Life on the line as Venezuela economic crisis worsens

Steep drop in oil price leaves no money to pay for basic necessities

CARACAS, Venezuela, July 12, (AP): The people waiting for hours in front of the drugstore were dazed with heat and boredom when the gunmen arrived.

The robbers demanded a cellphone from a 25-year-old in black shorts. Instead of handing it over, Junior Perez took off toward the entrance to the pharmacy. Eight shots rang out, and he fell face down.

The dozens of shoppers in line were unmoved. They held their places as the gunmen went through Perez’s pockets. They watched as thick ribbons of blood ran from the young man’s head into the grooves of the tiled walkway. And when their turns came, each bought the two tubes of rationed toothpaste they were allowed.

“These days, you have to put the line above everything,” said pharmacist Haide Mendoza, who was there that morning. “You make sure you get what you need, and you don’t feel sorry for anyone.”

As Venezuela’s lines have grown longer and more dangerous, they have become not only the stage for everyday life, but a backdrop to death. More than two dozen people have been killed in line in the past 12 months, including a 4-year-old girl caught in gang crossfire. An 80-yearold woman was crushed to death when an orderly line of shoppers suddenly turned into a mob of looters — an increasingly common occurrence as Venezuela runs out of just about everything.

The extent of the country’s economic collapse can be measured in the length of the lines snaking through every neighborhood. The average Venezuelan shopper spends 35 hours waiting to buy food each month. That’s three times more than in 2014, according to the polling firm Datanalisis.

“As the economy breaks down, life is telescoping to be just lines,” said Datanalisis president Luis Vicente Leon. “You have masses of people in the streets competing for scarce goods. You’re inevitably going to get conflict, fights, tricks, you name it.”

Venezuela’s vast oil wealth once fueled a bustling economy. But years of mismanagement under a socialist government ground much of the nation’s production to a halt, and the country grew ever more dependent on imports.

The supply chain broke down — first slowly, then all at once, as a steep drop in the price of oil left no money to pay for even some of the most basic necessities.

Shortages now top voters’ lists of concerns, surpassing even safety. That’s stunning in a country with one of the world’s highest homicide rates.

Desperation fuels the violence. Medical student Maria Sanchez looked as timid and absent as anyone else in a Caracas line for flour, but when a woman tried to cut in front of her and her mother, she threw the first punches. She didn’t let up until the would-be intruder limped away. Sanchez passed the rest of the wait with her lips pressed together, her mother quietly weeping.

“You have to go out with your batteries fully charged or people take advantage,” Sanchez said. “Need has an ugly dog’s face.” The need is everywhere. On Wednesdays, residents of one of Caracas’ wealthiest neighborhoods line up with empty five-gallon jugs, hoping to catch a truck that comes through weekly with potable water. Poorer people wait at the foot of the green mountain that towers over the city, competing to siphon water from its springs.

On Fridays, bank lines grow long because ATM limits capped at $8 daily have not kept up with the world’s highest inflation, and the machines are not restocked on Saturdays or Sundays. Venezuelans now mostly avoid using cash, and even sidewalk orange juice peddlers have acquired credit card machines.

On Mondays and Tuesdays, the lines outside immigration offices spill down the street as if people suddenly decided over the weekend that they could not handle one more week standing around while life passes them by.

Each night, men push broken-down gas guzzlers along a river to line up at a warehouse that sells car batteries, but always runs out of stock by mid-morning.

All Venezuelans, including children, are assigned two shopping days a week based on their state ID number. They line up before supermarkets open, guided by rumors and where they’ve had luck in the past. Some use fake IDs to score extra shopping days. Pregnant women and the elderly get their own priority lines, and everyone is limited to two units of whatever is on offer.

The longest lines are for what is in the shortest supply: food.

Nine out of 10 people say they can’t buy enough to eat, according to a study by Simon Bolivar University. Prices have been driven impossibly high by scarcity, hoarding and black market resellers.

Venezuelans line up again and again for subsidized goods, not always knowing what they’ll get when they finally reach the front. When supply trucks arrive, workers throw open the doors, game-show style, to reveal whether shoppers will be taking home precious pantry staples, or a booby prize like dog food.

Sometimes the disappointment is too much to bear. Hundreds of people stormed a market in Caracas last month after the food truck they spent hours waiting for was diverted. “We’re starving,” they cried as shopkeepers lowered metal gates over their doors and windows.

Queues thousands of people long are targets for muggers, who will sometimes work their way down person by person. Soldiers armed with tear gas and assault rifles often stand guard over supermarkets and supply trucks to maintain order. But the National Guard has killed three people and arrested hundreds this summer while trying to control nationwide food riots.