for a primer on the maritime conflicts between Bolivia, Chile, and Peru that exist as a legacy of The War of the Pacific at the end of the 19th century, see my post here. 

I often get the sense here in Northern Chile that politically people are very polarized. Not in the sense that they are either quite liberal or quite conservative, but rather in the sense that they are either very politically active, or have entirely written off politics as something that doesn’t not pertain to their lives.

One night while gathering to hang up posters for Raquel’s Regional Representative campaign, Juan told me that Chile has a “lost generation” when it comes to politics. Those that came of age during the Pinochet regime were often too afraid or too disorganized to see themselves as a political force in any way. “We are still rebuilding” he told me.

Juan, Raquel, and some of their other friends are certainly making an effort to rebuild political participation among Chile’s young adults. They run for city office, they organize protests, art exhibits, performances, and observances to promote things like indigenous rights, and stand in opposition to things like neoliberal multinational capitalism.

But then there are the others like my neighbor Sarita who told me before the recent election that she wouldn’t vote because it doesn’t really matter who wins. “No one pay attention to us in the North, anyway.” Similarly, when I asked my friend Alex if he’d like to watch the movie NO with me, he declined. The film is the tale of a 1988 referendum to decide Pinochet’s permanence in power. It follows the opposition—the “No” vote, and their advertising campaign that wins the election. Alex said he had no interest because he didn’t really understand politics. “People of my parents’ and grandparents’ age, they lived through it. But I don’t really know the history, so movies like this…well, I’d rather watch The Walking Dead or something.”

And yet, today, people from both sides of this (a)political divide seemed to have something in common. At least they did as viewed from Facebook activity.

Today was historic for maritime relations between Chile and Peru (and to an extent, Bolivia). The area in which Alto Hospicio lies was Peruvian at the time of independence. However, during the War of the Pacific between 1879 and 1884, Peru lost the land to Chile. The final borders drawn during the peace accords at the end of the war are still somewhat disputed, particularly by Bolivia which lost all of their coastline. Today, the Hague decided upon a dispute between Chile and Peru, not over coastline or cities, but over sea territory. Granting Peru more sea territory, but keeping rich fishing areas in Chilean control, the international court redrew the maritime border (BBC's coverage).

I am not one to assess or even speculate on the consequences of this decision politically or in terms of economics and trade. However, as an ethnographer, when I got on the bus from Alto Hospicio to Iquique this morning there was no doubt everyone was listening to the radio report live from the Netherlands that played over the vehicle’s sound system. Facebook was also abuzz with references to the trial. Both politically active and somewhat apolitical Chilean users asserted a similar view, but in different ways. Both groups seemed to be communicating that though perhaps the Chilean and Peruvian governments were in a dispute, the people were not.

Some friends did admit to me that they felt the decision to cede some water area to Peru was unfair. But they also felt that avoiding conflict was important. Many said that the decision was irrelevant because economic gain from the sea territory only ends up in the hands of seven families of the oligarchy. But these nuanced opinions were not published on Facebook either through original writing or links to online sources. Instead, solidarity between Peruvians and Chileans overwhelming dominated the Facebook posts from my friends.

On the political side, Raquel and her friend Marcelo both shared a piece of text essentially thanking Peruvians and Bolivians for standing with Chileans during the Santa Maria School Massacre in Iquique in 1907.

A band known for promoting indigenous rights and political content in their songs posted a long piece of text from which I will draw out some relevant parts:

Patriots, fellow Chileans…Why do we not go to war against Monsanto? Why not fight to recover copper from your country? Why do you not wage war on Spanish companies that rob us when we pay for light and water? Why were you not in solidarity with artisanal fishermen when the Chilean government perpetually delivered the sea to the seven richest families?...Chileans and Peruvians stop being so easily swayed by media sensationalism of the bourgeois press. We should continue fighting together against those that make our lives impossible!

Most people who usually stay away from political discussion stuck to humor. Many memes declared something along the lines of “The sea is neither Chilean nor Peruvian, it belongs to the fish!”

