Illustration: Hugo L. Cuellar

The sing-along story of the marxist guerrilla

In the auditorium of Bolivia’s Central Bank in La Paz, a cumbia star leads a sing-along to a pop song whilst children wave flags and tail colourful ribbons across the room. Their movements are military in style and a sense of unease takes over as I watch twenty children punch their hands with intended menace.

Welcome to the Bolivian Anti-imperialist Youth, where children perform a musical interpretation of the life of Che Guevara, complete with a dance troupe. The Bolivian government chose to mark the 50th anniversary of Argentine Marxist guerrilla’s arrival to Bolivia with the performance. Although the story of Ernesto Guevara, known more commonly as “Che”, has undergone many changes since his death, this show may be one of its most surreal interpretations.

The musical presents Che not as a Marxist who took on the armed struggle of the global revolutionary vanguard, but as a commodity, an icon, a bastion of consumerism, whose face can be found on countless products, including t-shirts that are touted in London, Berlin, and the 16 de Julio market in El Alto.

Che entered Bolivia in 1966 to wage war against the military dictatorship of René Barrientos. He embarked on a unfruitful  guerrilla campaign in the east of the country, before being captured and killed in October 1967. The Bolivian Communist Party and a smattering of mining leaders – including Federico Escóbar Zapata – supported the campaign, but it never fully captured the imagination of the Bolivian working class. After his death, however, Che was turned into a revolutionary figure who fought to emancipate the Bolivian people from capitalism and oppressive dictators.

Through this interpretation, Che became a symbol of resistance and hope. His ideas penetrated the resistance to the dictatorships of the 1970s and galvanised the masses who helped bring democracy back to Bolivia. His visions were present in the infamous battles of Black October in 2003, where the Bolivian population rose up against the government and unceremoniously deposed the neoliberal orthodoxy; it was a moment that transformed Bolivian politics and eventually led to the election of Evo Morales. The influence of Che’s image extends to the offices of prominent government officials. His quotes are etched on the walls and desks of government ministries. This explains why a government-sponsored show about his life would be in order, but does not justify the form of Che’s latest incarnation.

Although the story of Che has undergone many changes since his death, this show may be one of its most surreal interpretations.

A group of mostly children marched onto the stage carrying the Bolivian flag and the wiphala. They started to dance and prance as cumbia star Monica Ergueta, dressed in a skimpy khaki outfit, sang along to the revolutionary song, “Hasta Siempre” by Nathalie Cardone. The effect was bizarre. Why was there such a show of nationalism at an anti-imperialism event? Were song and dance the best way to commemorate this revolutionary leader? It was, in my mind, ridiculous.

The adaptation, however, stuck in my mind, so maybe it was somewhat successful. The point of the event was to engage the Bolivian youth in politics and to teach them lessons from the past. Although they probably won’t forget the Che of the show, will they remember the revolutionary Che? Will they understand the reasons why he came to Bolivia? Will they recall the ideals for which he fought?

In transmuting historical figures – in changing water into wine, Martin Luther King into a peaceful protestor who always respected the rule of law, Nelson Mandela from a Marxist guerrilla to a patron of human rights, or Che into a comic figure – we loose the historical lessons that their actions hold. We lose the context, their drive, and most of all the revolutionary content. World-changers become little more than a face on a t-shirt or a pantomime hero waving a flag.

Photo: William Wroblewski

The drought has brought out the ugly and the good in La Paz’s affected areas.

Manuel Morales, a resident of the San Antonio neighborhood in eastern La Paz, has been collecting rainwater to flush the toilet and do the laundry, using every drop he can gather from the sky to complete household tasks. Water is rationed in his neighbourhood at the moment, and his house receives it for only an hour a day, which he uses for cooking and consumption. ‘I never imagined it would come to this,’ he exclaims.

La Paz is currently facing the worst drought it has seen in over 25 years. Climate change and deforestation are blamed, but accusations of mismanagement by the public water company EPSAS have also been leveled. Nonetheless, the three reservoirs that provide La Paz and El Alto with water are almost dry.

