Re: Crude Realities: Living with Chavez
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CRUDE REALITIES: LIVING WITH CHAVEZ</font size>
<font size="4">Oil’s New Mr. Big</font size>
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Part Two</font size></center>
Like all skilled actors and politicians, Ramírez and Chavez are keenly aware of their audience. They walk a fine line, alternately assuring Americans that Venezuela will continue to supply El Norte with 1.6 million barrels of crude a day and telling Venezuelans that they will cut America’s energy lifeline if the Bush administration makes any hostile moves against Caracas. Given the history of U.S. intervention in Latin America—encouraging the overthrow of Salvador Allende in Chile, the removal of Panama’s Manuel Noriega by the first President Bush—it’s no surprise that many Venezuelans think a U.S. invasion is a real possibility. Yet while the current President Bush would be happy to see Chavez replaced by a more pro-Western leader, any military action is unthinkable as long as the oil keeps flowing.
And despite this former paratrooper’s authoritarian tendencies—he attempted to seize power in a coup six years before being elected democratically in 1998 and has recently tried to intimidate opponents through arrests and a new law aimed at the press—Chavez is hardly Fidel. At least not yet. Most privately owned media in Venezuela remain critical of Chavez, and U.S. companies have a major presence. In downtown Caracas, a sign urging solidarity with Chavez’s Bolivarian revolution sits next to a huge green-and-white IBM billboard.
For the most part, the macho talk coming out of Caracas is just that. As Ramírez himself notes, America’s location and enormous demand make it Venezuela’s most natural customer. But the image of standing up to the U.S. plays well in the ranchitos, the Caracas slums that are Chavez’s political stronghold. (Chavez has nicknamed Bush “Mr. Danger,” while Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld is “Mr. War.”) As Chavez knows, this kind of rhetoric has helped keep his political idol Castro in power through ten U.S. presidencies.
Still, foreign oil giants are definitely feeling the heat. In fact, the Venezuelan tax authority has created a special branch focusing exclusively on private oil companies. Ramírez accuses Big Oil of systematically cheating on their taxes, and back-tax claims of at least $1 billion are likely. Is this the start of a campaign akin to the Kremlin’s attack on Yukos, the Russian oil giant that was bankrupted and then nationalized after being hit with back-tax penalties? “I don’t think the situation is that bad,” says Ramírez. “Most companies are willing to pay, and they are paying.”
The key element in Ramírez’s squeeze play is the forced renegotiation of 32 operating agreements under which foreign firms pump 500,000 barrels a day of oil that they deliver to PDVSA for a set fee. Instead of the old 34% levy, profits from these deals will be taxed at a 50% rate. And rather than operating agreements, Ramírez is insisting on joint ventures, with Venezuela controlling at least 51%. By forcibly rewriting the contracts, Ramírez can earn more per barrel and also avoid paying hundreds of millions in incentive payments that were due to foreign companies under the old agreements. What’s more, in the tar sands of the Orinoco belt, where Exxon, Total, Chevron, and others have separate agreements and have invested billions to extract oil from what’s basically asphalt, royalties on each barrel of oil are being raised from 1% to nearly 17%.
The new terms haven’t been finalized, but they’re not just being applied to U.S. giants; all foreign companies, including NOCs like Brazil’s Petrobras and China’s CNPC, are being hit. Most, if not all, are likely to swallow the changes Ramírez is imposing. If they don’t go along, they’ll lose access to Venezuela’s 80 billion barrels of proven oil reserves—one of the biggest energy prizes on the planet.
That’s why powerhouses like Chevron have adopted a remarkably accommodating stance toward Venezuela. Although tax auditors raided a Chevron office in Maracaibo in July, the company isn’t protesting while it awaits a possible back-tax bill. Vice chairman Peter Robertson insists Chevron has “a good, excellent relationship with the Venezuelan government.” His boss, CEO Dave O’Reilly, adds, “Venezuela will work its way through this. Ramírez is a very straight shooter.” Indeed, O’Reilly says Chevron would like to invest more in Venezuela.
After challenging some deductions and applying the tax hike retroactively, auditors recently slapped Shell with a $132 million tax claim. But the head of Shell’s operations in Venezuela, Sean Rooney, isn’t complaining. “The government of Venezuela is auditing the majority of oil companies’ returns,” he says. “We were lucky enough to be the first.” In fact, Rooney is determined to stay, come what may. “It is hard to turn away from the tremendous opportunities in Venezuela,” he says. “The Venezuelans can and will be extracting higher rents, and we expect and accept that. We are prepared to pay more when the opportunity merits.”
The only foreign giant fighting hard against Ramírez’s moves is Exxon. It’s threatening to sue the Venezuelan government and bring international arbitration proceedings, citing the legal sanctity of the original contracts. But Ramírez is betting it won’t go that far. He hasn’t spoken to Exxon CEO Lee Raymond directly but says, “I have a hunch that they finally read the clauses of the contract and realize we are right.” An Exxon spokesperson says that while arbitration remains an option, the company “wishes to explore an amicable resolution.”
Ramírez has an ace up his sleeve in negotiating with Big Oil—Asian rivals eager for a foothold. Any Western corporation that exits Venezuela could eventually be replaced by a Chinese or Indian firm. The flirtation is mutual. Ramírez himself went to Beijing in August to open PDVSA’s first office in China. And an agreement signed in June calls for Venezuela to supply 30,000 barrels of fuel oil to China. As Ramírez says, “There is a lot of interest from China and India, that’s a brand new condition.… Yes, they have huge, deep pockets.”
