Cover: Patricio Crooker @patriciocrooker
ADAPTATIONS
I wrote last month’s editorial the day before Bolivia’s sitting president, Jeanine Añez, announced that the country was closing its borders and enforcing a total lockdown. The stream of new information coming from governments, media and scientific experts is relentless and dizzying, and we have to deal with a new reality in which anything and everything is possible. At the moment in Bolivia, people can only leave their homes once a week according to the last digit on their carnet. Measures are being constantly updated. Among them, the mayor of La Paz, Luis Revilla, has announced that face masks are mandatory in public, additional restrictions were imposed on street vendors and the five-star hotel Real Plaza started receiving quarantine patients.
And it is clear that the economic toll of the lockdown and social distancing is already hurting the country’s less privileged citizens. The government will distribute bonos worth about US$70-$80 for each child and to people without income or children to alleviate their situation. Efforts like these are necessary, but their application will be complicated by the fact that some people live in isolated areas and transport is being strictly limited. The crisis will only increase the gap between classes and hurt the most vulnerable populations harder.
The crisis will reveal the weaknesses of the national public health system (p. 11). Doctors are worried about the lack of protection and information and are threatening to quit or go on strike. Indigenous communities in remote areas of the country are not prepared for probable infections. No protocols are in place and the nearest hospitals can sometimes be a day’s journey away. Hopefully, though, these problems might spur improvements in Bolivia’s health and social-welfare systems so that the country can be better prepared for future crises.
Bolivia also has much to improve when it comes to virtual meetings and internet access. Lawmakers are trying to figure out the best way to meet online and use video conferencing tools. Digital technologies will certainly benefit in the future from this current predicament, and the use of online platforms for administrative procedures and banking transactions will only become more common in a country that still relies heavily on in-person trámites. Entertainment will also be taken online, even if only temporarily. Even now, a selection of Bolivian movies are available to stream online (p. 16), and other artists are scrambling to adapt in order to showcase their work.
How Bolivia will adapt in the coming months and years is very much unknown. How and when will the presidential elections take place? What will happen to festivals and events such as Gran Poder, which has just been cancelled for the first time in its history? And what about tourism? The tourism industry is one of the most affected sectors in the country, and it will have to find a way to safely restart its business activities. If the absence of humans in national parks is helping nature breathe and recover from the devastating fires from last year, the lack of income from tourism will hurt those who are protecting these same national parks and are doing an essential job stopping poachers and traffickers.
The question is not ‘When are things returning to normal?’ but ‘How will the new normal look like?’ And ‘What changes will we have to adopt to go outside and resume some sort of social and professional life?’ These questions are certainly not specific to Bolivia; the COVID-19 crisis will impact Bolivia’s society and the world in ways that we can’t foresee. But some of its impacts we can already guess.
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Why Alcides Arguedas’s 1919 novel is an integral part of Bolivia’s education system
Images: Anneli Aliaga & Librosletraylinea [Flickr]
In the Bolivian Ministry of Education’s digital online library, Alcides Arguedas’s 1919 novel Raza de bronce features in the collection ‘15 novelas fundamentales de la literatura boliviana’ (15 fundamental novels in Bolivian literature). The novel has earned a place in the Bolivian state-school curriculum for over 50 years and continues to be widely read and studied by Bolivian students in both primary and secondary school education. The novel’s readership is multi-generational, stemming from an array of different socioeconomic, ethnic backgrounds. Yet, Raza de bronce also has the power to unite readers by drawing on their experiences and knowledge of the politics that are tangential to the book’s plot, and reflecting on a timeless Bolivian reality characterised by the social struggles of the rural altiplano populations in the novel.
Raza de Bronce was written at a time of extreme political turbulence and ambivalence: liberalism in Bolivia. Conservative parties and the mining elite were at war with a new wave of liberals who teamed up with revolutionary indigenous powers. Liberals promised to cooperate with the popular sectors, favour them and return their land only to go back on their word when they assumed power. The sociopolitical turn of events feed into Arguedas’s novel, perhaps because of his professional background as a politician and a sociologist, or perhaps because of the political inclinations behind the cultural movement that was beginning to take shape. Raza de Bronce is a pillar in Latin American literature as it is considered to be the first text in the indigenista movement in Bolivia. In The Cambridge History of Latin America, the novel is cited as ‘the most important work of early twentieth century indigenismo.’ The indigenista movement was a cultural and political wave that consisted of non-indigenous voices supporting and speaking for the indigenous populations of Latin America.
