The Mines of Potosi

From it's current appearance, you'd never know that the town of Potosí was once, 400 years ago, the third largest city in the world, after London and Shanghai. As I wandered through the winding streets in a 4,070-meter-altitude-induced daze, passing ornate churches and colonial houses painted pink, yellow and blue, I could hardly believe that they had once been paved with pure silver.

And looming above it all is was the famous Cerro Rico of Potosí. I wondered if it had ever actually looked like a mountain because today it seems more like a sad pile of exploited earth. It almost seems fitting that the origin of our entire capitalist system would be something so ugly.
During the colonial era, the Spanish extracted millions of tons of silver from the mines of Potosí, using the labor of millions of indigenous and African slaves. But the majority of the wealth didn't stay in Spain, but rather was used to pay their enormous debts to German, Swiss and English banks. And that money was then used to finance the development of manufacturing and business in Europe, right up to the industrial revolution. I've been reading about this whole process in Eduardo Galeano's incredible book, "The Open Veins of Latin America." It's incredible to think that not only did the wealth exploited from Bolivia actually make Europe's industrial development possible, but also ever since Bolivia (and many countries like it) has had to try to develop in a world already inundated with the products of those mature European industries. And now we tell them that the only way to economic development is to throw down all their barriers to the global market? What a sad joke. A powerful example of the reality that Bolivia is living today is the mines of Potosí where miners still toil to extract zinc, lead, tin, and a little silver. I had the incredible (and terrifying) opportunity to enter into those mines on Tuesday and see the conditions that 25,000 people still work under. As we descended into the tunnels, chomping on coca to fend off altitude sickness, we stopped to visit the statue of the Tío of the Mines, a Devil-like character that protects the miners in his underground world. Apparently worshipping a devil-like character was also one of the miners' ways of protesting the hypocritical Catholic church's complicity in their exploitation (evident from the bizarre quantity of gaudy churches in the relatively small town).
We watched workers hacking away with shovels and picks and pushing huge carts of earth through water-filled tunnels barely large enough to stand. The hours they work are insane, as each worker only earns money based on the amount of the mineral he extracts (unless he works for the government, but that's a different story). Chewing on coca leaves and a little Bolivian whisky (basically rubbing alcohol) every once in a while make all of this bearable apparently, at least until they retire when they've lost half their lung capacity to silicosis. The average Potosí miner's life expectancy is 45 years. (Buying coca, cigarrettes, alcohol, and dynamite for gifts for miners we met in the tunnels.)

For some reason I really loved the town of Potosí, despite the tragic history and the harrowing reality that the miners are still living. Maybe it was the musician friends we met or the bittersweet vitality of the people who congregate and socialize in the streets and plazas at night. It's a place and a history that I will never forget.

With some of the SIT group before we entered the mines.

Las Minas de Potosí

A ver el pueblo de Potosí hoy en día, nunca supieras que hace 400 años era la tercera ciudad más grande en el mundo, después de Londres y Shangai. El martes pasado caminaba las calles angostas que serpentean entre iglesias adornadas y casas coloniales pintadas en amarillo, azul, rosado y no podía creer que una vez en el pasado eran pavimentadas con plata pura. Y arriba de todo se alza el amenazante Cerro Rico. Me pregunto si alguna vez parecía como una verdadera montaña porque ahora se ve más como un montón triste de tierra explotada. Casi me parece apropiado que el origen de todo el sistema capitalista sea algo tan feo.
Durante la época de la colonia, los españoles sacaron millones de toneladas de plata del Cerro Rico gastando las vidas de millones de indígenas y esclavos africanos. Pero no guardaban la mayoría de esa riqueza en España. Fabricaron monedas en Potosí que circularon en todos partes del mundo y usaron esa plata para pagar sus deudas enormes a los bancos en Alemania, Suiza, y Inglaterra. Y ese dinero era invertida en el desarrollo de manufacturas y empresas de Europa. Como dice Eduardo Galeano en su libre increíble, "Las Venas Abiertas de América Latina", esas minerales "estimularon el desarrollo económico europeo y hasta puede decirse que lo hicieron posible." Y mientras Europa se desarrolló, América sufrió todo la humillación, el racismo, la explotación, y el atraso económico del colonialismo.

