Bolivia: Making the Leap from Local Mobilization to National Politics

Bolivia’s indigenous peoples have already made significant strides in the national arena. To make further progress, they will have to go beyond the realm of eye-catching mobilizations and master the difficult art of the game of politics. About 700 men and women from a dozen low- route to the capital city to protest logging on indigenous land indigenous groups walked over 400 miles lands and to demand legal rights to these lands. Then from the northern city of Trinidad to La Paz in President Jaime Paz Zamora, accompanied by a delega- a historic “march for territory and dignity” in 1990. tion of cabinet ministers and parliament leaders, went Over the course of 35 days, they trekked from the to meet the procession mid-route at the small sub-trop- Amazon rainforest through the snow-capped Andes on ical hamlet of Yolosa. The marchers rejected the gov- ernment’s offers, which they considered inadequate. Xavier Albo is a researcher at the Center for Research and They continued walking. Promotion of the Campesino (CIPCA) in La Paz, Bolivia. He is the They continued walking. author of 20 books on linguistics, and social and rural issues in As they crossed the Andean ridge at 15,800 feet, the Bolivia and the Andean region. marchers were greeted by their Aymara brothers and Translated from the Spanish by NACLA. sisters 15 miles from La Paz. In the midst of wiphalas
Vol XXIX, No 5 MARCH/APRIL 1996 15REPORT ON INDIGENOUS MOVEMENTS
(Aymara flags) rippling in the wind and the sound of
pututus (ceremonial horns), the two groups sealed a sol-
idarity pact with the ritual sacrifice of a llama. Some
divined a good omen in the sudden change of weather
from rain and snow to radiant sunshine. That same
afternoon, the marchers arrived en masse in La Paz,
cheered on by thousands of city residents who lined the
streets to welcome them. When they arrived at their
final destination-the cathedral in La Paz’s central
plaza-the old drummer who had led the entire march
dropped to his knees, kissed the ground, and collapsed
In August, 1993,
another
milestone was
reached:
Victor Hugo
Cardenas, an
Aymara leader,
became
vice-president
of Bolivia.
exhausted.
That 35-day procession
managed to shake up pub-
lic opinion in this country
of seven million inhabi-
tants, four million of
whom speak Quechua or
Aymara and some
200,000 of whom speak
one of the 30 languages of
the lowlands. The
marchers also succeeded
in getting legal recogni-
tion of nine areas cover-
ing over seven million
acres. Ethnic conscious-
ness in Bolivia was
reawakened in the high-
lands in the 1970s with
the Katarista Aymara
movement, named after
Tupaq Katari, the eigh-
teenth-century hero who
led an anti-colonial upris-
ing in the La Paz region.’
Since the 1991 march, however, the indigenous move-
ment has assumed a much more plural character,
embracing the diverse smaller indigenous groups that
inhabit Bolivia and championing the right to be differ-
ent, even among indigenous people themselves.
This more intense contact between indigenous peo-
ples of the Andes and the Amazon lowlands refined the
ideology of the movement. Andean indigenous organi-
zations now recognize that “territory” signifies one’s
own space in which to live, not simply a parcel of land
to cultivate. In turn, the lowland indigenous groups, for
whom this broader meaning of “territory” was always
more apparent, now better understand the legal impli-
cations of the struggle over land. The subject of ethnic
identity was also rendered more precise after heated
debates about the validity of such terms as “indio”
(embraced by a small more urban minority), “indigena”
(used more by the lowland groups), “pueblo” and even
“nation.” This is how the new concept of “pueblos orig-
inarias” (or “naciones originarias”) was coined and
began to be popularized.
Since that 1990 mobilization, the indigenous move-
ment in Bolivia has made significant strides. Bolivia
now has an Aymara vice-president. In addition, the cur-
rent administration has spearheaded a number of initia-
tives, including a Popular Participation Law, which
have the potential to further indigenous rights. Of
course, the reality is always more complex than it first
appears. The government’s neoliberal agenda remains
at fundamental odds with indigenous interests. The
movement itself is divided about the wisdom of collab-
orating with the government, and has much to learn
about how to succeed at the traditional game of politics.
W hat made this indigenous resurgence possi-
ble? After all, just four decades ago, the
National Revolutionary Movement (MNR)
and its agrarian reform of 1953 discouraged the use of
terms such as “indio” and “indigena” with the intent of
encouraging all Bolivians to identify themselves as
“campesinos” within a modern, homogeneous nation.
Why did the president and his cabinet feel obliged to go
to the jungle in 1990 to talk with the marchers? Since
when have leftist parties been interested in not only
proletarians, but indigenous peoples too? What
impelled this transformation of the relationship
between the government and Bolivia’s indigenous peo-
ples?
