Photo: Aida Muratoglu

Luna Charlotte finds a love of her own

Luna Sharlotte Humerez exudes confidence, love, acceptance. She has mastered the art of conversation. She speaks openly and honestly, urging me to use my broken Spanish, laughing at my silly jokes. The home she shares with her husband, Henry, feels warm and pristine. The walls are a deep carmine, dotted with hand-painted white stars.

Luna tells me she loves interior design. The Disney film Wreck-it Ralph plays quietly in the corner of the bedroom as Henry and Luna speak about how they met. They sit comfortably on the bed together, absentmindedly holding hands. Her long, chestnut hair whips back and forth gently as she speaks. She keeps up a stream of sweet whisperings into Henry’s ear, reminding him over and over again just how much she loves him.

Growing up in El Alto in a world of brothers and kind neighbours, a father and a mother, Luna came out as gay to her family at the age of sixteen. At eighteen, she came out as transgender. Eight years later, in December 2016, Luna became the first trans woman to get married in Bolivia. On a crisp, mid-April morning in El Alto, and over steaming salteñas (Luna ordered hers spicy), we talked about the importance of family, how the personal is political, where religion fits into her identity, and her hopes for Bolivia’s future.

Millions of people worldwide identify as transgender (trans*, for short), meaning they don’t identify with the sex they were assigned at birth. The asterisk serves as a reminder that more than two genders exist, that not all transfolk are men or women, and that we ensure a space for binary-defying folk in the LGBTQ+ community.

Luna has been blessed with an exceptional support system. Henry loves her unconditionally, and their connection is magnetic. Her parents and brothers were immediately accepting when she came out as a transgender woman and have supported her fully ever since. Henry’s family acted similarly. ‘If my son is happy by your side, we will you support you in anything,’ she recalls them saying. Thanks to this support, Luna has been able to afford gender reassignment surgery and thus does not experience the constant displays of discrimination and bigotry that many of her trans siblings face daily.

Exact statistics about the transgender population across the world prove hard to come by, as a disproportionate percentage of the trans community is homeless or otherwise unrecognised by government-run institutions. In Bolivia, intense discrimination in the workforce has forced an overwhelming majority of trans Bolivians into sex work. ‘I have trans friends who were kicked out of their homes,’ Luna tells me. ‘They became sex workers to survive. To have food to eat and a roof over their heads.’

In May 2016, Bolivia passed the Ley de Identidad de Género, a law that lets people legally change their gender without undergoing hormone therapy or operations. It is the first of its kind to be passed in South America and will hopefully pave the way for more LGBTQ+ legislation in the rest of the continent, including Bolivia, where gay marriage is still illegal.

Although the law assures access to gender-specific healthcare, it does not contemplate the specific needs of transfolk once they come out or change their gender identities. Finding healthcare as a trans woman is especially grueling. ‘There are no medical specialists in trans women,’ Luna says. ‘There is no one here. They still see us like men.’

Despite recent legislative progress, on-the-ground support for the trans community in La Paz is virtually nonexistent. ‘As a trans activist here. . . you have to do everything yourself,’ Luna remarks. Non-profits working on LGBTQ+ rights focus primarily on preventing and treating HIV and on supporting the city’s gay population.

When asked what needs to change in Bolivia in order to create a safer climate for trans people, Luna insists that we must ‘socialise the law’. Historically, political shifts stem from changing attitudes within constituencies, not from the stuffy, removed annals of government. The first step to an equitable society is normalising trans identities and people. ‘We have to show that we are normal people,’ she tells me. ‘That we laugh and cry, just like everyone else.’

Like many citizens of this Catholic country, Luna feels a connection to God. ‘I believe in God,’ she says. ‘I don’t have any religion; I am not Christian nor Catholic, not Mormon, but I believe in God and I know God is in my heart. I know that he helped me in everything that happened to me last year,’ she says, referencing her recent marriage to Henry, La Ley de Identidad de Género, and being recognised for her fight for trans women and the trans community.

In the comfort of their El Alto home, Luna and Henry cuddle playfully with one another and their adorable black Shar Pei, Rulo. The bedroom light hits their faces softly as they joke around, peels of laughter filling the chilly evening air. It is clearly a scene of love, but it is also a scene of resistance.

