Sunday, March 21, 2010

Watching Avatar in La Paz
























Last night I finally watched Avatar-- a pirated copy, dubbed in Spanish, obviously not 3D, which was perhaps not ideal but sort of fitting because this is the way people watch movies here. The film itself was pretty much how I thought it would be: nothing we haven't seen before in Pocahontas, Dances with Wolves, The Matrix (far superior but nonetheless very influential) etc., although it was nice to see the U.S. army get its ass beat by the N'avi with help from the entire fancifully-animated ecosystem. I watched it with Luchi, who was was slightly more impressed than I was: as an artist she appreciated Cameron's world-building skills, but she was concerned with the "caudillismo" of Jake's call-to-arms (actually, I tried to convince her, it's far worse than caudillismo, because it's literally puppet caudillismo, why the fuck do they need a Northamerican soldier in a borrowed body to tell them how to resist? Yeah, THAT has ever really happened in the history of anti-imperialist guerrilla warfare) and particularly, since she is also a farmer, with the material UNreality of the N'avi and their world. What do they eat? She kept asking. Yes, there were some sexy bow-and-arrow scenes, but the film never showed the people eating, much less gathering, harvesting, doing any sort of food-related ritual that would seem important for a community this "close to the land." She was also very concerned that Jake simply turned in his old dragon for a more prestigious model (in order to get the entire N'avi community to bow down to him in a pivotal scene) without a backward glance. Her critiques, then, were actually about Cameron's inability to imagine a community with an actually sustainable connection to the natural world, which is kind of interesting. It's the same focus on the concrete details of work that I got when I interviewed Bolivians about Peace Corps propaganda photos that showed volunteers doing allegedly universal "development work": but what are they actually doing? What are those crops they're growing? Are they going to market? It doesn't make sense that they would be selling crafts in that space., etc, questions that expose the ridiculousness of any universal development idea and of plopping 20 year-olds down in the middle of a community and ecosystem they don't know anything about, expecting them to use some kind of inborn American ingenuity to "develop" it--actually, sort of the ethos of Avatar too, though they do pointedly refuse any and all development interventions, which was nice.
Despite my predictable annoyance, I was interested in watching Avatar here, because the comparisons between the N'avi and Evo Morales have been ubiquitous: Evo has stood up to the U.S. government in significant ways, defending their connection to the natural world against, for example, the DEA's "coca eradication" programs and other neoliberal imperialist projects; and MAS' color is blue, following an interesting post-Cold War global color-reversal trend that perhaps signals the new new left's (or, as Arturo Escobar posits here, the new post-leftist, post-development, and above all anti-imperialist politic which is most fully elaborated by Bolivian indigenista social movement politics ) focus on nature that Cameron also grasped, perhaps the reason the film has been embraced by insurgents all over the world, despite their lack of a an ex-G.I. savior to lead them.



























Evo himself went to see Avatar, in supposedly only the third movie-watching experience of his life, and commented that "the film contains a high degree of fantasy, but is at the same time a profound depiction of resistance against capitalism and the fight to defend the natural world."

Evo is right that the film critiques the continued insistence that Bolivia "modernize" no matter what the cost to its land and people, by even liberal U.S. voices: a recent New Yorker article by Lawrence Wright on the possibilities of extracting lithium in Bolivia condescendingly calls Evo "a creature of his biography" with "a mystical attachment to coca," calls Evo's attempts at a social welfare state "out of date," and quotes an opponent (one of an overwhelming number quoted in the article) saying "Evo is Aymara, and the Aymara see the world as a fight between good and evil, like 'Star Wars.' For him, the forces of good are coca growers and the coca leaf. The evil is the D.E.A. and the U.S." It's worth noting that a) Bolivia is not the country that formulated either star wars or ANY of the manichean "you're with us or against us" justifications for pre-emptive war that define the era of U.S. hegemony; but that b) Evo was nearly beaten to death by D.E.A.-affiliated Bolivian troops for his work in the coca-growers union, so the shoe kind of fits here. See this excellent article by Suzanna Reiss to learn about how the Obama administration is, if anything, exacerbating the entirely imperialist--i.e. concerned much more with governments' attempts to hold onto and redistribute their resources than with stemming drug distribution and consumption--drug war.

Anyway, the New Yorker article: Wright refuses to budge an inch from the developmentalist paradigm, lamenting Bolivia's failure to emerge from its "pre-industrial cocoon"; worries openly that now that Evo has expelled the DEA, that "the drug trade" will "corrupt Bolivian society"; and, in perhaps the most disgusting and libelous move of the article, characterizes the entire cycle of anti-imperialist, anti-neoliberal uprisings of the early and mid 2000s as about silly age-old anti-Chilean hostilities. Nothing could be further from the truth: the vast majority of Bolivians are attempting to reject neoliberal capitalism on purpose, in order to (re)conceptualize ways of life not based on modernization, endless accumulation, and environmental destruction. At least James Cameron gets that.





Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Carnival




















On the trip to Guaqui we saw a beautiful train, apparently for tourists. Note how green everything is now!!







I've been back in Bolivia for almost 3 weeks now, working frantically on the revisions for my AQ article, which was due yesterday. After handing it in I'm feeling a little bit of postpartum depression (empty-nest syndrome? I don't know which is more appropriate, but the article has definitely consumed the majority my time and inspired a suffocatingly intimate love-hate relationship since last summer), but I'm also happy to be able to move forward and do other projects.

After a few moments in reactionary Santa Cruz, I arrived in Cochabamba, city at about 9, 000 ft altitude (to ease into high-altitude living) The city was in plena carnaval, which in Bolivia lasts at least 3 weeks, well past lent, which seems to be universally ignored here. People wear very exciting costumes--there are a lot of devils especially, since Carnival is the holiday of the diablada--but they also have this tradition of throwing water balloons at people, especially girls and young women, as well as shooting water guns at them and squirting shaving cream in their faces. On the second day I thought I had at least figured out the gendered dimension of the water-fighting and was on-guard for boys in cars, on foot, etc., when a women about my age jumped out from a doorway and stuffed not one but two water balloons down my shirt, laughing extremely maniacally. And when I wasn't getting assaulted así, I was being accosted by acquisitive white Bolivians (note to self: stop engaging with people who introduce themselves as "gran admiradores del sistema capitalista"). I ended up spending most of the time in my hostel.

Being back in La Paz has been really wonderful. It's such a beautiful city, and carnaval is not nearly so violent. Silvia and I decorated the house with ribbon, confetti, and flower petals, then went to see her son-in-law Steve dancing for Carnaval in his community in Zona Sur. He was dancing as a Chuta, which is the Carnaval ladies-man type who is supposed to dance with two cholas, v. Pepinos, clowns who whisper in hight voices). Apparently there was a schism in the community, and there were two bands playing in the same square, with two different groups dancing. Steve's group was far inferior, taking 20-minute drinking breaks after every song while the other, far-more disciplined band played tirelessly, but he had promised this old Señor from the community that he would stay with that group, so all he and the rest of his group of dressed-up gringos could do (his british/argentine friends from Doctors Without Borders were also dancing) was look longingly over at the other, more energetic band in their neat rows.























Silvia arguing with a cop.



















The following weekend Carnaval was still going on, despite lent having started, and I went with Silvia, Mechy, Eduardo, and this guy Marcelo who had just come back from 7 years in the U.S. (he got his ph.d. at Duke, and afterward I noticed that he was cited as very important to this Arturo Escobar article that I was citing copiously) to Guaqui, this medium-sized community on the lake. We went in the morning and Silvia filmed the people filing out of the church, and from there went on to the tiny community where Marcelo grew up. My camera battery ran out, but the community was incredibly beautiful, right on the lake with a colorful, old, very small church, and lots of animals. We watched the dancing for awhile, then showed up at Marcelo's house, which was one room, with a pit toilet outside and lots of animals running around. His 80 year-old father was incredibly happy to see him but had to go get a cow from the lake shore and was gone for two hours, so we chatted with his mother about the community and how it had changed--apparently they never used to hire bands for these events, and she and Silvia were talking about how now it's all about prestige and consumerism--the universal sellout narrative, but extremely interesting. His father finally came back with the cow and we drank wine and talked about magic (rayos striking things, making the land dry up, etc.). Then we finally left, and had to go back to Guaqui because Silvia had left her videocamera battery to charge in the home of this guy in Guaqui who was apparently in local government. The fiesta had then transformed from a beautiful and dignified event into something completely insane, with beautifully dressed Cholas brawling in the streets and people freely performing every kind of bodily function you can (or at least I could) imagine. In the middle of this we had to find the very drunk, very rich man and convince him to take us back to the house and get the battery. Silvia tried very hard to reason with him, to no avail, then finally Mechy just grabbed his arm and said "vamos" and he obediently went. On the way to the house he kept boasting that he was the "dueño del pueblo."

The last interesting thing about carnaval is the Alasitas (alasitas actually has nothing to do with wings but means literally in Aymara, at least according to Mechy: "buy from me") feria, which technically begins in January but which ends at the end of carnaval. It's a huge market that sells miniatures of everything--houses, cars, animal figurines, newspapers, cookies, tools, many many more things--to bring people those things in the coming year. It struck me as refreshingly honest: straight to the consumerism, without even the pretense of religious or patriotic ritual. I went with Mechy and bought cookies (for big cookies in the coming year?), bracelets, doll clothes, and very small fried fish to eat.