My friend Jaime asserts, “It’s so hipster to say that people shouldn’t complain about the decision of the Hague. I bet if you take the issue of sushi those assholes will start a revolution.” About those who feel an end to conflict is more important than specific borders, he implicitly suggests they stand in a privileged position (‘hipster’ being aligned with the northern hemisphere, urban culture, and detachment from the material consequences of everyday life), yet continues to make light of the situation sarcastically suggesting that what they would really care about is sushi. 

Peruvian friends shared the link to an article in the online magazine The Clinic, which listed "Ten Things That Perú Has Won That Hurt More Than the Decision of The Hague." Among the 10 were #2 Rich Chilean chicks prefer to summer in Mancora [Peru], and #8 Pisco-In 2013 the European Union recognized Peru's rights over the marvellous liquor."

Even the Bolivians had their say through sarcasm and parody:

So much bullshit with this. The half to the right for Chile. The half to the left for Peru. And the path in the middle for Bolivia!!!

So if my friends are representative of Northern Chileans, or at least those between the ages of 20 and 40, it seems that though everyone was paying attention, no one really cared. Perhaps because this border only affects the oligarchy, or perhaps because they believe an end to dispute is more important than the ways the sea area is divided, these people express their interest by enthusiastically posting and commenting. Yet what they assert is that the outcome does not really matter. I am curious to see if in coming days more serious, nuanced, and critical discussions will take place on Facebook or on the street. But for now, people seem to be avowing “Yes, I am paying attention!” without taking sides on a matter that to most is “supposed” to be important, but in their daily lives simply doesn’t matter.   

Further Reading
A Primer on the Bolivian-Chilean Maritime Conflict
They Paved (Nationalist) Paradise: Cultural Dimensions of the Bolivian-Chilean Maritime Conflict

My colleague and senior research partner, Daniel Miller was visiting my fieldsite earlier this week. He had just arrived from his own fieldsite in Trinidad, and as I took him on a walking tour of Alto Hospicio, he kept remarking how different the two places are. They share certain aspects. They are quite warm. There is a beach nearby. People are not afraid to show some skin. Houses have gates. And yet, he told me after seeing Trini house fences, these just wouldn’t do. There is no cut glass or barbed wire on the top. They are not high enough to keep anyone out. Anyone with a friend to boost them up could be in without a problem. 

Later, as we sat in my apartment discussing dissemination strategies, the usual evening dog barking and car alarm ringing began. I complained about the alarms with something like “if there’s one going off every three minutes they don’t seem to be actually providing any security.” He gave me a knowing look. There’s something about the feeling of security here. The desire to have the appearance of safety even if they only function as a symbol. It’s something like the little sticker on the window that says “This house is protected by ADT security.” Danny said he’d like to get a sticker made that says “This house is protected by a sticker.”

A few days later, after Danny left, Miguel drove over to my apartment to help me with my fish tank (that I inherited with the apartment--and these fish are most definitely Chilean). With the sliding door to the balcony wide open, the car alarm sounds drifted in quite regularly. For a moment, he stopped and listened. “Is that your car?” I asked. “No, no…I don’t think so,” he responded. And we went about changing the water some more. I always assumed car alarms functioned by simply drawing attention-anyone’s-to something amiss. Yet, what Miguel was teaching me was that the car alarms did serve a purpose. People listened for their own. They took individual responsibility for the security of their own vehicle rather than relying on others to come to their rescue. And I suppose the fences may do the same. Though Danny is probably right that a serious criminal wouldn’t have much problem getting over one, it may communicate a certain individual capability to handle their own security. As a local priest told me, "neighbors like each other, but there's not much trust between them, anymore." There is no neighborhood watch group here.

In a lot of ways this explains the ways I have been warned about safety here. People just don’t seem to trust what might happen in public space. And the fences around houses may in fact be a way of delimiting the private from the public in a way that leaves no questions as to where the boundaries lie. And by claiming the space as private rather than public, perhaps that makes it a little safer.

