El perro solo en el altiplano

10th December 2006, Day 265

Qosco, Peru

At the beginning of this week, the future of South America was at a cross road of sorts. Since Hugo Chávez was elected in 1998 he has been promising a second Bolivarian revolution in South America. To complete this goal he faced a tough general election, which would make or break the leftist movement he inspired together with his vision of a new South American unity.

The photo to the left is detail from a mural in Qosco (the Quechuan name for Cusco) and it represents something which arguably Bolivarianism or more specifically Chavismo is aiming to put right. The Spanish conquests of the 16th century, spelled disaster for the indigenous American civilisations. After losing long battles against the invaders, native American people were decimated by murder, enslavement and non-native diseases accompanying the conquistadors. It spread like a epedemic from the pockets at which the invaders arrived and pushed inland. Estimates vary widely but some indigenous groups suggest that as many as 200 million native people were reduced in number to 12 million. Of those who did survive as slaves to work the land for precious metals, they lived a half-life as an intolerably hard life and new religion was forced upon them. As so many indigenous Amercians slaves died they had to be supplemented with slaves from Africa, who existed in the same state of misery. The land and rights that were taken away from the Americans were partially restored after the indepedence of the states, in order to make a distinction from the Spanish rule, a period decribed below:

'Spain did pass some laws for the protection of the indigenous peoples of its American colonies, the first such in 1542; the legal thought behind them was the basis of modern international law. Taking advantage of their extreme remoteness, the European colonists revolted when they saw their power being reduced, forcing a partial revoking of these New Laws. Later, weaker laws were introduced to protect the indigenous peoples but records show they had little effect. The restored Encomenderos exploited the Indians rather than taking care of them.' (Source: Wikipedia).

Since the wars of independence fought in most South American states overthrowing the Spanish, widely lead by Simón Bolívar in the first part 1800's, oppression of the indigenous American population has been stemmed but there has been no overarching attempting to redress the crimes the indigenous peoples faced over the centuries nor reparations made. Today, Chávez's 'democratic socialist' model, he promises, is an attempt to establish some sort of equality in Venezuela and beyond, whilst providing a direct alternative to the world's trajectory of neoliberalism.

Regardless of Chávez's general politics, it is undeniable that his administration has done great deal for the poor Venezuelan population most conspicuously through the Plan Bolivar 2000, anti-poverty program carried out by the military, including mass vaccinations, food distribution in slum areas, and education, but also land reforms. Poverty is largely synonymous with the indigenous population in most of Latin America, as well as significant chunks of the mestizo population. So whilst I wander around admist beggars and poverty, I wonder 'is something major about to change for the majority of South Americans?' In Venezuela and Bolivia one could argue that it already has, through this land reform and redistribution of wealth. The self-proclaimed 'axis of hope' across South America is slowly widening, most recently with the election of Rafael Correa in Ecuador this November. Although European by ancestory himself, he sets himself apart from other Ecuadorian politicians by being able to speak a dialect of Quechua, Kichwa which is spoken widely in Ecuador.

Despite this broadening coallition, Chávez faced the general election in Venezuela last week with some uncertainty: the cross roads. Had he lost, there is every chance a dam might have formed to cut off his 'red tide'. His challenger, Manuel Rosales, was credited with uniting a fratured opposition and he did represent a semi-serious threat to Chávez's grip on power. Possibly to the relief of the Venezuelan working class, in the end Chávez won the election by a subtantial margin - 61 percent of the vote.

We are now in Qosco, the oldest continually inhabitated city in the whole of South American and the capital of the sun-worshipping Inca empire correctly known as the Quechuan empire. Qosco therefore represents a heartland of the indigenous population, though of course Quechua people are just one of a huge number of pre-Colonial peoples. The Quechua language is still spoken spoken by 10 million people in South America, and unites a large proportion of indigenous peoples. Qosco isn't a bad place to reflect on the present situation for indigenous and mestizo lower classes, and to look at the resistance they made to colonial forces, to hold onto their identity and culture to the present day.

