Photo: Adriana L. Murillo

An unlimited vision for Bolivian poetry

Born in Santa Cruz and raised in Oruro, a student in Cochabamba, and a resident of La Paz, Benjamin Chávez is a poet with an intimate knowledge of Bolivia, and of the country’s creative spaces. He is not only a successful poet, who received the Premio Nacional de Poesía for his collection Pequeña librería de viejo (2007), but he is also an artist committed to finding poetic talent in Bolivia and presenting it to those outside of his country. In 2010, Chávez founded the International Poetry Festival of Bolivia, primarily to showcase local poets, but also to present talent from across the Hispanic world. Chávez’s vision for his poetry looks inside and beyond the country’s borders; a celebration of poetry from within that is simultaneously becoming more accessible to those outside.

Chávez’s poetry, though technically Bolivian, is not tied to his nationality. For Chávez ‘there is no difference between those who write poetry here [in Bolivia], or in another Spanish-speaking Latin American country. Someone who reads a lot of poetry might recognise if a poet is Chilean, Argentinian or Bolivian…but they could also get it wrong,’ he says. This blending of Latin American poetry has only been accelerated by the growing ease of publication. As Chávez notes, ‘thanks to new digital technology and digital impressions, costs of printing are lower and there is an increasing number of small, independent publishing companies and cultural initiatives that decide to publish poetry.’ Years ago, Chávez recalls, it was harder to publish in La Paz, as only a few large publishing companies existed. ‘Costs were higher,’ he explains, ‘printing wasn’t digital.’ Though poetry has ‘always had a space here in La Paz’, only recently has it gained easier access to the world outside.

‘What I saw was an unlimited world, contrasted with the limits inside of myself.’ Benjamín Chávez

Chávez’s poetry is fascinated by ideas of space and movement not only in what the poem contains, but, more enticingly, in what the poem may have left out. He asks his reader not only to consider the page, but to imagine what may lie outside of it. Chávez describes his fifth book, Extramuros (2004), as ‘an exploration of the frontier of languages, the frontier close to silence.’ His poems are ‘an experiment in stripping yourself of words, to see what you can say with one word, or with silence.’ In contrast with Extramuros, his fourth collection, called Y allá en lo alto un pedazo de cielo (2003), is composed of a single poem of 40 pages. ‘These are two extremes of language, one that tries to say nothing and the other that tries to say everything,’ he explains. According to Chávez, ‘between these two spaces is everything.’

Extramuros consists of three sections – ‘entreacto’, ‘inaudible’ and ‘fragmentaria’ – that are themselves made up of several shorter poems, or fragments. Chávez’s exploration of poetry and physical space is best expressed in the sixth poem of ‘entreacto’, made up of six words and simply titled ‘6’:

                                                       ilimitada

                                                       geografia

                                                       yo quien me limito

                                                       [unlimited

                                                       geography

                                                       I who limit myself]

On the page, ‘6’ is visually empty. The type that makes up the body of the poem is surrounded by a sea of white space that threatens to break up what is contained in the text. But the poem holds its own and breaks the very boundaries of the page. ‘It is trying to say that there is a relation between the outside world and the inside world, that one has within oneself,’ Chávez says. ‘If at some point you realise that the universe is infinite, you tend to find a limit inside of yourself. The opposite can also happen. You can also feel unlimited on the inside and limited on the outside; limits in what you can say, what you can see… In this case , in this moment, what I saw was an unlimited world, contrasted with the limits inside of myself,’ he adds.

For Chávez, Bolivian poetry has the potential to be limitless, to reach outside of the page, outside of the country itself, and perhaps even beyond the Spanish-speaking world. Parts of Chávez’s works have been translated into English, German and Estonian, and his work has been featured in various anthologies published in countries across Europe and the Americas. Chávez also notes the success of Bolivian poets such as Jaime Sáenz, whose work has been translated into English and German as well.

‘Little by little, local poets are getting more and more popular outside of Bolivia.’ —Benjamín Chávez

Part of the growth of Bolivian poetry is due to an increased number of poetry festivals and prizes in the country. Poetry ‘is very alive, especially in the cities,’ Chávez says. ‘There is always something to read, and sometimes there are surprises. Little by little, local poets are getting more and more popular outside of Bolivia. They participate in literary festivals and are published outside of the country.’ Chávez’s poetry does not follow a conscious path. For him, ‘there hasn’t been a plan’ in his work. ‘I try to respect classical forms of verse, but I also play with white spaces and calligrams… My most extreme experiments have been in Extramuros and Y allá en lo alto un pedazo de cielo.’

It seems the future of Bolivian poetry will increasingly challenge the boundary between the ‘inside’ and the ‘outside.’ ‘The writers have to keep writing,’ Chávez suggests, ‘there’s no other way around it.’ According to him, the problem is one of space, ‘Maybe what needs to happen is the creation of more spaces to discuss and debate what is being written. The literary prizes also help attract attention, even if momentary, and to centre it.’ poetry is ‘not difficult or hermeneutic,’ he says, ‘you just have to give it an opportunity.’