One key change in the wider context was the collapse
of the class-based model of the traditional left.
Neoliberal economic policies have dismantled mines
and many factories, debilitating the once-powerful
workers’ movement organized in the Central Obrero
Boliviano (COB), and weakening the organizational
base of left-wing parties. The fall of “communism” in
Eastern Europe erased the prospect of a socialist utopia,
and at the same time, showed how ethnic problems
could escalate if they were not confronted justly and
promptly. As a consequence, certain leftist parties
began to incorporate into their discourse an ethnic com-
ponent, which Kataristas and lowland indigenous peo-
ples had already been employing for some time. Other
more centrist parties with greater prospects at the ballot
box were quick to follow suit.
Other factors have also been influential in sparking
the indigenous revival. The consolidation of democracy
in the 1980s opened up space for a greater spectrum of
actors and perspectives. The environmental movement,
which often sees indigenous peoples as its natural
allies, especially in areas of virgin rainforest, has grown
in global importance. International environmentalists
have been able to use this power to pressure multilater-
al lending institutions to require countries to demon-
strate that they are taking indigenous and environmental
NACI6A REPORT ON THE AMERICAS
16REPORT ON INDIGENOUS MOVEMENTS
interests into account as a precondition for internation-
al loans. Some non-governmental organizations
(NGOs) as well as sectors of the post-Vatican II
Catholic Church have adopted a focus on indigenous
rights. Within the indigenous movement itself, indige-
nous organizations have grown stronger by forging
alliances across national borders.
In 1992, two years after the 35-day march, the “500
Years of Resistance”-the continent-wide indigenous
response to uncritical celebrations of the Quincentenary
-was commemorated. The central objective of the
commemoration had been agreed upon over a year ear-
lier by the United Confederation of
Campesino Laborers of Bolivia
(CSUTCB) and the Bolivian
Indigenous Confederation of the
Oriente, Amazon and Chaco (CIDOB), the principal organizations of the
Andean region and the lowlands
respectively. 2 They wanted to mark
this year–during which indigenous
issues were in the public eye-with
the creation of an “Assembly of
Nationalities” to better coordinate the
indigenous movement.
On October 12, 1992, the move-
ment’s ability to organize people in
eye-catching events was truly
impressive, especially in the Andean
cities. Indigenous people marched
from their communities on the
periphery into the urban centers in Aymaras chew coca
symbolic takeovers. The profusion of department of Coch
wiphalas in the central plazas looked like forests, over-
whelming the sparse presence of the Bolivian national
flag. The wiphala no longer belonged to the Aymara
alone; it had become the flag of the entire indigenous
movement and the symbol of a new national utopia.
With its checkerboard matrix of the seven colors of the
rainbow, the wiphala nicely illustrates the idea of a
pluriethnic and plurinational country.
Despite the striking spectacle, the central political
objective of all these mobilizations failed.
Representatives of the lowland indigenous groups were
present at the principal event in La Paz, which should
have been followed by the first meeting of the
Assembly of Nationalities. The event turned into a fias-
co, however, with each group fearing the political
manipulation of the other. Concrete political differ-
ences also split the movement. The principal leaders of
the CSUTCB were linked to the Movement for a Free
Bolivia (MBL), a party of Marxist and progressive ori-
gins that would later ally itself with neoliberal forces. 3
Other sectors were closer to political groups such as the
Campesino Grassroots Movement and the
Communitarian Axis (now the Pachakuti Axis), which
had split from the Marxist parties and were less open to
striking deals with the right. Before the groups had
arrived at any kind of working agreement, a torrential
downpour effectively ended both the gathering and the
proposed Assembly of Nationalities, which has been
shelved since then.
The 1992 experience taught Bolivia’s indigenous
movement that conspicuous mobilizations were much
easier to pull off than the slow work involved in creating
a solid and representative organization. The movement
continues to grapple with the question of how to translate
together at a solstice celebration in Sipe Sipe in the highland abamba. Wiphala flags stand on the right.
its local successes and attention-grabbing events into
actions that have real impact at the national level.
n August, 1993, another milestone was reached:
Victor Hugo Cirdenas, an Aymara leader, became
vice-president of Bolivia. Cirdenas was the head of
the Tupaj Katari Revolutionary Movement of
Liberation (MRTKL), practically the only remaining
Katarista party of the many that existed in the 1980s.
The mere fact that an Aymara was chosen to run with
Gonzalo SAnchez de Lozada, the presidential candidate
of the MNR-the same party that years ago argued for
the “campesinoization” of the indigenous population-
was an eloquent sign of the times. Bolivia’s oldest and
most powerful party finally appeared to realize the
important role that the ethnic issue played at the nation-
al level and among potential voters.