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On a personal note, before we arrived in Qosco we travelled around other parts of Perú and Bolivia. A few weeks ago James and I were in recovery mode from altitude sickness, tired and slightly frightened of the outside world. We felt that we'd arrived in the real Perú as we moped around the altiplano city of Puno. Following a very cold night in a single glazed bedroom, I didn't envy the local population who brave temperatures colder than those in the UK with fewer of the conveniences of home i.e. central heating. I was cold and this is summer! Insulation can't have been up to much, as in Puno and much of the Perú I travelled around many of the buildings look poorly constructed with single brick partions. Maybe this is an illusion of bare walls minus cosmetic plaster and paint. In any case, energy isn't available everywhere in the same quantity, I reckon a cold Perúvian winter so far above sea level is something to avoid.

This was our first taste of the Peruvian and Bolivian altiplano, an area at least 3000 metres above sea-level on a plateau atop the Andes. Despite the temperature at night, it's a place which it's very easy to get misty eyed and poetic about. Even considering the altitude sickness we suffered for a week on our ascent and the dried Alpcaca foetuses I saw on sale in the Mercado de las Brujas in La Paz, I've become very fond of this place. I've never seen anything like it before. The terraced mountain tops and the low cloud drift by silently while packs of sheep or alpacas are herded by women in traditonal dress. The comparitively sparse population and quiet life creates a deceptive impression of tranquility and ease. Life here would be tough. Looking out from with window of the coach as we travelled through along the southern edge of Lake Titicaca it seemed to me that life probably hasn't changed much for some of the campesinos in several hundred years. From Puno, along the edge of Lake Titicaca and across the Bolivian border, only small towns with tourist economies bring the 21st or even the 20th century back into focus. There was plenty to observe; day to day agricultural chores, local weddings (it was a Saturday), a bulldozer prettified with windchimes and bunting repairing part of the rooad and endless lonely dogs padding along the highway in search of food. Of course you don't notice the pestcides and modern livestock feed as you whizz past.
The altiplano has a unique yearning kind of atmosphere. Maybe there isn't too much outside interference here and people quietly get on with their own lives, but I doubt it.

This dreamland is shattered when you reach El Alto, a poor urban complex, but the fastest growing Latin American city which sits on the ridge above La Paz. It's ethnicity is typical of Bolivia's indigenous majority: 79% of its inhabitants are Aymara, 6% are Quechua. Things are raw here and the atmosphere seemed brutal compared to life by the lake. We passed the grim air force base and the dusty streets, as a game of football played by local women was cheered on by an enthusiastic crowd lightening the atmosphere. This didn't change the overall impression of deprivation.

El Alto is a place with much recent significance. During the Bolivian Gas War of 2003, 60 El Alto residents blockading roads and holding strikes were murdered by the armed forces. The gas war was certainly one of the events which significantly contributed to the election of Evo Morales this time last year. There is a good overview of the gas war here, but I will provide some background myself as in many ways it was an indigenous struggle.
The 'war' was brought about by the policies of Morales' predecessor bar one, Gonzalo Sánchez de Lozada. His hydrocarbon energy policy awarded 26 foreign companies (including BP) contracts to extract and siphon off Bolivia's natural gas via a pipeline leading through Chile. Lozada tried to implement this without going through congress, as is demanded by the consituttion. Bolivia has the second most abundant natural gas reserves in South America, and as liquified natural gas is widely seen as the next major energy provider once oil reserves become untenable, the fight over this resource was fierce and bloody. The indigenous majority of Bolivia widely opposed the 'looting' of their natural resources and wanted a larger proportion of profits from the sale of the gas than the measley 18% proposed. The argument of the incumbent government was that profits from the sale of the gas would bolster the Bolivian economy and be reinvested in health and education. They also suggested that only outside investment would be able to pay for the necessary infrastructure for the venture, providing jobs along the way. Most indigenous American Bolivians did not want their massive gas reserves exploited in the way that their silver and gold had been centuries before. They wanted the gas liquified in Bolivia (not in Chile as proposed - the country which wrested Bolivia's route to the sea) and domestic demand satisfied first and foremost.

