In Orin Starn’s 1991 article, “Missing the Revolution,” he chastised anthropologists for missing signs of the rise of Sendero Luminoso [Shining Path], the Peruvian Maoist insurgent organization. He suggests anthropologists were too absorbed in Andeanism, a term he borrows from Edward Said’s Orientalism, to mean depictions of life in the Andes that portray contemporary peoples as outside the flow of modern history (395). Because of their narrow focus, they missed the important politics and historical dynamics that fomented the rise of groups like Shining Path. As he wrote, for hundreds of anthropologists…the rise of the Shining Path came as a complete surprise” (395).

Many anthropologists took this call to heart, and much recent work on the Andes has indeed centered on working-class and rural peoples’ protest, political work, and revolution. Scholars such as Forrest Hylton and Sinclair Thomson highlight the “revolutionary spirit” of indigenous and mestizo Bolivians. Indeed, strong movements opposing neoliberal economic policies and multinational corporations’ ownership of many of Bolivia’s natural resources have been politically effective. One of the most heightened moments of this movement was the inauguration of Evo Morales, Bolivia’s (and the hemisphere’s) first indigenous president. In speeches celebrating his inauguration, Evo emphasized both his indigeneity and revolutionary ideology with statements such as “I say to you, my Indian brothers and sisters from America concentrated here in Bolivia, the 500 year campaign of resistance has not been in vain. This democratic, cultural fight is part of the fight of our ancestors; it is the continuity of the fight of Tupaj Katari, of Che Guevara.” In this small statement, he links himself and his supporters not only to leftist revolutions in Latin America of the last century, but also to a much longer lineage of anti-colonialism, anti-imperialism, and anti-exploitation that has existed since subaltern Bolivians resisted their colonial exploiters. Revolution then is not something that happened in the past, but something that is the continuity between “then” and “now.”

These historical revolutions penetrate many citizens’ understandings of “Bolivianness” today. When I arrived in La Paz for the first time in July 2009, I did so on the eve of the annual celebration Día de La Paz. All over the city banners were hung in celebration of  “200 Años Libre.” In 1809 several uprisings against royalist forces began in La Paz. Though insurgent troops did not succeed in a decisive victory over Spanish forces until 1825, it is the beginning of the campaign that is remembered as the year of freedom. On July 16, 1809 Pedro Domingo Murillo famously declared that the Bolivia revolution was igniting a fire that no one could put out. Though Murillo was hung in the Plaza de los Españoles that night, the plaza was renamed for him and he is remembered as a voice of the revolution. In 2009 banners around La Paz proclaimed, “Somos un fuego qué no se apaga!” [We are a fire that cannot be extinguished].

And so, to me, Bolivia lived up to its reputation as a hotbed of revolution. I had always (though self-consciously) romanticized Bolivian revolution a bit. [I've also written about Bolivian protest here and here]. I was continually impressed by the ways miners, teachers, and health workers could simply block off a road could and force the president into negotiations for salary increases, as had happened a few weeks after I arrived in La Paz in April 2011. I was awestruck at the “revolutionary pride” Hylton and Thomson had described, and always wondered why Bolivians were so effective at protest, while people in the US just seemed totally incapable.

Well, now, perhaps, times…they are a’changin…

Occupy Wall Street is now almost a month old, and cities like Boston, Chicago, Philly, and Madison, and Minneapolis, (and of course my beloved DC's Occupy K Street) have similar occupations afoot. I’m still my cynical self and despite my semi-sporadic presence at DC General Assembly meetings, I’m not 100% convinced the REVOLUTION is immanent. I’d still consider myself hopeful though.

I’ve been taking fieldnotes on what I’ve experienced. I guess its just habit these days. But after reading a conference paper of mine on the representation [and/or imaginary] of Bolivian protest, my advisor suggested I develop it into a longer article for publication and incorporate some stuff on the Arab Spring and Occupy Movement. I’m still unsure if I will actually do that, but its made me think more critically about what is going on.

