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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Photo: Melody Chan
Bolivians and an American Adventurer Team Up to Sail Across the Pacific Using Ancient Technology
Floating on the shimmering surface of Lake Titicaca, an imposing boat made of yellow totoras matches silhouettes seen on ancient pottery by Incas and Egyptians, drawing a striking contrast to the motorized cars and hints of 21st-century life that abound nearby. The boat docks near a white barn, home of Fermín Esteban’s museum dedicated to his family’s role in crafting boats used by modern explorers in their expeditions across oceans.
Balsa building, or hand-crafting reed boats, has been a trade passed down through generations since pre-Incan times. Once popular vessels in South America, small ships called yampos ferried occupants between coastal towns long before roads connected them. Fermín makes these two-person boats out of reeds harvested from Lake Titicaca, the largest lake in South America, straddling the borders of Peru and Bolivia. Each boat has a certain lifespan – the longer they remain in the water the more water they absorb, eventually sinking due to the weight. The reeds are harvested and hand-woven with minimal tools and tied with rope to form cylinders that surround one another. When placed in water, the reeds expand and the string tightens, sealing the hull.
Huatajata, Fermín’s home, is a small coastal town on a busy road halfway between Copacabana and La Paz. Since 1969, it’s been known for its expert boat builders. Back then, an Italian, Carlo Mauri, arrived looking for men to fly to Morocco to construct a 12-metre-long reed boat that would sail across the Atlantic to Barbados. Before Mauri, the largest boat created on Lake Titicaca was only eight metres long. Mauri and his partner, Norwegian adventurer Thor Heyerdahl, wanted to recreate the large balsas of ancient civilizations to test their ability to travel long distances. Fermín’s father, Paulino, placed first in the competition that Mauri held to test the skill of the town’s boat builders, leading to his role in building seven different boats for Heyerdahl and other explorers.
Fermín grins as he relates a well-remembered story about his family’s relationship with the renowned explorer. When Heyerdahl was building the Ra II, a boat that used Iraqi papyrus, Paulino’s boat-building team tried to cut him out of the project, as he was getting paid more. When Mauri and Heyerdahl called for the same team that had built the original boat, the Ra I, Paulino’s partners sent word saying Paulino was ill. Heyerdahl’s response was simply, ‘When he gets healthy, send him.’
In his museum, Fermín regales visitors with tales of journeys alongside his father to build these impressive vessels. He learned how to build balsas from his father, and has already passed the tradition to his 27-year-old son. But Fermín rarely makes vessels for adventures anymore; barely anybody does. Motorized and wooden boats have long replaced the less durable balsa. Fermín mainly sticks to weaving reed boat sofas, used for decoration in hotels and restaurants, as well as miniature reed boats and llama figurines to sell in his museum.
However, there are those who keep the tradition alive. Near Plaza Velasco in La Paz, the smell of reeds permeates the air and bundles of long yellow cattails mark the building where American Phil Buck is building his dream. In 2003, Buck and seven volunteers launched a reed boat, the Viracocha II, from the shores of Viña del Mar, Chile, hoping to sail to Sydney, Australia. Their plan was cut short by steep waves and unfavourable winds that damaged the ship, and the expedition ended on Easter Island 76 days later. But today in La Paz, Buck is working with shipbuilders from Huatajata to build the Viracocha III, for a journey from Arica, Chile, to Sydney. As his team builds the new craft, Buck hopes to draw as many curious visitors as possible to his workshop, part of his deal with the city of La Paz and the official channel of Bolivia, BoliviaTV, which has the Bolivian rights to screen a program about the adventure. ‘We want to inspire, especially younger people, to go out and accomplish their own goals,’ Buck says.
Come September, the ship will be transported to Chile and assembled. An international team will man the ship, but the boat’s hull will be created solely by Bolivians. One of them, Erik Catari, will join Buck’s crew on the six-month journey.
Buck, 52, styles himself as a ‘professional adventurer.’ He has lived in La Paz since October 2015, when he began this project. In the corner of Plaza Velasco, Buck and his Chilean partner, Valentina Muñoz, describe their vision for the journey they hope to take in January of next year. The ship will be 18 metres in length and seven metres wide, requiring 2.5 million reeds for the hull alone. Their 10-member crew will bring people from at least seven different countries together at sea for half a year. Expert knot makers, fishermen, doctors and seamen will all work to bring the sail-powered ship 10,000 nautical miles across the sea, the farthest an ancient-style reed vessel has ever travelled in documented history.