In September 2003 the protests escalated and road blockades and strikes kicked in demanding the immediate resignation of Lozada. The gas issue also gave the indigenous majority an opportunity to vent their fury over Lozada's complicity towards the US War on Drugs, which proposed decimating coca crops, a vital part of native culture and livelihood. The government resistance culminated in mass direct action which successfully paralysed the country. In El Alto, strategically positioned as the entry point to La Paz, the county was brought to it's knees as food and fuel supplies were blocked. After 16 people were shot on a single day in El Alto, martial law was introduced by the government. These desperate measures saw Lozada's power slipping away and he suspended his gas project before resigning. His replacement, and previous Vice-President, Carlos Mesa promised a referendum and appointed indigenous people to some cabinet posts. The referendum, despite the support of high profile figures such as Morales supporting the vote, was widely seen as loaded and manipulative. It didn't allow a vote for outright nationalisation of hydrocarbons for instance. The result was that tens of thousands protested for full nationalization of hydrocarbons. The pressure reached boiling point and eventually Mesa also resigned, with Morales being elected in the subsequent elections of December 2005.

Here's one man's feeling on the proposed sale of the gas reserves to foreign big business, as he marched from Cochabamba to La Paz to protest against Mesa:

“People are suffering to get here as they have so little money. But I decided to come because we need to reclaim our natural resources. We have been robbed for centuries and our government is robbing us again.”' (Source: ZNet, Nick Buxton)

In this instance, but at no little personal cost, the indigenous population won. If the tide of neoliberalism can be stopped in it's tracks by a largely native American movement, then the politics of the continent are turning.

Whilst we were in La Paz, we had the oppportunity to look at a potent and controversial symbol of indigenous America: the coca leaf. The Coca museum was small but well researched and had an comprehensive written english guide to accompany the exhibits. The coca leaf is intricately linked with many aspects of prehistoric Andean culture and has been proved to have been used since around 2,000 B.C. The leaves were (and still are) used in socialising, worshipping and working. The coca plant was marked for eridacation by the Catholic church and categorised as 'diabolical'; a barrier to conversion of indigenous Americans to Christianity. These measures were quickly revoked when the Spanish realised they could use coca to exploit the workers - the stimulant effects of the plant made the slaves work harder in mines and on plantations as the plant relieved the symptoms of exhaustion and hunger. There was plenty of explanation of how coca was seen as a empowering symbol of resistance during colonial times, even though it simultaneously contributed to indigenous exploitation. It had secret weapon statues to the native Americans: it was considered poisonous to the white man and beneficial only to the native. Coca trading, chewing and production represented a state of mind, culture and spirituality. It was a method of keeping blood pumping through the veins of a, now clandestine, native way of life. It was therefore part of a resistance movement.
Because of it's use in cocaine, the coca plant (which is still, contrary to popular belief, used to flavour Coca Cola) is seen an albatross around the neck of South America by some economist and the source of their poverty. Coca production is targeted by the States as the source of it's huge narcotic problems. Needless to say the story is extremely complicated. In indigenous eyes, however, The U.S. sponsored annihilation of coca crops as part of it's War on Drugs, is seen as little more than neocolonial activity to keep the native americans down.
President Evo Morales is the head of Bolivia's cocalero movement – a union of coca leaf-growing campesinos who are campaigning against the actions of the United States government to destroy coca in the province of Chapare in southeastern Bolivia. Perhaps this is another aspect of indigenous life which has survived destruction and is returning to the top of the wheel of fortune.

Native resistance to invasion was born at the start of colonialisation and continues to this day. Inca Garcilaso de la Vega, himself a mestizo, was perhaps the first person to try and record some of history of Quechuan people and the Spanish conquest of Perú. His book 'Comentarios Reales de los Incas', was subsequently banned by Carlos III of Spain. Indigenous resistance for all native american groups from Canada to Cape Horn has a vast and fascinating history, there is an excellent article here.

Enabled by certain governments aboriginal American culture reasserts itself together with self-empowerment. A particularly inventive form of cultural reclaimation we observed was the Urban Virgins exhibition by Ana de Orbegoso at the Museo Inca, which employed the same assimilation of cultures the Conquistadors once used to subvert the lives of millions of people. Urban Virgins tries to superimpose indigenous culture on Catholicism, 'by removing classical European features from the face of the divine archetype in Peruvian colonial paintings, and replacing them with the images of present day Peruvian women.' An example of the colonial tradition this lampoons, is to be found in the former Quechuan shrine Qorikancha in Qosco. It was once the very centre of the Inca empire which stretched out north to Colombia, south to Chile and east to Argentina. Once the Spanish arrived they partially destroyed the shrine and built a Dominican Monastery on the top.