The MNR no doubt selected CBrdenas in part
because it feared the growing competition of the
catch-all populist party, Conscience of the Country
(CONDEPA), especially in the urban districts of La
Paz populated by Aymara migrants. “Compadre
Vol XXIX, No 5 MARCH/APRIL 199617 Vol XXIX, No 5 MARCH/APRIL 1996 17REPORT ON INDIGENOUS MOVEMENTS
Palenque,” CONDEPA’s leader, appealed to the grass-
roots with his radio and television programs in
Aymara. The party also cashed in on the ethnicity of
CONDEPA’s principal legislative deputy, Remedios
Loza. A cholita (a person of indigenous descent who
lives in the city), Loza was the first female national
deputy to wear a pollera, the traditional clothing of
indigenous women.
From the perspective of the MRTKL, the offer of the
vice-presidential post was enticing. An Aymara had
never before been invited to assume such a high posi-
tion, especially with such good prospects of success.
A Chimani family stands outside their hut along the Mamore River
the CSUTCB because of the arduous struggle they have
waged against both the Bolivian and the U.S. govern-
ments, which have been more concerned about eradi-
cating coca crops than about capturing cocaine drug
traffickers.
s vice-president, Cirdenas has maintained an
ethnic discourse, full of symbolic gestures. The
presence of his wife, Lidia Katari, who also
wears a pollera, plays perhaps an even more important
role. Cdrdenas has taken advantage of the few brief
moments in which he has served as interim president to
play up this symbolism. At one
event, he invited an old Aymara
woman to sit in the presidential
chair. On another occasion, the gov-
ernment palace was inundated with
children from the Quechua, Aymara
and Guaranf terroritories in a cere-
mony to mark the closing of the
experimental phase of an intercultur-
al and bilingual education program,
which has since been extended to
other parts of the country. This accu-
mulation of symbolic capital is
important, but will, in the long run,
be sterile and frustrating if the
indigenous imprint on national poli-
tics doesn’t go beyond that.
In fundamental ways, Cirdenas’
vice-presidency has been an exercise
in the department in futility. First of all, he has been
of Beni, located in the Bolivian lowlands.
Cirdenas agreed to run, apparently believing that he nomic policy. 1
could strengthen the entire indigenous movement from neoliberal mod’
the office of the vice-presidency. 4 nous communit
Cirdenas’ decision to join the MNR ticket should be is provide basi
placed in the context of the complex relationship sectors (among
between the state and Bolivia’s indigenous movement. ties are the wor
The leadership of the CIDOB and CSUTCB, the two the productive
most representative indigenous organizations in biggest-and n
Bolivia, have opposing attitudes toward the govern- ment and, becy
ment. The CIDOB of the lowlands has been more will- indigenous Vic
ing to collaborate with the government. By contrast, On the politi
there is strong opposition to the government among the take advantage
leadership of the CSUTCB of the Andean area, effective indige
These divergent stances vis-ai-vis the state reflect the ure appears aln
different histories of Bolivia’s indigenous groups. The has not created
indigenous peoples of the lowlands, who only recently him who coul
entered the political game, are more pragmatic. The Perhaps Cdrden
CSUTCB, on the other hand, has been broadly affiliat- has simply not
ed with the left and in particular the COB since the time Cdrdenas sho
of the dictators. The influence of coca producers is also it for a few rec
more direct in the CSUTCB. The coca producers are favorable to th
currently the most mobilized and radicalized sector of SAnchez de Lo
powerless to influence national eco-
?he government continues to follow the
el, which has been damaging to indige-
ies. The most the government has done
c social services to the country’s poor
which the rural indigenous communi-
st off). The state has not tried to improve
capacity of these sectors. This is the
onst difficult-task facing this govern-
ause he is part of the government, the
e-President.
cal front, Cdrdenas has been unable to
of his position to build a unified and
nous organization. His charismatic fig-
host alone at the movement’s apex. He
an indigenous circle of advisors around
d be groomed for leadership roles.
ias does not see this as a priority, or he
been able to do so.
uld, however, be given some of the cred-
ent government initiatives that are more
.e indigenous cause. For instance, the
zada administration created a National
18NACIA REPORT ON THE AMERICAS
18
>_ m
NACIA REPORT ON THE AMERICASREPORT ON INDIGENOUS MOVEMENTS
Secretariat of Ethnic, Gender and Generational Affairs.
Headed by allies of the Vice-President, this government
agency’s principal function is to develop policies and
legislative proposals in these areas.
