The purpose of this post is partially to brag and partially to further some discusssion. 

First, the bragging: I scooped Savage Minds by almost a month with my fieldnotes on photography, anonymity, and recognition.  

But, I also think ryan at Savage Minds gives a much fuller (more academic) discussion of what I'm talking about. He uses two recent ethnographies as examples, speaking from a slightly more "objective" standpoint. In essence, his blog is more on the topic of the final form of a published photograph, rather than the politics of taking a photograph, but I (would like to) think that my writing and his speak to each other in interesting ways. So check it out if you're interested....

Friday night, I found myself at one of those gringo clubs celebrating (bemoaning?) the departure of two of my favorite non-Bolivian acquaintances in La Paz, Alison and Bryn. Because it was Friday night, there was a live dj, who was actually Bolivian. He also had with him a little posse of young affluent Paceños. One, a beautiful young woman wearing a low-cut dress and heels that would have caused me to seriously hurt myself caught my eye because of the frequency and duration of affectionate displays with her boyfriend (which is not to downplay the frequency and duration of certain gringos’ displays). Later in the evening, as I walked by, she and Alison were conversing. Alison grabbed me and said, dripping with sarcasm, that she was learning some “very useful” Spanish phrases. At which point, the young Bolivian woman taught me some things “to say to my boyfriend” (which, incidentally, I will not be saying to my boyfriend).

Eventually, we exchanged names and she told me hers was Huayra. “It’s in Aymara!” she told me with pride. This struck me as strange. Here was a 45 kilo, 19 year old Bolivian woman with wavy light brown hair. Her skin was almost as light as mine. Her features were decidedly not Aymara. And she lives in Zona Sur. I realize I am grossly stereotyping here, but she did not initially strike me as someone likely to have an Aymara name. I would have expected her to be called Jenny more readily than Huayra.

Of course, I thought, maybe this is just a case of my own naiveté, so I asked around yesterday. “Do many parents call their children by Aymara names?” The most interesting answer I got went something like this. “No, I don’t think so. But lots of parents give their children weird names. I have uncles called Pascual and Pastor. That’s like naming your kids Easter Sunday and Sheep-herder.” So, perhaps this is just a fluke, just a random thing I ran into. But I think perhaps, rather, it is an indicatinon of the valorization of a certain representation of “Aymara culture.” And more importantly, a valorization by people of a class that as a whole (though I’ll say nothing of Huayra’s parents, because I have no idea who or what they are) which perpetuates class/ethnic divisions in La Paz.

…now as soon as I get some sort of dvd playing machine in my possession I’ll watch Zona Sur and see how that figures in.

Exhibition wrestling is a phenomenon that has grown in different ways in disparate regions. It began in US army barracks, quickly being picked up by promoters, and expanded across the US. A few decades later, Mexico City had adopted its own more acrobatic style. From there it spread across Latin America, and to other regions, with Argentina, Japan, and Brazil being among the most prominent examples. Bolivia, conversely, is not a prominent world example of lucha libre. Though lucha libre is a popular pastime in cities like La Paz, Cochabamba, and Santa Cruz, it has not been televised since 2001. Indeed even Bolivians see it as derrivative of other countries´ lucha libre. One fan told me “[lucha libre] is passion in Mexico, religion in Japan, and a joke in the United States, and here [in Bolivia] unfortunately, it suffers horrible stagnation and lacks creativity…It lacks vision of promoters, and the scripts, and stories, and characters are plagiarized from Mexico and the United States. Even the international lucha libre website, Superluchas, recently published a guest blog alleging that fans are tired of all the wrestling companies in Bolivia because they lack personality and plagiarize names, masks, and teams.