If a corner is being turned to a better future for indigenous American people we will know it when the poverty which is spread across the continent is hugely diminished. Here are some photos of life in South America today as we've seen it:

A girl from the reed constructed Uros Islands rows a boat on Lake Titicaca. I imagine the kids are taught to be self-sufficient from a young age. Whilst we were on the islands we got an idea of how the islanders have adapted to use tourism for their survival.
Some of the kids who are taught at their local school to sing in 6 different languages rowed up to us in their boat and gave us a show. They looked a little timid and probably would have preferred to be somwhere else, but their show didn't last that long and they got some money. I had to do a lot of things I didn't want to do when I was their age!





Support for Evo Morales, in a surprisingly posh suburb south of La Paz by Valle de La Luna. Indeed Evo's election was undeniably a watershed in South American politics. He is the country's first indigenous head of state since the Spanish Conquest over 470 years ago. Shortly before we arrived in Bolivia, Morales' land reform legislation had been passed. Morales has been considered as too moderate by some of the left for his preparedness to negotiate over the nationalisation of hydrocarbons (which he eventualy achieved) and as a strategic radical posing as a moderate supporter of democracy by western economists.





Plaza Pedro D Murillo, La Paz. James and I frequently encountered military marches and presence in Bolivia. This is the country which has suffered more military coups than any other, a staggering sixty! You can only imagine how tired of disorder and uncertainty the population must be. To what extent Morales achieves his political aims with the help of the military, or how long he might hang on to power if he is out of favour with it, must be at the back of most Bolivian's minds.





Puno, a Peruvian town on the edge of Lake Titicaca. When we first arrived in Puno, a city of about 100,000 people, it seemed like the real Perú to me and James. James is probably fed up of me describing the population of of places in terms of the number of times bigger our location is than Windsor, by now. I suppose the change we were observing was between low-land and campesino lifestyle. Puno has gringo infrastructure, mainly Avenida Lima, an area crowded with restaurants and souvenir shops with you might find in any tourist resort, but the atmosphere feels different to the coastal desert region.





A traditional welcome on one of the main floating Uros floating islands. We were treated to this as we arrived on our boat. Because of the novel way in which they live, the Uros people are perhaps more familiar to tourists than surrounding native peoples. With no islands in Titicaca left to occupy, the Uros made their own out of reeds, which they continue to do to this day! They speak Aymara after their own Uro languge died out, whilst trading and intermarrying with those on the shore. The Uros people were forced out into Lake Titicaca not by the Spanish, but in fact the Quechau, who threatened their lives. I do not mean to create the impression in this post that all pre-colonial America was a place of harmony. It most certainly was not. That does not diminish the impact of colonisers who eclipsed and swamped all existing peoples to the point of genocide.

A message in the reeds on the Uros Islands, Lake Titicaca. This curio has been dusted off for tourists, but the orignal intention of these reeds hanging down from the line was to communicate to other islanders without them having to come 'ashore'. The number and length of reeds would indicate whether the island was occupied and how well stocked it was with food, for example. Like many traditions, preserving elements of a lifestyle via tourism is not a very good method - everything is for show - but it is one that is available. I bought a shawl sewn by one of the women on the island for 50 soles. It is better to buy from the source rather than going through a shop. For the smaller societies tourism is likely to remain the main way of preserving a (somewhat amended) way of life for many years to come.


In this picture the tourists and locals mix on Taquile Island, Lake Titicaca. It was part of the Quechuan empire and held out against the Spanish for a long time. Eventually when the Spanish arrived the Taquile residents were forced to adopt the traditional Spanish dress they still wear today. The island today runs on the basis of Quechuan collectivism, but it also relies on tourism. Plenty of tours like ours arrive everyday to wander around the island and buy the textiles and clothing they produce. When we arrived there seemed to be more division between the tourists and the locals than on the Uros Islands. The people were not unfriendly but they tolerated tourists rather than embracing them. They do have a specially recreated gringo invasion every single day... The local children were persistant in selling what I know as 'friendship bands', which is to be expected. The grumpy reaction and snapping of some of our fellow tourists in the group, I thought was unnecessary and frankly ignorant.