Protests have swept the city since this latest water crisis, and Manuel thinks they will continue to grow. Demonstrations over access to water are nothing new to Bolivia: protests in Cochabamba in 1999–2000 forced the US company Bechtel to abandon its water-distribution concession, and in 2005, other protests in El Alto assured a similar fate for the French multinational Suez. If things do not improve, the residents of La Paz and El Alto have their response well-rehearsed.

There’s an awakening of solidarity in people that transcends class distinctions.

In mid-November, dependable sources of drinking water disappeared overnight in much the city. Augusto San Miguel, a young law student who lives in the exclusive Aranjuez neighbourhood in the city’s far south, was shocked when he turned on the tap and nothing came out. He had always taken his water supply for granted. Now city residents like him must come to terms with the daily reality of living with limited water. The periphery and the south of the city are the worst affected, but the shortage has hit both the poor and the rich alike, yielding interesting consequences.

Some affected residents have been creative in their search for and conservation of water. After the initial shock of losing access to her regular water supply, Zona Sur resident Julia Chinchero organised with her neighbours. Together, they searched for alternative water sources and escorted water trucks to their neighbourhood (other residents have been known to divert trucks from their assigned areas). Eventually, the water returned, but, in a sign of poor planning, water trucks are still being sent to Chinchero’s neighbourhood instead of areas of the city where the water supply is still interrupted.

This unequal distribution of the limited water supply provided by trucks forces paceños to be vigilant. Gloria Quino, from the northern “Cervecería” neighbourhood, says that the water shortage has caused confrontations among neighbours. Water trucks have been commandeered by the unscrupulous, forcing  Gloria to guard the tankers as they make their way from the Hospital Obredor district.

Chinchero has also seen the water-rationing system break down. Although there is a group of neighbors who oversee the provision of water in her neighbourhood, most people on foot can only carry a couple of litres; those with cars can receive many gallons more. And some, like Augusto´s family, struggle to collect the water which is distributed miles from their homes. Additionally, water-truck schedules are not always convenient.

La Paz’s city centre is known for, among other things, the continual demonstrations that take place on its streets. There’s always a different demand, and always the same method: marches down the boulevards, with placards waving and the shouting of discontent. It’s a way to demand one’s rights and to hold the powerful accountable. And the people from El Alto are particularly renowned for using this strategy to get their voices heard.

In the past, these demonstrations were usually staged by people from the poorer districts of the city. But with the water shortages plaguing all sectors of society, the relatively privileged residents of Zona Sur and other affluent areas are also taking their concerns to the streets. They’ve been pushed into a scenario where their need is provoking a political awakening. Augusto reflected on the changes triggered by the water shortage: neighbours are getting into disputes with each other over access to water, which some parties are trying to exploit to make a political point, but there’s also an awakening of solidarity in people that transcends class distinctions. A recent march in Plaza San Francisco illustrated this, when a group of protesters from Zona Sur demonstrated next to a group from El Alto. Some of the Zona Sur protesters commented on the alteños’ better organisation and suggested that they emulate the more experienced group.

‘I never imagined it would come to this.’
- Manuel Morales

The current water crisis in La Paz and El Alto is building bridges between social classes, and hopefully raising environmental awareness. This resource shortage comes as an intensive course on effective water management for all, and as a severe political sting for some. Manuel recognises that some people were thoughtless about water, but this is changing through their experiences of the crisis. His family has learned to recycle the water they use to wash their faces and brush their teeth, using it to flush the toilet.

Given that this crisis is in a large part caused by changing environmental factors, these productive responses can only be helpful for the city of La Paz as a whole in the long run. In the wake of the crisis there has been a lot of finger-pointing and searching for someone to blame. Julia Chinchero believes this crisis was known about five years ago, and resents that nobody took action to prevent it earlier. Her concerns may be legitimate, and the government and the municipal water company must respond. But pointing the finger in the face of the daily struggles faced by most paceños because of this crisis is not particularly helpful on the ground. What is encouraging is that people are responding both by changing the way they view water and the way they use it in their daily routines, and educating themselves over what they – and the government – can do to prevent history repeating itself.

