Hugo! (53 page)

He handed over his pistol to the interior minister, Ramón Rodríguez
Chacin, and walked out the door of his office. When he appeared in the
hallway, his supporters started singing the national anthem.
"Gloria al
bravo pueblo,"
they intoned. Glory to the valiant people. Chávez slowly
made his way through the crush of people, hugging them and shaking
hands. He seemed serene, at peace with his decision. To Navarro,
Chávez was making a heroic decision. "The president opted to sacrifice
himself and not produce a bloodbath."

As Chávez pushed through the crowd, it was almost like the reception
line at a funeral. People didn't know if they were going to see him
alive again. Tears streamed down many of their faces. Jacinto Pérez
Arcay, one of his instructors from the military academy, thrust a small
blue cross into his hands. "Take it with you, and God bless you," the
elderly general said. "This isn't ending here." Chávez saw José Vicente
Rangel leaning against a wall. He wanted to hug him, but could only
reach his hand. Rangel looked at the president with an enigmatic smile,
somewhere between hope and despair, as if to say, We'll see each other
here again — but not convinced they would. A sobbing
Noheli Pocaterra,
one of three indigenous leaders elected to the constitutional assembly,
said to him wistfully, "What are we Indians going to do without you?"

The young men of Chávez's honor guard got on their knees and
asked for Chávez's blessing. Many were crying. They wanted to fight
back, to turn the palace into a bunker and defend the president. But
Chávez told them no, you are too young, with too many years ahead
of you. As he neared the door leading outside the palace to a car that
was going to take him away, the crowd broke into applause. "I'll only be
away for a short time," he said. "We will return."

His mother, who had remained in the palace throughout the
ordeal, broke through the crowd, grabbed the car door, and tried to get
in. Someone stopped her and said "Ma'am, we're going now."

The president left
Miraflores about 4 A.M., sitting between Rosendo
and Hurtado in the backseat. Istúriz and some of his other ministers
followed in a vehicle of their own. They wanted to go into Fort Tiuna
with him, although soldiers stopped them. Chávez spoke little during
the trip. They drove through Caracas, passing the Southern General
Cemetery where his
childhood baseball idol Isaías "Latigo" Chávez
was buried, before turning into the familiar grounds of Fort Tiuna.
They pulled up to the military headquarters building on the sprawling
campus, and Chávez got out. A phalanx of soldiers met him. A television
camera showed the back of his head and his red beret as he slowly
made his way through the crowd and toward the entrance. Then he disappeared
into the building.

Half an hour later, at 4:50 A.M., Pedro Carmona came on the television.
He announced that he was taking over the country.

The room at Fort Tiuna, packed with celebrating military officers,
turned quiet when Hugo Chávez walked in. Rincón had announced
his resignation an hour earlier, and to the rebels Chávez was no longer
the president. But they still felt compelled to treat him with some deference.
Waiting in the room with them were
Bishops Baltazar Porras
and José Luis Azuaje. "I sat down beside them, greeted them and we sat
there for a while in silence," Chávez recalled.

Now that he was back in Fort Tiuna and among his military comrades,
Chávez thought he might be able to resolve the crisis. He noticed
that many of the officers were arguing among themselves. He knew
Carmona was inside the building. General Romel Fuenmayor León
moved to the front of the room, held out the resignation letter the rebels
had prepared, and spoke on their behalf. Chávez recalled the scene:

He made an analysis of the situation and said that in the name of
all those present he was asking for my resignation in view of what
they regarded as a situation of ungovernability. I told them, with
a serene voice that was a little louder than usual so that they all
could hear, that they should think long and hard about what they
were doing, and what they planned to do — the responsibility
that they were assuming with regard to Venezuela and the outside
world — and I told them I was not going to resign. They had
a piece of paper for me to sign, and I said that I was not going to
so much as look at it.

Chávez reiterated that before signing any
resignation letter the officers
had to meet his four conditions. The officers did not respond.

I told them that I was not sure that they would be able to control
the military, and that I had talked to various commanders who
had assured me that they would not accept a coup d'état . . . I
could see that I was catching their attention, since, clearly, some
of them had been manipulated. Others began to take notice.

General Néstor González González, the bald-headed officer who
had held the press conference on April 10 and implied a coup was
coming, interrupted Chávez. González could see that the deposed
president was making an impact and did not want to let him continue.
"We have not come here to discuss anything," González angrily told
the gathering. "We know what we have to do. I ask you to move into the
room next door."

The officers left, arguing behind closed doors about whether to
grant Chávez's conditions. He stayed behind with the two bishops and
a guard. They were alone for about an hour. Chávez asked Porras why
he never showed up at Miraflores as he had promised. The priest simply
said he couldn't. Chávez, who had called Porras one of the church's
"devils in vestments," asked him for forgiveness. But he also reminded
the bishops of their role in the conflict. He told them he felt at peace
"because whatever my destiny is, whatever happens to me, I am here for
being loyal to the people who elected me to respond to their interests
and not the interests of the minority. I didn't let those powers, the economic
powers, the media powers, twist my arm."

