NationStates Jolt Archive

Venezuela, 2015

National Elections Coverage

"...And it appears that the Bolivarian Party has won this year's election, with a majority of 44% to the Conservatives' 35%." announced Alberto Jiménez, his thin hair combed back over his scalp. The news anchor tried to keep the sour look from his face; he had personally voted for the Conservative party, tired of leftism's influence in his country.

"Yes Alberto, and this overwhelming victory signals the fourth consecutive election in which a socialist political party has received the most votes." replied co-anchor Cecilia Perez, a pretty young woman with long black hair.

Jiménez nodded and said, "I personally never expected that Rafael Carrero's party would win, but they gathered a huge support platform in just less than a year. Almost unheard of in modern politics..."

The news reporter spoke of the Bolivarians' charismatic leader. The ambitious Carrero had promised an end to corruption and foul play in the government, especially after the scandals of the past year. The Fifth Republic Movement, originally founded by Hugo Chávez, had fallen victim to corruption, calling for an election sooner then originally planned. Socialists angered with the wrongdoings of their former administration had formed the Bolivarian Party, trying to gather all those who followed the true principles of Bolivarianism.

Bolivarian Party Headquarters, Caracas

Rafael Carrero flicked the television off, smiling as he did so. People all around him were cheering and celebrating, corks flew around the air haphazardly as champagne bottles were opened. He had done it, in ten months he had successfully sought and gained the support of the majority of Venezuela's voters. No other political figure in Venezuelan history had ever pulled off such an amazing accomplishment, but he had been confident the entire way. Through the months of rigorous campaigning he had worked hard and his followers had stood firmly beside him.

In his beautiful homeland, a country which was now fractured and politically divided, things would have to change. Sweeping social and economic reforms would be made, a much needed improvement for Venezuela. Stronger words against capitalism and imperialism would have to be said, misinformed people have to be educated.

Rafael's vice-president, Mr Antonio Blanco, took his hand and shook it firmly. A huge smile plastered the short man's face and he let go of Carrero's hand to give him a tight hug.

"We did it, Rafael! We won!"

"I knew we could, my friend. Are you ready to be my right hand man?" Rafael asked, a grin on his face.

Blanco nodded furiously. "Of course. It's our turn, finally. True Bolivarian Socialism has come to Venezuela!"

The newly elected president, mobbed by fellow Bolivarians, waded further into the celebration. There was not a single face in the crowd that was not beaming, and of course there was all the reason to be happy. It was true, Bolivarianism had truly arrived in Venezuela.

El País - Rafael Carrero Gana Las Eleciones
In an upset for the conservative party, El Movimiento de la Quinta Republica emerged victorious in the sudden 2015 elections, aimed for a conservative reorganization of the administration. The setback that they faced, however, has given a new face to the socialist Venezuela, first founded as such a socialist haven by Hugo Chávez, virtual dictator of the country. Rafael Carrero, candidate of the Bolivarian Party, the upmost Venezuelan socialist party, was able to register 44% of the votes, as compared to only 35% that the conservatives had gained. This was truly a victory for socialist Venezuela, and a setback for South American conservatist - it has also been a victory for the Partido Socialist Obrero Español, which has attempted to gain a footing in Las Cortes, and now has fellow socialist brethren to rest on.


Pagina D1...

The Brazillian Continental Intelligence Service (BRACONIS) moves more people to their Venezuelan Department of Affairs. The sudden shift in the political spectrum is cause for little concern, but history shows that Socialism tends to spread like wildfire.

Brazil will remain quiet at the moment, wanting not to offend its Northern Neighbor.

[Outside The Venezuelan Embassy, Washington DC]

"What's the notice?"

"Twenty-four hours."

"Tough shit for them. I thought we were gonna, you know, deal with this election. Rizaria and all his contacts."

The two suited men were standing in the cool weather outside the building as the USMC held perimeter. They looked out of place among the newsmen and the gray-MARPAT clad marines, clutching rifles in gloved hands.

"Well, you know how elections are. Venezuela can't seem to move the fuck on like the Colombians and Brazilians did."

"Well when you have Chavez and the like shitting down your throat for the whole 21st Century you're bound to be fulla crap."

"I think the Corps have this in control, our Embassy staff is already back. Lets talk to our man Rizaria."

[US Government Private Jet, over the Carribbean]

"Hello?"

Diego Rizaria was a bit irate at the moment. The socialist fools celebrating in Venezuela. Well, you couldn't win them all. But Venezuela was in a position that was clearly threatening to US interests. In a US policy devoted to keeping trade routes under capitalist control, a socialist Venezuela could make things difficult for the US. At least oil wasn't much of an issue any more. He kept the thoughts running in his mind as he recognized the voice on the phone.

"Mr. White, so good to talk to you."

"And the same to you, Mister Vice President. I trust your flight is going well?"

