Since Bolivia became independent in 1825, the country has had more than 190 revolutions and coups d’état. Chronic political instability has plagued Bolivia since its infancy, but it has also shaped a nation of people who are not shy to raise their voices and march down the streets in protest. In fact, Bolivia was the first country in Latin America to claim its independence from the Spanish Empire, in July 1809 – even if this revolution was short-lived.
The word ‘revolution’ comes with a heavy political connotation; labelling a movement a revolution confers a legitimacy that a rebellion or a revolt doesn’t carry. It helps sell a programme and justify political choices. (Look at the Cultural Revolution in China, which led to the death of more than 400,000 people in an effort to make the Chinese Communist Party look better after the disaster of the Great Leap Forward.) Nowadays, it can seem that if one wants to be viewed as a revolutionary, one only need display a specific rhetoric and symbolism. Anyone sporting a green cap with a red star in honour of Comandante ‘Che’ Guevara can call themselves a revolutionary.
So what does the word mean today? The word itself comes with its own contradiction. It derives from the Latin verb revolvere, ‘to revolve.’ It was originally applied to the motions of the planets and conveyed regularity and repetitiveness. It was first used to refer to human affairs in 1688–89 in England to describe the Glorious Revolution. The 1789 French Revolution solidified the word to signify the very opposite, namely, the sudden and unpredictable. Today, with the term ‘revolution’ comes the idea that something new and radical is happening, that whatever situation was before will be improved following the revolution. The word is instrumentalised, used when appropriate and discarded when not.
In this issue of Bolivian Express, we are looking back at the history of Bolivia through that revolutionary lens. The influence of the 1917 October Revolution in Russia reached Bolivia soon after but became a fully fledged political force with the creation of the Partido Obrero Revolucionario (POR) in 1935 following the Marxist-Trotskyist ideology. The POR never took off as a mass party but played a critical role in a key moment of Bolivian history: the National Revolution of 1952. This year marks the 100th anniversary of the Russian Revolution, and to this day the Trotskyist influence in Bolivia is still very much alive. It survives in the remains of an ageing POR but also in the current government. The vice president himself, Álvaro García Linera, claims a Marxist-Trotskyist background.
9 October was also the 50th anniversary of the death of revolutionary Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara, a divisive name in Bolivia but one that still manages to gather and unite thousands of idealists against el imperio. This month, we also remember Marcelo Quiroga Santa Cruz, a figure who, after ‘Che’, represents in Bolivia the fight against the many dictatorships that have afflicted the 20th century.
In the last 10 years, Bolivia has experienced a profound transformation. The past revolutions, revolts and rebellions have taken the country to where it is today, and now new revolutions are brewing. The new 2009 Constitution is one of the most progressive in Latin America, but societal changes are slow to follow. This year, the reform of the penal code has been stirring a tense debate around the topic of abortion and its decriminalisation.
Álvaro García Linera wrote about the beginning of ‘a revolutionary epoch’ in Bolivia following the Water Wars of 2000. There is a certain irony (or contradiction) for an incumbent government to glorify revolutions and revolutionaries, movements and people that by definition stand against the status quo and aim to dislodge it. At the government-sponsored commemorations of the Russian Revolution, Vice President García Linera claimed that ‘for revolutionary processes and changes to be successful, there needs to be some control from the state, especially when it comes to outside threats.’ Ultimately, the revolutionary gene, the drive to fight for a better life, is at the center of the Bolivian ethos in all political, social and economic spheres; it is something that unites the people in their differences.
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Illustration: Hugo L. Cuellar
In the 1980s, during the dictatorships of Luis García Meza and Luis Arce Gómez, many important leaders and figures of Bolivian civil society were disappeared or assassinated, such as the Jesuit priest Luís Espinal and the writer and socialist leader Marcelo Quiroga Santa Cruz. Espinal was brutally murdered. Quiroga was captured, tortured and killed, his remains still missing today.
I heard of Marcelo Quiroga for the first time coming from our old kitchen radio. This was followed by my father’s comments: ‘He was brave and he fought for democracy’ and ‘He is a real revolutionary.’ At the time I didn’t fully understand what my father meant, but I could detect a melancholic tone of courage in his voice when he said that. I was studying at university then, and I understood that Quiroga wasn’t just a name, but that he represented the fight for democracy. His face was reproduced on flyers and posters. Like Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara, Quiroga’s name and visage was used as a symbol to infuse a revolutionary spirit at all sorts of political events. I finally began to understand Quiroga’s message, though, when I read his novel Los deshabitados, a grandiose book in which he captures perfectly the subjective traits of his characters and describes what he called ‘the representation of the disorientation of the aimless middle classes.’
