On November 25, 2019, Chilean feminist collective, Las Tesis, gathered in Santiago’s Plaza de Armas. Against a backdrop of anti-Piñera graffiti painted on government buildings, museums, and Catholic church properties, some 50 members of the collective wearing black blindfolds began to chant a rhythm now heard around the world.

The patriarchy is a judge
that judges us for being born
and our punishment
is the violence you don’t see…

The lyrics continue on to connect patriarchal state structures to femicide, disappearances, rape, the police, judges, the state, the president, and perhaps most importantly, impunity. The most powerful phrase, repeated twice, is:

The oppressive state is a rapist.
The rapist is you.

(lyrics from Women’s March 2020)

To read the full article, click here to go to Anthropology News
También se aparece aquí en español, después del inglés 

​I am not indigenous. I am a middle class child of parents of English, German, and Polish heritage. I’m third generation US by grandparent with the most recent arrival. I’m also a descendent of Mayflower passengers. For all intents and purposes I am white. I’ve been mistaken for being Brazilian on occasion, but that’s about as non-white as I get. And those mistaken moments were in South American nations in which Brazilian might be imagined as “more white” than the general population, so even considering those moments to indicate a level of non-white-appearing-ness, is doubtful.
 
I am not indigenous. At times I say I do research with indigenous people, but even that is only partially true. Mostly I study the meanings and significance of the concept of indigeneity. But I do know a fair number of people who consider themselves indigenous Americans, from Cherokee, Ojibwe, and Navajo to Aymara, Quechua, and Mapuche, and I value learning about their experiences. There is no doubt that I come from a world of privilege and they and their ancestors have been subject to extreme forms of structural and physical violence for centuries.
 
I say all this in order to make very clear that I do not know what it is like to be indigenous. But on this international day of the indigenous woman, I can’t help but think of the experiences I have had that help me access a small level of understanding of what it might be like for some indigenous women in the world today.
 
I grew up in a small town. It was the kind of place where your parents knew what kind of trouble you got into even before you got home from school in the afternoon. Inevitably, Mom or Dad knew someone who worked in the school, and news would travel fast, even before the days of social media. There are no traffic lights in town. There used to be one red blinking light at the biggest intersection, but when the state told the municipality they’d no longer pay for it’s upkeep we took it down. There’s no question you’ll run into someone you know, even walking to the post office or village hall. People can be insular in my small town. We don’t trust outsiders. We don’t trust anyone who doesn’t have at least 4 cousins (extended cousins count, of course) to vouch for them. It’s a conservative place. And sometimes we feel a little disenfranchised.
 
We are white and we are middle class. But politicians don’t seem to care whether we vote for them or not. We don’t get many state-sponsored works projects. Businesses don’t seem to think they’ll make much money in our town, though a Subway franchise and Dollar General store took a chance on us a few years ago, and they seem to be doing well.
 
Now don’t get me wrong. I’ve lived on the Navajo reservation. I’ve lived in an auto-constructed house in Alto Hospicio. We’ve still got it good. But I remember showing up to my first days of University classes at a prestigious private university, and feeling so embarrassed that I hadn’t taken any AP classes. I didn’t even know what AP stood for. And all this talk of 3s and 4s and 5s meant nothing to me. And GPAs that went beyond 4.0. It was all new. Suddenly, all the hard work I had done in my little public high school of 150 students seemed inadequate. I felt like I was out of my league.
 
But here is where my experience departs from that of many indigenous women who even make it to university classes. I didn’t look out of place (unlike Lara in Bolivia). My subtle Midwestern rural accent and idiolect were easy enough to shift (no more ‘may-sure’, I now say ‘meh-sure’, no more ‘pop,’ it’s ‘soda’ now). And I may have had a few bizarre customs like cow chip bingo, but these were easy to turn into a funny anecdote. My assimilation was quick and easy.
 
I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished in life, and I’m proud of the town I came from. But I recognize the incongruence of my urban life with my rural upbringing. I never truly feel ‘in my place’. In London, I long to hear a midwestern drawl, all while being secretly happy that I can pull off a ‘sorry’ without alerting anyone to my country of origin. In New York, I feel at once at home and reviled by hipsters in Carhartts. In Santiago, I try to explain why they Chilean campo feels so oppressive but in the US being in the country makes me feel so free. I can only imagine the ways that indigenous women feel between two worlds in their own ways if and when they move to the city or pursue higher education.
 
