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The moment when Venezuelan then-Minister for Communication and Information Ernesto Villegas addressed the crowd mourning Commander Hugo Chávez, asking for calm before the funeral chapel was opened to let millions of Venezuelans say a final goodbye at the Military Academy in Caracas. March 6, 2013. Photo: Instagram/@ernestovillegaspoljak.
With the same megaphone delivered to the communities years before to empower themselves at the communicational level, due to Hugo Chávez’s ideas, “I asked for serenity, I explained that the gates would soon be opened so that the people could meet their Commander again.” This is how Venezuelan Minister for Culture Ernesto Villegas recounted the hours that elapsed on March 6, 2013.
Through a text posted on Tuesday, March 7, on social media, Villegas recalled the moment when the people took the remains of Commander Hugo Chávez from the Military Hospital Carlos Luis Arvelo to the Military Academy in Fort Tiuna, Caracas. At the time, Villegas was the minister for communication and information.
He recounted that the “loudspeaker had stickers from the Bolivarian Communication and Information System, during the launching of which we distributed thousands among popular communities.” Although highlighting his skeptical nature, Villegas stressed that “it was the first of many times that I have believed I sensed Chávez’s hand behind inexplicable wonders in this decade.”
Hugo Chávez requested countless times that “efforts to communicate do not remain locked in the television screen, in the boundaries of the television shows or the letters of the newspapers.”
With these words, Minister Villegas refers to the ideas of Commander Chávez, who was determined to give power to the people. What better way to do it than by giving them megaphones so that the communities themselves, amidst media silence, could transmit their truths?
Millions for 10 days
“The coffin entered the Military Academy. Behind it, the large gates were closed with difficulty since that was not the will of the crowd that had flooded in from the Military Hospital, some 11 kilometers away. It took time to reopen them and let millions pass through, in line, for 10 more days,” Villegas wrote.
That March 6, wrapped in a sea of followers and tricolor flags, the funeral procession of President Hugo Chávez arrived at the Military Academy, where a funeral chapel was opened to honor him until the day of his burial.
For Minister Villegas, the sea of people who said goodbye to their leader that day was impressive and remained engraved in the hearts of the revolutionaries.
“Guided by some officers, I went up the stairs, squeezed through a narrow window as best I could and, standing on the ledge, I could see an impressive crowd of people disappearing from view,” he said.
He recalled that the crowd’s expression showed the sadness that “was giving way to frustration and anger on their faces.”
Villegas commented that the crowd was heated because, between the anger and pain, they wanted to continue to the car that transported the body of Commander Chávez. He took the initiative to go upstairs and ask the people to calm down so they could soon enter.
“The words began to take effect. The gates stopped creaking. Reason prevailed,” he added.
Treasure and reminder of those hours
As fate would have it, “years later, Colonel-poet Vivas gave me that megaphone. Since then, I treasure it as a symbol and reminder of the hours that passed today, March 6, exactly 10 years ago,” Villegas concluded.
Below is the full account written by Minister for Culture Ernesto Villegas, published on Instagram:
The coffin entered the Military Academy. Behind it, the large gates were closed with difficulty since that was not the will of the crowd that had flooded in from the Military Hospital, some 11 kilometers away. It took time to reopen them and let millions pass through, in line, for 10 more days. “We want to go in!” they thundered as the gates creaked menacingly inwards. Guided by some officers, I went up the stairs, squeezed through a narrow window as best I could and, standing on the ledge, I could see an impressive crowd of people disappearing from view.
The sadness was giving way to frustration and anger on their faces. “We want to enter,” they insisted. Next to me was Pablo Siris, a fellow Uruguayan journalist who joined the team of this new Minister of Communication and Information, appointed by Chávez four months earlier. Next to us were three soldiers. One of them, the Academy’s staff officer, was—I would later find out—an accomplished poet who now wears the insignia of a colonel, Manuel Vivas. Another, a general whose name I don’t remember, sent a subordinate to look for a megaphone. But the device did not work. My words and gestures calling for calm were of little use. Nobody was listening. This is how we spent endless minutes.
Then, in the distance, another megaphone erupted from the crowd. Overhead, people passed it from hand to hand to the edge of the ledge where we were perched. Once in my hands, I asked for serenity, I explained that the gates would soon be opened so that the people could meet their Commander again. The words began to take effect. The gates stopped creaking. Reason prevailed. The loudspeaker had stickers from the Bolivarian Communication and Information System, during the launching of which we distributed thousands among popular communities. Usually skeptical, it was the first of many times that I have believed I sensed Chávez’s hand behind inexplicable wonders in this decade. Years later, Colonel-poet Vivas gave me that megaphone. Since then, I treasure it as a symbol and reminder of the hours that passed today, March 6, exactly 10 years ago.
Translation: Orinoco Tribune
OT/JRE/SF