Porras recalled Chávez as something less than a portrait of tranquility.
He had been betrayed by once loyal allies, feared for his life, and
was no longer sure whom to trust in the military. "He was truly a shaken
up man, reflective, he could do little more than evoke a series of scenes
from his childhood, of the various military posts he had served in." At
times Chávez seemed near tears, according to the bishop.

When the officers returned to the room, Vice Admiral Héctor
Ramírez Pérez took over. He told Chávez the officers would not accept
his conditions and that he could not leave the country. He would have
to remain in Venezuela to "answer to the people for the crimes he committed."
Chávez responded that he would not sign the resignation and
they would have to arrest him. "But don't forget that you are taking
the president of the Republic prisoner, and do whatever you feel is
necessary."

They took Chávez to a small bedroom at the end of a long hall,
ordered him out of his uniform, and had him put on jeans, sneakers,
and a T-shirt aides had packed into a small suitcase for him before he
left Miraflores. The rebels brought him some breakfast, and he asked
for a chair and a small table. He had not slept in two nights, but he
didn't feel tired. He also asked for a television.

When he clicked it on, he was incredulous at what he saw on
the morning news programs. Television commentators, political analysts,
opposition figures, even his former comrade in arms Francisco
Arias Cárdenas were stating that he had resigned and Carmona was
filling a "power vacuum." They described Chávez as an
"assassin" for
ordering his supporters to open fire on a peaceful march. The bottom
of Venevisión's screen ran a message: VENEZUELA RECOVERED ITS LIBERTY.
CHáVEZ RESIGNED.

Napoleón Bravo's popular Venevisión program
24 Hours
produced
eye-opening statements from gleeful guests who suggested the ousting
of Chávez was anything but the result of a spontaneous uprising by
the military — and that the
media had played a critical role. Victor
Manuel García, director of the statistical institute Ceca who was at Fort
Tiuna during the coup, said: "We were short of communications facilities,
and I have to thank the media for their solidarity and cooperation
in helping us to establish communications with the outside world and
pass on the instructions that General González González gave me."

García thanked Bravo for letting them use his house to record a call
to rebellion by González. That prompted a laughing Bravo to respond,
"I'm just a journalist!"
García explained the importance of Gonzalez's declaration to
the media the previous Wednesday, April 10: "When we decided that
General Néstor González was going to go public, it was because Chávez
was going to Costa Rica, and we had to have Chávez in Venezuela. This
pronouncement of General González González was so that Chávez
would not go to Costa Rica, that he would stay in Venezuela. And that
is when we activated the definitive plan."

And what was the plan? Bravo asked.

Rear Admiral Carlos Molina Tamayo answered. After leading the
charge against Miraflores the previous afternoon, he was now dressed in
his navy whites. "The original plan was that when the previous support
of the civil society arrived at its maximum point, this support of the democratic
society in general, to pass to the use of the armed forces."

Meanwhile, the morning newspapers also were filled with diatribes
blaming Chávez for the previous day's bloodshed. "A grave has been
reserved for you next to the Venezuelan presidents who are remembered
for their
atrocities,"
El Nacional
said in a front-page editorial.
"Now you have your own massacre."
Asi es La Noticia
ran a headline
in large red letters: "The Assassin Fell."
El Universal
columnist Roberto
Giusti, a former aide to Carlos Andrés Pérez, wrote an "analysis" piece
titled
"The Last Crime of a Dictator."

If anyone at any time had any doubts about the fascist and assassin
character of this regime, they should have cleared up yesterday
. . . After years and years of solemnly swearing that as president
he would never order shots to be fired at the people, yesterday
Hugo Chávez once again stained his hands with blood. In the
end he removed the mask of democracy and revealed his true
nature of a killer without scruples who ordered his supporters to
fire against a peaceful and unarmed crowd. Relentless, he was
ready to preserve power over a mountain of cadavers, if necessary,
while he spoke nonsense on radio and television.

As Chávez watched the television news programs blame him for
the
"massacre of El Silencio" and reiterate that he had resigned, he
became alarmed. The thought occurred to him that the only way the
rebels could keep him from telling the world that it was a lie that he
had resigned was by killing him. They could say it was a suicide, like
Salvador Allende in Chile twenty-nine years earlier. "I see that [on television]
and I think: 'I'm dead. I'm dead. The only way that I will never
refute that is they are going to kill me' . . . I was sure they were going to
kill me. I even said to myself, 'I'm not going to make it past tonight.' "

Chávez needed to make contact with the
outside world. He asked
a guard for a telephone, saying he wanted to talk with his family to
make sure they were all right. The guard agreed. As president, Chávez
never phoned them directly himself, so he had to ask the guard to call
Miraflores and get the numbers. The guard came back with a slip of
paper.