Escribió Ernest Mandel que "La doble tragedia de los países en desarrollo consiste en que no sólo fueron víctimas de ese proceso de concentración internacional, sino que posteriormente han debido tratar de compensar su atraso industrial, es decir, realizar la acumulación originaria de capital industrial, en un mundo que está inundado con los artículos manufacturados por una industria ya madura, la occidental." ¿Y ahora decimos que para desorillarse Latinoamérica debe abrir todas sus puertas a competir en el mercado mundial? Qué engaño. Nunca en mi vida he leído una explicación mejor de la situación actual de desigualdad entre el Sur y el Norte del mundo.

No hay ejemplo más fuerte de esta realidad que las minas de Potosí que todavía siguen sido explotadas para su estaño, zinc, plomo, y un poco de plata. Entramos en las minas para ver este duro proceso. Los mineros trabajan noche y día para ganar bastante para sobrevivir y la mayoría mueren de silicosis después de solo 10 o 15 años en las minas. Sacan los minerales con dinamite, palas, martillos, taladros, y sus propias manos. La hoja de coca que mastican es esencial para sobrevivir las horas de trabajo en los túneles oscuros que a veces son bastantes grandes solo para gatear. Las hojas nos ayudaban también a aguantar la marea de la altura. Y también vimos las estatuas del Tío de las Minas, que parece al Diablo cristiano, pero que protege a los mineros en su reino bajo la tierra.

Esta historia de Potosí es algo que yo nunca aprendí en escuela, y si no me equivoco, muchas otras estadounidenses tampoco. Pero es algo que debemos comprender si queremos afrentar la injusticia del orden mundial. Y es una historia que nunca podré olvidar después de mi tiempo en Potosí y en las minas del Cerro Rico.

Carnaval

Querida familia y amig@s,

Well I’ve decided to inaugurate my third week here in Bolivia by finally opening communication with the outside world. I’m really sorry that it took me so long and I hope to write more every week or so, so thanks for checking in!

I arrived two Sundays ago to the idyllic Cochabamba valley, it's about seventy degrees nearly every day and night, and I swear the sky is actually a different color of blue at this altitude. Green mountains and fertile agricultural land surround the city which is watched over by the hemisphere's tallest statue of Cristo de la Concordia (yes it's 3 cm higher than Rio de Janeiro's). I’m living with a retired teacher named Sonia and her kids Antonio (22), Jorge (27), and Valeria (26). They’ve been so fun to get to know and have totally adopted me as their little sister, showing me around the city and explaining all the details of the political situation, cultural traditions, and family dynamics to me. I’m taking seminar style classes on Bolivian Culture and Development (history, politics, economics, etc.), and Field Research methods with 23 other students from the U.S. (but the professors are Bolivian and awesome!!)

I got here just in time for Carnaval, otherwise known as Bolivia's-week-long-nation-wide-water-balloon-fight. You're never completely safe from getting a bucket dumped on your head or a water balloon launched at you from a passing taxi cab. You might also find yourself covered in "espuma" or spray foam at a random inopportune moment. Everywhere you smell the smoky sweet scent of Ko'as, or burnt incense, money, and colored paper offerings to Pachamama. The week culminates with a 12 hour long parade with dancers celebrating every region's different cultural tradition, incredible water balloon battles, and enough chicha and Taquiña beer to last the entire year. I also got a kick out of seeing the Bolivian armed forces dancing in the parade dressed as giant frogs, vampires, and a caricaturized Constitutional Assembly (in mockery of the body of leaders who've been slogging through the process of rewriting the constitution and finally break free from their colonial past). I couldn't really imagine that ever happening in the States!
(El diablo or Supay, deity of the underground world and guardian of miners)

