constitutive power) as 114 5 CONTESTED COMMUNITY POLITICS provided for in the constitution (see Valencia 2015:56–63 for a thorough analysis of the institutionalization of popular power). The struggle for a new political model of inclusive citizenship is, in Bolivarian discourse, coined as una democracia participativa and pro­ tagónica. While the first part of the expression is easily translated to “par- ticipatory democracy,” the word protagónica (henceforth, protagonic) needs some clarification. It refers to a citizen’s right not only to participate in pre-established frameworks designed from above, but also to be a real actor taking the initiative and lead in public affairs. This signalizes a quali- tative difference from “only” participatory politics. A participatory and protagonic democracy was often contraposed to a representative democracy, which was cast as a limited form of democ- racy reducing participation to the act of voting. For example, in a 1999 speech, addressing a constitutional referendum, Chávez said: “[la democracia participativa and protagonica] is the restoration of democ- racy, but a real democracy, the participatory democracy, the democracy which consults” (Aponte Moreno 2008:19, author’s translation from Spanish). Participatory and protagonic are terms which were embraced by people, being a source of pride and evidence of the process of democratic deep- ening that Venezuela was undertaking. However, participation was not only conceptualized as inclusion in the spheres of formal politics. Rather, it was conceived of as a new mode of citizenship that implied taking an active and conscious role in all ambits of society. This is for example how Vanessa, a housewife and member of a communal council in Propatria, explained it: Our constitution, approved by referendum, I think it is one of the first ones in the world which is made by the people and for the people, it indicates that this is a protagonic process … participatory and protagonic. So we the Venezuelans have understood that participation and being a protagonist is part of each of us, I protagonize when I study and can bring this knowledge with me to my community, when I can change my way of being and be a different person. I am a protagonist when I change my family, because I am raising new men and women for society… Protagonism within the Bolivarian space is thus conceptualized as a way of enacting citizenship through “a bundle of practices” (Lazar 2008:259) that cross-cut both the personal and the political as well as the individual and the collective. THE MISSIONS 115 the missions Popular participation in the context of the Bolivarian process has gone through various stages. As we learned in Chap. 3, Venezuela has a rich his- tory of autonomous grassroots movements that also played a crucial role in the Chávez era. But the Chávez government also fomented new forms of organizations that were situated, to various degrees, in the interface between the state and the grassroots through focusing on social welfare and political empowerment. The coup against Chávez in 2002 and the oil sabotage in 2002/2003 proved to be watershed moment in this respect. After the sabotage was defeated in early 2003, the economy was in ruins, poverty rates had risen drastically as a result of the strike and Chávez was dropping in the polls. Shortly thereafter, the so-called misiones sociales (social missions) were launched—a series of poverty alleviation and social welfare programs that would be financed by PDVSA and government funds (see D’Elia and Cabezas 2008; Hawkins et al. 2011). In many ways this marked a new era in Chávez’s government. Both the government and its grassroots supporters had become radicalized following the coup and now viewed the way forward as moving toward two objectives: advancing the Bolivarian project, and forging a union against the sectors that had sought to remove the government. In order to bypass the notoriously corrupt and inefficient bureaucratic state structures, the social missions were implemented with the direct col- laboration of popular sector groups, PDVSA, local governments, military personnel, special administrators linked to the presidency, and a host of Cuban advisors and technicians. In 2003, Chávez and Fidel Castro struck a deal guaranteeing Cuba cheap oil in exchange for the support of Cuban doctors and advisors in setting up the missions in Venezuela (see Brouwer 2011 for a detailed account of this program). Thousands of Cuban doc- tors traveled to slums and remote countryside areas in Venezuela as part of what was called Misión Barrio Adentro: without doubt the most popular government social program. During phase 1 of the program, the Cuban doctors lived in private homes where they attended to patients and col- laborated with local health groups in making home visits and in setting up outreach programs to bring preventive medicine and vaccines to local communities. Later, the characteristic two-story octagonal health stations were built, with doctors living on the second floor, and patients’ visits taking place in the first floor. Under phases 2 and 3 of Mission Barrio Adentro, c linics, 116 5 CONTESTED COMMUNITY POLITICS Photo 5.1 A typical module of Barrio Adentro in 23 de Enero. Photo by the author rehabilitation centers and advanced medical hospitals were built. The health outreach also included dental services (Misión Sonrisa) as well as Misión Milagro, which treated people with eye diseases such as cataract. This was a widespread condition among the poor and elderly who could not afford even routine operations. The government also set up, with the support of Cuban educators, what are known as the educational missions: Robinson 1 and 2, Ribas and Sucre. Robinson 1 was aimed at teaching illiterates basic reading, writing and math skills, while Robinson 2, Ribas and Sucre were aimed at primary and secondary education, and university-level education. Additionally, community programs for culture and sports were also implemented, as well as Misión Vuelvan Caras—a practical skills training program promot- ing the formation of co-operatives. Community programs for sports and culture were also organized, notably Misión Cultura. In 2005, Venezuela declared itself to have become a territory free of illiteracy. UNICEF described Misión Barrio Adentro as a “model of comprehensive primary THE MISSIONS 117 health care with active community involvement” (Nichols and Morse 2010:211). Another highly cherished mission was Misión Mercal, which put in place a government system for the distribution and sale of subsidized food. The political impetus for setting up such a system stemmed from the 2002 to 2003 strike, which showed how food supplies could be used as a political weapon. Small shops and bodegas were set up in rural areas and shantytowns, where basic goods were sold with discounts up to 40 percent. The program also included “soup kitchens” called Casas de Alimentación, staffed by local volunteers who served a full, healthy meal each day to the community’s most vulnerable individuals—children, the elderly, the homeless, poor, pregnant women and others who were singled