Raza de Bronce is a pillar in Latin American literature as it is considered to be the first text in the indigenista movement in Bolivia. In The Cambridge History of Latin America, the novel is cited as ‘the most important work of early twentieth century indigenismo.’
Raza de bronce was originally written and published under the name Wata Wara (after the eponymous Aymara heroine) in 1904. The second edition is structured into two parts: the first half ‘El Valle’ (‘The Valley’) narrates the engagement of an Aymara couple (Wata Wara and Agiali) who are working as farmers in a remote community near Lake Titicaca, and Agiali’s subsequent journey through the altiplano to sell his produce and buy seeds for their abusive superior. The second half of the novel, titled ‘La Yerma’ (‘The Barren Land’), describes the surrounding landscapes, and how colonisation affected the indigenous communities in the area. Upon Agiali’s return from the valley, a series of racially motivated crimes towards these populations culminate and lead to the novel’s climax.
Racism and class discrimination are the overarching themes in Raza de Bronce. For Iván Apaz-Calle, published author and indianista academic, the novel’s significance lends itself to the way in which it ‘presents the condition of the indigenous populations in Bolivia’ and how it ‘denounces their oppression, the authoritarianism of mestizos, and White decadence.’ Arguedas provides an interesting commentary on racialised social mobility in Bolivia: ‘the indigenous figure can change his/her life, improve it and even get rich; but they will never be able to leave their social and racial class.’ In other words, Bolivians are bound by rigid social and racial constructs that inherently work in favour of the ruling White elite, and permanently marginalise and repress the poorer, more indigenous sectors of society, making upwards social mobility close to impossible for them.
The character of Pablo Pantoja embodies everything Arguedas disliked about racial and social prejudice in Bolivia. The character is a mestizo landowner of a hacienda (a colonial plantation or ranch which relied on indigenous workforces), who incessantly abuses and looks down on his workers – who are Aymara farmers. In Raza de bronce, the author writes that ‘for [Pantoja], the indigenous man was worthless, and only served to plough fields, sow, harvest, transport the produce, sell it and receive payment.’ His attitude towards his workers confirms the hierarchical nature of social, racial strattas and how these two aspects intertwine. Pantoja goes from being the perpetrator of racism in the context of the novel, to being the possible victim of racism at the hands of someone who is richer and/or whiter. His characterisation echoes what contemporary indianista philosopher Ramiro Reynaga describes as Andean racism which has a somewhat unique and ‘strange’ dynamic. ‘The indigenous Andean man can go from being the perpetrator of racism in the morning, to then being the victim of racism in the afternoon,’ he says. These racial, social pyramids continue to haunt Bolivia today, showing us that little has changed – in this respect – since Arguedas wrote the book.
The Aymara farmers have to endure racism, discrimination and inhumane conditions due to inpoverishment throughout their journey to the valley. Arguedas writes that ‘they had to bear all kinds of insults’ from passersby. In the second half of the novel, the racial abuse eventually escalates to the point that the Aymara characters revolt in protest of their suffering at the hands of the corrupt mestizo-creole characters. Although the author writes the novel in third person, therefore creating a certain level of objectiveness and emotional detachment from the characters, the attention to detail in his writing style makes the experience of these Aymara protagonists seem raw and real. Darien Illanes, a university student at the Universidad Mayor de San Andrés, recalls reading the book at school when he was 10 years old. ‘I remember feeling horrified,’ he says, ‘what I found most terrifying was knowing that all of the suffering that these characters have to endure throughout the plot represents an indigenous Andean reality.’ As a non-indigenous spokesperson, Arguedas was never able to fully simulate the indigenous experience to its full capacity. But, for many readers, Raza de bronce provides them with an insight into the injustice and ostracisation that was felt by thousands of other Bolivians.
Raza de bronce’s inclusion in the Bolivian school curriculum may seem odd due to the complexity of the politics, history and racial dynamics that are extensively explored by Arguedas. Apaz-Calle explains how ‘most students will be obliged to read this book at school because of the model of our education system, which centres on decolonisation.’ The novel’s analysis and exploration of themes are an important introduction to generating debates on what Apaz-Calle refers to as the ‘the colonial side of today’s society’, from a young age. After all, learning about Bolivia’s colonial past should be no different to having a history lesson on the Tiwanaku era or the Inca dynasty. As well as being a key player in a student’s grasp on decolonial thought, Raza de bronce also brings cultural diversity, alternative worldviews, and ruralism to urban school settings.
Raza de bronce’s inclusion in the Bolivian school curriculum may seem odd due to the complexity of the politics, history and racial dynamics that are extensively explored by Arguedas.