Next time: the amazing feminist collective I am now working with, developments in the house, assorted other things.
























We interviewed this guy and asked him what inspired the horns, and he said, "Thor. In carnaval, anything goes."

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

brief sentimental post



At some point I will write a more complete post about my investigaciones, which have involved various subterfuge techniques, hobknobbing with Paceño elites, and chasing possible interviewees onto buses ( all this mostly by Mechy, but I have been an enthusiastic follower). Anyway, here are some final fotos of the Evo Macy's-esque balloon at the election day celebration, me with Enrique and Marcela, and the collective. I already miss them very much.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Patricia visits, We travel to Machu Picchu, Isla Del Sol, and Coroico



I did miss Thanksgiving with my family but was lovely to be somewhere where you don't have to pretend that indigenous people put on a happy peaceful dinner for the conquerors before obligingly dying off.

Machu Picchu was incredibly beautiful, but also full of tourists and very expensive. Everyone had an angle--our cabdriver said he would take us to Aguas Calientes, the town near Machu Picchu, but instead dropped us off in another town considerable further away and was just like, "here you are!" I appreciated the incredible setting and majestic ruins but missed Bolivia terribly the whole time.


















Being back in Copacabana and Isla Del Sol was so nice. People were incredibly friendly this time, and everything seemed so peaceful after the hustle, bustle, and hucksterism of Cuzco/Machu Picchu.





The Coroico trip was a lot of fun too. We went with Mechy and her lovely kids, Enrique and Marcela, and her brother Felix who was a bit controlling and obnoxious. Coroico is in Yungas, the area where the most coca production happens, so we got to see the cocaleros at work. There is also a lot of excitement around the elections, which are this Sunday. Evo is a shoo-in, so there's more focus on the local elections. This Coroico diputada, Mercedes Mamani, seemed really impressive.



















In other news, the collective continues to have problems with the Germans, but on the bright side, Silvia asked me to write something about the experience for the magazine. She is finally accepting me as part of the group, which is so nice--she made me sign my name to the latest manifesto, etc. For my own project I've been interviewing old trotskyists (who continue to be relentlessly entrepreneurial and frustratingly reluctant to talk about their experiences occupying Peace Corps buildings etc.) and I have some interviews set up next week with indigenous feminists from this group, the Bartolinas. I'm feeling really comfortable and competent, finally--I can't believe I have to go home in 2 weeks, at least for a little while...





Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Hakima












































Right after I got back from Sucre, we had a wonderful Las Ñatitas, which is Bolivian version of the Day of the Dead. Everyone goes to the cemetery and sets up their skulls (people are very cryptic about where they get them, but many people, including silvia, constantly have them on shrines) and brings all this food and alcohol and coca and cigarettes. All day people come along and put flowers on your skull and hang out for awhile, then people who can pray in Aymara come along and pray to the skull and you reward them with bread and candy and coca. You are supposed to pray for protection from thieves (which is funny because you have to think these skulls are all robbed from somewhere) but it's turned into a holiday in which mostly marginal people participate, asking protection from the cops. So there are anarchists, contrabandistas, and beautiful drag queens dressed like cholas.

Silvia's skull is named Hakima, and everyone in the cemetery knows her. Even early on when Silvia went off to buy candles and just me and Beatriz were there, lots of people recognized her and came by to give her cigarettes or wreaths. She was beautifully adorned by the end of the day, and we kept the wreaths when we brought her home.

Then there's music and dancing--Silvia asked for songs for water, since we seem to be entering a pretty drastic drought right now, and also the standard "coca no es cocaina." There are cops all around who are supposed to prohibit alcohol, but they weren't really doing anything. They do begin trying to kick everyone out at 6, commanding us repeatedly through bullhorns to "desocupar el cementerio," which seemed like a great beginning for a zombie movie (is there one like that already?). But we took a long time. It was a really lovely holiday. It showed, as one of Silvia's friends said, "la militancia de compartir." And it was cool how everyone interacted with the skulls. I do kind of miss the pan de coca, but that's okay. It was such a beautiful holiday.

Monday, November 9, 2009

Mechy and I Travel to Sucre, Encounter Archives and Undercover Cops



















































From the roof of the National Archives






























Cool Graffiti. MAS=Movimiento a Socialismo=Evo's party




























































Mercedes is really good at posing in front of fountains



























A beautiful town with a church built on a Waka, an indigenous holy site




























The very famous Cerro de Potosí















The undercover cops. (Contrabandistas, take note!)




So I finally got to the beautiful but reactionary city of Sucre, home of the national archives and site of racist massacres in 2008. My friend Mechy (part of the collective) and I took the night bus, which was surprisingly comfortable, with all kinds of vendors passing through to sell tea and food and tell jokes. (Example: why can't North Americans play chess?
Because they don't have the twin towers. Readers? Feel free to opine.)

