Fuente: The Guardian |
No
disrespect is intended: there is simply not enough space in the till for the
thick wads of cash. Nor is it practical to treat the 100 bolivar bills with
more care: they are worth barely more than the paper napkins stacked rather
more attentively on the shelves.
This,
however, is Venezuela’s
highest denomination, a note that once represented Latin
America’s most powerful petro-economy – but is now a near
valueless symbol for one of the most dramatic reverses in a country’s fortunes.
With
greater oil reserves than Saudi Arabia,
Venezuela
should be at least moderately prosperous. Instead, it has the world’s fastest
contracting economy, the second highest murder rate, inflation heading towards
1,000% and shortages of food and medicine that have pushed the poorest members
of its 30 million population to the edge of a humanitarian abyss.
To get a
snapshot of the fast-changing – and sometimes tragically surreal –
socio-economic landscape, the Guardian travelled 870 miles across the
country from the Amazonian border with Brazil
to the capital, Caracas.
Santa Elena
de Uairen – where money comes in suitcases
For most of
its history, the frontier town of Santa
Elena de Uairen was considered an underdeveloped
outpost deprived by distance of the goods and services available on the coast
and the interior. Today, however, it is seen as a relatively safe and prosperous
sanctuary from the crime and chaos found elsewhere. Thanks to the proximity of Brazil, food is
not in short supply and there is a brisk border trade in grain.
It takes
just five minutes to cross from the porous border at Pacaraima. Locals say the
government in Caracas lifted food import tariffs
from Brazil
two months ago in a sign both of its desperation to ease shortages and its
weakening control over the economy. There is now a steady stream of traders
buying sacks of rice, sugar, wheat and spaghetti for resale in Venezuela.
People here
rely on cash because Santa Elena is so far from the rest of the country that
communication networks are too unreliable for debit or credit cards. That means
they probably spend more time and effort counting and carrying money here than
anywhere else.
Life could
be made easier if the authorities printed notes with higher denominations than
100 Bolivars, which is worth less than 8p, or 10 cents. But the central bank
appears reluctant to make a move that would confirm a level of hyperinflation
not seen in Latin America since the crises in Brazil
and Argentina
in the 1980s and 1990s. As a result, locals have to pay for everything in the
equivalent of dimes. Even when made of paper, that can be cumbersome and heavy.
“When I go
to the market I have to carry such a big bag of money that I get a backache,”
said Carmen Ramirez, a local hotel manager. Her friend Wanda Wojtowitcz, a
lawyer, said she went shopping with her cash in a toiletry bag because it would
not fit in her purse. “At the bank you see people with suitcases full of notes
to deposit,” she says.
The
increasingly secretive central bank does not reveal how much it costs to print
each bill, but based on international parameters, José Manuel Puente, an
economist and professor with the Institute
of Higher Administration Studies,
estimates that the cost of paper, ink and printing of each note is about 20%
more than their face value. “They are not worth what they cost. It’s a joke. But
that’s the way things are,” he said.
Read the
entire report here.
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