But here, I’m going to take time to comment on what to me has seemed the biggest debate associated with occupations: Specific Demands vs. Problematizing the Status Quo. From big news outlets such as the New York Times, and Wall Street Journal down to small scale political bloggers all emphasize the major weakness of the(se) movement(s) being a lack of specific demands. And much of the grassroots organizing communities (though certainly not all) have countered that essentially, it is not their job to write laws, and if the government had been doing their job all along, we wouldn’t be in this mess [I saw this summed up in a photo of a man with a sign at some occupation somewhere and now for the life of me can’t find the picture].

I’m still unsure where I fall in this debate. But the most cogent examination of this I’ve seen thus far has suggested we must “Turn the Shame Around.”

An unjust system’s first line of defense is shame. As long as we’re ashamed to admit that we’re victims, as long as we’re ashamed to identify with the other losers, we’re helpless.

It would be great to have a 10-point plan that solves everything. It would be great to have a party that endorses that plan and a get-out-the-vote movement to put that party into office. But none of that is going to happen until large numbers of us cast off our shame, until we turn the shame around: We need to stop being ashamed that we couldn’t crack the top 1%, and instead cast shame on an economic system that only works for 1%. The people who defend that immoral system and profit from it — they should be ashamed, not us.

He compares this movement to those of LGBT rights and Feminism, suggesting that before specific aims can be approached, a politics of visibility must emerge. He of course links to We are the 99%, which may be considered the first (or at least best publicized) online repository of shame shifting. [see also Matt Taibbi’s piece on Common Dreams]

He concludes

The old rules still apply. We’re going to need policies. We’re going to need agendas and lists of demands. We’re going to need leaders to represent us and armies of volunteers to knock on doors and make phone calls and write letters to the editor. We’re going to have to register millions of voters and get them to the polls. None of that is going to happen automatically just because people lose their shame about being victims of an economy run by and for the 1%.

But I don’t believe that stuff is going to happen at all — not on the scale we need — until people lose their shame about being victims and losers. It’s just a first step, but I don’t think we can skip it.

And so, I bring us back to the materiality of representation. As Butler (1998) and Fraser (1997) famously (for nerds like me) hashed out, representation is not “merely cultural.” Representations carry material consequences. For the luchadoras, using the image of the chola not only exploits but also reproduces indigenous women’s vulnerability to physical and structural harm, at times furthing the cycle of violence and subordination. For Occupiers, representation either grants legitimacy, leading to increased attention and solidarity, or delegitimizes the movement as fringe. So, to use Spivak’s (1988) notion that representation may be conceived of in two senses, the “re-presentation” of a group deeply impacts their ability to be spoken for in political representation.

So, yes, we Occupiers must eventually demand specific actions. But given the states of visibility and representation at the moment, we must still work on building solidarity, and strength. If we narrow our demands too early, they will not be heard. At the moment, the Nation is Waiting for Protesters to Clearly Articulate Demands Before Ignoring Them.

see more of my pictures on J & M's "letter to an @narquista in the oven"

14 May 2011

The first time I took a minibus to Villa Victoria, a working-class neighborhood of La Paz, Bolivia, I left my camera at home. Though I was attending something of a spectacle there, I had been warned by several people not to take anything of value. A little nervous about going to a place more commonly known as “Villa Balazos” [Gunshot Neighborhood], I begged R to come along with me. We were headed for the Coliseo, but neither of us knew exactly where it was to be found. After consulting with almost every other bus rider, we hopped off at a corner and walked up the hill two blocks. Still not really knowing where to go, we stopped in a tienda and R asked the way again. We made a right turn, and then followed the sound of “Eye of the Tiger” down the street, where we found a long line of Bolivians waiting in the cold outside a gate. It was early winter, and at almost 4000 meters above sea level very little was worth waiting outside in the cold.

