Family lore has it that one day, while at his home in Camurana, Caracas, he looked up, saw an aircraft passing overhead, and exclaimed: "That should be forbidden—flying over people's homes." Others say his concept of sovereignty was so expansive that it encompassed not only the subsoil and the resources found within it but also the surface and the space beyond the planet. He assembled a rudimentary power plant to light the home he had built with his own hands—an act that was, in essence, a protest against the city's electric utility monopoly. A vegetarian, he grew his own food and eschewed air conditioning; he drove only when absolutely necessary, preferring to walk most of the time. He was a man devoted to his family and his home. On the family lands in Turgua, rather than fighting off squatters and encroachers, he engaged them in dialogue and even helped them secure amenities like a school. He carried a stick on his long walks—not to kill snakes, should he encounter them, but to guide them back into the wild. Even after becoming a minister, he made it a rule never to accept gifts of any kind, no matter how small. He worked with the windows open for ventilation and to save electricity—a practice that also allowed him to use the sunset as a signal that the workday had ended. His lunch was frugal: fruit and perhaps a yogurt. By the end of his life, he was called an ascetic—a monk who had withdrawn into his home as a form of protest and rejection of a materialistic Venezuela that was already becoming intoxicated by consumerism fueled by oil revenue surpluses.
He was a man shaped by an agrarian, post-colonial Venezuela—a country that still looked to Europe as a point of reference. In fact, despite having grown up during the oil boom that came at the expense of the agricultural sector, while in exile in Washington, D.C., he immediately connected with the progressive schools of thought of the era. Concepts that are viewed today as cutting-edge policies in Scandinavian nations—leaders in conservation—were already commonplace in the studies and research he would later bring back to his country. He was fascinated by the Railroad Commission of Texas and how that state agency regulated oil prices with an eye toward protecting and conserving a non-renewable natural resource, all while countering monopolistic attempts by major U.S. oil corporations.
It is interesting to reach this point because, with millions of us Venezuelans living abroad today, we see how many people change not only their customs and accents but also their way of thinking. I believe it takes a strong personal foundation to have lived in exile in the land of consumerism and excess without losing one’s values—or the vision of a life defined by having just what is necessary and living in balance with the environment that surrounds and sustains us. It also required learning from North America’s great naturalists, conservationists, and progressives—absorbing the ideologies and techniques Venezuela needed for the challenges that lay ahead: the creation of OPEC, the nationalization of the oil industry, and the failed attempt to implement a policy of granting no further concessions to transnational corporations.
I remember him very vaguely. I must have been about eight years old when he died; my dad would occasionally take me to the house in Los Chorros—at the foot of Mount Ávila—to keep him company and listen to conversations that almost always ended up being about politics. I think I grew up listening to talk of politics. I also remember the little caps my great-aunt Alicia Castillo used to make to protect his bald head, and the sense of calm and admiration I felt. The passion fruit juice. The plants in the garden, the ferns. The sounds of birds, cicadas, and rustling twigs at night. Caracas.
At the same time, I like to say that the oil wealth was indeed sown. I know many Venezuelan engineers working at major research centers for renewable energy and related public policy; they are obsessively preparing—alongside the world’s leading naturalists, conservationists, and progressives—for the challenges facing not just Venezuela, but the entire planet. There is immense hope and a track record of achievements that will lead us toward a world powered by clean energy and in balance with our environment.
There are so many Juan Pablo Pérez Alfonzo out there!
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