Chávez could not get through to the governor's mansion in
Barinas, but he did reach his wife, Marisabel. It was about 9 A.M. He
spoke quickly. "Look, Marisabel, this is what's happening. I need you to
find me a journalist, some media, from here or international, and that
you, the First Lady of the country, tell them that the president has not
resigned, that he's a prisoner. I think they are going to kill me. Tonight
I am sure they are going to take me out of here and it's to kill me, if we
don't denounce this beforehand. Move quickly."

Chávez was also able to reach his daughters María Gabriela and
Rosa Virginia, in hiding on the Caribbean coast. Rosa, at twenty-four
the eldest, answered the phone. Overcome with emotion, she started to
cry. She could not speak. She passed the phone to María, who tried to
maintain some calm as her father spoke. "Look, my love, listen to what I
am going to tell you. Are you OK? Take it easy. I don't have much time. I
just need you to talk to someone, call someone, call some journalist. See
how you can do it. It could be through Fidel. Make an effort, one way
or the other, so that the world knows I have not resigned. Tell them with
your own voice that your father told you he's a prisoner, and that I am not
going to resign."

They hung up, and María called the vice president, Diosdado Cabello,
who was also in hiding. Then she called Miraflores Palace. Her
telephone
could not call outside the country. She needed the workers at the palace
to help put her through.

The rebels had not removed the Miraflores staff from their positions.
The switchboard operators were still loyal to Chávez. "This is María
Gabriela and I need to call Fidel Castro, in Cuba," she told one of them.

When I heard that they had connected me with the office of Fidel,
I started to cry. I fell apart. As soon as he heard my voice, he told
me, "María, how are you?" His voice was very soft. "Fidel, help us,
please." "Calm down, María." I was desperate. "My father asked me
to tell you that if he dies today, it will be because he was faithful to
his convictions until the last moment. He expressly told me I should
tell you." I told him about the entire conversation. As I spoke, I
felt like an enormous weight was lifted. I knew Fidel would not
abandon us.

Two hours later, at 11 A.M., Castro had María on the telephone with
Cuban journalist Randy Alonso, the host of a
Cuban television program
called
Mesa Redonda
, Roundtable. Live on Cuban television, María
recounted what was happening.

Two hours ago we were finally able to speak to my father. He called
us on the phone and told us to please tell the world that he had
not resigned at any time, that he has never signed a presidential
decree to depose Vice President Diosdado Cabello and let alone
resign. Basically, a number of military officers went in, detained
him and took him to Fort Tiuna, the army's headquarters. He is
currently being held at the military police's regimental headquarters
in Fort Tiuna. They are holding him incommunicado. They
have only permitted him to speak to us, his children . . . He never
actually resigned. It is simply a coup d'état, which they are trying
to cover up with an alleged resignation.

A far-right dictatorship is being instituted in the country and
they are looking to cover it up with an alleged resignation. It is all
a lie. They are searching for all those who sympathize with the
government in order to arrest them. So they are all in hiding.

After María's interview, Castro called her every half hour to offer
support. But her declarations that Chávez never resigned and was being
held incommunicado never reached the Venezuelan public — at least
not through the local mainstream media. Besides lambasting Chávez
and blaming him for the massacre, they were also imposing a
blackout on
all things pro-Chávez. One news director at Radio Caracas Television,
Andrés Izarra, the son of ARMA founder William Izarra, recalled getting
the order from his bosses. "There was a very clear directive, drawn on
Friday the 12th, and the directive was, on the screen, zero pro-Chávez,
nothing related to Chávez or his supporters, his congressmen or his
ministers," Izarra said. "The idea was to create a climate of transition
and to start to promote the dawn of a new country."

The next day, disgusted by the violation of journalistic ethics, Izarra
quit. He eventually joined Chávez's government as a spokesman after
the Venezuelan media blacklisted him.

After Chávez spoke to his daughters that morning, two women
from the
military's legal department arrived to interview him. Chávez
told them he had not resigned and was still the president of the
republic. The women checked his health, filled out a form, and had
Chávez sign it. He noticed they made no mention of his statements.
But after the women left and were out of the guard's sight, they added
a few words in small letters at the bottom of the paper: "He said he has
not resigned."

The women faxed a copy of the statement to
Attorney General
Isaías Rodríguez, who immediately recognized its importance. He
wanted to publicize it, but he knew the Venezuelan media would not
allow him to do so on television or radio. So he tricked them. He said
he was convening a press conference to announce his own resignation.
He summoned the media to his office in Caracas and sat down behind
his desk. It was 2 P.M., and he was appearing live nationwide on television
and radio. But what he started to say was not what the reporters
expected. Instead of lambasting Chávez, he announced the president
had never quit.