So, today, on this international day of the indigenous woman, I salute all indigenous women. Those who work in their natal communities, and those who have left them to make themselves better in the world or make the world a better place. I cannot imagine the challenges they face, but my own experiences make it quite clear that their feats are not easy ones. I so admire the strength I see in native women fighting back against oppression in the forms of colonialism, patriarchy, environmental racism, and other struggles. Viva la mujer indígena! 

As many entries in the blog affirm, local cultural aspects are often reflected or made even more visual on social media. As I have written before of my fieldsite, there is a certain normativity that pervades social life. Material goods such as homes, clothing, electronics, and even food all fall within an “acceptable” range of normality. No one is trying to keep up with Joneses, because there’s no need. Instead the Joneses and the Smiths and the Rodriguezes and the Correas all outwardly exhibit pretty much the same level of consumerism. Work and salary similarly fall within a circumscribed set of opportunities, and because there is little market for advanced degrees, technical education or a 2 year post-secondary degree is usually the highest one will achieve academically. This acceptance of normativity is apparent on social media as well.

One particularly amusing example of this type of acceptance is especially apparent from a certain style of meme that overwhelmed Facebook in October of 2014. These “Rana René” (Kermit the Frog, in English) memes expressed a sense of abandoned aspirations. In these memes, the frog expresses desire for something—a better physique, nicer material goods, a better family- or love-life—but concludes that it is unlikely to happen, and that “se me pasa,” “I get over it.”

To be clear, I was always treated with kindness and respect by the luchadores while training and performing. Of course there was always an element of tension around issues of gender and sexuality. I was a white woman, highly educated, from a middle-class background in the United States. I wrestled with working-class mestizo men from La Paz and El Alto, of varying ages. Our relationships were always professional. Occasionally one would invite me to dinner at his house, and I would have to weigh several factors—our interactions up to that point, the time he had suggested, whether other people would be present, and what I might know about his current familial and romantic situation—before deciding whether to accept or reject. 

I rejected a request from a 50 year old luchador to accompany his family to a festival that would go late in the night, but agreed to meet him for tea later in a public restaurant in El Alto, trying not to alienate him to the detriment of my research. I accepted an invitation to a 27th birthday party for another luchador, which took place in a bar, and to which several of the other luchadoras were invited. I hoped this would allow us to be friends more than just wrestlers who train together. He tried to kiss me goodnight, but I quickly slipped away, and neither of us ever mentioned it again.

These experiences were in part because I was doing research in a male-dominated social setting. Indeed, in many ways, they served to inform my analyses of what Bolivian women might experience in their own involvement in wrestling. Of course my gringa-ness, foreignness, and lack of familial ties to anyone in the group make my situation slightly different. But these instances still tell us something about gender relations within the context.

But these experiences are not related just to my subject matter. In my current research, I have to be wary, not only of walking alone at night in Alto Hospicio, but also of the advances of police officers and public city officials when they send me non-work related Whatsapp messages. I have spoken with countless women about their similar experiences, one of whom was even evicted from her apartment in her fieldsite in a small conservative Middle Eastern  area after refusing the advances of her landlord.

To say that these experiences are frustrating is an understatement. They are not just an annoyance of daily life, but they profoundly impact one’s ability to do research, and maintain community ties. In just three short days it will be the two-year anniversary of the day I finished fieldwork. Yet I still feel the effects of these types of gendered relations.

Today I received a facebook message from one of the more senior and well respected luchadores in La Paz. At first I was flattered to receive a message because he asked when I will be wrestling again. “Quiero venir a verte” [I want to come watch you]. But the conversation quickly turned

*Pseudonym

And with that I most likely lost an important contact. Of course, I’m in a better position now, because my fieldwork is finished, some of it is published, and I’ve moved on to a new project. But I’m stuck now in a position of whether I even mention this to Jorge*, my former wrestling partner, and a fairly good friend. Do I continue as a friend always wondering if he is telling others that I am something of a significant other or sexual plaything to him? Do I mention it to him and confront the problem head on, most likely with little benefit either personally or professionally? Or do I assume what this older luchador said to be correct and silently stop being his friend.