And yet, the lucha libre of La Paz and El Alto has something that can´t be found elsewhere. It is, as one fan says, “obviously our contribution to the world of wrestling.” And that is the Cholitas Luchadoras. One might even suggest that this is not only Bolivia's contribution to the “world of wrestling” but also to the world at large, given the fact that Bolivia is a country that does not have a well-developed international image. In contrast to neighbor Perú’s annual 2 million tourists, Bolivia garners only 300,000. It lacks iconic places and events other Latin American countires boast, such as Perú’s Macchu Picchu, Guatamala's Chichen Itzu, and Brazilian Carnivale. It is landlocked and has the poorest economy in South America. The indigenous president, Evo Morales, is one of the most vocal speakers in the world on issues like climate change and indigenous rights. Yet, he is often portrayed as simply a Hugo Chavez minion. As one traveler told me "No one even knows where Bolivia is. The only thing it’s known for is maybe the cocaine." Indeed Morales´s recent challenge of coca´s inclusion in the United Nations 1961 Single Convention on Narcotic Drugs and the capital city La Paz´s reputation for clandestine cocaine bars, clearly belies the country’s embarassed assocation with drug abuse and proud (for some) association with coca cultivation. 

But the Cholitas Luchadoras are becoming another visible symbol of Bolivia. Cholitas, the diminutive of cholas, are already a central figure on postcards throughout the region. More an essentialization than a real “identity” (see Weismantel’s Cholas and Pishtacos), cholas are often envisioned as the traditional mothers of the nation, thought to be rural indigenous women, stuck in time (see Gill’s Precarious Dependencies). The luchadoras are only one of the most recent incarnations of the chola character, joining young women dancing in parades and festivals, dessert brand ambassadors in upscale La Paz supermarkets, and politically active drag performers. 

The luchadoras, however, have received far more attention than these other cholita incarnations. The Guardian has covered them in online video segments, and even newsmedia from Venezuela and Chile have given them attention. At a recent lucha libre event in La Paz a renowned Chilean journalist and his young producer trolled the audience asking opinions about lucha libre. When I reluctantly agreed to answer their questions, they repeatedly pressured me to talk about what I thought of the luchadoras. 

So the audience´s and even broader Paceño population´s suggestions that the luchadoras are the "pride" of La Paz may reflect their desire for international recognition. But this is not just because cholitas are "traditional" and unique to the Andes. The icon of the chola is deeply endowed with characteristics seen as part of Paceño identity….

Last night I met a man from Canada who has been living in Honduras for the last four years. More specifically he has been living on Utila, but I did not discover this until later in the conversation. Given the scarcity of North Americans in these parts (even among the backpacking crowds), I thought it a nice idea to make small talk. I asked what he thought would happen if Zelaya returns to Honduras. He then launched into a clear explanation of how it was really the international media that made a big deal out of the presidential change, and from the inside it wasn’t really a coup. Zelaya was about to end his term and constitutionally couldn’t run again, so he passed an amendment to the constitution so that he could. The people wouldn’t stand for this so they protested, and ousted him. He concluded by saying, (and this is when I found out…) “but I live on Utila, and we don’t really care about anything on the mainland as long as they don’t take away our tax exempt status.”

Interesting rendition of events.

For a slightly different take, I recommend Adrienne Pine’s blog.

Junot Díaz, author of The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (who incidentally I have taken to following in my constructions of "he was brian smith before brian smith was brian smith") has written an amazing piece on the social nature of "natural" disasters for the Boston Review, titled Apocalypse: What Disasters Reveal. My intention with these fieldnotes is not to create a blog that simply links to good things I've found on the web, but I think Díaz does an excellent job of explaining what I briefly alluded to in my post that mentions the Bolivian landslides (but was really more about the global reach of Justin Bieber). So, I'm offering it up here, I suppose as a nod, not only to the theorists whose works I benefit from, but also to amazing writers who are brilliant with words, accessible, and poignant all at once.

I went to "The Strongest" futbol game yesterday. I suppose for a bit of comparative reflection. I'm not sure I really got much though. The reserved tickets were a mere 40 Bs. There was a 4 year old girl behind me that would occasionally be struck with the urge to yell "tigres! tigres!" which was rather cute and amusing (The Strongest's uniforms are yellow and black striped, and I assume this is why they are known as the tigres). There were fireworks and yellow smoke everytime they scored (4 times). And plenty of singing "Ole, ole ole ole, tigres. tigres."  