One of the benefits of having Danny here was that it meant I was speaking English in public. This attracted even more attention than my usual simple fact of being noticeably white. While we walked through the market near the municipal gymnasium a few days ago, a group of vendedores asked where we were from. As we chatted, asking about all things digitally related from snapchat to international call centers, one woman, who sells clothing in the market told us people never have their phones out in public because they are afraid someone will come by and swipe it. The most recent statistics I could find were from 2008, when 1,236 non-violent robberies (the type that might result in having their cell phone stolen from their hands as they sit in the plaza, or their pocket in a busy market). This is not particularly high, roughly matching national statistics, yet I am given pause that perhaps many such thefts go unreported. About a year ago, Iquique Radio reported that online security company ESET found almost 60% of Latin American residents have had at least one cellular phone stolen. The Catholic priest also told me that the most recent statistics he has seen suggests that about 40% of Alto Hospicio residents have had some personal effect stolen in the last year. "Probably because their billfold or phone is sticking out of their pocket in a public place." While statistics like "40%" and "1,236 reported" might not necessarily reveal much, I do sense that cellular phone theft is quite common and the vendedora is correct: people know this and protect themselves by not using their phone in public. 

So, I wonder then, if there is a certain “privateness” to the cell phone. And perhaps to the internet in general. Though one may interact with their friends though social media, that is generally something done while in private space. Even the local call center/internet café provides patrons with rather large cubicles while they use the computers. Though you might be airing your dirty laundry on facebook for all of your friends, the person physically next to you wouldn’t (or shouldn’t) know.

So these walls, these fences, these alarms, and these cubicles…they provide a sense of delineation. A car alarm may be tripped just as easily by someone doing a bad parking job or a ball thrown amiss as by someone trying to steal it. Fences can be jumped. Cubicles can be peeked around (at least one young man quickly turned off his porn as Danny and I walked by in the internet center). But that is not the point. The point, perhaps, is to say this is mine, and this is private. If you touch this, walk past it, or look at my screen, you are transgressing a boundary. So however social, social media might be, it ideally retains a sense of the private. 

Some time last week the news broke that the expected high for today would be -11 F (-24 C). This seemed preposterous to me. Yet, in this little town of 2000 people, the staples quickly disappeared off the shelves of our small Independent Grocers’ Association store. The liquor section of the town’s one gas station looked more and more picked over every day.

Yesterday, I woke up to falling snow. It kept going all day. My uncle came over twice from across town with his snowblower to clear the driveway. It was 6 F (-14 C) then. He said the snow was a good thing. It would insulate the ground from the cold and hopefully pipes wouldn’t burst. My dad started clearing out the garage which he had been using as a work space to refinish some wood from our nearly-100 year old house. He got enough cleared out to put one of the two family cars inside.

At 5pm, when it was 3 F (-16 C), I went with my dad to fill up the gas tanks of both cars. My uncle had told him the gas station, which is usually open 24 hours would close at 6, so we had to get in just under the wire. As we slowly drove the ½ mile home, fishtailing all the way, we avoided any streets where there was even a glimmer of headlights. We passed a man walking home from the store and offered him a ride but we were too late. He was only a half block from his home. We got home and cracked open a bottle of wine, happy the power was still functioning and both cable tv and internet were fine. My uncle posted on facebook “Snow blower - check. Generator with extra gas - check. Food stashed - check. Fireplace on -check. Chili for dinner - check. Board games - check. Whiskey- check. Bring on the 10 inches of snow and -30!”

When I woke up this morning my smartphone told me it was -17 F (-27 C). I scrolled through facebook. A former professor in Chicago quoted a pedestrian interviewed by a news crew: “The 1st 10 minutes, you think, 'it's not so bad.' The next 10 minutes, your face starts to burn. Then, you start to ask, 'Why did I ever decide to live in Chicago?” A friend from high school warned that highway plow crews had given up. They would do one last round looking for stranded drivers then head home. Several people announced closings or asked about specific companies. The insurance company that has its corporate headquarters in “the big city” of 100,000 that is 10 miles away was closed for the day. The candy factory and car manufacturing plant were not. Another high school friend posted a video of himself throwing a bucket of water into the cold air and it instantly turning to snow. The local restaurant announced it would not be open for breakfast but hoped to open at 11 for lunch with vegetable soup and turkey sandwiches for the daily special.