Their goals for this endeavour are simple. First, this is a scientific expedition. Buck hopes to add to the theories that South Americans may have gone further in balsas than ever imagined. While his route specifically is not one that may have been taken in the past, the possibility that ancient boats could travel this distance will open up theories of cross-continental contact that may have been previously dismissed.
There is a hint of something crazy, a little dangerous and quixotic in Buck’s eyes.
Second, Buck imagines his efforts will embolden and educate young Bolivians and South Americans, proving to them that something so improbable is possible. Buck will film and edit all the BoliviaTV footage himself before he sends it to the channel via satellite, and Bolivians will be able to watch his journey as it happens.
Lastly, Buck’s adventure is about preserving and sustaining a tradition that has died down in the past decades. He hopes that his team will be able to exercise their knowledge of building balsas once again, in the process educating the younger members of the team in this traditional craft.
‘South America is losing its tradition, and Bolivia somehow keeps hold of it,’ Buck says. ‘It’s amazing that Bolivian still retains its culture.’
On the the business card for Buck Expeditions, Buck’s company, is an image of the Viracocha II floating peacefully on blue waters. No hints of technology to be seen, the hand-woven sail billows in the wind and the totora hull floats on the water. It is an unimaginable sight for the 21st century. There is a hint of something crazy, a little dangerous and quixotic in Buck’s eyes as he watches his team work with the same type of reeds their great-grandfathers used centuries ago.
Photo: Valeria Wilde
The Consumption Behaviour of Millennials
US singer-rapper Macklemore gave us a hint in 2012 – the youth of his generation have an incredible affinity for the consumption of used clothes. In his song ‘Thrift Shop’, he speaks of his passion for buying clothes secondhand: how cheap they are, how awesome they make you look, the incredible articles of clothing you can find, and how ridiculous it is to pay big-brand prices.
As a frequent consumer of used clothes and a designer of an upcycled clothing brand, I dedicated my marketing master’s thesis to the study of used clothing. The majority of previous studies about secondhand clothing focus on its negative aspects: the threat it represents for Bolivia, the deficiencies in the country’s own industry and the risks that its consumption produces. My intention, however, was to give another perspective that would reveal the reasons behind the demand for used clothing and the consumption patterns of the Millennial generation. In this way, I examined the other side of the issue and tried to focus on the consumption of secondhand clothes in a way similar to how it is viewed in many other parts of the world. That is to say, to see thrift shopping as an eco-friendly alternative that goes against consumerism, the industry of fast fashion and the deterioration of the environment.
When one speaks of secondhand clothing in the city of La Paz, the Feria 16 de Julio in El Alto immediately comes to mind as the biggest market for used clothing in Latin America. However, my intention was to not only study these special markets and traditional stores, but also the entrepreneurs and small businesses that work within the secondhand-clothing sector, and the activities used to promote its sale (e.g., car boot sales). According to my research, Millennials (those between the ages of 16 and 34) have several defining characteristics: they are more likely to purchase used clothing; they have a major interest in conscious consumption; they are concerned about the degradation of the environment; they enjoy spending their money on trips, gadgets and experiences more than personal objects; they have little interest in brands; and they prefer to invent their own style and distinguish themselves from others. Although the study found that the majority of Millennials in La Paz generally buy new clothes in traditional stores, malls and venues (such as those along Calle Uyustus, near the Cementerio General, which offer cheap clothes from China), 30 percent of respondents considered themselves to be conscious consumers: consumers that support local start-ups, buy used clothes for eco-friendly reasons and are in favour of recycling.
Millennials have an incredible affinity for the consumption of used clothes.
Currently, there is greater acceptance of the consumption of used clothing, which is no longer viewed as strictly for people with a low income. Indeed, Millennials often take pride in their secondhand sartorial choices, echoing global attitudes toward climate change, scarcity of natural resources, intrusive marketing and eco-friendly consumption. Companies are now challenged by these new considerations, and they must think about new models of business.
Nonetheless, new, quality clothing is on sale throughout La Paz. In 2012 the Bolivian government raised tariffs on new clothing imports by 45 percent in order to strengthen national industry. However, Chinese-made clothing is so inexpensive – even with added tariffs – that clothes from that country continue to dominate the market. And import duties have slowed the sales of more expensive, higher-quality foreign brands. Economist Gonzalo Vidaurre explains: ‘International brands are also hesitant to open stores here, not only because of the tariffs, but also because Bolivia is a smaller market whose inhabitants have less disposable income.’
