In December 2010, Bolivia made headlines worldwide when it passed the Ley de Derechos de la Madre Tierra, or what became globally known as the country’s ‘Mother Earth Law’. The groundbreaking legislation gave legal rights to the environment. That is to say, in Bolivia, nature itself is protected by law, and in fact has its own voice within the government, via the creation of the Defensoría de la Madre Tierra, an office tasked with ensuring that the rights of nature are protected. Those rights largely encompass its relations with human society – within the law, ‘ecosystem’ means more than the natural world; it includes the social, cultural and economic impacts of human behaviour on the environment.
This is not to say that Bolivia’s relations with nature have since been completely harmonious. Litter remains an issue in cities and towns across the country, and pollution from agriculture and mining continue to plague Bolivia’s watersheds. Additionally, new government-funded programs will certainly have adverse effects on the environment. For example, in 2015 the government passed a law that opened up national parks and other protected areas to mining and oil concessions, and most recently Bolivia has broken ground on a nuclear-power research centre in El Alto. While some supporters of these projects insist their implementation can be consistent with the law protecting Mother Earth, many others question the ecological sustainability of such endeavours.
These pressing issues got us here at Bolivian Express thinking about the word ‘sustainability’. This ‘Mother Earth Law’, reinforced (and to some extent re-envisioned) through additional legislation in 2012, is intended to promote a healthy balance between natural systems and human action; the goal is to maintain existing ecologies in the long term, to ensure the sustainability of the natural world. But beyond the common associations with the environment, the term ‘sustainability’ is rooted in the key ideas of time and of endurance. Sustainability isn’t just about nature or ecology, it is about deep relationships; it is about politics and economics.
In this issue of Bolivian Express, we looked into this idea of ‘sustainability’ to explore not only ideas of ecological responsibility, but also ideas of consistency, of endurance, of continuation. We travelled to locales as diverse as the salt flats of Uyuni and the cloud forests of Caranavi in the Nor Yungas region to learn about technology-based solutions for litter cleanup and new strategies to support Bolivia’s coffee industry. We learned about the idea of ‘sustainable mining’, and Bolivia’s important role in the organic quinoa industry. We met people in the tourism industry invested in maintaining Bolivia’s environmental and cultural wonders through responsible tourism.
A common thread we often found in our work for this issue was the idea that for anything to endure, adaptation almost invariably has to happen. And we did not fall short in meeting individuals and groups finding new ways to work with old materials to make something new. We met designers who employ recycled items, from plant material to engine parts, to create clothing and sculptures. Such art gives old material new life, and this theme of sustainability through rebirth carried itself through this issue, through the maintenance of La Paz’s famous, ancient micro buses to the younger generation’s interest in finding their own fashion voice through the purchasing of used clothing.
Bolivia’s relationship with the environment is as complex as it is critical. The ability of the government to carry out its initiatives, from infrastructure development to social programs, is directly tied to its ability to capitalize on the bountiful resources Bolivia has to offer. But this can come with costs. Today we have the opportunity to experience how a society, taking a lead in creating legal frameworks to regulate human engagement with the environment, carries out such an initiative in the real world. We also have a chance to navigate a country where cultures and traditions stretch back for generations, even centuries. Let’s see what it takes to keep these traditions alive in a constantly evolving and changing world.
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Illustration: Oscar Zalles
The tension between sustainability and mining in Bolivia
Gutted to the point of near collapse, the once silver-lined entrails of Cerro Rico, emblematic of prosperity in the New World, now pump deadly dust through an untraceable network of tunnels and sinkholes. Succumbing to the reality of colonial decay, the vision of the 'Rich Hill' is one of a sickly, dying mountain; yet it is one that will continue to consume the lives of those who enter, until it is brought to its knees.
With the city of Potosí listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in Danger in 2014, the uncontrolled mining operations that are still carried out there, despite serious environmental warnings, make the question of sustainability highly relevant to Bolivian mining. There are plans to fill the collapsing parts of Cerro Rico with concrete and suggestions of directing the mining industry towards tourism. But these ideas are often met with hostility and reservations on the part of miners and unsurprisingly so.
