This Land is(n’t) Your Land, This Land is My Land

Pondering what to buy at the weekly market in Punata.

It's easy to be stay focused on issues most seemingly pertinent to life in the United States, and frankly there's a lot going on up there.  But US politics are constantly on the move in South America, and generally it's in the "best interest" of the US federal government and the thousands of US businesses that operate in Latin America to keep its actions quiet to American citizens.   

Perhaps you heard last month that Paraguay impeached its sitting president, former priest and Liberation Theologian Fernando Lugo.  The impeachment (or coup) occurred after a group of police officers were sent to evict peasants peacefully occupying a parcel of land near the Brazilian border.  Upon the arrival of the officers, another group of police snipers ambused the officers and peasants, killing seventeen people: 6 officers and 11 peasants.  What's the connection?  President Fernando Lugo had long been accused by Paraguay's land-holding elite of instigating peasant occupations of land parcels. Like many South American countries trying to reduce the harm of land displacement of indigenous people, President Fernando Lugo had instigated land reform policy in efforts to balance the inequality in Paraguay where 85% of its land is owned by the wealthiest 2% of the population.  

Friends Jason, Emily and Thomas overlooking the Koa "ingredients."
Bolivians make regular offerings to the Pachamama in the Koa ritual, and
especially practice the ritual every first monthly friday.
Walk the streets on a first friday...the entire city smells of the Koa.

Land inequity is a huge deal in South America.  Much like the United States, lands were stolen or "bought" from indigenous peoples, stripping them of their self-sufficiency and relegating them to poverty and dependence on wealthy land owners.  Most landowners in Paraguay use their land almost exclusively for industrial agriculture (where US companies Cargill and Monsanto have huge stakes).  Furthermore, landowners (many of whom are foreign) pay little or no taxes (property taxes account for 0.04% of the tax burden), despite the fact that agribusiness makes up 30% of Paraguay's GDP.  It's no shock then that the wealthy landowners and trans-national businesses like Cargill and Monsanto welcomed President Lugo's impeachment.  Several South American countries have denounced the impeachment.  The US and Brazil (both countries have substancial numbers of citizens/companies that own Paraguay land) have said they look to and trust in Paraguay's peaceful process of democracy, therefore "refraining" from any judgment.  But how shall we define peaceful process of democracy?  In a country like Paraguay, dominated by a population in poverty, are last month's events indeed democracy?  Who pulled the strings?  The people--the democracy--of Paraguay?  Shall we still call it democracy when the wealthy few percent and trans-businesses are calling the shots?

Perhaps my silent (blog) tongue these past few weeks can partially be attributed to my new and painful appreciation of who pulls the strings in Latin America.  It's not that I was completely blind before to "First World" meddling, but I was negligent, apathetic.  Now I smell the West's exploitation of Latin America every time I leave the house.  The sweet frankenstein of capitalism we've created in the West--on which our prosperity rests--is, at its worst, a monster terrorizing the world.  How shall we control this powerful invention?

Vendors packing up their goods for the journey home.

I've made friends with a couple organizations here in Cocha that have done tremendous work communicating with "the North" about the reality on the ground in Bolivia.  The Andean Information Network and The Democracy Center have shared Bolivia's stories in seasons of confusion and manipulation, but even more so have given a human face to the effects of US policies and trans-national businesses in the lives of Bolivian people.  The Democracy Center published a yummy book in 2008 called Dignity and Defiance (or Desafiando la Globalización in Castellano) that I highly recommend.  Using stories of Bolivia, it does a tremendous job exploring the effects of globalization upon the majority or "developing" world.  The stories are fascinating, infuriating, illuminating, and human. You'll find it a touch more gentle than swallowing Open Veins of Latin America, but written with no less heart.  If you're shy on buying the book, co-editor/author Jim Shultz and co-author Leny Olivera presented the book at the University of Washington in 2009, and you can watch their presentation here. You will be entertained (Jim and Leny are charming).  And inspired too ascertain the often hidden reality of American influence throughout the world, to let it connect to your heart, and to speak--out of our implicit moral obligation--helping our country be less oblivious to the harm we so casually commit daily.  There is an immediate connection between my country and its institutions, and the suffering of this world.  We cannot be blind or silent.

Emily and a Coca Vendor.  Both looking regal.

Image Note: photos in this post are from a recent daytrip with friends to Punata, a small pueblo about an hour outside of Cochabamba.  I'm frankly not good about bringing my camera with me these days -- in part because this is simply my everyday life, and in part because it's generally rude to take photos.  But I nonetheless do want to share the images of my world.  Therefore, you're seeing the "subtly snapped" shots from our afternoon wandering the market.  As we walked, despite the obvious busyness of the market, we continually remarked on how relaxing and calm it was.  In comparison with the intensity of Cochabamba's Cancha market, this was a tranquil stroll in the park.  

On the bus ride back to Cocha we sat near two indigenous women, vendors, returning from the market.  Neither of them were young.  It's honestly hard to tell how old.  They could have been 50.  They could have been 75.  But whatever their age it didn't hinder them from hauling their large bags of remaining unsold goods or--as in the case of one--an enormous bag of maíz, which she'd traded for chuña (a Bolivian freeze-dried potato cultivated for centuries in the high Bolivian altiplano. Chuña, in many respects, makes survival in the altiplano possible.)  The woman from Cochabamba had a hat business.  The woman who sold chuña was from high, cold Oruro--a good 5 hours past Cochabamba.  Despite her advanced age, she travels to markets all around Bolivia every single week.  

The woman from Cochabamba (who's spanish was considerably better than the Aymara woman from Oruro) told us of her three children who all live in Italy, and who have brought her out to visit twice.  We of course asked her how she likes Italy, anticipating some response about the museums, the art.  "The corn there is very yellow.  They have hills too. Many beautiful hills." We skipped asking if she'd seen The David.  "'Muca' means 'vaca' (cow) in Italian," she recalled.  We asked if she likes the incredible Italian food.  "Eh.  I'm getting used to it."  

Because goats need to snuggle on the bus ride home too.

She spoke of how far away Italy is.  Twenty-five hour en "avión."  When you consider the financial distance she is from her children, it must seem like the moon.  Translating into Quechua for her friend from Oruro, she told her that it costs $1500 to fly there.  "$1500!!" the Aymara woman switched to spanish and snapped her head toward our friend Thomas sitting at her side, "Is that true!?!"   
Who could possibly have that kind of money?

Oddly, we never thought to ask the women's names. We simply helped them unload their heavy bags off the bus.  I wondered how the old Aymara woman was going to manage her heavy loads for the next many hours, until her arrival home in Oruro.  But she obviously had lifetime of practice.