I realize this is the type of problem many anthropologists face, regardless of gender, regardless of region, and regardless of topic. But as I recently wrote about the perception of women anthropologists flirting, extroverted actions of men are interpreted differently than those by women. This is something that will not be “solved” easily, particularly when we consider that many times this happens in places where there is less awareness of “rape culture,” less ability for women to participate in social life, and more complicated relationships between race, class, cosmopolitanism, and locality. I do intend to keep up a conversation about it though. 

In the course of writing a book, there is a lot of stuff that gets written, and then, sometimes very traumatically, cut. Here is the second in a  short series about social media use in Alto Hospicio, as based on survey data. I have done the writing, but I must give thanks for the incredible efforts by my assistant Jorge for helping recruit and administer the survey. It certainly would have never been completed without him. 
For part one, click here: facebook: the facts
For part three, click here: twitter: the facts
For part four, click here: instagram: the facts

Whatsapp is certainly the second most important form of social networking communication in Alto Hospicio. Of people in the survey who use social networking applications, 77% use Whatsapp regularly and two-thirds of them regularly communicate in groups with the application. It tends to be used only slightly more with friends than with family members. When meeting new people, they almost always asked if I had Whatsapp rather than  wanting to connect through email, Facebook, or by exchanging phone numbers. Police officers, internet installation technicians, and neighbors alike preferred the new app to older ways of getting in contact.

WhatsApp is much like “traditional” text messaging, but requires the user to download an application to their smartphone. Then they can send messages using their mobile data rather than messaging bundle. Though Whatsapp allows for users to send videos to their contacts, this use was rare among people in Alto Hospicio. Far more common were sending photos. Voice messages were even more popular. Some people blamed this on laziness. “I’m too lazy to type, just pressing the button and talking is easier,” though others were concerned about others around them hearing the message when a friend, partner, or even ex-partner sent a voice message. 

For teens, Whatsapp use is incredibly high. Eighty five percent of respondents under 20 used Whatsapp, and 70% of them often sent and received messages to groups with an average of 2.6 groups per person. Seventy six percent use it with friends, 35% with their boyfriend or girlfriend, and less than one quarter with family members, and overall more than three quarters of the time with someone in Alto Hospicio. Boyfriends and girlfriends will often spend afterschool or late night hours writing back and forth. Friends use it for the latest school gossip or to make weekend plans. This is true with siblings as well, though most live in the same home, so are able to speak in person more often. Most often, when a teens uses Whatsapp to communicate with a family member, it is their mother, and the conversation consists of checking in, requests from the supermarket, or asking about daily plans.

For people in their twenties, Whatsapp is even more important, with 90% of those surveyed saying they use Whatsapp at least once a day. Seventy percent those users send at least one group message per day using Whatsapp, but usually reported being part of only 1-3 Whatsapp groups. Whatsapps were far more used than “traditional” text messages, and were mostly used with friends or romantic partners rather than parents, siblings, or children.

The peak age for Whatsapp use seems to be between 25 and 30 years, and after that begins to drop off a little. Seventy-five percent of those 30-34 use Whatsapp and 67% of those 35-39. Only 33% of people in their 40s use it, and only 20% of those surveyed over 50, most of those above 40 who use Whatsapp do it solely with individuals rather than with groups. For those above 30 Whatsapp is only slightly more popular than text messaging, and is used primarily with family members, and for fewer people with friends.

Of course, Whatsapp is slightly harder to study than Facebook, because there is no public record of the interactions. However, I was fortunate to be included in a few groups while doing fieldwork. The first was a group that was maintained over a long period of time, and was primarily aimed at men who liked to drive their trucks and motorcycles out into the sand dunes that surround the city. The group, called the Red Offroading Club had existed long before Whatsapp as a driving club, but Whatsapp allowed them to organize more easily. Without fail, every weekend (and sometimes on weekdays) one of the men would write to the group asking who would like to go out to the hills that afternoon. Many would reply with their specific commitments that would keep them from joining, but usually at least a few people would be interested in a drive. The conversation would then turn to logistics about time of departure and a place to meet. Inevitably, someone would have a motor problem and need a tow or something fixed or a spare part, and those such problems were always resolved through Whatsapp also. However, pictures taken during the outings, of which there were usually dozens, were always shared on Facebook rather than the Whatsapp group.