As vice-president, C.rdenas also serves as president
of the Congress. From those two posts, he no doubt
helped win approval for the modification of the
Constitution in 1994. The first article now makes
explicit reference to the pluriethnic, pluricultural and
plurilingual (though not plurinational) character of the
country. For the first time, the importance of indigenous
roots was officially recognized in the Constitution, a
big achievement in a country so marked by Spanish col-
onization.
The Congress also passed an Education Reform Law
on July 7, 1994, whose central objective is assuring bet-
ter quality primary-school education in both the city and
the countryside. Indigenous peoples have been particu-
larly receptive to two components: the law’s bilingual
multicultural focus and its establishment of educational
advisory boards at different levels that will make propos-
als and give communities a measure of control over
teachers. However, the teachers, who will be primarily
responsible for implementing the new initiatives, have
also been the most resistant. They distrust the law partly
for political reasons (including the World Bank’s
involvement in formulating the law, and opposition from
Trotskyist leaders of the teachers’ union), but above all
because they are afraid of losing the job security that they
once had.
The most important piece of legislation is the new
Popular Participation Law (PPL), which in the short term
could open the door for greater indigenous participation
in the government. The law ostensibly decentralizes
power and resources to new rural municipalities. While
the leadership of the indigenous movement has been sus-
picious of the new law, the response at the grassroots has
been more varied. The PPL has awoken real interest in
some groups, while others fear that it is a veiled attempt
by the government to co-opt indigenous groups.
On its face, the Popular Participation Law contains
some noteworthy innovations. For one thing, it treats
the diverse traditional organizations of indigenous and
campesino communities-such as ayllus (broader
Andean communities), tentas (Guaranf communities),
cabildos (councils) and unions with their traditional
authorities-as participating actors in Bolivian democ-
racy. It does this by giving these traditional organiza-
tions legal standing and by delegating to them the role
of supervising the execution of municipal plans.
The grassroots indigenous and campesino organiza-
tions had been struggling to achieve this kind of power
for many years. However, their involvement in the
process was not automatic, especially in certain
Andean regions, because of the organizations’ wari-
ness of the government’s true intentions. A year after
the law was approved, some 10,500 community orga-
nizations had registered with the government, equiva-
lent to only half of the estimated national total, and
only 140 of the 308 municipalities had established
their oversight committees.
The great fear of many grassroots organizations was
rooted in the law’s use of the generic name Territorial
Base Organizations (OTB) to refer to any of the tradi-
tional organizations so recognized. The adoption of this
new name and the creation
of oversight committees
have made many suspi-
cious that the government
really wants to liquidate
traditional organizations
and transform them into
entities that would be com-
pliant appendages of gov-
ernment. Fueling such sus-
picions was the memory
that 30 years ago the same
MNR had pulled such a
maneuver on the unions.
“Before, they wanted to
convert us from Aymaras
to campesinos, from first
peoples to unionists,” says
Juan de la Cruz Wilca, a
top leader of the CSUTCB
and the COB. “Now, won’t
it be the same with the
OTBs? We already have
our own statute. Let them
recognize us as we are. We
don’t need to become OTBs.”
The movement’s fears of
Some indigenous
leaders fear that
the Popular
Participation Law
is a veiled
attempt by
government to
co-opt
indigenous
groups.
co-optation have some
foundation. In a number of places, the local authorities
have wanted to control the oversight committees and
have even set up their own OTBs linked to their party
interests. In these instances, the already existing tradi-
tional organizations have not been recognized. This, of
course, runs contrary to the law’s ostensible intent. To
eliminate misunderstandings, the Secretariat of Popular
Participation decided to scrap the term OTB in the reg-
istration forms in 1995. As a consequence, the tradi-
tional organizations’ initial mistrust is gradually disap-
pearing.
The central innovation of the new law has been the
creation of more than 300 municipalities, of which
approximately three-quarters have a majority rural-
and often indigenous-population. Twenty percent of
state revenues is being channeled to these municipali-
ties as a whole. These funds are being distributed in
proportion to the population of each municipality. In
Vol XXIX, No 5 MARCH/APRIL 1996 19 Vol XXIX, No 5 MARCH/APRIL 1996 19REPORT ON INDIGENOUS MOVEMENTS
addition to this seed money, the government can grant
additional funds earmarked for the execution of the
municipal plans. Before, the only true municipalities in
Bolivia were the important towns and cities. In concrete
terms, the majority of the countryside was a no-man’s
land. Now, each square foot of national territory is part
of a municipality, and those that live within its perime-
ters have the responsibility to choose and control their
authorities.