Photo: Jodido Diego (Juan Diego Alvarado)

Let yourself be seduced by this sexy urban style

Since 2010, the tattoo scene in La Paz has experienced a revolution of sorts, as the Bolivian New School style has become increasingly popular within the community. The New School of tattoo design mixes the styles of graffiti and graphic novels, popular amongst a global movement of New School tattoo artists, with traditions and typical characters of Bolivia. The result: a new tattoo aesthetic that leaves the marks of the Bolivian national identity.

Juan Diego Alvarado, 28, was born in La Paz and is one of the pioneering artists that started creating these new designs. He believes that inking these images is important because, as he emphasizes, the relevance of cultural content and ‘identity factors’ are the central points of the Bolivian New School style. ‘The idea is to create designs to show part of the Bolivian identity,’ he says. ‘In this way, Bolivians can valorized our culture and spread it to other countries.’

Diego, known amongst his friends and peers as Jodido Diego, has also created a series of these designs, which have drawn accolades because of their originality and innovation. He calls them las primas – cholitas, but with a modern look that includes a rebel spirit. Juan Diego created his first prima in 2014, for a design book. His intention was to achieve a fusion between traditional Bolivian culture and contemporary elements. He incorporated elements of graffiti and comic-book styles in order to design a cholita that fit in with New School trends in tattooing.

Las primas always look like beautiful young girls, and all of them share similar facial features. They seem to be part of the same family, as if they are indeed primas.

The modern Andean graphics created by Diego consistently show a traditional symbol of La Paz – the cholita – from an innovative point of view, as the artist takes the risk of re-creating these typically traditionally dressed women as sensual pinup girls. Las primas are attractive and doe-eyed; their intense gaze shows their sex appeal. Some of las primas are naked; others exhibit less flesh, and a few are simply portraits. No matter the pose, however, there is an essential cholita-ness in each depiction, a concept from the collective social imaginary of the people of La Paz. For example, las primas wear Borsalino bowler hats and gold jewelry as indispensable accessories, and, of course, they have long dark braids – oftentimes drawn as coca leaves.

These primas also modernize the traditional cholita character. They are tattooed themselves. On their skin, Diego inks designs laden with symbols of La Paz’s identity: the city’s initials, the letters “LP”; tantawawa masks, a ritual element used in Todos Santos celebrations; coca leaves; Mt. Illimani; ñatitas, or Andean skulls that protect the home and promise miracles; chakanas, or Andean crosses; and other cultural symbols. Bolivian identity survives, even thrives, using these tattoos as a strategy.

The family of las primas is big, and it grows each year. Today this inked household has approximately 20 members, and it’s even going international. Elvis García is a Chilean tattooist who has a sexy prima tattooed on his left arm. ‘When I looked at her, I fell in love,’ Elvis says, laughing as he remembers the day he met la prima that captured his heart while he was visiting La Paz. He describes this event as ‘love at first sight’, and he confesses that the sensuality of the image was a factor in deciding to have it inked into his skin. Perhaps this flirty cholita wanted to know the sea, and used her most powerful seduction techniques to captivate Elvis with the objective to move to Chile with him. Nowadays, this prima lives in Santa Cruz, and each day she accompanies Elvis to his tattoo studio.  

This creative metamorphosis – from the traditional presentation of a cholita paceña to a new, modern, sexy depiction is exciting. A little ink and a lot of imagination has turned an icon of La Paz into a sensual urban phenomenon.

If you’re looking for an iconic Bolivian twist to a tattoo, you may not be able to resist the seduction of las primas from the Bolivian New School. Give them a chance – they are really quite sexy!

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If you are interested in a prima tattoo from La Paz, contact Juan Diego Alvarado at his Instragram: @jodidodiego. For more information about this artist, visit jodidodiego.com.