(Las caporales represents the female counterpart of to the mestizo overseers of the African slaves that were brought to work in the mines of Potosi, but ended up working on coffee and cacao plantations in Las Yungas)

I've been volunteering in the afternoons at a reproductive and sexual health clinic and getting really interested in traditional Andean medicine, which is just widely practiced here as Western bio-medicine. I'd also really like to connect with the medical anthropologists who are researching the methods and documenting them in ways that modern science can understand. Apparently the president, Evo Morales is trying to implement a policy of employing traditional healers to collaborate with the doctors in the government's rural health clinics, something I'm hoping to learn more about. I also might be able to work with a professor at the med school here who's researching Chagas disease, which is endemic in the rural areas around here.

I've been so impressed by the friendly and openness of people I've met here. For example, yesterday on a day trip to the rural town of Tarata we had complete strangers invite us into their homes and others sit down next to us outside to share food and conversation for hours on end. I also really enjoy how every time you arrive or leave a gathering of people you kiss each person on the cheek and greet each person personally. (Street in the beautiful little town of Tarata.)

(The Upper Cochabamba valley near the town of Tarata)

The stark political, social, and geographic divisions in Bolivian society are evident much of the time; from the political graffiti competing for wall space, the TV reports about Evo supporters and Autonomista secessionists clashing in the streets of Santa Cruz, to the somber look in the eyes of an indigenous woman next to me on the bus, not really expecting I would ever look her in the eye or even say "Buenos dias." Nobody lacks an opinion about the president, Evo Morales and the changes he's trying to make. My host mom talks about how when she teaches adult literacy classes in the rural Chapare region, the older indigenous people are so excited about getting educated because they finally see a point to it, that they could someday work for the government or fulfill another role in society besides that of marginalized second class citizens. It was a really moving experience to visit the union of empleadas (women that come from the countryside to live with and work for wealthier families in the city) here them talk about the emotional support they give each other, even though going on strike is pretty much out of the question since there is always competition with more young women migrating from the campo. The founder of their union was actually appointed to be the minister of justice by the Morales administration. In contrast is the entrenched Criollo elite of the Western lowlands of Santa Cruz who are threatening to secede from the country taking with them the entire oil, gas, cattle, and export agricultural industries.

It’s a fascinating time and I feel so lucky to be here and learning about it all first hand!
Okay, well I’m running out of time, but I’ll write again soon!
Chau!
Kirsten

¡Saludos a tod@s!

Lo siento mucho que tarde tanto en escribir a tod@s ustedes. Espero que estén muy bien en sus trabajos y estudios. Estoy aprendiendo muchísimo acá en Cochabamba. Vivo con una familia con una mamá y tres hij@s de 22, 26, 27 años que son muy amables. Mis clases son muy interesantes; sobre la historia, política, economía, y realidad actual en Bolivia. También estoy trabajando como voluntaria en una clínica de salud reproductiva y sexual. Estoy muy interesada en aprender más sobre la medicina tradicional andina que muchas personas usan aquí. Es un poco raro vivir en una ciudad después del mes en Santa Marta en enero. Es más difícil a conocer amig@s y a encontrar una comunidad. ¡A veces extraño mucho a Santa Marta y a Guarjila! No se come tortillas aquí y extraño eso también. : )

Es muy interesante aprender sobre la historia y la política actual de Bolivia. No hay nadie sin opinión sobre el presidente, Evo Morales. Por primera vez, la mayoría indígena del país tiene una voz en el dialogo del país. Pero entiendo por fin la trampa que es la "independencia" que ganaron en el siglo diecinueve: los mismos Criollos continuaron a administrar Bolivia como una colonia. Como en mucho de Latinoamérica, lo único que cambió era su relación con el rey de España. Así puedo entender la necesidad de re-fundar el país con una nueva constitución.

Pues, voy a escribir mas muy pronto, pero gracias por leer y si me he equivocado con mi español, me gustaría recibir sus comentarios o correcciones para mejorarlo ¡Cuídense mucho!
Saludos,
Kirsten