Images courtesy of Fernando Kushner

Both a bane and a boon, the country’s dog population is growing – and there are some people trying to help man’s best friend out

Over the past decade, Bolivia’s street-dog population has become an increasing public-health issue. There are currently 1.9 million dogs on the streets of Bolivia, an estimated 42 percent of which are abandoned pets. Rabies still presents a significant risk to Bolivians, and the population of abandoned dogs is multiplying, seemingly without restraint. In May 2017, for example, in Cochabamba alone there were two human rabies fatalities. Whilst the World Health Organisation recommends that any given dog population should not exceed 10 percent of its cohabiting human population, Bolivia is rapidly approaching this level, which only increases the risk of pathogenic transmission.

Yet Bolivia is also a country of diehard dog fanatics. In 2017, a schnauzer named Carmelo was chosen as the newest monk at a monastery in Cochabamba, having been rescued from the street by fellow brothers. Meanwhile, every year on the 16th of August, the feast of San Roque sees paceños celebrate the patron saint of canines by adorning their dogs in elaborate costumes. Even on a regular day, it is not uncommon to spot a well-pampered pooch sharing the pavement or plaza with the scruffiest of canines.

There are a number of explanations for this difference, the principal reason perhaps being a lack of education about the realities of dog ownership, ineffective sterilisation campaigns and an occasional impression of dogs simply as ‘guards’ or ‘house furniture’ that may easily be discarded. Bolivians often view their dogs as practical means of protection and hence issues such as sterilisation, inoculation and general welfare are not top priorities.

Attempts have certainly been made by the government to improve the lives of Bolivian pets. In 2017, for example, the Ley Municipal Autonómica para Animales de Compañía, approved by the Municipal Council of La Paz, outlined 22 regulations involving the sale and treatment of animals in the country. In particular, Article 48 prohibits the abandonment of pets, the sale of sick pets, the mutilation of pets for aesthetic value and the use of abandoned animals in military practices where harm is intended. The law also requires pet owners, vets and pet shops to be registered with the government.

Bolivia’s Constitution makes it the only one in South America that specifically addresses animal protection; additionally, various laws establish a general legal framework for the protection of Pachamama, ensuring the harmonious codevelopment of the human and the natural worlds. These governmental policies have, however, largely failed to stem the growth of Bolivia’s population of abandoned dogs. Alongside a general lack of education concerning the realities of pet ownership, these laws simply haven’t been effective in reducing the potential harm posed by these animals.

The failure to stem the growth of Bolivia’s street-dog population has provoked a number of additional responses, both from inside and outside the government. One of the main schemes that has emerged from within the municipality of La Paz is the Casa de la Mascota, a programme that is part of ZOONOSIS, the municipal department concerned with public health regarding animals. The main objective of the Casa de la Mascota is to curb the transmission of zoonotic diseases to the human population, especially rabies.

It is not uncommon to spot a well-pampered pooch sharing the pavement or plaza with the scruffiest of canines.

Miguel Aparicio, the officer in charge of the Casa de la Mascota, emphasises the role that the organisation plays in providing access to the services required by pet owners by law. Alongside its main objective, providing sterilisations and vaccinations, the Casa de la Mascota is also ‘starting to implement an online platform to register animals and their owners,’ said Aparicio. As well as medical and administrative measures, the unit intends ‘to launch different campaigns in areas around La Paz’ in the near future that will be vital in educating pet owners on the realities of pet ownership and providing access to medical services. The benefits of this will be twofold: a reduction in the number of abandoned dogs, and a reduction in the health risk posed by existing dogs.

On the subject of animal abuse, the Casa de la Mascota is less certain, commenting that it’s ‘unsure’ of exact numbers. Aparicio claimed that the unit ‘knows that there are issues of maltreatment’ – for example, ‘abandoned animals, animals being abused.’ The unit received ‘about 50 complaints from January to June 2018’, but Aparicio was certain that ‘there must be more unreported cases.’ In particular, Aparicio made a distinction between the rural and urban areas of La Paz. ‘There are no complaints coming from the more rural areas,’ he said, but he also noted the deceptive nature of this fact. ‘Because these [rural] areas are bigger, it’s harder to see if there are problems there,’ he acknowledged. ‘But we do hear about abandonments and lack of food, and, in some instances, cases where people were killing dogs and eating them – but we could never confirm that this was the case.’

Another source of hope for Bolivia’s street dogs works inside the community itself. Fernando Kushner abandoned his work as a publicist for luxury brands such as Chanel, Bulgari and Lacoste to instead pursue a life of helping Bolivia’s street dogs. Kushner claims that his fortune in the world of work has given him ‘a life philosophy where [he] can’t just ask, ask, ask’ but must ‘also give.’ Much of his work follows the same intention as the Casa de la Mascota, such as his ‘goal to sterilise all dogs in Bolivia’; for Kushner, this is ‘the only way Bolivia can be a country without street dogs.’

