F OCUS - American Foreign Service Association

Seven months ago, I was living in
a barrio of Caracas, on top of the
last green hill in the city. I was
living in what any outside observer
would call the slums: the water comes
just two days a week, the kids play
baseball in the street with bottle caps,
families live three generations to a
concrete room, and salsa and techno
versions of 1980s American rock
songs blare from every house at every
hour of every day.
Embassy Caracas also sits on top
of a hill. It is on the opposite side of
the city, however, in the richest neighborhood
in Caracas. Before this trip,
I had done most of my traveling with
the advantage (or so I thought) of a
diplomatic passport. With a father
who works for USAID, I was raised
overseas with an interest in international
development and a consciousness
of other cultures. This time,
however, I realized that while a diplomatic
passport may get one through
lines more quickly, it also tends to
keep its bearer separated from the
people and realities they are there to
understand.
The gulf between our two mountaintops
was real. In a brief visit to the
embassy, I met with a friend of my
father. It was a week before last December’s
referendum on constitutional
reforms, and I had been immersed in
reading and debating the proposals
with local friends at the bodega. I was
unprepared for how completely our
two perspectives clashed.
92 FOREIGN SERVICE JOURNAL/JULY-AUGUST 2008
REFLECTIONS
On a Hilltop in Venezuela
BY AMANDA ECKERSON
The only thing I knew
for certain was that
my father’s friend had
never been to my hilltop,
and no one I was living
with could afford the
taxi required to climb
the hill to his.
My father’s friend was against the
reforms because they were undemocratic;
I was for them because they
were democratic. He believed most
Venezuelans hated Chavez; I hadn’t
met one who didn’t support him. He
believed the milk shortage that preceded
the election was the fault of the
government controlling vital substances;
I had been told that powdered
milk was controlled by the oligarchy,
and ran out before every
major vote or election to make people
uneasy.
The only thing I knew for certain
after our conversation was that my
father’s friend had never been to my
hilltop, and no one I was living with
could afford the taxi required to climb
to his. The disparities in our facts and
our opinions were vast, and I wondered
where the truth lay.
I was acutely aware that there were
dangerous misconceptions on both
sides. I felt, however, that if Americans
could see and hear the things
Venezuelans are fighting for when
they back Chavez, they would find
them eerily familiar. Venezuelans
want the dignity and respect of being
a sovereign nation. They want jobs,
access to health care and the pride of
a strong military. They want things
that we want ourselves and should
therefore be supporting in other
nations as they develop — even if they
sometimes look different than ours.
Observing America from the other
hilltop was sobering. Like our
embassy, it was isolated, not welcoming,
and catered only to those with the
money and means to reach it. If elitism
is what our foreign policy is striving
to convey, then it is perfectly positioned.
I couldn’t help thinking, however,
that in terms of our national
interest, and our cherished American
ideals, we should be forming longterm,
sustainable ties with people and
nations based on shared values.
If we want to understand the common
bonds we share with Venezuelans,
we don’t need to move mountains.
Only mountaintops. ■
Amanda Eckerson graduated with a
B.A. in history from Yale University
in 2007. She grew up in Haiti and
Ethiopia, and will be returning to
Venezuela on a Fulbright Scholarship
next year to research the use of performance
in political struggles in
Caracas.