As a result, Millennials are searching for new alternatives in order to find articles of clothing to their liking. While half of those surveyed generally buy clothing from traditional stores, the other half prefer to find their clothing at secondhand stores, local boutiques, online or abroad.
Although the topic of used clothes in La Paz can be controversial due to the damage inflicted on the national textile industry, and while it is necessary to address this issue, there is a good reason for buying secondhand clothing. It’s more than just the lower price – it’s a movement of people who are searching for alternatives due to the limited offerings of traditional stores or for reasons relating to conscious consumption. And this type of clothing consumption is growing to a global level, one to which many of the biggest brands are adapting.
The consumption of secondhand clothing is a trend strongly connected to the Millennial cohort, which many parties within the clothing industry can take advantage of. From the biggest brands producing articles of clothing that evoke past decades or vintage styles, to the secondhand-clothing stores and small local start-ups that provide recycled offerings, they all provide alternative ways to dress sustainably, based on upcycling and eco-friendly fashion.
Context
In 2006 the importation and commercialisation of secondhand clothing in Bolivia was made illegal.
Regardless, today these activities have not ceased
Secondhand clothing arrives in South America through the philanthropic activities of organizations like the Salvation Army and Goodwill, which receive donations from people that throw out articles of clothing and export them to countries in the Global South: South America, Asia and Africa.
The textile industry sees itself as threatened by this, along with the availability of cheap clothing produced by China
Annually, Bolivia admits around 8,000 tons of secondhand clothing
Discoveries
Of the 612 surveyees between the ages of 16 and 34 years in the city of La Paz:
87% bought secondhand clothing at least once
56% consider themselves a regular buyer of secondhand clothing
54% bought between 1 to 6 articles of clothing in the past 6 months
74% buy secondhand clothing occasionally when they see something that really gets their attention
61% buy secondhand clothing because of the low price
52% buy secondhand clothing because they want articles of clothing that are original, special or unique that they can’t find in traditional stores
50% buy secondhand clothing because the brands they like aren’t sold in Bolivia
30% of those surveyed demonstrate a high level of commitment to the environment, support slow fashion, local startups, upcycling and conscious consumption in general
Over twice as many women than men have bought secondhand clothing
Key Terms
Upcycling: to process used goods or waste material to produce something that is often better than the original
Fast fashion: refers to a phenomenon in the fashion industry whereby production processes are expedited in order to get new trends to the market as quickly and cheaply as possible regardless of the consequences
Slow Fashion: describes clothing often made from locally sourced or fair-trade material; emphasizes quality of products and life, traditional techniques and craftsmanship
This generation takes pride in its secondhand sartorial choices, echoing global attitudes toward climate change, scarcity of natural resources, intrusive marketing and eco-friendly consumption.
Illustration: Oscar Zalles
The legal battle over a riachuelo
Along the southwestern reaches of Bolivia, in a desolate section of the Departamento de Potosí, a freshwater spring seeps to the surface of a grass-covered valley known as the Silala Pass. From its source the water will crawl for the next eight kilometers: crossing from Bolivia to Chile, flowing from canals to piping, and from piping to Chilean taps, bringing water to the Atacama, the driest non-polar desert on earth. Despite its seemingly insignificant size, it is the subject of a prolific regional dispute. Being a vital resource to Chile, whose private companies use the water for industry, and a symbol of sovereignty to Bolivia, which has sought recompense for water usage by Chile since the mid-1990s, the waterway stands larger on the world stage than it does in the world.
Strained relations between Chile and Bolivia are bristling around international water policy. Bolivia's crippling loss of access to the Pacific Ocean in the latter half of the 19th century has maintained relevancy in a slew of recent conflicts. In addition to Bolivia’s claim to maritime access, Chile and Bolivia have also been struggling over the use of the Silala, a case that Chile brought to the International Court of Justice (ICJ) in June of this year. Though there are currently three transboundary waterways in contestation between the two states, the Silala will be the only one dealt with in the court, located at The Hague. Chile’s objective is to have the waters declared an International waterway, entitling it to half of the water the spring yields. Defining the waterway and unraveling its muddled history will determine the outcome of the suit.