A few times, this group was also used to organize parties on the sand dunes. Logistical conversations would begin mid-week, with questions of whether Friday night or Saturday night was more amenable to people. Once that was decided, it was important to make sure everyone who wanted to come had a ride, because it wouldn’t be a party if all the trucks weren’t full! Coordinating beverages and music all happened through the group, as well as harassment of friends when it was after midnight and they still hadn’t arrived to the party. But again, the pictures taken at the party, lit by a flaming tire that had been discarded on the hillside, were posted on Facebook rather than shared with the Whatsapp group. 

In the course of writing a book, there is a lot of stuff that gets written, and then, sometimes very traumatically, cut. I'm here starting a short series of social media use in Alto Hospicio, as based on survey data. I have done the writing, but I must give thanks for the incredible efforts by my assistant Jorge for helping recruit and administer the survey. It certainly would have never been completed without him. 
For part two click here: whatsapp: the facts
For part three, click here: twitter: the facts
For part four, click here: instagram: the facts

Facebook is an indispensible part of everyday life for many people in Alto Hospicio. In my survey of 100 people, only 5 (average age 47) had never had a Facebook account, and no one who completed the survey had left Facebook. The youngest people surveyed or interviewed were 16, and the oldest in their mid 50s (because Alto Hospicio is a fairly new city, the older population is quite small). Forty-five of the people surveyed were “always connected” to Facebook, and 82 of 100 checked Facebook at least once a day.

Facebook is a platform that allows users to interact in a number of ways, whether posting original photos, sharing memes or new articles, writing original text, or commenting on any of their friends’ posts. Given the number of options, it is used by individuals in very different ways, often depending upon gender and age.

Young women, in their late teens spend the most time on Facebook, with 80% of survey participants reporting that their Facebook account is “always connected,” whether on their smartphone or computer. They average about 610 friends, with the highest reported at 2,000 and the lowest 100. More than half update their status at least once a day, and about 1/3 update it several times a day. However, very few post photos frequently, usually only 3-5 photos at a time and less than once a week. Almost all like things their friends post more than once a day, but they write comments far less often. More than 80% of teen girls say that their friends are likely to write on their Facebook wall often.

But the real value of Facebook for these young women is chatting. They use Facebook chat with far higher frequency than email, skype, WhatsApp, or even text messaging. They use Facebook chat mostly with neighborhood or school friends and their significant other, but only occasionally with family. Yet they say less than half of their online friends are actually from Alto Hospicio (about 40% of friends on average). They are almost always accessing Facebook from their homes using shared computers—whether desktops or laptops. Sixty percent of teen girls have only 1 account, 20% have 2, 10% have 3, and 10% have 4, the highest number reported, yet no one claimed that their profiles were “fake,” “anonymous,” or not representing herself. Not a single woman under 20 reported that she felt Facebook had contributed to her becoming more politically active. Overall, this usage is incredibly geared towards maintaining social relations among school and neighborhood friends. While these girls might have friends from other cities, and certainly are friends with mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, and cousins, the majority of their time and typing energy is spent on maintaining relationships with age-group friends within the city. Yet, they don’t necessarily see Facebook as key to their happiness. Only 20% say that Facebook makes them happier while 10% say it makes them less happy. The other 70% say that Facebook has not changed their happiness at all.

Teens, in general, are one of the most important groups that use Facebook. They usually have more than 500 friends, the majority of which are friends from school or the neighborhood, who they communicate with using Facebook’s chat function. Chat is the primary reason for connecting to Facebook, rather than taking full advantage of photo sharing, writing original status updates, or commenting on others’. Yet 95% of those that took the survey say that their friends post something on their walls often.