Arguedas’s novel has not only earned a place in the school curriculum, but also in Bolivian popular culture. In 1976, Theatre company La Máscara debuted their adaptation of the novel at the Teatro Municipal de La Paz. It was a hit, winning the National Theatre Festival prize. It remains as one of the most popular theatre productions in Bolivia to this day. Two years later, the novel inspired folkloric band Savia Andina’s song Raza de bronce. The book also forms a part of La Paz’s Biblioteca de Bicentenario, a library comprising of 200 national texts which all contribute to the ‘understanding of Bolivia’s past and present.’ Arguedas’s book procured an international status after UNESCO decided to create a published edition of the book to display in their digital library.
Raza de bronce should only be considered a historical novel due to the fact that it was written over 100 years ago. In more ways than not, the deep-rooted social injustices that are presented in the novel have never been more relevant in Bolivia than they are in this day and age. Raza de bronce is not just an obligatory text that students read and study at school, it is a canonical Bolivian book that should be picked up more than once in your life. The indigenista movement has its limitations and its flaws. Speaking on behalf of marginalised and repressed social and ethnic groups, paternalism, and assuming and representing their experiences is problematic. However, it was a necessary stepping stone in Bolivia that has, to some extent, opened up a safe space for intercultural exchanges and vision.
Waste management in La Paz
Photo: Honor Scott
If you have walked around La Paz you may have noticed graffitti that reads ‘La basura mata, prohibido echar basura.’ The message is clear: ‘Waste kills, it is forbidden to litter’; you can be fined up to 1,000 bolivianos (US$145). How does this message reflect waste management in La Paz? Are people aware that mismanaged garbage has a negative impact on the environment?
In 2018, the World Bank warned us that global annual waste generation could increase to 70 percent by 2050 if no proper action was taken. In 2016, 2.01 billion tonnes of waste were generated worldwide, which could become 3.4 billion tonnes 30 years from now. In its report ‘What a Waste 2.0: A global snapshot of solid waste management to 2050’, the World Bank gives a summary of the total waste generated in different countries. The global average is 0.74kg of daily waste produced per person. If we have a look at Latin America, Bolivia generates 0.55kg of daily waste per head, which is relatively low if you compare it to Peru (0.75kg) and Ecuador (0.89kg). Although waste generation in Bolivia is lower, the collection of this waste is not managed as well as neighbouring countries. The report shows that La Paz only collects 90 percent of its waste, while in Quito, Ecuador they are able to collect 96 percent.
In La Paz, waste containers seem to be frequently used and the city’s streets are fairly clean, but there isn’t a proactive attitude towards recycling or separating your plastic, glass and metal, and at supermarkets, they always wrap up your groceries in plastic bags. Nevertheless, the local government is making an effort. In 2015, they introduced the ‘Plan Integral La Paz 2040’ (Integral Plan for La Paz 2040). One of the objectives is to implement sustainable and eco-efficient changes in the city. They plan to introduce separation recycling methods, separate waste collection and the recycling of solid waste; the prevention, mitigation and control of contaminated water, air and soil; and environmental campaigns designed to sensitise and educate paceños.
The plan had a good start and in 2014 they introduced Puntos Verdes (Green Points) in different areas in La Paz. These are points where you can donate your separated, recyclable trash. In the same year, they launched the Plastimadera initiative, which turns recycled plastic into school furniture. Although the Puntos Verdes campaign was operating on a daily basis, over the years their activeness has decreased. Ruby July Peñaranda Espinoza, a postgraduate student who currently studies at the Latin American Faculty of Social Sciences in Mexico, wrote her thesis on waste management in La Paz between 2012 and 2017. She observed how the new Plan Integral of 2040 was introduced and how it functions next to the existing waste separation system. For years, segregadores (waste separators) have been working on waste separation and collection in La Paz. They voluntarily collect, for example, cartons on the streets and sell them in bigger quantities to centros de acopio (collection centres), who then collect certain types of waste and resell them to recycling companies. In fact, anyone is free to sell their household waste – such as paper, plastic and metal – to these collection centres for a price. So, there is a very low incentive to donate your waste for free.
Anyone is free to sell their household waste – such as paper, plastic and metal – to these collection centres for a price. So, there is a very low incentive to donate your waste for free.
The reason why recycling initiatives exist is because there is a market for it. ‘The economic factor is still more important than the ecological one,’ explains Peñaranda. On the other hand, the Puntos Verdes were not as successful as they thought they would be due to a lack of capacity. According to Peñaranda, there were not enough employees and space. In addition, they only recovered a small percentage of the recyclable waste and could not compete with the segregadores.