Diplomatic relations concerning the use of the Silala began in 1908 when the Ferrocarril de Antofagasta y Bolivia (FACB), then a British company, requested concessions to use the Silala. The request came in the shadow of the War of the Pacific and it’s resulting tratado in 1904, and offered no recompense for the scarce resource. ‘Bolivia signed the treaty with a pistol to their head,’ said Leo Robles, a Chilean journalist who covers the dispute regularly. When FACB, a company vital to Chilean development, requested concessions, ‘Bolivia knew there was nothing it could do… so it just signed it.’ The water was used for laying railroad spikes and powering the steam engine locomotives until the early 1960’s, when the locomotives were transitioned to run on diesel. ‘In Spanish we say the concession is extinguished,’ explained Andres Guzmán, a foreign policy analyst, on the change in fuel. FACB’s concession became moot as its consumption lessened, and other companies began to rely on the Silala. From the moment FACB stopped using steam engines, ‘it was illegal to use the water in Chile,’ says Guzmán.
The waterway stands larger on the world stage than it does in the world.
In 1997 Bolivia revoked the concession. Thereafter, it demanded payment for the previously gifted resource. The 2000s saw numerous failed attempts for both recompense and negotiation. In 2009, Chilean and Bolivian delegations convened to negotiate a 17-article agreement concerning each nation's right to the water. Though terms were agreed upon, the talks fell through. Regional petitions demanding that Chile pay its historical debt, which included recompense for water drawn from the Silala since 1908, totaling some 1 billion $USD, were accepted by the Bolivian government. ‘There has been no diplomatic progress since this happened,’ states Guzmán.
Since the failure of the 2009 negotiations, Bolivia has attempted to utilize the Silala in several projects. Researchers, national diplomats and regional functionaries have offered various proposals, none of which have come to fruition. ‘It is difficult for us to access,’ explains Guzmán. The remote location makes agricultural use disadvantageous. Water flow is too low for profitable yields of hydroelectricity. A small contingent of soldiers, manning a border outpost established in 2006, and stray llamas constitute the entirety of Bolivian consumption. Meanwhile, the prodigious use of the water by Chilean industry has not faltered.
The Antofagasta region of Chile maintains a difficult balance between potable water and water used for industry. Chile consumes an estimated 4.8 million cubic meters of water from the Silala annually. While the exact division of the volume is unknown, it is shared between various mines, owned by Corporación Nacional del Cobre de Chile, and the cities of Baquedano and Sierra Gordo for potable water.
Recent water shortages have impacted Chile's mining operation, which is responsible for nearly a third of the global copper production. The amount of water required for the extraction process and the aridity of the Atacama, make the proximity of the Silala vital to the industry. Chiquimata, the largest open pit copper mine in the world, is a State-owned enterprise that produces 500,000 tons of copper annually and relies on the Loa River and the Silala. The potable water drawn from the Silala is supplied to Baquedano and Sierra Gordo by private companies. ‘They are receiving the water for free, and they are selling it,’ says Guzmán.
Legality aside, the fight for the Silala has an evident political dimension.
The lawsuit will determine whether the Silala is an international waterway, but defining the water is difficult. Several factors obstruct an already complicated case. The Silala refers to ‘a subterranean aquatic system that surfaces in Bolivia and has been artificially canalized to flow into Chile,’ says Guzmán. Yet little is known of the aquifer. If it is discovered that it extends beneath Chilean soil, then Chile could claim partial drawing rights.
If the watercourse is defined as a transboundary river, it would be subject to a number of international laws that would also give Chile access to the resource. This outcome, however, would require proof that the water flowed naturally into Chile prior to its canalization in 1908. Though there is evidence that suggests this, the Silala appears to have done so only intermittently, which would exempt it from transboundary water law and reaffirm Bolivia’s claim of ownership. The battle, then, would be over the murky history of eight kilometers of water.
Legality aside, the fight for the Silala has an evident political dimension. For Bolivia, it is a matter of national sovereignty, a question of standing up to a historically dominant Chile. ‘We are tired of hearing that Chile is using our water,’ concluded Guzman. For Chile, the Silala stands for private industry, and a manner of correcting a pestering Bolivian behavior. ‘It is a matter of justice,’ insists Robles, an admitted Bolivian sympathist. ‘The river itself is insignificant.’