While in some locations around the world, Facebook is losing hold with teens, as they migrate to platforms such as Whatsapp, Twitter, or even Snapchat, there is no discernable movement away from Facebook in Alto Hospicio. While 37% say they use Facebook less than before, the same number say they use it more than before, and 25% say their use has remained the same. One telling sign is that over 70% of teens report that they are “always connected” on Facebook.

As individuals enter their young adulthood, Facebook use changes. For people aged 20-30 men use Facebook far more than women. While almost 70% of men are always connected to Facebook, only 42% of women stay logged in. Almost all men use Facebook at work (96%) and often in the home (62%) while almost all women connect at home (95%) and sometimes at work (70%). This is likely due to the fact that men more often work in industries like mining and construction where there is likely to be down-time, whereas women work in service industries such as retail, food service, teaching, and secretarial work, where their attention to others is necessary at all times.

Both groups average between 600-700 friends with the most being 5000 for both groups and the least friends being under 100. While a little less than half of both men and women update their status daily, in general men’s use is slightly more public than women’s. Men like their friends’ statuses more often (75% vs 67% at least once daily, averaging about 103 likes per month vs 54 for women), comment on friends’ statues more often (62% vs 48% at least once daily, averaging 89 comments pero month vs 55 for women), and share more (though men and women are equally as likely to share a post once a day, men share an average of 45 other users’ links, statuses, photos, or videos per month, women only average 25). Men also send more private messages per month on average than women.

However, women’s social circles are far wider geographically. Though women are slightly more likely to be born in the North of Chile than men (52% vs 46%), on average they use Facebook messages with twice and many people outside of Alto Hospicio as men (40% vs 19%). Women report having more Facebook friends that they have never met face-to-face (28% vs 19%), and are more likely to say that they know more people because of Facebook (60% vs 44%).

After the age of 30, Facebook use declines. Number of people always connected drops below 50%, and number for friends drop drastically as well. For ages 30-49, average number of friends drops to between 350-400. For those 50 and above the average was only 50 friends. While more than 90% of people under the age of 40 who use Facebook log on at least once a day, this number drops to only 64% above the age of 50. Most people who have told me they actively avoid using social networking are also above the age of 50.

Most people above 45 primarily use Facebook as a way of connecting to the younger generation of their family. As Jorge, a miner, commented to me he mostly connects to Facebook while at work in order to keep up with the pictures of his grandson. Others, use Facebook to interact with their older children. Louisa is one such example. She lives in a 1 floor home in El Centro with her husband, daughter (23) and granddaughter (10). She has two sons that each live with their families within a short walk of the house. She sees almost all of her family members on a daily basis, but uses Facebook to see their pictures, comment, and give them encouragement, which she posts on their timelines. Though Facebook is not a necessary for staying in contact with her family, it adds a new dimension to their relationships. Louisa says she especially likes it because it allows her to look back weeks or months later and remember what was going on in her life. 

Facebook then, is not just one thing for people in Alto Hospicio. It takes on different roles depending on age, gender, occupation, or other life circumstances. It may be a life line to family, a repository of memories, or the primary mode of communicating, planning, and even gossiping with friends. But whatever it's function, it is important for a great majority of people in Alto Hospicio. 

Here are the facts:

I spent the afternoon sitting at the table in my apartment working on my monthly report to be sent to the other members of my group. Around 4pm, a heard a knock on my door. When I opened the door I found three men, all appearing to be in their early 20s and in Movistar uniforms. “Señor Juan Perez?” the one with the clipboard asked, looking confused, and obviously knowing that I was not Señor Perez. “Mmm. No, lo siento.” I responded. “Oh, perdón” he said as he looked at his clipboard. Then knocked on the apartment next door. “No hay problema” I responded, closing my door.

I sat back down at my computer feeling like I had wasted an opportunity. Not only were these potential contacts, they were internet installation workers. The exact type of people useful in an ethnography of how people use the internet. So I grabbed my stack of business cards and went back to the door. When I opened it again, two were standing on landing of the apartment steps just outside my door and using every ounce of courage I spit out “Soy antropologa y mi proyecto es en el tema de internet. Si quieren ayudar y complir una encuesta sobre el uso de internet y redes sociales en Alto Hospicio, aqui está mi tarjeta. Pueden mandarme un email y te explico mas sobre le investigación porque no quiero molestarse cuando están trabajando.” They responded with polite chitchat asking me the same things everyone does. “Where are you from?” “How long have you spent in Chile?” “How much longer are you going to stay?” I politely answered then said I would let them get back to work.

