Enero 22, 2006
January 22, 2006
My earliest memory of life in Bolivia involves Matchbox toy cars. My cousin and I would sprawl out on the concrete patio of my grandparents’ house near the Universidad Mayor de San Simón. I was jealous of his toy-car service station, as it was the baddest accessory that I had ever seen. The natural incline of that floor would allow for friendly competitive races down the patio, but the two-panel door would prevent the cars from entering the traffic on the street, 16 de julio. Later that day, we would walk down to the Plazuela Busch, watch some old folks play chess, kick around la pelota and scamper around without a care in the world. Naturally at that age, the political instability and recent brutal history of dictatorships never once crossed our minds. Whatever had happened or was happening never affected us. We were oblivious.
Decades later, that same cousin now has his own newborn son. This past December, he asked me to become my nephew’s padrino, which I learned holds much more significance than what I had previously thought. Holding him in my arms, I couldn’t help but think about my own future child (someday) and how they’ll play together as part of the next generation in my family. For me, there is an added responsibility.
I always tell anyone who’ll listen, that I want to return to Bolivia and spend the rest of my life there (someday). Crazy, they call me, because half of Bolivia wants to leave Bolivia and I want to come back. Why wouldn’t I just stay in the United States, remain at my comfortable job and never look back? Part of the reason for wanting to live in Bolivia is the fact that my family is there and life moves at slower pace, but I also want to contribute to Bolivia’s future for that next generation of my family and for the next generation of strangers.
January 22 marks a beginning for Bolivia. Winning the elections was the easy part, what follows will be the test. The date also marks a beginning for me. Everything up until that date was a classroom and a time to understand my relation to Bolivia.
By now, it’s easy to guess which campaign I accompanied throughout the month of December. Never would I have thought that I would be supporting the presidency of Evo Morales. This time last year, I was planted firmly in the corner of Carlos Mesa. Even up until the beginning of December, I remember writing, “ I have been very careful to only support the congressional race, as I am still unsure of who I might support for President.”
What exactly was it that made me jump onboard?
It’s almost silly to say, but it was also a fútbol game in which Evo took the field at a barbeque days before election day. Similarly to the game witnessed by Gabriel, I swear that I thought the exact same thing. I’ve played a lot of sports in Bolivia to know the frustrating tendencies of Bolivians to bitch and moan about anything and to blame everyone else, but himself. But there was a humility in the manner in which he played. After the game, the barbeque was served. The party’s host was a very successful businesswoman who lived in a rather large residence on the outskirts of town. Like most middle-upperclass families, she had empleadas who helped with the domestic chores. But the house’s workers would take a peek to see Evo. One bravely asked whether he could have a picture with the Presidential candidate. He was very gracious and soon all of the ones working in the kitchen would come to ask for a photo. Lining up, he took the time to speak to each one and it was not just going through the motions. Those two observations were simple, but telling.
But it wasn’t just the sporting match.
Every day on the campaign trail, I was reminded that most people do not live like my family does. Along the way, I met so many people who became involved in the cause. These were laborers and campesinos. Normally the only time people from our respective social classes would ever interact would be when they would come to work my family. However, during those days, we were equals. Many felt almost relieved that someone, from such a different background, would be supportive of their project. I felt like a bridge between the social classes. Even many in my family felt reassured that someone like me was involved, as they opposed Evo from the beginning through the end. Letting people know that we're all in this together was essential.
I didn’t always feel like that would be possible to co-exist.
I still have sitting in my draft file, an entry written last year, about confrontation and a possible “revindication.” At times, I felt very defensive that I was considered to be part of the oppressive system and represented everything wrong with Bolivia. The images of some protestors intimidating workers with ties were very chilling (photo - right). I thought it would be some free-for-all and that those with money would be the target of a kind of revenge. Predictions like that were magnified by the media and others who irrationally thought that it would happen. But hearing literally hundreds of times, that private property would not only be respected, but it would be protected and that the campaign was not based on revenge, made me feel ridiculous that I had that in the back of my mind. Getting involved was not based on any feeling of guilt, rather a feeling of opportunity to be that bridge.
I also was a bit ashamed for how I turned into an “armchair pundit”, when it came to Bolivia. Seeing things up close made me realize that the perception from outside is much different than the reality from inside. I saw no evidence of any type of assistance from Hugo Chavez, which is the opposite of those who think that Evo was a puppet of the Venezuelan leader. I witnessed a presentation by an association of vendors who presented the campaign with a box full of flyers, as their contribution to a cause they believed in. A lot of the assistance came in the form of donations and similar contributions, not a blank check from Chavez.
So the question still remains, will I become a sort of Evo-apologist?
So far it looks like I am giving him a free pass. But there are other English-language blogs that are still very critical of Morales. Even Evo admitted that he'll make mistakes, but I am convinced that the intentions are genuine. Yes, there are issues that I wish could be handled better. Some rhetoric is unnecessary and I am relieved that the invitation to Iran never materialized. But placing the poor front and center is absolutely what the politicans from the last 20 years should have done.
I never really knew how or when I would get involved in to the world of politics. “Being part of the solution” was an abstract thought, because it would be much easier opening up an orphange or opening up a business to create jobs. But I really feel that I received my first taste of how things work in relation to campaign techniques, relationships with the media and more importantly contacts all across the country. That experience was absolutely the beginning.
The thought crossed my mind that the time was now. A part of me wanted to stay behind and contribute to the change. I had a lot to offer, even though I am not a party member. Why wouldn’t I want to see him to be successful and help in any way that I could?
There's still time.
Some twenty-plus years later I found myself once again in that same Plazuela Busch, the place where my cousin and I would spend carefree afternoons. It was the night of December 18, and we would join thousands amidst the atmosphere of victory. In that Plazuela, MAS’ campaign headquarters would set up shop. When we arrived, the music was already at full-volume and thousands of had already congregated. This time, I didn't feel so out of place. There were a lot of middle class university students who were on hand.
As I made my way through the crowd, I spotted my friend Jorge. He spent the entire Congressional campaign as a driver and making sure the car was washed. His pre-campaign job was parking-lot attendant for a local restaurant where he probably made minimum wage of Bs. 440 per month (55 dollars). On that night, he was dancing, with a cigarrette in his mouth and a wad of coca in his cheek,with the biggest grin on his face that I have ever seen. The next day, I ran into him and he was back at work in the parking lot. The success of this administration is not for me, but for friends like him and for my future children.
Category: Bolivia
Posted by eduardo at Enero 22, 2006 02:50 AM