Photo: Nick Somers

The Past, Present, and Future of a National Archive

Two months on and the noise has not yet died down. On March 21 this year, Juan Ríos, the newly appointed rector of Cochabamba’s state-run UMSS (Universidad Mayor de San Simón) – where the headquarters of CEDIB (Centro de Documentación e Información Boliviana) has been based since the NGO’s inception back in 1993 – gave the research and information facility 48 hours to vacate its premises. These controversial marching orders have been met with widespread criticism across Bolivia, in the mainstream press, and, of course, from those inside CEDIB itself.

Throughout its near-25-year existence, CEDIB has provided a crucial academic and historical resource for Bolivia. Today, it houses 11 million physical and 3 million digital newspaper archives, alongside 77,000 books and a copy of every law in the country’s history. Its higher purpose, though, and one its director, Marco Gandarillas, has gone to great lengths to emphasise, has been to hold incumbent governments to account – regardless of their political leaning – with evidenced humanitarian arguments.

It is perhaps no surprise, then, that its eviction is being widely framed as a political manoeuvre. Página Siete, a daily newspaper with an anti-MAS track record, even went so far as to label it as ‘an example of political and ideological intolerance’. Given the current administration’s troubled relationships with many NGOs, many critics agree with this explanation.

As an argument, it carries the weight of history. Vice President Álvaro García Linera has long and painstakingly sought to redefine NGOs in Bolivia as vehicles for Western imperialism and intervention. In his book, Geopolítica de la Amazonía, he makes the bold yet thinly substantiated claim that ‘in third world countries, as in the case of Bolivia, some NGOs are not really NON Governmental Organisations, but rather Organisations of Other Governments in Bolivian territory’. This scapegoating has served as a justification for the Bolivian government to claim control of organisations as their own. In March 2013, President Morales passed Ley 351, decreeing that any organisation or NGO must be legally recognised by the state, effectively stipulating that all NGOs, including CEDIB, must be aligned in their work, actions, and objectives with national policy.

This ideological oppression has been a thorn in CEDIB’s side through recent years, coming to a head in June 2015 when, a month after the new Decree #2366 (opening natural protected areas to mining and oil extraction), the government announced that any NGO that interfered with said exploitation would be expelled from Bolivia. CEDIB has been one of extractivism’s biggest opponents ever since.

It seems logical, then, that the appointment of the new rector at UMSS, who has established ties to MAS, and the subsequent forced removal of CEDIB are no coincidence. Additionally, the change comes on the heels of Bolivia’s courting of investors from China, and the announcement that CEDIB will be replaced by a Confucio Chinese Institute.

This is but one, albeit very well-documented, side of the story. However, it would be irresponsible to fail to acknowledge that there might be another.

Rector Ríos’ justifications for the eviction are twofold: that CEDIB have overstayed their agreement with the university for a decade, paying no rent, maintenance, or light and water bills; and that the expanding university needs the space for the Confucio institute. ‘We have an important agreement with the institute,’ he explains. ‘It is a partnership that has brought many benefits to the university. If we don’t comply with their requirements, we run the risk of them having to leave to the Universidad San Andrés.’

As much as it might be in the government’s historical character and future interests to disrupt the work of and evict CEDIB, it must also be recognised that, given its often confrontational relationship with the government, it is in the interests of the NGO to pin its eviction on the state, continuing the narrative of political oppression that has dominated, and clearly inhibited, its past. But it is important to note that officially UMSS has constitutional autonomy, so the government technically cannot intervene. While the new rector clearly takes issue with CEDIB, whether due to the organisation’s lack of recompense for the university, or an unspoken issue with CEDIB’s alleged anti-government sentiment, interpreting the government’s refusal to step in to save CEDIB as an active and driving force behind its eviction hinges on

assumptions of a political vendetta against the NGO.

