The poster for the famous Sanjinés film that I keep writing about.
I am skipping to this past weekend because I'm honestly not sure what happened to last week.
Helena left, I got some writing done (3 chapters more or less down!) , and Silvia vandalized her neighbor's car. She had told him three times not to block her in, and he did it again, so she spraypainted a design on the windshield. She was like, Molly, I did something muy anarquista. The design was really great-looking, like one of those celtic symbols that are on necklaces.
Friday night Silvia took me to see her speak before her anarchist/indianist collective, el THOA, on the topic of decolonization. It was cool to see all these Bolivian anarchist kids (or really, they were probably my age, hardly kids) out on a friday night. Her talk was fascinating but depressing: she explained that decolonization has become the latest buzzword, after civilization and modernization, that mestizo elites have used to justify intervening in indigenous communities. She argued very vividly and persuasively, using her characteristic mix of postmodern theory--in this case citing Barthes and Derrida--mixed with Aymara terms and punctuating everything with huevada, jodida, etc. She argued that mestizos are the ones who are really colonized, that the Bolivian population as a whole has to be indigenized while maintaining some degree of individual rights, which as an anarchist she holds sacred. She says she can reconcile these two ideals through a focus on work, a communal work ethic. To demonstrate her theory of work she told the story of the people in the market who were so excited that I wasn't floja (see previous post). I got a little embarrassed, but it was kind of nice to be introduced to the anarchists that way. I'm not sure if they bought it--they seemed a bit hard to please.
After the talk, Silvia took me to see Jorge Sanjinés, the radical neorealist filmmaker who made the 1969 movie about the Peace Corps volunteers sterilizing indigenous women. She had to bring him a package and she suggested that I give him a copy of my article that was just published in the global sixties book. She hadn't read it yet so didn't realize it was slightly critical of the movie-- I mean, the movie is wonderful, but as with so much revolutionary culture, its gender politics are less wonderful.
He has a cool apartment--a very tall and narrow townhouse actually--with movie posters lining the walls as well as exciting art and photos of his partner who died a few years ago. I guess she was an amazing filmmaker too, and she was also very beautiful and fought in the Cuban revolution. I was very scared, partly because his films brutally mock gringos, but he ended up being extremely laidback, warm, and welcoming; he also looks amazing--he is in his 70s but it's very hard to believe. I was thinking the whole time that Silvia should date him instead of creepy Diego. We drank wine and talked mostly about Silvia's problems with the Ministry of Culture (she is co-curating a colonial art exhibit at the Reina Sofia this spring, and they are giving her nothing but trouble as she tried to restore paintings and put it together).
He was very understanding and helpful and agreed to put some of his films in the show and pull some strings at the ministry, but he also talked about how proud he was of the movie's impact, and about all the insensitive and violent development projects that were going on in the 60s and his new plan, which is create a network of cultural centers in the touristy communities in Bolivia so people can control their own culture. At the end I gave him the article and called him "the hero of my dissertation" (shamelessly stealing the phrase Gillian used on John Waters, I think it was, and the whole thing was sort of ironic because I'm actually attempting a critique of the idea of heroism). He was very gracious and said he would read it, but I kind of hope he doesn't, because it is both sloppy and critical of his movie. It was amazing to meet him; as we were leaving, Silvia said to him, Molly's so giddy, look, and he laughed.
Silvia did read the article friday night, finally, and the next day was very excited. She called it "feroz," which was the best response I could've hoped for. Then she asked me to work on this translation of an article she wrote, which the original translator botched, translating every phrase and idiom completely literally so that it made absolutely no sense. I was fixing it for awhile, but then Silvia asked me to work on fixing it, and the journal has agreed to give me the translation credit, which is making me very happy. The article is about how the juridical frameworks of colonial and liberal rule excluded women and indigenous bolivians from their "rights" framework, and how the resistance then took the form of juridical challenges that excluded women and Indians. There are a lot of very complex ideas and long sentences. I'm trying. I'm nervous about making mistakes but it's also kind of fun.
The rest of my weekend was not as delightful. Saturday, these people I thought were my new friends (they run a literary magazine and are sort of glamorous) tricked me into going to this creepy party at Silvia's (now-ex) boyfriend's house; they said, "come to a barbecue with some of our friends," and then at the party he proceeded to hit on me and talk smack about Silvia, who hadn't been invited. Patricia pointed out to me that my life has become strangely like a Henry James novel (complicated expatriate living situations, ancient ruins, seduction schemes, and also I fainted in a cafe last week, but I'm alright, apparently I was just dehydrated). I agonized for a day but finally told Silvia the whole thing, and she was sad and angry for both of us but very relieved to know. She said it will be good for her next book on the Bolivian middle class, which she is going to call "clase a medias." She also said This may be terrible for you, Molly, you're such a feminist. She is really wonderful, much too radical, brilliant, and outspoken for that crowd.
Then sunday I went to a festival with the collective at this town famous for indigenous resistance to landowners and earlier governments. They had, I think, 12 communities represented, all in their own circles doing these beautiful dances where the men stood around the outside in a circle playing flute-type things and the women danced in pairs in the middle. It was cool, and the collective got lots of interviews done. As the only gringa I get a lot of attention at these things, more so as the day goes on and --lots of old men offering me beer, which Silvia says I am obligated to accept, and grabbing my arms and welcoming me to the town. This one was especially extreme--the younger guys in the band wanted pictures with me, etc. I guess I feel two ways about it: I guess since I am going to their festivals and taking pictures and talking about how beautiful they are, they have the right to do it back. But I also was surprised that in a place with such a history of resistance, they would still be so interested whiteness--several of the old guys explained to me how much they love white skin. And I worry sometimes that I am sabotaging the efforts of the collective, making them seem more like outsiders than they are. This one group of old guys kept asking if me and Marco and Eduardo were from Spain, and of course they are Bolivian. But there have been a few times that Silvia's told me I couldn't go so the group wouldn't look tan gringo, so I figure they'll let me know if they have to.
So the weekend was a little difficult, but generally I love it here. I feel so lucky to be part of a radical academic community that is also really connected to concrete political and cultural struggles; all the students the collective, and most of the hangers-on as well, are doing such exciting projects. And they are a lot of fun. I am really not sure I will be able to leave.
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