Hugo Chávez's Venezuela

Our (sick) man in Havana

by P.G. | CARACAS

THE Venezuelan constitution guarantees citizens the right to “timely, accurate and impartial information”. But as Hugo Chávez, the president, departed at the weekend to resume his cancer treatment in Havana, Cuba, his followers and adversaries alike were once again left with more questions than answers regarding the vital issue of the moment: just how ill is the president, and what is his prognosis?

According to the official version, Mr Chávez underwent emergency surgery for a “pelvic abscess” in early June, after symptoms emerged during a routine visit to Cuba. It was not until June 30th that he announced, via a 15-minute recorded video, what some journalists had been claiming for some time: that a second operation had removed a cancerous tumour.

Before the country had had time to recover from the shock—not only of the news itself but also of the president’s much-deteriorated appearance—Mr Chávez arrived unannounced in Caracas in the early hours of July 4th. Since then, in a series of (by his standards) brief media appearances, he has gradually revealed more details of his condition. But he has not released a single medical bulletin, or even revealed the precise location of the tumour.

His return to Cuba, after less than a fortnight in Venezuela, suggests that secrecy is a major consideration. Brazil has offered him treatment at a hospital in São Paulo where both its own president, Dilma Rousseff, and Fernando Lugo, the president of Paraguay, received successful cancer therapy. And the Venezuelan medical profession is understandably offended that Mr Chávez feels he is better off outside the country. But in the tightly-controlled environment of communist Cuba, the information blackout is less easily breached.

The president insists that “not a single malignant cell” has been found anywhere else in his body. But he admits that he will require chemotherapy, contrary to what some of those close to him had insisted previously. He requested permission from the legislature to leave the country for “more than five days” and gave no date of return. And for the first time, he has delegated some of his authority, to Elías Jaua, the vice-president, and Jorge Giordani, the finance and planning minister—both civilians intensely loyal to Mr Chávez, and considered to be on the radical wing of his “revolution”. Their powers will be predominantly administrative and budgetary, although the vice-president will be able to sign expropriation decrees in consultation with Mr Chávez. The president will retain control of the army and the power to appoint or dismiss ministers or decree states of emergency.

The opposition continues to insist that the country cannot be run from abroad. The constitution holds that the vice-president must stand in when the president is “temporarily absent”. But government legislators argue that this is merely an opposition ploy to gradually ease Mr Chávez from power. To judge by the number of presidential exhortations in recent weeks concerning the need for unity, both in the ruling party and in the military, there is considerable concern that any relaxation of the presidential grip would lead to unseemly jostling for power.

The indefinite absence of the president would be a matter of concern in any country. But Mr Chávez exercises unprecedented de facto control over all of Venezuela’s institutions. In an apparent bid to show that he will remain in full control, just before he left, the president created an electronic signature on live television for use while he is away. But it will take more than that to dispel the doubts over his ability to micro-manage the affairs of state from a Cuban hospital. Venezuela’s stability is now inextricably bound up with the progress of the president’s illness. Treating that as a state secret is unlikely to work for long, so the government must hope for a rapid, and visible, improvement.