For many miners in Bolivia, mining is what they know and all they have known for generations, dating back to pre-colonial times. However, if mining is to continue providing subsistence for a significant portion of Bolivia's population, measures have to be taken to ensure the longevity and sustainability of the sector.
Daniel Lafuente, a manager at Cumbre del Sajama, a local NGO that supports responsible mining, believes collaboration is necessary to take full advantage of the resources in this land. ‘The State should open options for foreign investment and develop a socially responsible mining that generates significant income for the country,’ he says. Lafuente envisions an industry that allows for independent cooperatives, private companies, foreign investors and the State to work together in a socially and environmentally responsible manner.
In line with this vision, Lafuente believes that the future of mining in Bolivia is highly dependent on the participation of cooperatives. Although cooperatives make up a large portion of the Bolivian mining industry, there are many weaknesses in their structure and organisation. Cumbre del Sajama aims to lend support and management to these groups and collaborate with cooperatives that show a willingness to improve their exploitation of resources in a responsible manner.
‘The idea is to generate a change in mentality – in terms of environmental and social issues, work safety and appropriate economic management,’ Lafuente says. If the cooperative demonstrates a desire to change how it works, then Cumbre del Sajama will invest resources.
‘What you produce is what sustains you.’ Remberto Chávez, FERRECO
Both parties have to invest, however, for change to be achieved, and for many small-scale, artisanal or cooperative mining groups the costs involved prove too much. Currently, Cumbre del Sajama is working with three Bolivian cooperatives and only two of them have demonstrated successful and significant changes. The failures that Cumbre del Sajama has experienced reveal several factors that inhibit the success of their work: the inability of cooperatives to invest in the changes, an attitude of dejadez from the miners and preoccupations with productivity.
While Cerro Rico and the work of Cumbre del Sajama suggest that the situation of Bolivian mining is desperate, mining activity elsewhere proves otherwise. The Andean foothills are home to approximately 1400 gold mining cooperatives affiliated with the Regional Federation of Gold Mining in the department of La Paz (FERRECO). FERRECO’s president, Remberto Chávez, was keen to expand on the measures they have in place to ensure responsible mining in the associated cooperatives. ‘We work legally,’ Chávez said, ‘complying with the requirements imposed through decrees from the Bolivian government and governmental institutions. For sustainable mining, there are many requirements, but the environment and el cuidado de la Madre Tierra are the most important.’
In practice, what FERRECO calls “responsible mining” refers to processes such as filling out-of-use pozos with stone, sand and vegetation; maintaining a specific space for fuel stores; and loading and unloading machines in controlled areas to avoid contaminating the surrounding land. The base camp, where toilets, showers, kitchens, waste and recycling are located is also run under environmental regulations and is kept separate from the filtering of the machines. Everything is done specifically to comply with environmental standards and nothing is released into the river. There are also strict regulations controlling deforestation that require a cooperative to survey a tree before cutting it down. If the tree is mature, local authorities grant the cooperative permission to extract its wood. If it is an endangered species, then the tree is left alone.
Although FERRECO cooperatives work within these environmental parameters, what constitutes sustainability for them remains in the balance between respecting la Madre Tierra and the primary objective of their mining pursuits: sustaining their families. 'What you produce is what sustains you,' said Chávez. If not enough gold is produced to cover the costs of the mine, members of the cooperative have to pay the difference. If the miners can’t earn their daily sustenance after an eight-hour shift, they search for work elsewhere. ‘It is hard work,’ Chávez says. There are risks involved, but this is how they survive: arriesgando la vida. Risking their lives to provide for their family.
