Cry For Me Venezuela November 16
One-hundred-twenty Venezuelans were left stranded at sea yesterday, on twelve boats, just off the northern coast of the tiny fishing village of Matelot, which is about 60 miles west of me. On shore waited a legion of heavily armed police officers. Authorities were notified, immigration officers summoned. An official from the UN High Commission for Refugees quickly caught word of the flotilla, and today he contacted local papers in Port of Spain to express concern. He calls the standoff a violation of international law.
Meanwhile, Prime Minister Rowley’s position is clear: “We will not allow the United Nations or any other international body to convert it (TT) into a refugee camp.“
His fear may be well founded, as over 40,000 fleeing migrants have sought sanctuary here. They are part of an exodus that has seen Venezuela’s population of 30 million fall in three years by 10%. The Americas have not known anything before like it. Most of those leaving home end up in Colombia, Peru, and Ecuador, but many others take to the water—to the Dominican Republic, Panama, Aruba, Curacao, and, naturally, here. According to The Guardian (UK), in a recent report, “By far the most popular Caribbean island destination is the twin island nation of Trinidad and Tobago, which lies almost within swimming distance of Venezuela’s (east) coast.“ Since its political and economic collapse, Venezuela has ceased to produce anything but petrol and discord, creating a gigantic black market for everything else, which no one can afford. People cannot buy food or medicine or even toilet paper. And yet, they can fill their gas tanks for less than pennies, literally, such is the insane petroleum subsidy—but where to drive? Adonde Van? Not here.
So they come by boat. At dawn yesterday, two strangers were spotted by fishermen on the beach at Matelot, signaling directions to the captains of the twelve vessels, evidently as prearranged. This has happened before. For sea coyotes, there is money to be made. The cops were called, and the two Venezuelan guides (plus five others who apparently were desperate enough to dive from their boats) were taken into custody. The town was closed. Those captured will be sent back to their sorry homes.
While the UN may decry the humanitarian crisis, angry citizens here ask for ever more protection against the illegal aliens. Indeed, many Trinidadians attribute the rising crime rate in the country to the recent migrant influx. The Guardian reports Venezuela is the second most dangerous country in the world, whereas Trinidad has climbed remarkably into the top twelve, as undocumented refugees arrive without money, without language, and without options, often becoming both the targets and recruits of criminal gangs.
Consequently, the government takes a hardline position against asylum—everyone apprehended without papers is deported. Still, tourists are canceling reservations, public angst is rising, and anybody with a foreign tongue is held suspect. This culture of Trinidad, so extraordinarily different from the Latin mainland only 15 miles away, wrestles with too many of its own internal demons to have any patience for the Venezuelan diaspora. The newcomers quickly discover that this melting pot can be a scalding cauldron for outsiders.
As of now, the 120 Venezuelans continue to languish in maritime limbo. No one on the boats speak English, no one on shore speaks Spanish, and no one within swimming distance has an answer.