Democracy in Action

I arrived in Bolivia one week ago. I'll be travelling between here and Peru until August 3. For those who would like postcards, please don’t hesitate to leave a comment on the blog or to send me an e-mail.

Bolivians value their democracy in a way that could shame an American. When things aren't going well, they don’t vote for change. Instead, they go out and form a new government. From 1825 to 2003 they had 192 different governments, an average of roughly one every 11 months. In case anyone was starting to feel complacent, they went through about another three by 2005. The current President, Evo Morales, swept into power after a wave of popular protests paralysed most of the country. With Morales at their head, the growing middle class and the indigenous peoples, who comprise most of Bolivia's population, came to power through a new weapon, Los Bloqueos, Bolivia’s greatest contribution to democracy to date.

Los Bloqueos are roadblocks. Individually small, their strength lies in their numbers and the people manning them. They operate on a wider scale than the one or two roadblocks raised by native protesters in Ontario a few weeks ago. They are simple, non-violent, can be built quite literally from twigs, and with little effort can completely cripple a country. Two years ago, Morales had come to power on the stength of a popular movement, willing to block traffic to all major centres with trees, old furniture, whatever was to hand, and sheer force of will on the part of those manning the blockades.

The effectiveness of this strategy wasn't lost on the rest of the country, Morales' opponents included. Like Pandora's box, once the demons were out, there was no putting them back.

My first stop in Bolivia was a visit with my old friend Alex and his family in the town of Santa Cruz. When I arrived at the central bus terminal in La Paz one week ago, I had already been through four flights, two luggage check-ins, five countries, and one night of fitful sleep in the airport of the world’s highest capital. Waking up after shifting position at four thousand metres above sea level feels a little like running the hundred metre dash head first into a wall. The slightest movement causes breathlessness. The act of waking up itself is an invitation to the type of headache only a hangover can produce. With a taxi carrying me to the mercifully lower altitude of the bus terminal, all I had left to overcome was the long ride to Santa Cruz.

I arrived at the bus terminal at 6am, travelling pack, suitcase of gifts from Alex's family in Canada, carry on bag, and phone number for Alex’s wife, Cindy, in hand. I was already looking forward to the end of the upcoming twenty hour bus ride. By 6:30, I had tried to purchase tickets from about a dozen different bus lines. Every single one refused. Some of them had signs: "No hay salidas por bloqueos." No departures due to blockades.

By 7am I was watching the crowd of stranded shivering passengers around me on one of the terminal’s many television screens. The blockades had started the previous evening, isolating the capital city, and leaving hundreds of travelers stranded. Miners, upset at their working conditions, were trying to draw the governments attention to their plight. The average Bolivian miner dies from massive dust accumulation in the lungs ten years after he starts work. I'd like to say that at least the money is good but the region around Potosí, Bolivia's minig capital, is also the poorest in the country.

By contrast, the region around Santa Cruz is the richest. Soon after the miners began their blockades, the peoples of Santa Cruz and Cochabamba, which lay halfway between me and my destination, set up their own blockades. Tired of the government's socialist transfer payments siphoning their riches into the poorer areas, they were demanding more administrative autonomy.

Of course there was more to it than that. The Collas in the west near La Paz disliked the Cambas near Santa Cruz. The feeling was of course mutual. The indigenous population was disenfranchised and wanted more from the Spanish descended families that effectively ran the country. These families were themselves none too pleased with a socialist government, which kept trying to reposess tracts of unused land from them for redistribution to the poor. Essentially, everyone had an axe to grind, the government was the target, and the roads were simply collateral damage.

I for my part naïvely asked a hotel owner to give me a room at a discounted rate, since I would certainly be leaving by that evening when the blockades ended. In the evening, all that had changed were the signs in the terminal. They now read, "No hay salidas por bloqueos. ¡No insista!"

No departures due to blockades. Don’t insist!

After two days of waiting, I took a flight to Santa Cruz. It was great to see Alex and Cindy again. Their new daughter Aisha is adorably cute and has already mastered her fist word, "Dog," which she uses to refer to any animal she sees, people included. Alex and Cindy planned us a day trip to a nearby resort in Samaipata. By now, the nationwide blockades were lifting. Watching the news as we left, we learned that five families had taken it upon themselves to start a new series of blockades. Upset by the government's plan to take their unused land and redistribute it to the poor, they had hired the same families who stood to benefit from the policy to man blockades for them all around the city protesting it.

Bolivians really do love their democracy. They will not only defend others' rights to express themselves, but also demonstrate on their opponents behalf. So long as they’re paid for it. Land redistribution or a few dollars in pocket with which to feed your family, for the poor of Santa Cruz it was win-win.