Japanese gardens

Nestled in the heart of Zona Sur, the wealthy suburb of La Paz, the Japanese gardens cover an area of only 400 square metres but are a true pocket of tranquility exported from the Far East. Finding the gardens was easy enough but we were then faced with a closed gate. On ringing the doorbell we were met with a rather sad response: “It’s no longer a park.” Previously open to the public, the gardens are now used exclusively for private functions. When asked what brought about this change, the coordinator simply replied that “nobody came.” The gardens are just one of several Japanese legacies visible in La Paz after over 100 years of Japanese migration.

Photo: Diego Jordan de Acha

The first Japanese immigrants arrived in Bolivia via Peru in 1899, when 93 workers emigrated from Japan to the Mapiri River Region in La Paz where they were hired to work on rubber plantations. Records show that in 1908 there were 15 Japanese nationals living in La Paz and in the 1910s many more arrived, working as vendors or contractors on the railway lines. In 1920, the collapse of the rubber industry saw many Japanese migrate from Beni and Pando to the city of La Paz. Given the ever-increasing Japanese presence in the city, the Japanese Society of La Paz was formed. Originally the society aimed to provide support between businesses and maintain Bolivian-Japanese relations and, at least until a Japanese Embassy was established in Bolivia, the society played an important role in communication between the Japanese community in Bolivia and the nearest Japanese embassy in Peru. Today, the society has 154 members and hosts a variety of cultural events, amongst them the annual karaoke tournament which celebrated its 30th anniversary in August.

However it is estimated that there are over 800 people of Japanese descent living in La Paz, meaning that over 80% of these are not official members of the society. One of them is Tomo Fujimoto, the manager and owner of Café Blueberries on Avenida 20 de Octubre. Tomo is second-generation Japanese, born to Japanese parents who independently moved to La Paz from Japan 30 years ago and subsequently met and married in Bolivia. As a child, Tomo attended a Japanese School organised on weekends by the Japanese Society, but which in the past ten years has grown apart from the Society. For Tomo, the Society has changed direction somewhat, now trying to attract a younger generation of third- or fourth-generation Japanese who seek to deepen their understanding of their identity and heritage. Tomo notes that when an identity is in crisis, you tend to hold on to it tighter.

When asked where he considers himself to be from, Tomo responded, “I was born on the border between Japan and Bolivia, which doesn’t exist at all.” In the interview with Bolivian Express, Tomo stated, “Being Japanese used to be a burden, now it’s a virtue”, he describes while reflecting on his childhood in La Paz, where he experienced some instances of bullying because of his race. Today, Tomo considers himself to be both Japanese and Bolivian he speaks both Spanish and Japanese fluently, plans to move to Tokyo next year for work but eventually hopes to return to Bolivia, his furusato.

Weaving a New Living

As is the case in several other issues in Brazilian-Bolivian relations, migration poses both a common challenge and an opportunity for cooperation. Conservative estimates place the number of Bolivians immigrants living and working in Brazil at 300 thousand, but the only certainty is most live in the state of São Paulo. While migration to the industrial heartland of Brazil may be said to have started with, and was certainly facilitated by, the 1950’s opening of a railroad link from Santa Cruz to the Brazilian border, the phenomenon has grown by leaps and bounds over the last decade or so, as a result of an increasingly robust Brazilian economy. The border city of Corumbá, close to Bolivia’s Puerto Suárez, continues to be a logistical hub for migrants, although growing numbers now apparently take a roundabout route through Paraguayan territory to reach Ciudad del Este, where they easily blend among the thousands of people daily crossing the “Amistad” bridge into Foz do Iguaçu, thus avoiding immigration controls. Besides the usual concerns regarding drug running, “coyotes” are known to be involved in human trafficking along the border, which brings an additional and chilling level of complexity to the immigration issue.

