MEXICO CITY — Long before becoming president, when he was a soldier, Hugo Chávez
organized cultural activities, most notably beauty pageants. On a
stage, microphone in hand, Mr. Chávez served as host, pumping up the
audience and announcing the winner. The showman in him already struggled
to emerge from under the uniform. Mr. Chávez said he imitated the
proceedings he had seen on television in these improvised contests. This
is how he learned to play to an audience.
When
he tried to seize power through a coup d’état years later, in 1992, the
resulting media frenzy sent him another sign. His military failure
turned into a political victory: When Mr. Chávez appeared on TV to call
for his colleagues to give up, he won over the audience. One minute on
the screen was more effective than tanks, machine guns and bullets.
That
was the start of his political career. He didn’t rise to power through
social struggles. He became president without ever holding public office
or a representative position that would have required him to negotiate
or compromise. From his first election as president, in 1998, to his
last one, in 2012 — shortly before his death at age 58 in March 2013 — Mr. Chávez became an expert in using television as a form of government.
Now Donald J. Trump is proposing the same thing to the United States.
Beyond
their ideological differences, Mr. Trump, a populist right-winger, and
Mr. Chávez, a leftist strongman, share the same telegenic vocation. They
both built a career via television spectacle. Every Sunday, Mr. Chávez
appeared on a program called “Aló Presidente,”
in which he would sing, talk about current events or appoint and
dismiss ministers — reminiscent of Mr. Trump’s television catchphrase
“You’re fired!” There was no time limit for “Aló Presidente.” The
longest episode lasted eight hours and seven minutes.
Not
only that, Mr. Chávez could decide to appear at any time through
mandatory broadcasts transmitted over all the country’s airwaves. By
2012, he had appeared in 2,377 of them, adding up to 1,642 hours. Every
day, Mr. Chávez was featured for an average of 54 minutes as the main
character of some kind of television broadcast. His true utopia appeared
to be the consolidation of a telegovernment.
Mr.
Trump’s campaign wouldn’t be possible without television. Not only
because of the coverage, worth hundreds of millions of dollars he has
enjoyed, but also because of the reality show “The Apprentice,”
on which he was host, judge and prize. From there, he began associating
his image with the idea that financial problems could be resolved
easily, authoritatively, in one hour of television. His campaign is also
like that. To him, democracy is a reality show contest.
Mr. Chávez and Mr. Trump are expert provocateurs. Their narratives are closer to audiovisual fiction than to political debate.
An
eloquent example is Mr. Trump’s visit with President Enrique Peña Nieto
of Mexico. Mr. Trump appeared conciliatory and diplomatic in Mexico
City. Hours later, in Phoenix, not only did he say that Mexico would pay
100 percent of the cost of a border wall, but he also unleashed another
ferocious attack against immigrants. His coherence depends on the
audience. The only thing that matters to him is the emotional effect he
has on the people listening and the impact it has in the media.
Even
when it comes to reporting on his health, Mr. Trump goes into showman
mode. Why does he need to release his medical records if everyone can
see him admitting he is overweight on “The Dr. Oz Show”? There is no
problem too big to be tackled on TV.
Mr.
Chávez also used controversy as bait. He was able to invent or magnify a
conflict to keep his audience hanging. He knew perfectly well the power
of language. In 2011 he said: “Obama, you are a fraud, a total fraud.
If I could be a candidate in the United States, I would sweep the floor
with you.” These are words that are reminiscent of a TV reality show.
Mr. Trump also knows these tricks well and, like Mr. Chávez, has no
scruples when it comes to using them. He said of President Obama: “He’s
the founder of ISIS. He’s the founder of ISIS. He’s the founder. He
founded ISIS.”
There
is no substance behind these words, just a media fire. Their narrative
is also very similar. They both denounce an unfair present and invoke a
glorious destiny that has been taken from us by an enemy force.
It’s a flattering fantasy, but it’s also a dangerous story: It legitimizes violence.
Mr.
Chávez’s and Mr. Trump’s speeches raise the possibility that violence
may be the best solution. Mr. Chávez routinely made threats. He always
reminded others that his revolution was “peaceful but armed.”
Charisma
like that of Mr. Chávez or Mr. Trump is also a symptom. It reflects
what exists in their own societies. Mr. Chávez emerged in a country that
had nurtured the certainty of being rich, although it lived in poverty.
Mr. Trump speaks to Americans who are suffering the consequences of an
economic crisis and globalization, who see their country as being
contaminated by Latin Americans and Muslims.
Mr.
Trump and Mr. Chávez spread the idea that social problems have easy and
quick resolutions. They represent the mirage of magical solutions and
the triumph of television over politics.
In
Venezuela, the consequences of having opted for a media demagogue are
evident in Mr. Chávez’s legacy: Inflation forecasts for 2016 exceed 700
percent. Almost two million Venezuelans have been forced to migrate. The
country is on the verge of a humanitarian crisis. Voting for Chávez
meant voting for the destruction of the country.
Like Mr. Chávez, Donald Trump used to organize beauty pageants. Like him, he may get a chance to remake a country.
The
complexity of United States politics would make Mr. Trump’s journey to
destruction more difficult. But Mr. Chávez’s parable is also a
cautionary tale about voters’ vulnerability to the spell of charisma and
media banality.
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