I was still trying to get over a bit of a head cold (the kind that never really seems to go away in the Andes), so I was relieved when we were eventually let into the Coliseo, a large barren sports arena. However, as one quickly learns in highland Bolivia, going inside never really does much to warm you up. There’s no indoor heating, and in such a large, concrete space, there is little difference in temperature. At least inside, the walls block the wind. The arena—about the side of a high school basketball court in the US—had massive concrete bleachers on one side. We entered from this direction and went down two levels to sit down. Now the cold was permeating my body both from the air and up from the concrete bleachers through my but.

In the center of the floor was a six-sided amateur-looking wrestling ring. Used to a simple four-sided ring I wondered if there was an advantage to having two extra sides, or if there was some more practical reason LIDER (Luchadores Independientes de Enorme Riesgo) had decided on six. Perhaps that just happened to be the ring they had a chance to buy. In the midst of my contemplation, Carlos approached us and we shook hands. He and R discussed a bloggers’ conference they had both attended recently. Having been convinced for several months that Carlos was angry with me, I was tentative about what to say. Of course, I am often annoyed by him, but have tried to maintain some semblance of a friendship for research purposes. Carlos and I exchanged quick updates, since we hadn’t seen each other in two years, and then he was on his way, back down to the floor to presumably do something important backstage.

The show, billed as a “family event,” was set to start at 7pm, but at 8:15 we were still patiently waiting in the stands. Around 8:30, Ali Farak, a bearded Bolivian man with a slight frame dressed in a white track suit emerged from behind the curtain leading to backstage. He jumped into the ring as the official referee of the event, and the evening’s matches began.

The first fight was between two men; one in a shiny gold spandex outfit with red embellishments, and the other in a Native North American appearing costume. R referred to him as “el Apache” several times, but he also seemed to often use “Apache” often when asking about Native North Americans in general.

After Apache achieved a decisive win, and another 15 minute break in the action, two more characters emerged from behind the curtain. Hombre Lobo [Wolfman] and the Momia [Mummy] came out to do their usual head-butting style of wrestling. The highlight of this was their frequent forays into the bleachers where kids would jump up and run away with high pitched screams echoing. What impressed me most was the parents. Working class Aymara men in Starter jackets that had originally been owned by US high school students in the early 1990s, and women wearing cotton polleras and thick sweaters, would grab the child’s hand and run away from Hombre Lobo along with them.

The other match that seemed directly created for the children in the audience was between Batman and Bob Esponga [Sponge Bob Square Pants]. Batman, in this pair, played the rudo, cheating several times, and pushing kids away who tried to get his autograph. Bob Esponga, dressed in a giant yellow spongy square that looked like an expensive Halloween costume, waved at the kids and gave a few hugs on his way to the ring. Batman eventually won the match, thanks to his unjust moves, but the kids’ hearts were won by Bob instead.

This highlight of the evening for me, however, was a match between luchadoras. Benita and Carmen Rojas entered the ring and hugged, obviously showing signs of friendship. However, the Farak started pulling their braids so that it seemed as if the other luchadora had done it. They eventually started wrestling. The matched turned into a 6 person brawl with 3 luchadoras on one side and Juanita with some other men on the other side. As Carlos reported in his blog,

Carmen Rojas enfrento a Benita, no hubo ganador pues en la contienda se involucraron el Hijo de Alí Farak, Sub Zero, y después de las exageradas trifulcas ingreso Juanita al Ring de 6 postes con el objetivo de colocar orden pero las cosas cambiaron pues al final se hizo un desafio de “tres contra tres” entre varones y mujeres que será develado el sábado 21 de mayo en el Coliseo de Villa Victoria.

Carmen Rojas faced Benita, but there was no winner in the contest because it involved the son of Ali Farak, Sub Zero, and after exaggerated scuffles Juanita entered the 6 posted ring with the aim of restoring order. But things changed and in the end it became a challenge of "three against three" between men and women to be unveiled on Saturday May 21 at the Coliseo de Villa Victoria.

It eventually ended with Juanita saying how much better she was than the others, and she’d show them next week. One of the other luchadoras eventually took the microphone and appealed to the audience: “Somos con el publico! Somos mujeres de polleras y somos con ustedes!” [We are with the audience! We are women of the pollera and we are with you!]