"Yes, perfectly actually. Now lets set a few things straight. Exactly which OPLAN are you going through with?"

"Minimal government intervention. Just arrange for no searches on our private flights and give our men some Brazilian identities. I trust you still have your CIA contacts?"

"Of course I do. And they'll be loyal, don't worry. But remember: if you guys screw the pooch, it's just some horrible Latin American insurgency. We aren't intervening unless its a national security risk."

"This entire situation is a national security risk."

"You know what I mean, Mr. White."

"I know... I think we can pull it off. But if the shit hits the fan, if at all possible I'd like some jarheads at my back."

"We'll see. Good luck."

The cell phone snapped shut.

[ASG Services, Texas]

The men were all of South American descent, good enough to blend in with the average Venezuelan or Colombian near the border. They were not handsome and they were not ugly, they looked like rugged, but mediocre men. They dressed fairly well, but not in American clothes. They wore worn jungle boots on their feet, and each had several sacks of equipment that would be stored covertly.

There were 24 of them, and they flew into Brazil. From there they would all take private charter flights into Venezuela. Their armarment was primarily concealed pistols and submachineguns, though they could arrange for supply drops. They also had an array of portable, concealable communications and espianoge equipment. But they would not use it now. For now, they would lay low, trolling Venezuela for any capitalist supporters. They would operate in 8 teams of 3 across the nation.

Meanwhile, another company of men was being readied in Brazil. They would not be undercover, they would choose camouflage instead. They were laden with weapons and checking all their equipment. Soon enough they too would be in Venezuela, but not quite yet.

Never pull in your line until you get a bite.

Caracas

A live broadcast of the the president speaking could be heard on the television in the shabby downtown apartment. Arturo Bello, a middle aged Venezuelan, lit a cigarette and leaned back on the cheap wooden chair, turning up the volume. It was the typical leftist bullshit, mudslinging against the "evils of capitalism" and the like.

"...cannot stand for the United States and their imperialism. We, Venezuelans, stand together and apart from them; away from capitalist exploitation..."

Arturo tapped the ash from the end of his cigarette into a coffee mug on the desk beside him. He had voted for the Conservatives, and urged many of his associates to do the same, but in the end it had been no use. It appeared the country would never escape from socialism; Venezuela had not changed since 1998. And while this new guy, Carrero, promised change, they were all the same and they all said the same goddamn things.

"The petroleum industry is currently facing problems caused by negligence on the behalf of the controlling companies. Corruption is rampant in these companies, especially in the higher branches of administration. This is why we must nationalize the petroleum business, bring it under government control..."

Arturo Bello let out a deep sigh and flicked his finished cigarette into the coffee mug. So the rumours had been true. This sonofabitch Carrero was going to try to completely de-capitalize the country. With two decades being employed in PDV, the largest oil company in Venezuela, Mr Bello did not, under any circumstances, want to see the petroleum industry in government hands. He knew what he had to do, he couldn't sit idly by like he had for the past seventeen years of socialist hell.

Arturo walked over to his bedside table and picked up a small business card, unmarked except for a telephone number written in tiny, blue handwriting. He had received it three days ago when two men, obviously North American, had approached him while he was leaving the grocery store. It was a very odd affair, but he felt it was time to get in contact with them.

As he picked up the receiver, he felt a shiver go down his spine. Who knew what this all meant, and what could happen. It had to be better than this fucking pinko shit he decided. Arturo dialed the number slowly and listened without a sound. After the third ring, a voice on the other end of the line said,

"We've been waiting..."

[OOC: New Empire, please check your TGs before posting. Thanks.]

OOC: Italics indicates dialogue in Spanish

[A Market In Caracas...]

"You want anything?" called the first man towards the other in the car.

"Nada."

That was the signal. The man walked towards the grocery store as his contact approached the doorway. Suddenly, the man's blank face changed to a cheery smile.

"Senor Bello, just the man I've been looking for. I've tried to call you but the phone service here seems to be a bit haywire. I'm with the Financial Times of Mexico about the new economic reforms and the petroleum industry, perhaps we could do an interview later? Here's my card."

He pressed it into the hands of the surprised looking PDV executive. The agent looked the part, for he was ethnically Mexican. But his nationality was American, and it wouldn't take Bello much effort to figure out why they were here.

"You must be very busy right now, Senor. I'm very sorry for the interruption. Perhaps we could call when you have some free time?"

The conversation broke off quickly, and the man returned to the car. The driver nodded and slipped a silenced HK pistol back into its holster. The car drove off.

[Now]

"I'm still very much interested in doing that interview, Senor Bello. There's a very nice restaurant in town, quiet, out of the way but excellent food. Perhaps we could meet there for lunch around two tomorrow?"

As one picked up the call, the rest were continuing their passive observation of Venezuelan communications security. They didn't want any government attention yet. Sooner or later this would have to enter the public eye, but they would choose when.