Quiroga was a multifaceted man whose interests touched literature, journalism and cinema, but who was caught in the web of politics. Born in Cochabamba to a father who worked for Simón Iturri Patiño (a tin baron who was one of the wealthiest men in the world at the time), Quiroga studied law, philosophy and literature. He was passionate about the arts and listened to the music of Beethoven and read the poetry of Góngora. In 1969, Quiroga was appointed as head of Bolivia’s Ministry of Energy and Hydrocarbons under President Alfredo Ovando, and he fought to nationalise the US-based Gulf Oil Company. Later, in 1971, he founded the Partido Socialista (PS-1), which participated in the general elections of 1978, 1979 and 1980. The PS-1 won five seats in 1979 and 11 in 1980. As a member of Parliament, Quiroga worked to bring ex-dictator Gen. Hugo Banzer Suárez to justice, a fight that would determine the course of his life (and death). ‘The 1980s were hard times; money was devalued, leftist leaders were attacked, the military acted in total impunity—we [the people] were the only ones who suffered,’ says Don Gerardo, a newspaper seller since 1970 who remembers those days as a time of hardship and repression.
On 17 July 1980, Gen. Luis García Meza, who had previously publicly threatened Quiroga, orchestrated a coup d’état. On that day, the CONADE (Bolivian National Council for the Defense of Democracy) met, bringing together all the country’s leaders who were standing for democracy. The opportunity was too good for the putschists. Paramilitaries interrupted the meeting with gunshots, wounding and capturing the leaders, amongst them Quiroga. They were taken to the army headquarters, where they were tortured for days, and Quiroga was killed. Meanwhile, in the Palacio Quemado, President Lidia Gueiler Tejada was forced to sign her resignation. ‘I had to renounce, my ministers were imprisoned, paramilitaries were in the streets…. And they had to humiliate me further by making me read my resignation as I was sobbing,’ remembers the ex-president in the documentary Siglo XX, by Carlos Mesa (himself president of Bolivia from 2003 to 2005).
Photographic records show signs of torture on Quiroga’s body, which, despite his family’s petition, was never released. On 2 September 1980, Quiroga’s family received a letter from Col. Luis Arce Gómez, one of the participants in the coup, informing them that the whereabouts of his body were unknown. Years later, when reading this, I could barely contain my indignation thinking that Quiroga never received a proper burial. During Bolivia’s many dictatorships, ‘desaparecido’ was one of the most difficult words for a family to live with, but one of the most frequently used. Only Quiroga’s watch and ring were returned to his family.
‘Desaparecido’ was one of the most difficult words for a family to live with, but one of the most frequently used.
Regarding the people responsible for the crime, and according to information the family had gathered, the mastermind behind his assassination was Gen. Hugo Banzer Suarez, carried out by the assassin Froilán ‘El Killer’ Molina, arrested in 2016. Molina worked in the security forces of Banzer’s wife. There are different theories and versions about what happened, but the latest one, according to an interview with Luis Arce Gómez, now serving time in the Chonchocoro jail, is that Banzer himself admitted that Quiroga’s body was buried on the grounds of his Hacienda Santa Clara. Banzer reportedly bragged that the man who tried to bring him to a criminal trial was now lying under his feet.
Quiroga was assassinated as he was reaching the apotheosis of his political potential. A lucid man and an outstanding speaker, he was committed to the Bolivian people’s interests – and the mark he left is indelible.
Throughout its history, Bolivia has fought against many enemies of democracy. Acts of terror and repression by military dictatorships, not only in Bolivia but in other Latin American countries, were commonplace. And Marcelo Quiroga, who died fighting for a democratic ideal, is but one of many revolutionary martyrs who are now part of Latin America’s genetic makeup. The Bolivian people, who have suffered and had their blood shed due of the indifference or malice of autocrats, are the heirs of those martyrs.
With time, Bolivians have become inured to the sounds of daily protests, to blockaded streets. I like to think that somehow this is a good thing, that these are not futile fights, and that the people who face it all are able to stand for the common good.
Photos: Fruzsina Gál and Charles Bladon
Bolivia is no exception to the graffiti fad that has enthralled South America in recent decades. Discourse has taken a new format, taking issues rigorously dissected in the Congress out onto the streets of La Paz. From messages addressing indigenous rights to gags about Che, the revolutionary guerilla fighter, there is no doubt that politics have become infinitely more accessible as a result.