But, environmental awareness is growing. Verónica López, general coordinator of the Municipal Secretary of Environmental Management, emphasises that La Paz is one of the most advanced cities in Bolivia and it plays an exemplary role in terms of waste management. López explains that they share their model of integrated waste management and eco-efficiency with other Bolivian cities. Additionally, the municipality plans to include the segregadores into the integrated government system.
According to Peñaranda, the landslide in the sanitary landfill of Alpacoma was a turning point. In 2019, there was a landslide in one of the disposal cells of the landfill and it caused, not only a great danger for the environment and people that lived nearby, but also some serious logistical problems in La Paz. Workers and inhabitants of neighbouring communities blocked the entrance to the landfill to avoid more waste from coming into the landfill. With no other place to go, the waste accumulated in the streets of the city. ‘Normally people would get rid of their garbage without even thinking about it and they would never see it again, but paceños were faced with having to manage their own trash. After this incident, the focus on recycling, separation of waste and waste reduction increased a lot,’ tells Peñaranda. People also experienced economic consequences: because of the accumulating trash in the streets, rats and contamination were becoming a problem for vendors, which led to fewer buyers and a decreased number of sales.
Attitude towards recycling in La Paz seems to have really changed in the past three years.
In 2018, the municipality launched a new project, Islas Verdes (Green Islands), another system introduced for waste separation in La Paz. Alongside the organisation Voluntariado Ambiental Municipal, they have been educating La Paz on environmental matters. At global events, like Earth Hour and World Water Day, they engage with citizens and inform them about climate change and tell them how to take care of the environment. According to the Municipal News Agency, they collected more than 250 tonnes of solid waste over the past two years, which was recycled into new products. In an article for Página Siete, journalist Luis Escobar writes about how this quantity makes a huge difference to the 36.1 tonnes of waste that was recycled in 2014. The municipality started by putting the recycling containers in the neighbourhoods of Miraflores and Achumani. According to another article by Página Siete published in June 2019, the municipality announced that they would expand to using 560 more waste containers: 40 new Islas Verdes, 120 coloured containers to separate by type of waste and 400 smaller bins in schools. On top of that, in December 2019, they installed 25 paper containers with WiFi networks powered by solar energy.
Attitude towards recycling in La Paz seems to have really changed in the past three years. López explains that it is hard work, but people are learning and the system in La Paz has improved a lot. The municipality goes from door to door, informing the public and instructing them on how to do waste separation from home. With its thriving integrated waste management system, La Paz has become exemplary to other Bolivian cities.
When quarantine is no longer obligatory and we are free to roam, we will remember how much we missed exploring Bolivia’s magnificent natural landscapes. But until then, it is important to reflect on how one-sided our relationship with nature is. Sadly, our feelings towards nature are not reciprocated, as we have proven that mankind has done more harm than good when it comes to respecting the environment. The pandemic has allowed nature to take a breather and it has given us the time to understand that our future relationship with nature needs to be based on respect, kindness, protection and eco-consciousness.
The tables have turned. It is up to mankind to take on a maternal and nurturing role as protector of Mother Nature. All of the conservation projects that already exist in Bolivia are a good place to start. At least 16 percent of national territory is considered to be protected land, but this does not mean it is exempt from facing environmental threats due to pollution, deforestation, global warming and animal trafficking.
This photostory expresses the mixed feelings Bolivians feel towards their natural surroundings: a sense of nostalgia, awe, pride, and fear. The photographs of the Cordillera Real, the Ancohuma and the Illimani mountain manifest a sense of nostalgia and awe for Bolivians who, cooped up inside, miss the postcard-perfect skyline of La Paz. The photographs of protected Bolivian lands such as Madidi, Sajama, the Eduardo Avaroa reserve and Tucabaca inspire sentiments of national pride. Yet, fear for the future of conservation in Bolivia exists due to our awareness of mankind’s carelessness and selfishness when it comes to the environment. Photography is a medium through which some of the world’s most overwhelmingly beautiful sights can reach us and soothe us during these difficult and stagnant times. Mother Nature is doing just fine without us, and we will hopefully never forget that.
Mirador de Tucavaca, Natural Reserve. Santa Cruz, Bolivia.
Ollague Volcano, Eduardo Avaroa Andean Fauna National Reserve. Potosí, Bolivia.
Cordillera Real, Bolivia.
Illimani. La Paz, Bolivia.
Ancohuma, mountain of the Central Cordillera of the Andes.
