Chávez reveals cancer treatment

"I neglected my health," says the Venezuelan president.

After weeks of speculation over the state of his health, Hugo Chávez has revealed that he has had surgery to remove a cancerous tumour. In his first video appearance since being hospitalised in Cuba, Chávez said doctors had removed "cancerous cells" from his body. "This [is] the new battle that life has placed before us," he said.

In an uncharacteristically short speech, he ruefully reflected, "I neglected my health and I was reluctant to have medical check ups. It was a fundamental mistake for a revolutionary."

The Venezuelan president was rushed to hospital on 10 June after suffering abdominal pain while in a meeting with Fidel Castro. He later underwent emergency pelvic surgery and, as we now know, a second operation to remove a tumour.

It's still unclear when Chávez will return to Venezuela and the news has dismayed his supporters, who were confident that he would win re-election next year. The opposition is arguing that it is unconstitutional for Chávez to govern the country from abroad. Others have criticised him for initially denying claims that he had been diagnosed with cancer.

But most importantly, as I wrote on Monday, Chávez's absence has highlighted the lack of any obvious successor to his Bolivarian Revolution. Aware of this fact, his supporters are discussing the possibility of a Castro-like succession which would see Chavez's older brother, Adán Chávez, take over the presidency. As today's New York Times notes: "no government figure has occupied the political void created by [Chávez's] absence more assertively than his older brother, Adán Chávez, a physicist whose radical thinking has often been to the left of the president's."

In the meantime, Venezuelan politics remains as polarised as ever. On Saturday, the Vice Foreign Minister, Temir Porras, said: "The only thing that has metastasized is the cancer of the Miami Herald and the rest of the right-wing media."

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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Why do the words “soup, swoop, loop de loop” come to mind every time I lift a spoon to my lips?

It’s all thanks to Barry and Anita.

A while ago I was lending a friend the keys to our house. We keep spare keys in a ceramic pot I was given years ago by someone who made it while on an art-school pottery course. “That’s er . . . quite challenging,” the friend said of the pot.

“Is it?” I replied. “I’d stopped noticing how ugly it is.”

“Then it’s a grunty,” she said.

“A what?” I asked.

“A grunty. It’s something you have in your house that’s hideous and useless but you’ve stopped noticing it completely, so it’s effectively invisible.”

I was much taken with this idea and realised that as well as “grunties” there are also “gruntyisms”: things you say or do, though the reason why you say or do them has long since been forgotten. For example, every time we drink soup my wife and I say the same thing, uttered in a strange monotone: we say, “Soup, swoop, loop de loop.” How we came to say “soup, swoop, loop de loop” came about like this.

For a married couple, the years between your mid-thirties and your late forties might be seen as the decade of the bad dinner party. You’re no longer looking for a partner, so the hormonal urge to visit crowded bars has receded, but you are still full of energy so you don’t want to stay in at night, either. Instead, you go to dinner parties attended by other couples you don’t necessarily like that much.

One such couple were called Barry and Anita. Every time we ate at their house Barry would make soup, and when serving it he would invariably say, “There we are: soup, swoop, loop de loop.” After the dinner party, as soon as we were in the minicab going home, me and Linda would start drunkenly talking about what an arse Barry was, saying to each other, in a high-pitched, mocking imitation of his voice: “Please do have some more of this delicious soup, swoop, loop de loop.” Then we’d collapse against each other laughing, convincing the Algerian or Bengali taxi driver once again of the impenetrability and corruption of Western society.

Pretty soon whenever we had soup at home, Linda and I would say to each other, “Soup, swoop, loop de loop,” at first still ridiculing Barry, but eventually we forgot why we were saying it and it became part of the private language every couple develop, employed long after we’d gratefully ceased having soupy dinners with Barry and Anita.

In the early Nineties we had an exchange student staying with us for a year, a Maori girl from the Cook Islands in the southern Pacific. When she returned home she took the expression “soup, swoop, loop de loop” with her and spread it among her extended family, until finally the phrase appeared in an anthropological dissertation: “ ‘Soup swoop, loop de loop.’ Shamanistic Incantations in Rarotongan Food Preparation Rituals” – University of Topeka, 2001. 

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt