I have an especially experienced perspective on the reality of how Latin American countries treat the immigration issue. I am a victim of immigration fraud. In 2009 I was approached by Bolivian immigration officials because of the color of my skin and was later detained due to a lack of documentation resulting from the fraud committed against me. Racial profiling? Papers please?

Been there, done that. The Story: Part One ; Part Two ; Part Three.

Bolivian law was changed in December 2007 to require new, complicated, applied-and-paid-for visas of United States citizens entering Bolivia. Whereas before Americans could enter Bolivia and receive a stamp granting them 90 days of tourist entry, now Americans must pay over $100, provide extensive documentation, and submit an application in order to have 90 days of tourist entry. The argument made in favor of this policy change: reciprocity. America has immigration restrictions, therefore Bolivia will have immigration restrictions. Reciprocity.

In the spirit of reciprocity, then: Why are so many of the people who support Bolivia’s ability to investigate citizenship actively opposing the United States’ ability to investigate legality?

Bolivia’s policing of immigration matters is openly racist; Arizona’s policing of immigration matters is just.

In 2009, my friend and I were the only people approached in the entire bus terminal that day. We were the only people detained. We walked into the terminal and were immediately stopped. Why? Only because our skins are pale. We were stopped only because of the color of our skin. We were victims of racism. I was particularly struck (emotionally) by the poster hanging on the wall in the hall of the immigration detention office… the poster was a PSA about needing to struggle against racism. Funny: none of the victims of racism depicted were white. I felt very much neglected as I was threatened with third-world jail as a result of my pale skin.

The Arizona law is fundamentally different from the Bolivian system. The Arizona law empowers police to investigate immigration legality when a person has already been stopped for another legal reason. They cannot randomly pull people over because of their skin color.

I, as a “white” person in Bolivia, South America, was stopped and investigated because of the color of my skin.

Someone else, as a person of any color in Arizona, United States of America, can be investigated under reasonable suspicion only if they have been stopped for another legal reason.

Bolivian Law: Racist.

Arizona Law: Just.

Interested in more information regarding what the Arizona law actually means? Read Heather Mac Donald’s article.

Bolivian Law now requires all importers to register with Aduana. An importer is defined as anyone receiving an international delivery/package, and is further defined by habitual importer and occasional importer. Habitual importers will require a fundempresa registration. The following step-by-step process applies to occasional importers living in Cochabamba, Bolivia. The registration process should be very similar regardless of city, but all geographical references are specific to Cochabamba. The deadline for this registration is 29 May, 2010, and registration is currently free. Registration will theoretically be closed by June, but will probably be available with a large fine / multa.

Recommended Taxi Driver who knows the location:
Marco Zelaya, cell phone: 793–99289.
Marco is an old friend who shuttled me all over town as we figured out this process… if you’re even the slightest bit unsure, hire him! He’s worth the extra few dollars!

The Daily Mail has published an article about yet another retro-living woman who has spent a week pretending to live with the resource limitations of another era. We’ve seen women of the 1930s and 1940s, and couples of the 1950s… today, however, we are graced with the attempt by one woman to live in the 1970s of Britain. Not the full range of retro elements, mind you — no bell-bottomed leisure suits for her! Just the cooking.

The woman in question bemoans the loss of her microwave, her bread maker, her coffee maker, her electric scales… and even her food processor. Apparently she’s reliving the very early ‘70s, since they were certainly available later in the decade. But, then, this was pre-Thatcher Britain, and people still ate twigs.

I’ve lived in Bolivia for two years. I cook two meals a day in a world without the benefit of a microwave or prepared goods. Macaroni and Cheese in boxes is considered a serious splurge in our Bolivian household (it does, after all, cost more than making a beef roast stew).

She babbles on about how dreadfully difficult, how mindnumbingly time-consuming, it all is. To listen to her, cooking from scratch would seem to be a miserable all-day task.

She’s right, in a sense. Everything does take longer. The way she whines, however, sounds as if she spent hours slaving away each day for a week only to collapse at the table in exhaustion. Comparing her tales with reality, I can only conclude that she’s just lousy at it.

Bolivia lacks easy fast food, and what exists is just as expensive as it is in the United States. How can one casually go to the one Burger King in town when it costs just as much as going to El Porton, the nicest steakhouse in the city? Processed greasy fast hamburger or Argentine steak? Dilemma.

We do have a microwave and it has worked for a collective six months of the twenty-six months I’ve been here. The microwave has one teensy problem: plug it into the wall and it burns out.

In fairness, we do also have a food processor and a Kitchenaid stand mixer. Each appliance saves at least fifteen minutes off each major project. This is necessary when one has to cook two separate entrees at each meal to cover the needs of eight people, three of whom have violent allergies to the key elements which make food Taste Good.

We do not, though, have a bread maker or an ice cream maker… and I fail to see the use for electric scales in day to day cooking. Or Thanksgivings, for that matter.

We buy sandwich bread, but we bake regularly regardless. Then we’ve the cookies. Why would we buy cookies from the store when we can bake them for half the price? Our Bolivian grocery bills are already the equal of our American grocery bills, thanks to Bolivia’s political mis-leadership.

And yet… unlike the Daily Fail’s frazzled idiot-cook, I still manage to get around town, take grad courses, and, in the case of this past Tuesday, watch seven episodes of Buffy.

I’d like to see the article’s author dropped into my great-grandmother’s world of 1930s-40s coal mining West Virginia. A special room meant for keeping hand-salted meats stored away for the winter, endless days spent canning vegetables in glass jars…

… but, then the universe would collapse in one great big collective whine.

I’ve decided that Katherine is not allowed to come to Bolivia. This is a significant change in plans, since Katherine is scheduled to arrive in Bolivia on Friday and she intends to stay through August.

Here’s the problem.

I will lose the Katherine Card.

The Katherine Card works all manner of magic. Observe:

Convincing Teenage Sister to Accept Medicine

Lorien: “Staton, you have to take this medicine.“
Staton: “Um, no. It does nothing for me.“
Lorien: “It doesn’t matter if you think it does nothing for your symptoms, because it’ll stop you from being contagious.“
Staton: “So?“
Lorien: “Katherine will be here Friday. If we get her sick, her first two Bolivian Weeks will be miserable.“
Staton: “Oh. Okay. Can I have the pills?”

Convincing Eleven Year Old Brother to Bathe

Lorien: “David, take a bath.“
David: “Nope.“
Lorien: “You stink.“
David: “Yup!“
Lorien: “No, seriously, you smell really bad.“
David: “[snicker] Yeah, I know!“
Lorien: “Katherine will be here in three days! You don’t want her to smell you like this.“
David: “Oh. Yeah.“
Lorien: “You’ll need to bathe more than once a month, you know.“
David: “True. Like, every day. Oh man, I need to go do my laundry, too!“
Lorien: “Um, okay, yeah, definitely.“
David: “GOTTA RUN, I SMELL BAD.”

Admittedly, the Katherine Card is less effective on the elder of the younger siblings, Thomas and Nicholas. They’re very much, “eh, whatever, I’m doing my own oh-so-cool-and-suave thing.” I suspect this will change when they stumble out of their rooms, like any other grumpy early morning, and realize, “POPE’S POOP! THERE’S A GIRL IN THE HOUSE. WE HAVE TO BE NICE!“

On second thought, Katherine should still come to Bolivia. That reaction will be worth the loss of the Katherine Card.

Update! Jeff McMorrough made his own version of the Katherine Card:

Western culture can often translate in strange ways when brought to Bolivia. Halloween, for instance. Tonight is the 3rd of November, and this is when Bolivia celebrates Halloween. I’m sure there’s a very sensible reason for this, and I’m just not in the know — even if it’s as simple as bumping it to Monday night lets us all have an extra night off of work. What does puzzle me is the horn honking. Cars are honking their horns like mad tonight, and for all I can tell they’re trying to honk “Jingle Bells”.

Jingle Bells for Halloween.

Meanwhile, Tyson had a great find. Crafted by 21st Century Filth, is the real Hope:

It’s even on my desktop, fresh for voting day.

7:40am
I woke up to an extraordinarily loud “Screech! Chunk! Thud. CRASH!” from Simon Lopez, our busy city street. I run down the stairs to hear “Lorien! Camera!” and my siblings yelling, “The van! The van?” The crash was not our van, but instead a drunk driver crashing into one of our large metal gates.

Juan, the drunk driver, had swept the side of his car into a tree by the road.

He was driving so fast that he had enough momentum to go forward into a little parking lot off the street and swerve hard left. He crossed the raised cement and grass divider between the east and west bound lanes, and drove head-on into our secondary gate. The owner of the house had previously installed a cement block to prevent cars from entering that driveway because it’s too steep for anything but a Range Rover. That cement block prevented the vehicle from entering our garage. Having crashed into our gate, he reversed and drove off.

To be clear: this man was drunk; he was driving on one of the busiest streets in the city; he rammed a tree; he almost rammed a hardware store, he almost rammed two houses, he crossed four lanes of traffic, crashed into our gate, and drove across two sidewalks where people, including children, frequently walk. The sidewalks where he hit were empty, but this was extremely unusual — we usually have people of all ages walking on those sidewalks. Where he crashed is a part of the sidewalk where my brothers will usually walk down to the bakery for fresh morning bread. Only coincidence prevented him from killing people in his drunken rampage.

7:50am
Nicholas found Juan and his wrecked car on a little dead-end street behind our block. Dad reached it before me, and as I went to meet him a crowd of witnesses followed behind. In that moment I felt very strangely Firth-like (not something I would normally say. The video cuts out some of the crowd-following sequence.) as the gringa with a crowd of “What’s going on? Looks like a good show!” Bolivians in tow.

At the top of the hill and around the corner sat two vehicles: Juan’s and that of a Radio Movil taxi. We really have no solid idea as to why the taxi was present. As far as we could tell, his car was not damaged and none of the witnesses to the accident had observed his involvement. We do know that Juan paid him 250 Bolivianos in cash ($35.71) to absolve his guilt from something or another. Mom thinks that the taxista was blackmailing Juan. The taxi attempted to leave, and I asked him to stay and wait for the police. He refused. As he was leaving I took his photo, which made him extremely angry.

“Why would you take my photo? This is not my fault! I have nothing in this!”

“Why did he pay you 250Bs?”

“I have nothing in this! You do not need my photo!”

As he said all of this, he loomed closer and closer, which prompted my father to get between us. The taxista had clearly been drinking as his breath stank of it and his eyes were more red than white. He did eventually leave.

Juan also attempted to leave.

Lorien: “No, we all have to wait here.”

Juan: “But I’ll pay for the gate! I will! But I have to go.”

“No. The police are on their way. We will all wait here for them”

“Please, I need to leave. I will pay you!”

“No. Wait here.”

He motioned put his keys in the ignition — I attempted to grab them, but missed. That rather annoyed my father (“That’s my job.”). Meanwhile, when Juan opened his driver-side door… out tumbled an empty beer can. He hurriedly stuffed it into his pants pocket.

We spent the next hour waiting for the police to arrive, and trying to keep Juan from running.

The witnesses were fantastic. The entire experience was country justice at its finest. The people, a combination of curious witnesses and our neighbors, were lined up along the side of the road which had a steep hill down to a bike path.

For the first ten minutes or so my father and I were very conscious of needing to maintain the support of the people. Juan was a crook — no question. The people of Cochabamba are just astoundingly good-hearted. However! The reality of the situation was also that a a big, scary gringo (Dad!) was glaring down at an increasingly pathetic young Bolivian. The loving spirit of Cochabambinos will usually side with the underdog, and specifically with the Bolivian underdog, even to the detriment of justice. This is understandable, but sometimes delicate. When my father verbally defended my mother from a man who physically assaulted my mother, our neighbors sided against us — and they did so by saying that we were foreign, etc. Again, understandable, but frustrating.

Frankly, too, it took a good ten to fifteen minutes for the group to accept that we weren’t going to beat up pathetic little Juan. We just wanted him to wait for the police. They were watching both Juan and us with eagle eyes, waiting to see who was going to be worse.

Juan: “Please. Please. Let me leave. I’ll fix your gate.”

Lorien: “No, you must wait. We are all waiting. You need to wait.”

“I can’t be here!”

“You must. We know the law of Cochabamba, and you have to wait here.”

One of the men concurred, “Listen. They’re foreigners. They know the law.”

I don’t know why a foreigner is expected to know the law, but whatever, I wasn’t going to argue.

Juan: “Please.”

Lorien: “No. It’s better for Cochabamba, it’s better for us, and it’s better for you.”

“Not for me!”

“Yes, for you. I know it’s very hard for you now, but you must learn that this behavior [ed. I actually said manner, but I didn’t know how to say it properly] is not good. You need to learn, and then your life will be better.”

Mind you, in the States that patronizing crap wouldn’t fly. It’s true, and I meant it genuinely. But while in the States it wouldn’t have been… kind to say it out loud like that, here in the semi-open air of Bolivian dialogue it worked. Juan wasn’t just a kid who had made a little mistake, Juan was a young man who came very close to killing people because he a) drove while intoxicated, and b) probably stole a car. Juan didn’t buy the explanation, but the people around us saw that Dad was NOT attacking the punk, and I was speaking firmly and sweetly, while talking about the good of Cochabamba and Juan’s future. I was speaking more nicely to him than any of the people there. Go figure.

Juan didn’t want to hear it, so he turned around to walk over to my father. Now, for context: my father had already spoken to Juan in limited Spanish (“No! Wait here! No!”). He’s still learning Spanish, and because of our extremely low funding his classes have been put on hold. All Juan knew, though, was that I had been talking to him in limited and childish but essentially understandable Spanish, and that my father had used some Spanish with him as well. So he turned to my father and again began with, “Please, I cannot meet the police.”

Dad didn’t want to argue more. He crossed his arms, and in the most perfect Spanish accent of all time, “No entiendo español.”

The people cracked up. One guy doubled over and clapped his knee. Juan turned to them in frustration, and the fellow in the open shirt exclaimed, “Nope! Can’t talk to him! Just her!” and cackled.

Juan: “Please!”

Lorien: “No.”

Juan assessed his situation. His best bet was to jump down the hill and run down the bike path. He tried to subtly move closer to the edge of the hill. The group just as subtly inched down closer to him. My father met him at the edge, and when Juan stepped onto the hill Dad grabbed his arm:

Dad: “NO. Wait here.”

Juan stepped back up, and Dad released his arm. Juan came back to me.

“PLEASE, miss. PLEASE.”

“No. We are all waiting here.”

He got right up to me, inches from my face.

“PLEASE!”

“No, and please, I want space.”

He didn’t move.

Louder, “Space. I want more space.” I held up my hand as if I was about to push him away. “Give me more space.”

He didn’t move. Dad took a step closer. Juan didn’t notice, so I swiveled around so that the group could see the space differential. “I WANT SPACE. PLEASE.”

The men took a step closer to us, and Juan stepped back once.

I moved away so that I could observe but so that I wasn’t between him and the men. Juan turned as if he was going to just walk off. Dad stood in his way.

“Here. Take the keys. You can have the car. Just let me leave.”

He dropped the keys to the ground.

“No. Wait here.”

Dad picked up the keys anyway, although Juan tried to step on his hand. Juan decided to go sit in his car. He had another set of keys, so he was still a flight risk as far as we knew. He started gathering his things into a duffel, preparing for a run.

Dad walked over and opened the car doors. Again, the group found this hilarious. The perfect solution: we weren’t touching him, we weren’t hurting him, but he wasn’t going anywhere. They loved it.

Juan put his duffel in the trunk and went back to standing in the middle of the little road.

He pulled out his phone and pretended to have a conversation, acting all nonchalant about everything… but steadily stepping further and further up the road. Dad just went up and blocked his path. At first it was subtle. Juan would take a step forward and to the side. Dad would step back and to the side. A happy little waltz. After fifteen feet of this, the group started laughing.

One pointed at Dad and tapped his own skull, as if, “ha! clever!” Juan started freaking out and taking bigger steps. The guy in the gold shirt walked up to block the corner. I thanked him, and he nodded as he walked up to give Dad backup. I’m rather perturbed because in the video it sounds like a grassy-ass gringo accent. Sigh. Anyway, I was taping that bit because if he did run for it I wanted to have evidence of the sequence of events.

The Waltz of Dad and Juan the Drunk from Lorien Johnson on Vimeo.

Juan got ticked and gave up on that tactic.

He had already said that he didn’t have a license. Dad asked me if he had a general ID.

Lorien: “Do you have a carnet?”

Juan: “Carnet? Yes.”

Gold Shirt Guy was standing a few feet behind him, and I haven’t the foggiest idea what he mouthed in Spanish but he motioned and my brain translated it as “Get it!”

Lorien: “Can I see it?”

Juan: “My carnet?”

“Yes, can I see it?”

He pulled out and opened his wallet to display his ID in a clear plastic pocket.

Lorien: “Can I read it?”

Juan: “Read it or take it?”

I just laughed and said, “Oh, I don’t understand. Can I just read it please?”

He took it out, turned it over, and replaced it in his wallet.

Lorien: “I can’t read it in the plastic. Please?”

I held the wallet as if I was tilting the angle to read, but his grip was iron and it would’ve been a fight, so I let it go.

He put his wallet back in his pocket and backed up to stand on the edge of the hill and his escape. Dad and the men were primed to go after him.

“Please, Juan. I have your photo. I read your carnet and know your name and ID number [I didn’t]. It will be much better for your life if you just wait here.”

Again, laughter. “Better for his life! hahaha!”

He rubbed his head and went to go lean against the car to think.

Eventually he climbed in.

Thomas, my brother, had gone to get soft drinks for everyone present. I passed them out to everyone, and convinced Juan to have a coke to relax, too. We were about a half hour into the process, and the police still hadn’t arrived.

Open Shirt Fellow explained, “It’s a Sunday. You have to insist.”

Mom kept calling the police, and some of the people had left to go call from their houses or to go to the courthouse down the street to try to convince the police to actually come out.

We spent the next half hour sitting around and waiting. The men circled the car to ooo and aah over the excessive damage, which also effectively kept Juan contained. I eventually went down to the house to let one of the people call Transito (I think the equivalent of the American Department of Moving Vehicles”) and report it as a stolen vehicle (which the people had decided amongst themselves that it must be). While he called and I brushed my teeth (finally! half an hour of talking in my pyjamas and unbrushed breath. Horrid!), we got the call from Dad saying that the police had finally arrived.

9:00am
I got back up the hill and talked briefly with the police. The group had dispersed quickly, and were waiting on the other side of the street in front of our house. We took the police to show them our gate. They nodded and decided to bring their jeep and Juan’s car down to the street. The police went up the hill. Juan followed them from about 40 feet behind. I was baffled by why he was left alone, so I just stayed right behind him. We’d gone halfway up the hill when the lead officer saw us and yelled at his assistants, “Why is he walking? Why did you leave him? Put him in the car!” So Juan, bless the pitiful little guy, shuffled up hill to the jeep and got in the back of his own accord.

Back at the house, we explained the sequence of events. Dad had gone inside to print of my photos. A second police jeep arrived. A third jeep. Then a red Transito jeep. Apparently departments had not been tracking that the calls were all for the same event, or at least the sheer number of calls pressed them to show up in a group. I think we had ten or fifteen officers there at the end. They had Juan pick up the pieces to the car and wait.

My father then came out with the printouts of all of the photos. One officer just looked at them and was amazed. He took them over to the group of officers who were standing in a circle around Juan, and I’ve never seen an officer happier.

“Look at these! [flip page] Look at that! [flip] That’s his face! His face! [turned it over to show Juan] Your face! [flip] The license plates! Your plates! They have everything!” They were laughing uproariously, and as he said that last bit he clapped Juan on the back, “Pobrecito!” {poor little thing!}

Pobrecito, indeed. The officers were amazingly thrilled, because we’d essentially done most of the work for them — kept him there and taken and printed pictures of him, the other taxista, and the damage. Probably the first time in a long time that they’d walked into a situation and actually had witnesses and evidence. They just stood there laughing at the situation and at poor Juan. Juan was definitely guilty, but he just happened to be guilty in the worst possible spot in the city.

Well. I suppose he could have crashed directly into a police station or the DEA building. But, y’know.

Still, it was just so… Andy Griffith. The neighborhood rallied in the only possible justice available to them, and we kept it on a strictly peaceful level. Ordinarily a petty crime is frowned upon but earns merely a glare and a shrug. I frequently hear folks shrug in semi-apology, semi-indignation, “Eh. This is Bolivia. It happens.” This time, however, the neighborhood saw that Juan was a risk and he had carelessly and illegally endangered their families, their property, and their peace. They solved the problem. By the time the police showed up an hour after the neighborhood beginning the process, the officers were so busy being amused by the ridiculous efficiency of the entire affair that all they could do was laugh and pat the crook on the back with a jovial but sympathetic, “You’re fried, man. You’re fried.”

I adore Cochabamba. Andy Griffith Southern Justice in the morning, and at noon we left to go to the Feria de las Flores {Flower Feria}.

That’s Bolivia.

We heard some fascinating political and legal analysis on current events from a top-notch specialist in Bolivian law. I’m not naming him here simply because I didn’t get his express permission to do so. Kindly, deal with it. I’m posting the analysis, and then we can all go about researching it as we wish.

Prior to the Ambush in the Pando, Evo expelled almost all of the press. That is a significantly contributing factor as to why we have so little visible evidence and sound accounts of what really happened.

Earlier today on a radio station in Cochabamba it was announced that evidence had been found and confirmed that all individuals who fired weapons at the violent clash were Venezuelan troops. This is believable, because it is well known that the Bolivian military is fiercely uncomfortable with attacking other Bolivians. (This matches an article I saw yesterday. I’ll add a link to that here soon. Need to track it down again.)

Legal Consequences of the Pando Conflict:

After the attack in the Pando, the Pando government was disbanded and Martial Law was instigated in that department. Martial Law is limited by the current Constitution of Bolivia to last no more than 90 days. Under Martial Law, no arrests or charges can be made.

Also under the current Bolivian Constitution, no official can be arrested under any circumstances. Let’s backtrack and define this. Until relatively recently, the Constitution defined Prefects of Departments as being members of the President’s cabinet, government officials, whom the President personally selected. Under President Mesa, however, the Constitution was legally amended so that the Prefects are elected by the people of the departments. The definition of a Prefect remained the same: Prefects are government officials and members of the President’s cabinet.

Current context:

The Prefect of Pando has been detained by the national authorities under Evo’s leadership. He has not been arrested or charged. He is informally accused, but legally he is only under armed/guarded confinement. He is not at liberty to leave. When a Bolivian citizen is under confinement, the normal response is a writ of habeas corpus. He has not been arrested or charged, however, so habeas corpus does not apply. But! In situations in which a confinement has been initiated but no arrests/charges have been made, the Bolivian Constitution offers a protection: an automatic visa to leave the country.

The legal Constitution of Bolivia promises the Prefect of Pando an automatic visa to leave Bolivia. That’s Latin American legal systems at work if I’ve ever seen it. His family have today filed the case to have that visa processed.

Evo’s team is arguing that because the Prefect was in rebellion, he cannot be considered an “official of the government”. However, this doesn’t hold up legally:

• The Constitution has no provisions for situations of rebellion. That status does not legally exist.
• The Prefect was elected by the people of the Pando. Therefore, he is an official of the government of Bolivia as designated by the people of his department.
• The Prefect is legally a member of the President’s cabinet, but is not subject to the President’s selection or preference (reserved by the department, as shown in point 2). The Prefect is as much of an official of the Bolivian government as every other member of the President’s cabinet.

Unfortunately for Evo, by placing the Prefect of Pando under confinement he has given him a free exit from the country and from possible prosecution. This is what happens when people do not respect their own laws enough to know their own laws. If you make a law and/or if you claim the authority of a law, then you need to know that law and follow that law. Evo’s team does not, and that’s a significant weakness for his leadership and his factions.

Evo can continue this fight against the Prefect. Attempting to keep the Prefect in the country by denying his constitutional claim to an exit visa forces a case into constitutional courts. In Bolivia, cases can take months and sometimes years. Consitutional cases will get heard much faster than civil cases, but they can take just as long… and that’s a long time. IF this case goes before the constitutional courts, then due to its high profile the new Constitution proposed by Evo, which has not yet been approved and put into place by the people of Bolivia, cannot be approved. Evo can fight to keep the Prefect, but his Constitution will be delayed inevitably, and with it his political ideals.

Ouch.

International Support and the Limits thereof:

We keep hearing about the overwhelming solidarity of the continent, represented now by UNASUR and the OAS, for Evo Morales. That may well be an exagerration, and the inclusion of international authorities may prove to be Evo’s political downfall.

Evo set the schedule for negotiating with the opposition leaders in Bolivia. He picked the dates. At the last minute, Evo attempted to change the negotiations for one day earlier than planned. This would have caused the opposition leaders to be unprepared. UNASUR and OAS said, emphatically, “No.” The schedule had been set, it was not appropriate to change it.

August Referendum — Bogus?

In addition, the international agencies are going through the election results from August with a fine-tooth comb. They are being extremely strict. Under these strict counting procedures, Evo’s “mandate” is adding up to be approximately 32% — that is 35% lower than the 67% claimed by the Bolivian government. A more moderate counting which allows for a reasonable amount of casual error suggests that Evo would have earned the necessary 52% to stay in office, but only just, and certainly not a 2/3 mandate.

A more obvious limitation to the security of the election, especially valuable for those of us who are distrustful of even third-party agencies counting votes (it’s scary, when you think about how easily shaded our counting systems are, regardless of nation!), is that in a normal election every polling location is monitored by a representative of every single party in the election. In those situations, if any of those representatives point out a possible problem, then the whole polling table in question is shut down! In August, however, the referendum did not involve specific parties and a selection between candidates — it was a simple Yes / No vote. Representatives from multiple parties were not present at the polling places, thus eliminating one of the more significant protections of the electoral system in Bolivia.

The international agencies are going through the records and finding thousands upon thousands of voters listed as “Mama AAA”, “Papa BBB”, and so on — clearly fraudulent names. Reports are also being submitted of citizens who appeared at their polling location to vote but were informed that someone had already voted that day in their name! Awkward. Now, be rational, guys. In the United States of America wwe have elections upon which the entire world looks because our elections affect the entire world… and yet, we still have dead guys voting in Chicago. Election fraud in Bolivia? Believable.

The Compromise:

UNASUR and the OAS, however, are not demanding that the August election be thrown out. They’re going much deeper than that. Now that they’ve been invited in, they’re staying. Evo’s “mandate” will stand, but on their conditions. UNASUR and the OAS are demanding that all voters re-register. From now all, every voter must present their carnet (ID) and give their thumbprint in order to vote. That data will correspond with the data in the brand new voter registration database.

The rest of the continent really doesn’t want to deal with a country firing its legally and constitutionally elected President — and Evo’s presidential election was legal and valid. But forcing a just and accountable system of voter registration? That could solve a ton of future headaches.

The Bolivian Economy:

Bolivia’s national bank has been deliberately suppressing the U.S. Dollar. We’ve all seen this. When the dollar was going down, so did the exchange rate — obviously! When the dollar went back up, however, the exchange rate did not rise in turn… it even went down further. The Bolivian economy is still too tied to the dollar to play these games, and games they are. The economy is in a mess!

Worse still is that Evo was depending on high oil prices, circa $140/barrel, to pay for several of his major projects. He banked on being able to sell Bolivian oil for those prices. Unfortunately for him, oil has dropped back down to circa $100/barrel.

People aren’t exactly thrilled about all of this.

Evo’s Path to Success:

Please note: the following is not my idea! This, too, is coming from the brilliant legal advisor. He’s thought of two very simple and, shockingly, obvious answers to almost all of Evo’s problems.

First, regardless of which option he selects, he needs to give the opposition what they want. All of it. Halt the new Constitution. Give them “autonomy”. Stop interfering with revenues. All of it.

Then, he has two strategic options:

• One month prior to the next election, Evo could resign as president of Bolivia. His vice president would become president. Evo would be legally free to run for re-election.
• Alternatively, he could have made all of his concessions to the opposition conditional on an amendment to the current Constitution which would allow him to run for re-election. That’s it.

Why would these work? Because people are dead tired of the conflict. The opposition will not ever be thrilled with Evo, MAS, or any other socialist regime. They will be content, however, if they are given what they want — and that’s a return to normal without the demands of the new Constitution, the stolen revenues, etc. The moderates within Bolivia (who likely outnumber either faction) and the international community will praise Evo for his compassion, his wisdom, and his commitment to peace. His popularity will skyrocket. Due to the new voter registration systems, there would be no reasonable question of the validity of his election and democratic mandate. He would be elected by a huge majority, and he would have the political backing in his second term to force through the new Constitution (or at the very least a slightly milder version) without significant problem.

The strategy is brilliant. Appease the opposition. Get legally re-elected under the current legal system. Earn the love and respect of millions. THEN drive in the nails of reforms. The problem with all of this, though, is that it interferes with pride. Evo is far too proud to make the temporary, and frankly superficial, concessions. He’ll never do it.

So what will happen instead? Evo cannot take Sant Cruz and cause it to fall as it did Pando. The new Constitution will probably fail. Evo will stay in office, but he won’t be re-elected. He’ll be done, nothing foundational will be solved, and both sides — the indigenous people who experience discrimination and cultural abuse, and the property-owners who have to battle to keep their rights — will continue to suffer. A very boring, but very predictable, stalemate.

What follows is a video posted on YouTube which apparently aired on a Bolivian news channel. It involves gunfire, coffins, and people swimming across water in an attempt to flee.

I ask the following question in a genuine manner: what in this video indicates that a) the prefect began the attack and that b) the campesino group was peaceful? The video is extremely incomplete. The footage has been cut and/or blurred in vital moments. Overlaying the video are biased questions and assumptions of the prefect’s guilt. My Spanish is limited (I’m still trying and learning!) — is there important speech in the actual footage which provides clues? Also, I don’t know enough about the terrain, people, etc. — is there something visible which provides solid evidence?

Thanks to mgrace who posted the link to the video on his blog.

We have gasoline again in Cochabamba, but at a heavy price; the international leaders of South America agreed to allow the Media Luna to participate in negotiations only on the condition that they remove all of their blockades. The blockades were the only peaceful bargaining chip available to the Media Luna, and blockades were in extremely heavy use by MAS during the Gas Wars of 2004/5 and in the presidential election of 2005. The hypocrisy is astounding.

Meanwhile, although the Media Luna has complied and ceased all blockades, the MASistas have constructed blockades of their own. Classy.

Pando, the northernmost department of Bolivia of the Media Luna, has fallen miltarily and politically. A major attack (by Bolivian standards) occurred last week which resulted in a few dozen dead, more injured, and over one hundred missing. The news outlets here offer two polar accounts of what happened:

Pando Ambush Version #1:

The prefect/governor of Pando hired men to ambush a group of peacefully marching/traveling campesinos and MASistas. The group was attacked and slaughtered in a massacre.

Pando Ambush Version #2:

Members of the prefect’s staff (plural?) were traveling when a group of armed MASistas and disguised Venezuelans ambushed and killed them. They then entered a non-MAS area and killed one of the leaders of the political opposition. The town gathered its resources and went on the offensive against the invaders. The MASistas, et al., fled into the terrain and escaped.

Elements for Analysis:

• Naval military credentials were found on one of the bodies of the “campesinos”.
• Venezuelans were in the group campesinos and MASistas.
• Why would the prefect of Pando order an attack on a peaceful group of protesters? What could he possibly gain by that when he had everything to lose?
• Earlier in the year a cable television public building was stormed and attacked by a group under the banner of the Autonomy forces. The truth was soon revealed and hushed up — the “opposition” attackers were actually members of Evo’s private guard, inciting violence and attempting to make the opposition look unruly and actively violent.

Edited for clarity and source provision. Two of the sources which I can track down several days later are: La Razon and El Deber. The problem with trusting any of the papers, mind you, is that they’re biased. The chief source for version #1, for example, is Red Erbol. Everything else I have is either from TV I can’t properly cite from membory or hearsay from sources I mostly trust but on whom I couldn’t state their words as fact. What does seem clear is that both sides were involved, but we don’t really know who “started” it. Joy.

At the very least, individuals and organizations who value truth — regardless of who turns out to be on top — should be presenting and thoroughly investigating both sides of this incident.

The Results of the Ambush Incident:

The prefect of Pando has been arrested and charged with genocide. The announcement has been made that he “will be given a trial in thirty years.” The international scene is only hearing Version #1. One of the theoretical advantages of the blogosphere and independent media is that a broader set of possibly truths can be presented. The English-speaking bloggers in Bolivia whose words are monitored by international news agencies, plus the A.P./Reuters set of reporters, apparently have no interest in objective truth-seeking.

This week I’ve seen words like “racist”, “fascist”, “democracy”, and “genocide” tossed around to no end. Over the next couple of days I will attempt to analyze those words as they apply to this situation.

People need a reality check.

All is still quiet in Cochabamba. The U.S. government is pulling entirely out of Bolivia. The Embassy will be closed by Monday night. The DEA has left. The government works in 30 day increments, so they will reassess the situation every 30 days.

‘Tis a curious thought, that as Americans this is the first time since we’ve been here in Bolivia that we lack any actual U.S. presence. We are effectively on our own. The apparent lack of serious danger somehow does not reduce the slight ill-at-ease of that state of being.