Illustration by Michael Dunn

Migration in the 1960’s and 1970’s allowed Bolivians to harness educational opportunities in Brazil, and was fueled at times by Bolivian political instability and military governments not particularly fond of dissenters. Exiles and other middle-class migrants gathered around the “Asociación de Residentes Bolivianos en Brasil” (ADRB), established in 1969. It is still going strong, with around 20,000 members, of whom 40 percent are professionals, 25 percent describe themselves as micro- and small-scale entrepeneurs, and 35 per cent are workers and students with temporary residency permits. ADRB’s newsletter, La Puerta del Sol (reported circulation 5,000), is distributed free of charge. However, a new, larger wave of immigrants, starting in the 1980’s, was fueled by the deep economic crisis that hit Bolivia and put thousands of miners and other workers out of a job. At the time, the U.S. also attracted relatively large numbers of Bolivians, as did Argentina, which, like Brazil, welcomed them in spite of economic troubles they were facing at the time. These migrants tended to be unskilled and undocumented and were thus prone to being exploited, even by other Bolivians who often had had a hand in bringing them to Brazil. The 2000 Brazilian census thus only reported 20 thousand Bolivian respondents, while ‘Pastoral do Migrante’, a Catholic church social aid service for migrants, estimated over 200 thousand Bolivians lived in São Paulo alone. Another, less visible form of migration takes place along the 3,423-kilometer border, which an indeterminate number of Bolivians cross daily to benefit from work opportunities, education or health services available on the Brazilian side. Most recent immigrants are reported to be working in the textile industry, occupying the niche that was left by South Korean immigrants moving up the economic scale. Widespread outsourcing by renowned brand names in the wake of globalization involve thousands of small suppliers that are either owned by Bolivians or that employ Bolivian individuals and their families – sometimes including minors. Although immigrants are typically able to send some money to their families back home – some US$ 150 every other month, according to estimates - helplessness created by illegal alien status and profit maximizing goals by ruthless bosses can make up a toxic brew.

In 2005, Brazil and Bolivia agreed to facilitate extending legal alien status to migrants in each other’s territories. Starting in 2009, Brazil allowed Bolivians to benefit both from this agreement and the streamlined Mercosul residency process to obtain residency papers. Often working in collaboration with the Bolivian Consulate General in São Paulo, Brazilian authorities have since then been able to turn tens of thousands of Bolivians into legal aliens. Activism on the part of the ‘Pastoral do Imigrante’, and a tougher attitude towards sweatshops by the Public Attorney’s Office for Labor Issues is helping to expose exploitative practices, extending normal work and social rights to Bolivian immigrants by bringing fly-by-night operations into the economic mainstream. A simplified on-line registration system for microbusinesses called MEI, for instance, now boasts 4,000 textile micro firms owned by Bolivians, not all of whom are necessarily legal residents. Nevertheless, the creation of a strong textile industry in Bolivia itself would go a long way towards harnessing the fine skills of Bolivian workers and helping those migrants who want to return to find good jobs in their own country. In this connection, back in 2010 Brazil extended a US$ 23 million duty-free quota for Bolivian textile exports, which still awaits to be filled by Bolivian entrepreneurs.

After WWII, the infamous Nazi Klaus Barbie found sanctuary in Bolivia, where he influenced national politics, helped overthrow a democratic government, and profited from the drug trade

Again, the topic of the Nazis’, says Nicolas Bauer, the president of Club Aleman, in an impatient voice. He lights another cigarette. ‘Well, what else could I have expected from someone who wants to write about German immigrants?’ For Bauer, it is difficult to say which of the Germans was not a Nazi before the end of World War II. Many Germans who immigrated before 1945 came to spread the Nazi way of life in Bolivia discreetly – several also came after 1945. In particular, many German teachers immigrated during the 1930s and 1940s and spread the National Socialist ideology. Ironically, many German Jews also immigrated to Bolivia during and after the war.

