Ramtin Arablouei and Randa Abdel-Fattah

So with the country looking on, the entourage of politicians, soldiers, and scientists arrives at the National Pantheon.

Decked out in white lab coats, hairnets, and ventilation masks, they enter a room with a casket in the middle.

A handful of them then step towards the casket and lift up the lid.

A Venezuelan flag covers the remains.

After neatly folding up the flag, they remove the final layer.

And there it is.

A skeleton.

The skeleton.

Of Simon Bolivar.

Chávez looks into the camera and you could tell that there's a physical reaction of, you know, goosebumps, call it, something happening there.

And he's giving the live commentary as the workers are, you know, digging up the crypt.

Feeling the spirit of Bolívar creeping into him.

He was hamming it up so much.

I mean, it was funny, but it was surreal, it was creepy.

The coming of the liberator back into a certain kind of life.

Forget the Truman Show, this was the Hugo Chávez Show.

But as a Venezuelan, as somebody who grew up in Venezuela and, you know, had Bolivar's stories, field trips to Bolivar's childhood home, going to the sites of Bolivar's battles in Venezuela, I couldn't help but be also moved by that moment.

Sure, it was really good political theater, but scientifically, it was inconclusive.

After the cameras were turned off, they packed Bolívar back up, and Chávez excitedly tweeted, yes, tweeted to the world, My God, my God, I confess we have cried, we have sworn.

This glorious skeleton must be Bolívar, because you can feel his ardor.