On a certain level, there appears an incompatibility between Cumbre del Sajama’s ideology and the reality of the mining federation. While the NGO pursues environmental responsibility that extends beyond legal requirements, it seems that economic necessity is what underlines the work of FERRECO’s cooperatives. The federation is proud to comply with mining law, but the economic hardship and the instability of their work make further environmental concerns a luxury that cannot be afforded. Lafuente professes a future of collaboration in mining, but what Chávez speaks most proudly about is internal unity, describing each cooperative as una familia.
The tension between the NGO’s vision and the way of veteran gold miners exposes but one part of the complexity that is mining in Bolivia. These tensions are a prime example of what happens when issues of environmental preservation have to contend with a population's livelihood and age-old traditions. External attempts to influence change are bound to face resistance. While Cerro Rico's drooping peak shadows a wealth of alternative mining activity, it remains both a warning and a symbol of the state of mining in the country. The question of its sustainability is as complicated as the hidden labyrinth of veins that instil lifeblood into so many Bolivian communities.
Photo: Gabrielle Mcguinness
An Ethical Alternative for the Mindful Traveller
There is a certain guilt that comes with being that gringo wandering the streets of Bolivia, wrapped up in an alpaca sweater, scarf and hat. The one who scoured the depths of the Witches’ Market for what were certainly hidden, unique gems. The gringo keenly snapping photos of every cholita artfully poised on the pavement, or shamelessly ogling the esoteric merchandise at the local market stall while communicating through broken Spanish and enthusiastic hand gestures.
Despite my best efforts to remain the incognito gringo, I have guiltily fallen into these tourist traps because the average traveller is naturally inclined to do so.
Nearly everyone can agree that supporting local economies as a tourist and engaging with other cultures has its advantages. But backpackers the world over often take other paths during their travels. Many prioritise partying, which in excess can neglect cultural engagement. When it comes to exploring Bolivia, though, travellers can support and enjoy this country if they pay close attention to their footsteps.
According to a World Bank report, the number of tourists who visit Bolivia increased from 711,000 in 2011 to 870,000 in 2014. This total is roughly one-third of the number of people who travel to Chile or Peru annually. For some, the embryonic nature of Bolivia’s tourism industry is a cause of concern. For others, it offers an opportunity to establish a model of sustainable tourism that benefits both the country and the traveller.
La Paz on Foot is a local tour agency that takes an ethical approach at presenting Bolivia as a backpacking hotspot. Its model of ‘sustainable tourism’ allows visitors to experience the intricacies of Bolivian life. Profits from the company are reinvested into Bolivia, through nature conservation projects or by directly supporting the areas they visit. They cooperate with communities like Santiago de Okola on Lake Titicaca and the Tarapari Biodiversity Garden in the Yungas. Many regions of Bolivia face danger from deforestation, water mismanagement and labour abuses. Sustainable tourism raises funds to tackle these issues and promotes a culture of responsibility.
La Paz on Foot, founded by Stephen Taranto in 2004, operates locally in the most coveted Bolivian destinations. In 2009, Taranto partnered with Tomas Sivila, the founder of Sendas Altas, a global travel company that ‘bridges Bolivia with the outside world’. They came together with one goal in mind: to show tourists the real Bolivia, as Bolivians see it.
‘I despise the “be careful” message that is conveyed to tourists,’ Sivila confesses. ‘It scares them away from truly exploring Bolivia.’
Their brand of tourism is meant to be a tool for progress. Where some agencies suffer from being scattered and localised, they are a cross-cultural network unified by a strong moral code. Sivila reports they are close to receiving the TOURCERT accreditation, bestowed to agencies that have sustainable practices such as recycling in their office, paying their workers fairly and designing tours that empower local communities.
I am sent on the ‘Urban Trek’ to experience the company’s ethos, a dazzling three-and-a-half-hour exploration of the city through the eyes of a paceña. Naira, my tour guide, leads me to the yellow teléferico that ascends to El Alto, bundled alongside local commuters. My ears pop as we advance and I catch myself staring across the valley at the proud Illimani. Upon arriving, Naira sprinkles my awestruck daze with factual knowledge, explaining that the social hierarchy of La Paz inversely correlates with the altitude of each neighborhood.