I suppose the most profound thing I can say is that I didn't see a single pollera inside the stadium. It seemed to be more of a Zona Central thing rather than attracting people from El Alto or Villa Victoria or the like. Of course there were far, far more people there than at a wrestling event, so I imagine there were some people from all over the city. But it seemed to be more of a middle class event than the wrestling. Of course this is based entirely on my assessment of people's clothing and thus, should be taken as simply an initial assessment. I was told on the way there that my friend (from the US) had heard the local team (los tigres) was a "working class team" and the other team was more a middle class team [according to wikipedia this is both the opposite and a "gross over-generalization"]. I didn't see any fans rooting for the opposing team, so it was hard to say if that was accurate. But almost everyone in the stadium was wearing team paraphernalia.  

I also hoped to see how the crowd would react when the other team scored, but the 4-0 score didn't allow such observations. Alas, I'll have to go back for another game sometime.

R is taking the TOEFL in June, so I’ve been trying to help him with his speaking answers. In fact, its quite interesting, because most of this involves me coming up with silly questions like “What is your favorite ______?” or “Would you rather ______ or ______?” and the answers are always interesting. Last night we went to Wistupiku and had some juice and just spoke in English. As we were sitting there, much like last time we had the window seat, Evo’s motorcade went by (which after experiencing a number of motorcades in DC and NY was hardly impressive with 2 SUVs and some flashing lights). But this prompted a discussion of Bolivian politics (as usual) and the way Bolivia is perceived from abroad.

So R wanted to know what my friends from EEUU ask about Bolivia. And so, the most prominent question in my mind seemed to be the Abidjan vs. Buenos Aires question of M’s. I asked him what he thought, and not having much idea of what Abidjan is like, he ruminated on the differences between Buenos Aires and La Paz. The overwhelming sentiment was that Buenos Aires is much bigger. The streets are real “avenues.”

And then he ruminated on Bolivian immigration to Argentina. “Mostly for sewing.” But Bolivians are not welcome there. They are not liked. Its interesting how the same scenarios play out similarly all over the world. Regionally and trans-regionally. And it always comes down to the scare the those from less economically advantaged states will somehow bring down (whether economically or culturally) the more privileged state. Or perhaps, more accurately, the individuals within that state.

Of course none of this is revolutionary or novel. Just another confirmation of the global inequalities. Another reminder that I’ll likely never be able to draw a notebook map of Chicago or DC to help R get around, the way he’s done for me. He’ll never be able to just waltz into a country to do “research” on a tourist visa. And he’ll be prematurely considered suspicious, even in certain spaces in his own country. Because the world is a mundo of privilege and disadvantage. And perhaps the TOEFL is a step for one person to reposition themselves within that system. Certainly, one’s fate is not sealed, but its also dangerous to buy into some neoliberal notion that the individual can simply dedicate themselves and with enough hard work end up on the other side of the equation. I have faith that my next trip to Bolivia will be without R, with him off studying in Holland. But let’s not pretend it has nothing to do with global processes of valuing and devaluing human contributions.

I’ve realized recently that La Paz reminds me a bit of Midtown Manhattan (only with hills). There are a few big streets with pretty buildings and park-type areas plants and landscaping. But for the most part, you have side streets littered with small time retailers, often with themed blocks. I find myself living on the Toyota parts block now, just down from the plumbing and bathroom fixtures block. The streets are narrow and the sidewalks are overcrowded. Its tempting to chance it and walk in the street for a few strides at times, but you’re likely to get hit by a taxi.

These similarities were never more clear to me than this morning when I found myself walking at 7:30. Everyone was in a rush to get somewhere. Kids in school uniforms. Women in business suits. Vendedoras setting up shop. Policemen guiding both traffic and pedestrians. Maybe every city’s rush hour feels the same, but to me, this feels far more like Manhattan than DC or Chicago. I think it has something to do with the combination of the city’s grime and the level of pedestrianism. So, in retrospect, I would say La Paz is neither like Abidjan or Buenos Aires. Its like New York. Only Paceños wear more practical shoes.