Generally, however, Kushner is skeptical of the legal efforts made to reduce the harm posed by street dogs. He believes that the government’s efforts have come too late, and are largely for publicity. The government, Kushner argues, is capitalising on a growing trend in animalismo, when the laws it is currently passing should have, in reality, been passed years ago. Kushner claims that ‘even if there are laws that are useful’, they are only useful in La Paz. ‘Yes, you can’t abandon your dog in the street [in La Paz],’ he said. ‘But what’s the point if you can go and buy another in El Alto?’ Ultimately, Kushner is skeptical. ‘What’s the use of the law?’ he asked. ‘It’s a show. I don’t want to take part in it and I don’t agree with the personal advantage politicians take from campaigns for animal protection.’

For Kushner, the solution to Bolivia’s street-dog problem is hands-on, and comes from inside the community. Kushner feeds more than 1,000 dogs a day. ‘I pick up food from six restaurants, including Don Pollo, Pollos Copacabana, Gustu, Margarita, Factory,’ he said. ‘They give me food and I also buy 50 bags of food – 22 kilogrammes each – per month. I give out food for five to six hours a day, and I volunteer at shelters five to six times per week.’ Kushner’s work extends beyond street dogs. His foundation, Abril y Ariel, named after his nephews, cares for La Paz’s young and elderly human populations; as with his work with dogs, much of Kushner’s help is focused on feeding those living on the street. For Kushner, these projects are not publicity stunts. Though he has appeared on numerous TV and radio channels, including CNN, he asserts that this is not his priority. ‘I don’t just want to appear, bring presents to the shelters, have my photo taken and then disappear,’ he said.

According to Kushner, the lasting solution for Bolivia’s street-dog problem must come from inside the home, and not from governmental organisations. Kushner agrees with the Casa de la Mascota’s Aparicio that the main issue is not one of money, but is instead about time and education. Education about a dog’s needs, and the realities of owning a dog, is the key to ensuring that pet owners do not assume a responsibility beyond their capabilities: ‘I lived with six dogs in Buenos Aires in a flat,’ Kushner said. ‘When you take the dogs out twice a day, they don’t damage anything, nothing gets dirty. It’s all about education.’

Real change for Bolivia’s street dogs may depend on the attitudes of pet owners themselves.

Kushner’s past in brand marketing makes him a keen advocate of the power of social media. ‘Let’s do massive campaigns,’ he urged. ‘I have had 1,300 interviews with TV channels, and newspapers both inside and outside of Bolivia. I am not a politician or a star that needs to be followed. I just do what I do transparently.’ Kushner’s glamourous past has also provided access to companies that have helped him in his endeavour. For example, the airline Amaszonas has helped transport vets and animals, whilst Sagitario Printing has helped produce material for Kushner’s workshops.

The future of Bolivia’s street dogs ultimately lies within the Bolivian home. Transparent education about pet ownership seems the only way to close the gap between Bolivia’s pampered pooches and its deserted dogs. Whilst the Casa de la Mascota and Fernando Kushner continue extensive campaigns for sterilisation and vaccination, real change for Bolivia’s street dogs may depend on the attitudes of pet owners themselves.

Photo: Iván Rodriguez Petkovic

La Paz has a new name and it's hopeful for continued fame

La Paz has been branded and given an iconic title to broadcast its delights to the world. The result: ‘The City of the Sky.’ It’s a collaboration of branding experts, Bolivian academics and paceños themselves. ‘The sky is a place where distinct things take place, special and even better things,’ says Jordi Torrents, branding expert and guest lecturer at the Catholic University of Bolivia. ‘The Sky’ has been used to evoke imagery and symbolism – combining La Paz’s indigenous culture, natural landscape and modern innovation.

When Torrents and other academics from the Catholic University of Bolivia embarked on this new encapsulation of the city, they soon realised that ‘there is no [collective]mental image for La Paz,’ says Torrents. ‘When you think of Sydney [Australia], the image of the Sydney Opera House comes to mind; Barcelona, the Sagrada Familia; Paris, the Eiffel Tower… The main objective of a brand for the city is to create this image for La Paz and transmit this image [to the world].’

The process involved 60 qualitative interviews with paceños representative of the city’s diverse strata, followed by a quantitative survey to corroborate the qualitative responses distributed to 200 paceños and alteños, as well as 200 Bolivians from other parts of the nation. Journalists from Asia, Europe and other parts of Latin America also provided insights about international audiences and their engagement with La Paz.

‘It is very important that the way in which we explain the city to the world is the same way the people of the city identify and feel represented,’ says Torrents, ‘So we have to make this match between what generates pride for the citizens of the city and the difference La Paz has in comparison to other cities… why people should visit La Paz.’

‘The City of the Sky’ is a ‘combination between the ancestral and innovative [aspects of the city] together with the mental image of the Illimani [mountain peak], ’says Torrents. It is a brand that tells the world that ‘La Paz is not only the Andes – it is a place of rich, profound, magnificent ancestry, as well as an innovative country capable of developing the world’s largest cable-car system as a means of everyday transport. To create acity at 3,600 metres of altitude you have to become very innovative; otherwise, you fail. ’Currently, three local publicity agencies (narrowed down from nine) are developing a logo and publicity campaign to accompany the city’s new brand. A winner will be chosen shortly.