A longtime friend of Chavez who founded a natural-gas company before going to work for PDVSA, Ramírez speaks in a soothing voice that’s barely above a whisper. But his message is a provocative one in a country whose rocky relationship with Big Oil goes all the way back to the Rockefellers and the first Venezuelan wells in the 1930s.
Of course, fresh oil is a lot harder to find now than it was then, and Western giants like Shell desperately need new prospects around the world. So the case of Venezuela is just one more example of the way regimes from Russia to Nigeria to Kazakhstan are challenging Big Oil for a larger slice of the burgeoning profit pie, says PFC’s Cordray. “These big oil companies are used to operating in some of the most unfriendly political environments on earth,” he says. And with the last potential gushers increasingly in government hands in places like Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, and Russia, there’s really nowhere else to go. “It would be hard for me to see a scenario where they just up and walk away from Venezuela,” says Cordray.
As for Ramírez, he is well aware that Exxon is on track to earn more than $30 billion this year, and he naturally thinks that kind of windfall would be better spent by Chavez on social programs. “We are a country with huge resources, but we have millions of poor people—80% of the population is poor,” he says. “We have work to do.”
Omar Bravo is not political. In a country that’s fiercely divided between Chavistas and los escualidos (“the squalid ones,” as anti-Chavistas are known), the deputy manager of Venezuela’s biggest refinery happily describes himself as a pragmatist. When PDVSA’s workforce went on strike to protest Chavez’s left-wing policies, Bravo crossed the picket lines and stayed. “I was doing what I had to do, saving my job,” he says. Bravo’s wife of 30 years, Irma, saw things very differently—she supported the PDVSA workers who walked off the job and were subsequently fired by Chavez. Indeed, at the height of the strike, she joined them in nightly protests outside the Bravo home, a few miles from the refinery.
“I don’t like this government—I am a democratic person and I believe in freedom,” Irma says, sitting next to her frowning husband in their sunny living room. “You have to wear a red hat to work in this country,” she adds, referring to a popular Chavista symbol. “That’s not true!” Omar Bravo exclaims. “Typical escualida. Typical.” In the two years since the strike, the Bravos have reconciled—mostly. That’s not the case for other PDVSA workers. Friends and neighbors who were fired for striking still won’t come over or talk to Omar Bravo. “Many of them are still unemployed or driving taxis or selling cheese on the street. But it was wrong to strike—Venezuela’s economy depends on PDVSA,” says Omar.
Indeed it does—a third of its GNP is generated by oil, and energy accounts for 80% of its exports. So PDVSA is watched by Venezuelans with a passion usually reserved for soccer teams—it even has its own radio station, 105.7 on the FM dial. These days, PDVSA is the subject of a fierce debate over just how much damage the strike caused and whether Chavez’s policies will further weaken it.
PDVSA may be state-owned, but its daily production rivals that of foreign giants like Total. If it falters, that could create a shortfall for refineries on the Gulf Coast. Critics like former PDVSA chairman Luis Giusti say management isn’t investing enough to develop new projects. Instead, he says, PDVSA is merely scrambling to pump as much oil out of the ground as it can now to fund Chavez’s social programs. “There were political pressures in the past, but PDVSA was run like a private company,” says Giusti. “Now it’s part of the state, and it’s been severely mismanaged. We’ve gone back 20 years.”
Ramírez and other execs admit that the strike—they call it “the sabotage”—crippled the company. But Ramírez insists that Venezuela’s output has recovered and now stands at 3.3 million barrels a day. The U.S. Department of Energy and outside observers like Giusti say Venezuela’s daily production is more like 2.6 million barrels. That adds up to billions in lost income for PDVSA and the Venezuelan people, says Giusti.
In Caracas this summer, Ramírez and other PDVSA officials promised FORTUNE that a long-delayed 2003 SEC filing was “weeks away.” It has yet to appear, and prospects for the 2004 report to the SEC are murkier than the waters of Lake Maracaibo. But they did open the books to go over what they say are the company’s latest results. Through May 2005, according to PDVSA director Eudomario Carruyo, the company’s sales totaled $31 billion, and it’s on track to ring up $75 billion for the full year. That’s up from $64 billion last year. Net profits totaled $3.4 billion for the first five months of 2005.
That windfall, says Carruyo, will enable PDVSA to spend the billions it has earmarked for social programs, while leaving $5.6 billion for new projects. Carruyo is confident the company will never have to choose between money for social programs and finding oil. “Oil prices might drop,” he says, “but it will never drop below $50.”
It’s not just PDVSA’s future that’s being wagered on high oil prices—so are the expectations of ordinary Venezuelans. In the poor Caracas neighborhood of Sucre, a shedlike former public bathroom has been converted into an educational center for adults. A circle of middle-aged men and women go over the day’s lessons. “We’re here because of PDVSA,” says the center’s director, Juan Eduardo Mendoza. Critics like Giusti may worry that Ramirez is spending the oil windfall rather than investing it in PDVSA, but ordinary Venezuelans like Mendoza don’t want to hear it. “If Chavez believes in Ramírez, we believe in him. Before, we didn’t even know about PDVSA. Now the whole country knows who Rafael Ramírez is.”
The world, too, is beginning to know the extent of Venezuela’s oil ambitions. But despite Chavez’s outrageous rhetoric and occasional threats, the crude will most likely keep flowing north. If he has his way—and there’s no reason to suppose he won’t—American oil companies and consumers alike are going to end up paying more for it.
Reporter Associate Jenny Mero
Feedback nschwartz@fortunemail.com