As we descend the stairs to the city centre, I conceal my breathless panting with attempts at breath-taking photos of the view. Naira knows and loves her city. She tells me about the crops, the sewage system, the architecture and which houses have been recently fitted with gas pipes.+
""Somehow, after this adventure, I scarcely feel gringo.""
We walk down Calle Los Andes, drinking batidos like locals, to marvel at the market’s glorious array of parade costumes and regional fruit.
Somehow, after this adventure, I scarcely feel gringo.
‘We let tourists move to the pulse of Bolivia,’ Naira tells me and I cannot help but believe her. Their tours aspire to eradicate segregation between tourist and native. One wonders, however, whether sustainable tourism can really help Bolivia reduce the distance between the watcher and the watched, the Bolivian and the gringo.
Can tourism empower people through economic advancement or is it forever haunted by the whiff of colonialism? A part of me suspects that gringo guilt will still be draped across shoulders.
Photo: Madeleine Pollard
More Than Just a Space of Waste
Upon approaching the late-night bar Diesel Nacional, located in the centre of La Paz’s Sopocachi neighbourhood, you would be forgiven for thinking you’d mistaken a popular twilight retreat for the entrance to a dystopian abandoned factory. The sharp spikes of the gate thrust imposingly into the barbed night air, whilst disused machinery parts lie strewn across the gravel, either side of the ruptured train tracks that pave the way towards revolving boxcar doors. Once inside, customers are ensconced in a windowless metallic semi-cylinder, illuminated by amber coals burning invitingly in the cauldron-turned-woodburner.
Through his use of predominantly recycled materials, owner and designer Rodrigo Quiroga reservices the term ‘industrial chic’, simultaneously creating a popular social space, a work of art and an emblem of sustainable interior design. Diesel’s inky steel walls give the illusion of having descended from Avenida 20 de Octubre into the kernel of an industrial bunker, an impression augmented by the internal combustion engine of a 1948 Curtiss aeroplane hanging as a sculpture near the entrance, accompanied by a rusty canister of glue and 19th-century ice-cutting machine.
Utility meets a harsh beauty in Diesel’s aesthetic, offering a dining and drinking experience like none other in La Paz. Take a seat at the bar and you’ll find yourself perched on what were once the seats of tractors, with engine cogs composing the stool’s root. Glance up and you’ll see fragmented chains, trenchant meat hooks and idle trumpets dangling from the ceiling.
Rodrigo Quiroga reservices the term ‘industrial chic’, simultaneously creating a popular social space, a work of art and an emblem of sustainable interior design.
The incandescent buzz generated by the murmur of fellow drinkers and a synthesis of American soul, Latin American gems and mellow rock music provide a prime environment to taste Diesel’s excellent pub food and dare to try its explosive cocktail menu and notable wine list. The bar is not only host to innovative architecture but also to the best mojito in town (democratically elected by the Bolivian Express team, after extensive field research), whilst the menu dubiously includes a cocktail with a description represented by the English-language phrase, ‘Bolivian politician Son of a Bitch’s typical corrupt dirty business’: a fusion of whisky, bitters and cloves (cost: 40 bolivianos) – it’s smoother than it sounds.
The food menu at Diesel is surprisingly diverse and piquant considering that the establishment's allure sparks from its drinks and design. Here, food prices range from 25 bolivianos for gently cooked papas to 50-70 bolivianos for seafood dishes, and an Argentine-style barbecue platter for 100 bolivianos.
Although Diesel approaches the pricier corners of La Paz’s nighttime haunts, it’s certainly worth a little extra to spend an evening immersed in its intriguing metallic charm. Amongst the solid steel columns there flows an atmosphere not of decay and discomfort but of progression and motion. The ruptured train track outside the front entrance continues along the ceiling of the back rooms whilst stainless steel from commercial aeroplanes adorns the toilets. These abandoned vehicle parts are recycled and repurposed, symbolising a forward movement in interior design.