I walked inside feeling pleased that I had at least tried to make some new contacts today, even though I had pretty much resigned myself to staying inside and writing all day. In fact, I was so pleased with myself that I half-facetiously wrote on facebook, “new sampling method: when repair men accidentally knock on my door, give them my card in hopes they'll email and i can give them my survey.” I thought it was especially clever because though some anthropologists use quite rigorous sampling methods, in other circumstances it simply impossible to be systematic about choosing who will participate in a qualitative study. I follow anthropologists such as Laura Bohannan Michael Taussig, and Victor Turner, who argue that the discipline, at it’s core is opportunistic and relies on coincidence. “The way [Taussig sees] it, a plan of research is little more than an excuse for the real thing to come along, I much the same way as the anthropologist Victor Turner described the value of writing down kinship diagrams as largely an excuse to stop falling asleep on the job and provide a situation in which the real stuff got a chance to emerge” (Taussig 2011:59). [see a longer discussion here]

As facebook statuses do, after a few minutes, it had received a few likes. And then a comment. Ooh, what better way to procrastinate, I thought. Reading comments on facebook is so much more fulfilling than simple likes.

hmmm...yeah you get great info but only until a point...is that IRB proof? "I will flirt shamelessly with every person I meet until they agree to an interview" 

Suddenly, I began to question if I had been flirting. Honestly, the men were not unattractive. I did smile. Had I been subconsciously coming on to them? Did I only give them my card because I thought they were attractive? Was I too nice? Should I not have answered their questions about where I’m from and how long I’m staying in Chile?

And then I started thinking about anthropology in general. Really all anthropologists, or at least the good ones, have to flirt (in a general sense). If you want to meet new people and gain rapport with them in a relationship that usually benefits you and your career far more than it does them, you’ve got to know how to sweet talk. Whether it’s with little old ladies, friendly police officers, or the Moviestar installation men, being nice and smiling is the only way you’re going to get anywhere. Flirting is part of the skillset of an anthropologist.

Yet the way this person—this person who is a woman and an anthropologist—characterized my friendliness as “flirt[ing] shamelessly” really rather upsets me. If I had done the exact same thing, which I often consider, with the woman who comes to my door weekly selling pastries, would that be considered flirting? If I were a man and asked these installation men to email me if they’d be willing to participate in my survey would it be read the same way?

Part of my research strategy, suggested by the project leader, is going door to door (with an assistant) asking people to take the survey. Will this be construed as flirting? Is there a qualitative difference between me knocking on a random door or someone random knocking on my door? Is opportunism slutty?

In the end the comment upsets me, not because this one person made an incredibly gendered assumption in that suggesting a woman initiating conversation with a man or group of men is always “flirt[ing] shamelessly.” And it is not just because this person, as an intelligent woman trained in anthropology, should know better than to reinscribe the very ideologies that one hopes anthropologists are working against. No, it bothers me because I know it reflects a broader discourse in which a woman, and particularly a single woman who lives alone, making conversation with men must be a sexual invitation. For me, the first way to fight against this stereotype is not to sit in my apartment wishing to ask people to take the survey but fearing I will be misinterpreted. Rather it is to go out and defy these discourses (though safely), asserting myself as a capable researcher gathering participants for my survey.

Bohannan, Laura
1966  Shakespeare in the Bush: An American Anthropologist Set Out to Study the Tiv of Africa and Was Taught the True Meaning of Hamlet. Natural History 75: 23-33.

Taussig, Michael T.
2011  I Swear I Saw This: Drawings in Fieldwork Notebooks, Namely My Own. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Turner, Victor
1969  The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure. Chicago: Aldline Publishing. 