The initial populist jump to brand this situation as ‘another example of government oppression’ could be a dangerous one. CEDIB’s modus operandi throughout its existence has been to provide an evidenced counterpoint to ill-advised and morally unjustified government policy. In this case, there is perhaps insubstantial hard evidence, nothing but the circumstantial traces this decision back to Morales, to claim so categorically that the government is trying to quash CEDIB. As such, CEDIB’s mudslinging could be seen to undermine the credibility of its noble objectives.

Perhaps more importantly, this narrative of government oppression is not one that should be taken lightly. It could be argued that there has been a certain degree of sensationalisation around this issue, which perhaps trivialises the more serious, more tangible examples of oppression that are out there, such as the neglect of the disabled in Bolivia, President Morales’ relentless quest to run for a fourth term in spite of a referendum ruling against it, and even the wider treatment of NGOs by the government.

Morales’ predecessor as president and political adversary, Carlos Mesa, while eloquently taking on the point of view of those in support of CEDIB, did touch upon a vital argument when he published this poem on his Twitter page, reappropriated by a variety of media outlets:

Una universidad, cualquier

universidad, más si es estatal,

tiene la obligación de

preservar el patrimonio documental.

Mi apoyo al CEDIB

Or:

A university, whichever

university, more so if it’s state-run

has the obligation to

preserve documentary heritage.

My support to CEDIB

Regardless of what is really going here, what should not be forgotten is that the rector, for whichever reason, has dealt a damning blow to CEDIB. The organisation, as yet unable to pack away the entirety of its extensive archives, has been consigned to a limbo that impinges on both the organisation’s work and those who use its resources as a research tool for their individual pursuits. While it could be argued that media coverage has shown just one side of this controversial situation, the real burden of responsibility, perhaps along with the blame, lies at the door of those with the power to preserve and cherish an organisation of national importance.

Photos: Nick Somers

Four Simple Steps to Transform the Troubled Tourist

It’s a depressing moment when you’re halfway across the world and you feel like a lugubrious llama. Your mind, once childlike in its inquisitiveness, grows ever more cynical in the interminable haze of new buildings, faces, and meals out. You stopped trying to be authentic with your meal choices back in month number one. Perhaps even now you’re tucking into your fourth spaghetti bolognese this week. You’re done with the small talk and have developed a silent antipathy towards your fellow travellers.

Luckily for you, you've now made it to La Paz. Deliverance from dejection is at hand, but only if you obey the golden rule: leave all inhibitions behind.

These tips, done with gusto, will certainly help you chase away those traveller’s blues.

Step One: Eat Your Way To Happiness

Begin your day with a nutritious meal of rostro asado. For those that have yet to sample this delight, it’s essentially a sheep’s head on a plate, wool and all. In your situation, it is always best to ignore the advice of your well-wishers by avoiding comfort food and introducing yourself to discomfort food. It is incredibly difficult to think about one’s own problems when faced with the enticing aroma of roasted meat and the alluring sight of fur slithering off a succulent carcass.

Step Two: Salvation Through Sweat

Meal over, it’s time for some exercise. A guide book will tell you that by far the best way of seeing the city is to take the teleférico. This is a grave misconception. What you really need to be doing in your condition is scrapping the whole public-transport idea altogether in favour of donning your trainers and running to El Alto. It’s important not to worry about the altitude-induced wheezes, or the knowledge that your maladjusted lungs are at the point of implosion. Even if your face might turn blue, you certainly won’t feel blue anymore.

Step Three: Audacious Attire

What’s a holiday without a makeover? Embrace the fact that you are a tourist and that it is not only tolerated but expected that your attire will be outrageous. Now is your time to channel the nonchalantly alternative look you’ve been longing for. Head down to Sagarnaga for a quintessentially gringo look. Grab yourself a pair of stripy trousers, throw on a jumper (if it’s got fewer than three alpacas on it, don’t bother), and head out on the town.

Step Four: Drink Away That Awkwardness

Head out and leave the old you behind and adopt a new, cooler, sexier persona with the help of your new buddy, the chuflay. This courage-enhancing elixir of singani and a choice of ginger ale or white soda, is the perfect partner for the previous pessimist. There comes a point in inebriation at which the language barriers are miraculously surmounted. Who cares if you don’t know ‘hola’ from ‘adios’? What you do know is you singani from your sambuca.