Photo: Iván Rodriguez Petkovic
Inside the mind of a Bolivian fashion designer
Hidden in the deceptive mishmash of eccentric apartment blocks and the bustling traffic of the Calacoto neighborhood in La Paz’s Zona Sur district is the studio of an idiosyncratic fashion brand. Even with the accolades that the brand has received in recent years, the studio is nearly impossible to find – unless you know where to look. Sitting in the minimalistic but stylish space is Vania Rodríguez, the creator and designer of the Bolivian fashion world’s extravagant secret, La Espina. Like the thorn of a rose, this alta costura brand stands out amidst the otherwise mostly artisanal crowd of the Bolivian fashion industry. At 27 years old, with the past three of those being dedicated to La Espina, Rodríguez finds herself in a position that she has always dreamed about. For the most part, La Espina might be hidden from the unsuspecting eyes of the general public, but for those in the know, the line has great significance in la moda paceña.
Prior to founding La Espina, Rodríguez studied fashion and textile design in Argentina. When she returned to La Paz, her hometown, she decided to design a line of clothing to accentuate a sense of Bolivian identity, but without the all-too-traditional motifs and styling of mainstream Bolivian fashion. ‘I felt that was an old, tired image of Bolivia,’ Rodríguez says, ‘but I really wanted to portray aspects of our Bolivian culture, and so for my first collection I drew inspiration from dancers and artists, and from historical [narrative] passages.’
Three years down the line, La Espina still conveys a distinct sense of Bolivian identity while remaining singular in its own right. According to Rodríguez, La Espina is a fusion of both Bolivian and Western influences, and she keeps a keen eye on the current trends, fashion shows and her favourite designers, translating them into her line. Throughout the past few years, La Espina has been carried by several multi-brand stores in Santa Cruz, Santiago, Buenos Aires and, of course, La Paz. Lately, friends and colleagues have been pushing Rodríguez to open a boutique in Santa Cruz – where, she acknowledges, the Bolivian fashion industry is most developed, and people are more consumer-driven – but so far she refuses to give in. Rodríguez is happiest designing in her studio; she doesn’t want to market her clothes to people who don’t understand or appreciate her aesthetic. She’ll leave that to others.
La Paz might be behind in the fashion industry, but Rodríguez is hopeful that this will change. As she points out, it’s more of an accomplishment to achieve her goals here than in some other, more fashion-oriented city. People in La Paz are more prudent when shopping, and luxuries, such as high-end clothing, oftentimes get the short shrift here. However, this attitude is slowly changing, and an appreciation for fashion is developing. ‘More and more people are asking me how or why I do certain things in my design, and in the end, that is what [my customer base] buys,’ Rodríguez says. ‘They are becoming more connected with the meaning of the garments. People in La Paz tend to buy less, but good-quality and interesting stuff.’
La Espina is precisely about this unique element of unexpectedness. As a designer, Rodríguez remains curious about what makes Bolivia Bolivia, and what makes fashion fashion. She draws her inspiration from those parts of everyday life that go unnoticed – hence the name, ‘The Thorn.’
‘When I was looking for a name for my brand, someone suggested a beautiful flower, like a rose,’ Rodríguez says. ‘I don’t care for beauty standards, and I instantly knew I would never name it something so frivolous. I care more for investigations above and beyond, for seeing something that nobody else has seen, and I declared that, if anything, I would call it something more interesting, like the part of the rose that nobody sees or particularly cares about. And La Espina was born.’
Rodríguez says that her design process comes from this same fondness for observing the fractures and details in otherwise ordinary scenes. As an artist, she likes to look and go beyond the expected, and that is why La Espina has been a returning highlight of Bolivia’s Fashion Week for three years in a row now. Rodríguez says she enjoys the atmosphere of exclusivity surrounding her brand. To her, La Espina isn’t meant to be like any other brand. ‘I want to be in interesting places, I want to be a secret,’ she says. ‘Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve always had this image of a huge fashion house, one that people know about but one that is so secret that you have to knock on a few doors before discovering it. I’m definitely proud of what I’ve achieved so far, but I still have a long way to go.’
Currently, Rodríguez is working on the costume design for a movie directed by Juan Carlos Valdivia (of American Visa fame) currently being filmed in Bolivia. Simultaneously, she’s designing her new collection for Bolivia’s Fashion Week in December. Asked about her inspirations for the collection, she says that it’s going to be far from ordinary. ‘La Espina is about completing an individual’s personal statement,’ Rodríguez says. ‘I strongly believe that clothes are the skin you choose, and although my clothes can be very minimalistic, if they speak to me and they speak to you, then I have achieved my goal.’
Contact information:
Instagram: @la_espina
Facebook: facebook.com/laespinabo