Mercedes is wonderful to travel with, most of the time, because she is friendly to everyone. We found our hotel and quickly made friends with the hotel worker, Wilbert. Then we went to the archives, where the people were fairly haughty until the last day, when I dropped Silvia's name and they became much more obliging.

When we weren't at the archives, we ate every meal in the Mercado Central, where you can eat very cheaply and well--there's this amazing tealike drink that's made from corn that people drink with buñuelos, muy rico--and where the vendors are incredibly friendly and lovely, keeping up a constant patter of "mamita linda, corazon de bonbon, ven, comprame," joking with everyone, etc. We also made friends (gracias a Mechy) with some guys who turned out to be police investigators who offered to drive us back to La Paz. They had this interesting scruffy Tarantino vibe, but they turned out to be creepy and reactionary (anti-Evo, supported by the U.S. embassy, big fans of the US prison system). They did get us back to La Paz very quickly, in time for the amazing holiday in the cemetery (pictures to be uploaded soon). We also learned a lot about the carceral gaze, which is turning out to be helpful now that we are auditing Silvia's Sociology of the Image class, for which we are reading selections from Discipline and Punish. On Monday, the first day, we kept giggling every time she mentioned Foucault.
More soon...


Monday, November 2, 2009

Back to the Land/More Praying

























Finally, here are some photos of the land in Yuni, which we attempted to prepare last tuesday to finally plant potatoes. Unfortunately, I was recovering from a stomach ailment (which is now gone due to the magic of antibiotics) and spent much of the time feeling dizzy and periodically resting while Silvia and Maestro worked (Nico was planning to go, but threw a tantrum at the last minute to get out of it, later that evening returning and, desperate for attention, breaking a window in the house. Since then he has felt bad and repented, and he helped a lot with todos santos). Anyway, we got through the entire day of clearing the land--somehow we didn't bring food, just water, juice, and beer, which didn't help my condition any--and were completely exhausted, when this guy comes up over the hill and explains to us that the land we've been working on actually belongs to the neighbor. At first we tried to protest, but he showed us the property lines and we eventually gave in. I've been sore for nearly a week, despite my lack of productivity that day, and we have to go again and clear more this week in order to actually plant the potatoes. It is no joke, working with a pickaxe in the hot sun all day. But the spot is incredibly beautiful, with many birds and farm-animals stopping by also (not necessarily a good thing in the long run, since there will be no one watching the plants). We have to go again and plant--I'll end up doing so much work, I almost feel like I need to stay through january in order to actually see and eat the potatoes. Although we may be in a drought.



More recently, we celebrated Todos Santos, which is a very beautiful and serious holiday here. People spend days cooking for the dead people (you have to have died within 3 years to be eligible), then construct a shrine and feed them (later you offer the food to the ground) and give them alcohol and pray for them. Lots of people came to our shrine last night and we ate and drank and talked a lot. We didn't really pray much, but we did a little--Mercedes prayed in quechua and later, Silvia's amazing friend Elvira, an artist whose work will be featured in the Reina Sofia and who also, despite being my age, has a flourishing singing career and speaks both Aymara and Quechua, led us in Aymara prayers. They were principally praying for Olivia, a British anthropologist who died of a mysterious ailment and who was a vegetarian, and Nico's friend, who also died mysteriously, on a solo mountaineering trip. Anyway, I tried to join in, and added my own prayers--thankfully, I wasn't really close to anyone who made the 3-year deadline, but I prayed for the writers and theorists I was missing (Grace Paley, Eve Sedgwick, etc.) and the victims of U.S. and Israeli attacks, which I hope was allowed.
Maybe this is my newfound quasi-spirituality talking, but it was kind of nice to talk and think about dead people for awhile, to make a space for them, I guess. And the bread that Silvia made is pretty amazing; of course it's made from coca flour, which I don't think is traditional but which tastes wonderful. I didn't help make the bread, partly because I didn't know the dead people--you're supposed to be thinking of the person as you knead the dough--and partly because Silvia and Nico were actually getting along and they wanted to have some bonding time--but I guess there are huge public ovens where you bake all day. Each dead person gets a bread-doll. The other tradition is that you eat this really delicious stewed-peas dish, which is about both the roundness of the peas (they represent skulls) and they way you have to use dried peas and reanimate them, as you're reanimating the dead.

Everyone was very disdainful of halloween and the way they're promoting it like crazy in Zona Sur, the creepy rich part of town. And I do have to say that Todos Santos is much more social, solemn, and beautiful. It was nice to sit and talk around the shrine with everyone. Tomorrow we will bring a whole bunch of bread and fruit to the cemetery, where I guess people pray all day. Tomorrow I also have to figure out my archive schedule and take my friend Mercedes and her kids out for lunch, so more photos will follow.