It was a typical summer Sunday in Alto Hospicio, and my friend Jhony invited me to a barbeque at another friend’s house. He picked me up in his Jeep emblazoned with a Zorros Rojos (red foxes) sticker, announcing his membership in the truck, car, and motorcycle offroading club. We arrived at his friends’ house, and met the hosts, brothers Miguel and Paul. Paul was in a wheelchair with a broken leg from a recent motorcycle accident. Also present were Cris and my friend Alex, who is not part of the club, but just bought a used small truck and wants to start riding with them. In general, I was happy to be spending the afternoon with some people who are slightly older than me, because so much of my social circle here falls into the 20-25 year old category. 

As the three of us walked to the corner, Alex asked Jhony about changing the steering wheel in his truck. Jhony said he’d help in exchange for Alex helping him set up his new Samsung tablet phone (a Tab 3, I think). So, when we returned to the with 24 Escudo beers to the meat-smoke filled patio, Alex set to work.
   

Jhony’s first request was that Alex add Whatsapp, and in particular that he add his own and all the Zorros Rojos members’ contacts. Alex did so, and even sent a few pictures of the chicken breasts on the grill using the app. Jhony had already added Facebook, but asked the group what other apps he needed. We went around the circle offering our suggestions and the list included: Shazam, Skype, Google Chrome, Youtube, and Instagram. “What’s Instagram for?” asked Jhony. Alex explained “You upload pictures and the whole world says ‘I like it!” “It’s good for self-esteem” I offered. Alex agreed, sarcastically adding “Yep, it makes you feel like a real photographer.” Paul also offered his approval, “It's for ugly people like us. You take pictures and we come out looking good. It works like magic.”

By the time we had all consumed too many pounds of steak, chicken breast, hot dogs, and chorizo, Jhony had all of the apps we suggested as well as a flashlight, table level, compass, traffic advisory, QR scanner, and language translator on his new phone. Though I had a great time translating silly song lyrics for them, and laughing when they told Alex his new haircut looks like Miley Cyrus, I was also especially interested to get perspectives on different phone applications from people who do not see them as their main form of social engagement. Both age and their involvement in the Zorros Rojos place Facebook and other forms of social networking as supplementary forms of sociality, rather than the main way they communicate with their friends. And more than anything, I appreciated their sarcastic treatment of Instagram, which satirizes the ways so many younger people use the application. Yet, despite their degradations, they all still use it, knowing that it doesn’t quite make them artistic photographers, but appreciating that it might make their photos of tire tracks in the sand, just a little more aesthetically pleasing. 

I had a unique opportunity this morning. I was given access to an apartment of a friend whose boyfriend (pololo) had started moving some of his things in. I took the opportunity to snap some shots of his stuff: the most important things for daily living he had transplanted into her space. I thought something a little different might make for an interesting post. 

I suspect these items would be common in Northern Chile, but I cannot be sure. I am curious what might items might be the most important for a woman moving into her boyfriend's apartment. Would the amount of toiletries and clothing be bigger? Would the number and size of electronics be smaller? Or perhaps different in nature (hair dryers instead of stereos)? I am equally curious how these things vary from culture to culture.

I am reminded of my summers during grad school when I would pack up my car with the essentials and drive twelve hours from Washington D.C. to Chicago to spend two months with my boyfriend. Two boxes of books, a suitcase of clothes (another small duffle bag for shoes), my computer, and my bike helmet were the essentials. 

Obviously these things vary person to person, but this instant of beginning to move in with a significant other is not only important for the relationship. The things we move with us first, the things we deem most essential to daily life, these items of material culture give a unique and deeply revealing look into a person. 

I'm curious what other people have taken or would take when beginning to move in. Whether it is with a significant other, a friend, or simply an extended stay with family-what are the essential material possessions you take with you? Please leave a comment!

