We are living under tense calm in Venezuela. The calm that precedes the budding storm. The one that is about to explode. Waiting, pending, looking at the horizon. The world looks at us, we are its attention. Events are rushing. Positions are being taken on both sides.
We, the Chavistas, those from below, are clear: we will defend our homeland in the trench that corresponds to us, under any circumstances no matter how hard it looks or is being impose on us, we will prevail. We always win. We have always won.
They are clear by their side too. They already surrendered to foreign interests, they are the enemy. They are being commanded by the imperial North, from where they receive orders. They will hand over the country if we let them. We will not let them.
Events will mark the next step, the line, the action. As they develop, they will give us the signs to face the pod. Cold head, slope and view.
I listen to Chavez with his voice of thunder, unbreakable type in his principles and love for us, we: “Unity, fight, battle and victory!” Shit: I realize, he did not let go that as a slogan of a party, group or guild, no, it was for these conclusive moments and it was for us, with us.
Cold head gariteras, gariteiros, just something we must be clear: to doubt whether to be loyal or not is the antechamber of betrayal, everything else we will know how to face it. We will defend and win, it is not a slogan, we will do it.
Chavez lives, fuck!
Translated by JRE/AR