After the war, several ex-Nazis escaped to South America and Bolivia via ‘ratlines’, the notorious escape routes for Axis war criminals that were organized by members of the Catholic Church. US intelligence agencies also assisted, using the fugitives as assets during the Cold War. Among the most notorious was Klaus Barbie, the former chief of the Gestapo in Lyon. Barbie, the ‘Butcher of Lyon’, tortured French Resistance leader Jean Moulin to death during the war, and was the man responsible for the deportation of 44 Jewish orphans to Auschwitz and their subsequent deaths. ‘I came to kill’ was the first thing he said upon reaching France. In Bolivia, Barbie became a tireless hustler and eccentric, wheeling and dealing with the German business community, politicians, and arms and drug traffickers. He held court in the Club La Paz near Plaza San Francisco, where former Nazis would meet with him to discuss old times.

During his stay in Bolivia, Barbie (who went by the name of Altmann) worked for the Department of the Interior as a lieutenant colonel and as an instructor for the Bolivian security forces, teaching them the finer points of torture and ‘disappearance’ of political dissidents. Together with Hans Stellfeld, another ex-Nazi officer, Barbie was instrumental in the ascendance of General Luis Garcia Meza Tejada, who took over the country as a dictator after a coup d’état in 1980. Called the ‘Cocaine Coup’, this takeover was financed through deals with wealthy cocaine producers in Santa Cruz, who gave kickbacks to Garcia Meza; Barbie was responsible for eliminating rival drug lords through his paramilitary group ‘the Fiancés of Death’.

In 1983, after the restoration of the civilian government in Bolivia, Barbie was finally arrested and extradited to France. He was condemned to life in jail and died there in 1991. His surviving family lives in Germany still. His Nazi comrades do not. They are still at home in Bolivian society. And they do not want to hear about the past.

In the 1960s the ‘German colony’, as Bauer calls it, was centred in the Sopocachi neighbourhood. Barbie’s home was located there, on Avenida 20 de Octubre. Bauer often visited. At the time, he thought Barbie was nice and entertaining, not knowing about his sinister past.

Now, the Achumani district, in Zona Sur, is the centre of the German expat community. The Club Aleman is the reason for this change. With its white stone lobby and elegant wood terrace, it’s a throwback to another time. Nearby, the German school now has classes full of Bolivians, most of them members of the Club Aleman. But only 13 percent of Germans in Bolivia are members – an interesting development from the late 80s, a time before which non-Germans were prohibited from joining. Germans in Bolivia are still identified with National Socialism, but they are not criticised or confronted with it. And only occasionally do Bolivians greet their German neighbours with the Hitler salute.

Bolivians avoid acknowledging fascism’s bloody history because it was deeply rooted in their own political system for several years. The Bolivian Socialist Falange, established in 1937, was the country’s second-largest party between approximately 1954 and 1974. It was particularly strong in Santa Cruz and La Paz. One of the first sights Barbie saw after his arrival in La Paz was a march by FSB members. He later claimed that the sight of the uniformed, armband-wearing militants giving the Roman salute made him feel at home, and he soon sought out the party’s leading members and became close to them.

After 1974, the followers of the Falange lent their support to various military regimes, including those of Generals. Hugo Banzer and Juan Pereda. But with the restoration of the democratic process in Bolivia, they have become much less influential.

Yet some remnants of Nazi ideology remain in Bolivia. Four years ago in Cochabamba, the German school choir from La Paz marched into the room with a Hitler salute. It caused a minor scandal but was quickly hushed up.

Bauer says that the public has forgotten about its Nazi connection. Germans introduced a ‘forced forgetting’ to protect their reputations. They want to maintain their high-status life in Achumani and remain integrated in Bolivian society. In Germany, every school kid has learnt about National Socialism. They’ve all been to a concentration camp and several war museums. They remember and are confronted with the past. However, the process of a huge public discussion about the war and an emergence of collective memory has yet to develop in Bolivia.

Nevertheless, Bauer sees a light at the end of this tunnel. He wants to establish a discussion evening at the Club Aleman about the Nazi past. ‘It will be a scandal, something like this has never happened before’, he says in his harsh voice. His attitude changes during our conversation, from reluctantly discussing Bolivia’s dark chapter of history to embracing the notion of some sort of absolution through historical confrontation and acknowledgment. Nearly 70 years after the defeat of Nazism in Europe, Bolivia is finally ready to confront its own embrace of that barbarous ideology.