The first practical problem is that these new munici-
pal jurisdictions have been demarcated
according to the boundaries of the old
provincial divisions, which were fre-
quently determined without taking into
account the natural groupings of the
local population. For example, the more
than 20,000 Aymaras of Jesds de
Machaga, where I live, don’t constitute
a municipality, as would be obvious.
Instead, they belong to the distant city
of Viacha, some 50 miles away, which
is almost an annex to metropolitan La
Paz. The government has dealt with the
most glaring disfunctions by creating subordinate “sub-
mayoralties” (six of them are classified as “indige-
nous,” in which the traditional authority is at the same
time the submayoralty). The root of the problem will
only be resolved, however, by making each municipal
jurisdiction better fit the sociocultural and economic
reality of the area.
Jt’s still too early to evaluate how the new munici-
palities are working. The municipal elections in
December, 1995-the first under the new law-
served, however, as a preliminary test of the degree to
which the new structure gives indigenous peoples
greater access to at least local power.
There was a significant increase in the number of
indigenous candidates (including many women) running
for local office throughout the country. The number who
were actually elected, however, was fewer. This out-
come is in part the result of the fact that consciousness
about political participation and skill in the political
game are not acquired overnight. The main limitations,
however, are structural, which have historical roots.
First of all, difficulties in the registration and voting
process dissuaded many from casting a ballot. Because
of the distance from residences to polling booths and
the many bureaucratic tangles, rural absenteeism was
between 40% and 60% of registered voters (compared
with 35% of the national total). According to the 1992
census, more than 50% of Bolivian women were not
even registered to vote.
The second difficulty was more political in nature.
When the legislative deputies decided to modify the
Bolivian Constitution three years ago, they agreed not
to touch a constitutional restriction which required
that all candidates for political office be presented by
an accredited political party. The legislators left the
restriction alone because no political party wanted to
give up a privilege that it already had. As a result, in
some places, the political initiative has remained in
the hands of the parties and, in others, the candidates
pre-selected by local organizations had to negotiate
with one or another party to be accepted as part of its
ticket.
Because of this requirement, we can
only know how many votes and coun-
cil members each “party” got. Almost
nobody, not even the Electoral
Tribunal itself, knows how many of
those elected are really party members
and how many are indigenous people
preselected locally who had to strike
deals with some party in order to be
legally eligible to run.
The clearest case of new indigenous
participation was the quasi-party
Assembly for the Sovereignty of the Peoples (ASP),
created by Quechua campesinos in the department of
Cochabamba in association with the coca producers.
When the ASP was denied recognition by the Electoral
Tribunal, it had to borrow the acronym of the deterio-
rating United Left party in order to participate in the
elections. The group won 16 of the 40 municipalities in
Cochabamba, and came in second in five others. It’s
also known that the MBL, now a junior partner in the
governmental alliance, showed a great deal of flexibil-
ity in allowing Quechua candidates in the south of the
country to run on its ticket. As a consequence, the party
won 15 of the 25 rural mayoralties in the department of
Chuquisaca.
Months before the December elections, I asked Carlos
Hugo Molina, the independent director of the Secretariat
of Popular Participation, what changes he would incor-
porate in the new law if it were in his hands. He pointed
out two: not demanding party affiliation in municipal
elections, and facilitating the creation of indigenous
municipalities. Will legislators accept these?
With or without these changes in the law, the indige-
nous peoples of Bolivia now have new ground rules
which-for better or worse-have transformed the
playing field. Their best prospects of success are at the
local level, where it is not inconceivable that they will
be able to take control of municipal government. But
for that to occur, and to make even further progress,
Bolivia’s indigenous peoples will have to go beyond
the realm of eye-catching mobilizations, where they
have already shown such skill. They will need to mas-
ter the difficult art of the game of politics.
Bolivia: Making the Leap from Local Mobilization to National
Politics
1. See Silvia Rivera Cusicanqui, “Aymara Past, Aymara Future,” in
NACLA Report on the Americas, Vol. 25, No. 3 (December, 1991).
2. The United Confederation of Campesino Farmers of Bolivia
(CSUTCB) has deepest roots and the strongest support among
Quechuas and Aymaras. While its name reflects the historical
inertia of an earlier era, its current discourse has a strong ethnic
component.
3. After the 1993 elections, the MBL entered the governmental
coalition and lost influence in the CSUTCB leadership, which is
now in the hands of groups such as the coca growers.
4. See Xavier Alb6, “And from Kataristas to MNRistas” in Donna Lee
Van Cott, ed., Indigenous Peoples and Democracy in Latin
America (New York: St. Martin’s Press and the Inter-American
Dialogue, 1994).