I decided, mostly based on the pedestrian’s comments on the news, that this was probably my only chance in my life to experience temperatures so cold and I should probably go out. I pulled on long johns, 2 pairs of socks, my flannel pajamas, courduroy overalls, my Bolivian alpaca sweater, my coat that resembles a sleeping bag with a hood, a hat, a scarf, two pairs of gloves, snowboots, and sunglasses. I set the timer on my phone to see how long it would be enjoyable. I walked to the side yard and took a selfie. I went around the perimeter of the yard. My torso was still toasty, but my eyes were watering and my legs between the top of my boots and the bottom of my coat were chilly. I went inside and found it had been 3 ½ minutes. Not bad, I thought.

Later, the family discovered, via my uncle’s photos on Facebook, that the town water tower was leaking. The water tower is only two blocks from our house, so we all redressed in 100 layers and walked to see it. It did, indeed, have giant ice cycles hanging from it. The town volunteer firefighters had roped off the area around it, to avoid injury if the giant icecycles were to fall.  I of course took some pictures, and upon returning home, posted them to facebook. It was there that I saw my friend David wrote “Anyone need anything from town [the nearby city of 100,000]? Shoot me a txt or call. Heading to town in a few minutes.” A few people had replied simply with requests that he be careful. One neighbor asked him to bring charcoal.

In essence, on this day that felt so unusual, people used Facebook, not only to strengthen the sense of community one experiences in a “crisis,” but also to record their experiences. In many ways, writing about your stockpile of resources, quoting commentary on the news, and even offering delivery of products from “town,” are a way of performing and remembering this somewhat exciting experience. It first a performance of collegiality, sharing the moment with those who are also experiencing it, but not physically present with you. With no one wanting to go outside, and the street unnavigatable for cars, most people were rather solitary at home. Yet Facebook provided a way to understand the extreme cold as something collectively lived. But at the same time, people were performing for themselves. They were capturing their memories of the day in small snippets, putting on public record in order to remember their first thoughts as -17F air hit their exposed face, what they felt was important to keep handy, and the way they helped their neighbors on a supply run to “town.” Facebook served as a repository of experience that was simultaneously personal and collective. And as such, is an important way of making memory.

My new favorite online anthropology depot, PopAnth, recently published writing by Erin Taylor about Trobriand Cricket, titled, “If the home team always wins, is it really a sport?” Given the focus on authenticity and sport in my dissertation, I was certainly interested in her arguments. 

She explains that the British introduced Cricket in the Trobriand Islands to replace ritualized warfare. “However, the Trobriand Islanders didn’t adopt cricket in the way that the British intended. It was an instant hit, but rather than stick to the white man’s rules, Trobriand Islanders mixed together the style of cricket with the aesthetics and rituals of warfare. Over time, they invented new chants–many of them lewd–and transformed the game into a social event with plenty of food and drink.”

Much like Trobriand Cricket, lucha libre and other forms of exhibition wrestling around the world mix together sport style with local aesthetics. In fact, I use the phrase exhibition wrestling rather than professional wrestling because rather than exemplifying pure athletic competition, these events also incorporate elements of performance. Though debates over whether exhibition wrestling is “real” or “fake” span generations and continents, the extent to which the productions engage an audience with flashy costumes, charismatic characters, and compelling storylines is undeniable. Exhibition wrestling events sometimes have predetermined winners and choreographed moves. There are referees but they often function as symbols of sport rather than actually enforcing rules, and sometimes even help wrestlers break the established rules.

So then as Taylor asks, are these really sports? I argue, along with Grindstaff and West that theatrical aspects of performance should not necessarily be placed in contrast to sport. They point out that in a number of athletic contests such as figure skating, cheerleading, and gymnastics, planned performance for an audience is integral to the activity (2006:508-509). Thus, to discount wrestling as “fake” because of its planned performative aspects disregards the athleticism necessary to execute flying summersaults and two-person flips. But at the same time, audience appeal is central to its nature, and its aspects of performance and must not be ignored either. As Taylor writes, “All sports, whether social or professional, involve rituals as well as rules.”


Grindstaff, Laura and Emily West
2006  Cheerleading and the Gendered Politics of Sport. Social Problems 53(4):500-518.