out as particularly vulnerable by the health census carried out by the local Barrio Adentro health committee (see Strønen 2006). In February 2002, Chávez issued Presidential Decree 1666, which provided the initial legal framework for land titling in barrio settle- ments.2 Through local committees called Comites de Tierra Urbana (Urban Land Committees-CTU), consisting of 100 to 200 families, bar- rio residents who could prove that they had built their homes themselves could obtain titles for the land they occupied. In some cases, this was state land, and ownership was directly transferred. In other cases, it was private land and the state had to buy it first. This work was co-ordi- nated by the Oficina Técnica Nacional de la Regulación de Tenencia de Tierra Urbana (National Technical Office for the Regulation of Urban Land Tenure- OTN), an institution that was part of the vice-presidency (García-Guadilla 2007:48). According to government reports, by 2006, there were 6000 CTUs organized across the country, covering about one million families (García-Guadilla 2007:48). Given that about 90 percent of the Venezuelan population was living in urban areas, and around half of it in informal settlements, this was a crucial issue. At the same time, local communities organized themselves in Mesas Tecnicas (technical roundtables), mapping deficiencies and improving local infra- structure related to water, electricity and gas distribution, in co-ordi- nation with relevant state bodies such as Hidrocapital (water utility) and Electricidad de Caracas (electricity). Other forms of organization were the Centros de Participación para la Transformación del Habitat or CPTH (Participation Centers for the Transformation of the Habitat)— comprising several CTUs and addressing issues under more than one CTU’s responsibility. 118 5 CONTESTED COMMUNITY POLITICS steep Learning CUrve These numerous experiences constituted a steep learning curve within popular sector communities. New local leadership figures emerged, and social interaction and cohesion in the barrios increased (see Strønen 2006, 2012). Moreover, it also increasingly socialized the popular sec- tors into the laws, language and procedures of the state, and created net- works between the popular sectors and political figures. Local grassroots networks and electoral committees, organized around election time in support of the government, also added to the proximity between the government and popular sector activists. This became an important ref- erence for the next phase of state-supported popular organization: the communal councils. The communal councils were institutionalized in 2006 through the Organic Law for the Communal Councils.3 The law was revised, also through an extensive popular consultation, and reapproved by the National Assembly in November of 2009. Communal councils are local neighborhood groups, organized around 200 to 400 families in urban areas (significantly less in rural and indigenous areas). They are granted the legal right to plan and implement local social and socio-economic projects as well as projects related to community housing and infrastruc- ture. These projects are funded by the government through various agencies. A communal council is composed by three administrative commit- tees4 and various thematic work committees. The citizen assembly is the maxima instancia de autoridad (highest authority) in the communal councils and composed by all members of the community. All members of the community above the age of 15 have the right to vote, and the elected members of the other committees have to abide by the citizen assembly’s decisions. Thus, the community as a whole does not cede power to the elected members of the community councils. In order to highlight this aspect, elected members are not called representatives, but voceros and voceras (spokespeople). The members of the communal council are elected for an electoral cycle of two years. There is also a permanent electoral committee responsible for elections and revocation of mandates. It is up to the community to decide exactly which working commit- tees they want to form; those suggested by the law are health, education, STEEP LEARNING CURVE 119 Photo 5.2 Elections in a communal council in 23 de Enero. Photo by the author housing and habitat, communal economy, security and integrated defense, communitarian alternative media, recreation and sports, alimentation and defense of the consumer, water, energy and gas, social protection of chil- dren and adolescents, physical disabilities, education, culture and citizen formation, and finally family and gender equality. The law spells out in detail the electoral procedures, organizational steps and legal require- ments that a community has to go through in order to formally constitute itself as a communal council. 120 5 CONTESTED COMMUNITY POLITICS CommUnaL power The communal councils were considered as part of the “Fifth Motor of the Revolution”—communal power—defined as one of the five paths toward the construction of Socialism for the twenty-first century. The contours of the five motors of the revolution were outlined in the Simón Bolívar National Project 2007–2013 (República Bolivariana de Venezuela 2007).5 The overarching idea for the five motors was to create political mechanisms superseding and supplanting existing political, legal and ter- ritorial structures: We have to march towards the conformation of a communal state, and the old bourgeois state that is still alive, that is alive and kicking, we have to progressively dismantle it while we go on constructing the communal state, the socialist state, the Bolivarian state. (Hugo Chávez 2007, cited in Aguiar 2007, author’s translation from Spanish) The gradual process of creating the framework for the communal councils in the 2006 law can be read as a radicalization on the government’s part of the expansion of popular power as well as a pragmatic assimilation of past experiences. In 2002, the government had passed the Law for Local Councils for Public Planning (Consejos Locales de Planificación Publica or CLPP). The law promoted popular participation in the planning, allo- cation and execution of public local budgets at the municipality and parish level. In 2005, the government passed the Organic Law for Municipal Public Power (Ley Orgánica del Poder Público Municipal). None of these reforms proved successful in promoting popular participation and mobili- zation at the grassroots level (Wilpert 2011). People recall that participa- tory attempts were co-opted or stalled by political figures and brokers at the municipal- and parish level, at the same time as people were getting more experienced in organizing and identifying needs in their immedi- ate communities. This required a new political and legal mechanism that channeled resources directly into what people themselves considered a socio-spatial organizational forum. the CommUnaL CoUnCiLs Thus, the 2006 Law of the Communal Councils grew out of a gradual process toward searching for organizational and legal frameworks for public participation at the community level. The 1999 constitution has a