On my first day of training, when Edgar asked if I’d rather my traje have pants or a pollera, I immediately knew pants made more sense. Perhaps they would not provide the visual beauty of a pollera swirling through the air, but they certainly would be easier to wrestle in. And Edgar was not the only person who suggested I wrestle in a pollera. The LIDER luchadoras, Juanita and Benita were constantly trying to get me into one. On a Friday afternoon while we sipped coffee at a stall in Mercado Lanza, the two giggled trying to decide what color pollera would look best on me. Juanita was wearing a blue sparkly shawl and Benita’s was white. They took turns holding them up to my fact to see what color would look nice on a gringa. Even at my dissertation defense, I was asked why I didn’t wear a pollera to wrestle. 

during my dissertation defense, I explain-oh so eloquently-why I do not wear a pollera to wrestle 

My answer, simply, is that I have no right to wear a pollera. The pollera is often considered to be the most visible symbol of Bolivian indigeneity, which is not just a racial category, but a class-based subjectivity and a political identification. The pollera has a long history, from being institutionalized dress for hacienda workers to a visible symbol of working-class women’s political protest throughout the twentieth and into the twenty-first century. Wearing the pollera is not just a clothing choice, but is a performance of identification with these histories and contemporary associations. As a gringa with no stake in any of these categories associated with the pollera, it seemed that for me to wrestle in one would appear as a farce.

Sure, seeing a gringa in a pollera might be just as amusing for Bolivians as the “cholitas luchadoras” are for the foreigners that flock to their shows. But that doesn’t mean that I have a right to wear one. As Jaya Bedi writes so eloquently, “The political context in which cultural symbols exist is important. Cultural appropriation happens — and the unquestioned sense of entitlement that white Americans display towards the artifacts and rituals of people of color exists too. All ‘appropriation’ is not merely an example of cultural sharing, an exchange between friends that takes place on a level playing field.”

And I think my position is actually strengthened by the time I did wear a pollera (outside of the ring). When I appeared at Shirley’s party in a pollera and Gonz shouted “cholita punk.” My friends were amused because my representation was ironic. As I write in my dissertation (I think it’s still in there, but Cholita Punk was sadly cut), “Irony often functions as a ‘frame shifting’ mechanism (Coulson 2001) in order to express humor. When I entered the party wearing a pollera, Gonz shouting ‘cholita punk’ shifted the frame from the representation of cholitas as traditional and thoroughly Bolivian icons, to something integrated with the international youth culture of punk rock. Even my own laughter at wearing the pollera and braids played on the disjuncture of a U.S. gringa in clothing with cultural meaning in the Andes. And most certainly, when Luis suggested I wrestle, irony was used to disrupt the usual interpretation of a mujer de pollera.”

Now there’s nothing wrong with acknowledging the ways cholitas are no longer merely a form of local subject, but now are globally active citizens (I have 2 chapters on that). But the point remains that for a gringa to appear in public (versus the private party) in a pollera most certainly degrades the rich history of the skirt and the complex ways of identifying employed by the women who wear them daily. And we must not forget that ways of identifying are not neutral. The “chola,” the mujer de pollera, the indígena are marginalized and historically stigmatized categories in Bolivia. And the “Bolivian woman” in general is discriminated against all over the hemisphere, from Buenos Aires to Phoenix. 

Again I refer to Bedi, who writes, “If the use of the bindi by mainstream pop stars made it easier for South Asian women to wear it, I’d be all for its proliferation — but it doesn’t. They lend the bindi an aura of cool that a Desi woman simply can’t compete with, often with the privilege of automatic acceptance in a society when many non-white women must fight for it.” To paraphrase her, what makes a white woman’s use of the pollera problematic is the fact that a gringa wearing one is guaranteed to be better received than if a Bolivian woman were to step out of the house rocking one. On me, it would be a bold new look (sure to catch lots of stares, but no one’s going to shew me away from a fancy restaurant). On a Bolivian woman it’s yet another marker of her Otherness. A symbol of her failure at whiteness, at cosmopolitanism, to participate in a global citizenship. 

Dina, Juanita, and Claudina (from LIDER) show off their bad, cosmopolitan selves

Of course the cholitas luchadoras work hard to combat this image of the mujer de pollera as local not global, stigmatized not empowered, marginalized not powerful. And they have made excellent advances. But we’re not there yet. Despite the mujeres de pollera that have been elected or appointed to high profile government positions, it is still an Other form of dress. One worth celebrating. But not yet ready to be paraded in public as the funny thing the gringa’s wearing. Maybe some day…..but for now my beautiful pollera will stay in a closet in Illinois.