Exhausted ethnography

How does one return to normal, after having lived a different normal? Norms and standards of living. The norms are always changing. But launching from Bolivia and heading back to Oxford, Mississippi? A ver, what a difference. My heart is stuck in the transfer tube, half in this Bolivian reality, being pulled to the next. I’m going to miss good bread, though I’ll be happy to have vegetables again. I’m going to miss the ease with which they share affections and show feelings. Or maybe that’s the other way around. Whatever. Point is we’re transplanting from one social norm to another, and it gives me questions. The importance of home, for instance. To have a community. What do those things mean? What makes somewhere home? Is it all about comfort? Having passed multiple, every-day-life weeks in multiple countries now casts Mississippi in a new light. To really have appreciated its wonders and woes, I needed the separation.

So how do ethnographers do it? Cultural anthropologists that have two homes? A fieldwork and a house? A family and a family studied? There’s so much reflexivity in it, so many ways to become invested. Going local. We’re all human in this; we can all relate. We are all light, just cast through a prism. I’m green, studying orange, but we’re the same. I guess that’s why all of this is so interesting and hella hard at the same time.

I guess I’m reflecting. I’m entering my final week in Bolivia, and I’m entering it fresh from a course in social science that has left me molten at core. I have thesis work to do. I have all these questions. What about comfort? What about home? What about norms? What we “get used to” can be extreme depending on the lens. Guns in the USA, none here. Living at home until 28 here, leaving at 18 in there. Is there a better way to live buried in any of this?

Everyday Anthropology

My last post and my last day in La Paz – I am dumbfounded by how quickly my time went, overjoyed by how much I’ve learned, and amazed by how much love I have received from the city over the course of the last two months. Minibus rides, Heladería Sandra, anticuchos de Calle 21, salmonella in my bloodstream, 3:00am stars on the altiplano. It’s funny how experiences shape us, how I am a little different now, better, more empathetic.

We’ve talked a lot over the last four weeks about how social science is so hard, yet so rewarding, because we are delving in to study the human. And humans are fragile and strong and fickly and set, all simultaneously. I think that's what makes all of this so fun. 

Over the course of the past month, especially, I started to see my interactions with people in a different way. I found myself sitting on the minibus, observing going what was happening around me, asking what these seemingly ordinary things can tell me about a greater society. Or maybe I was eating with my family and wow, I notice an action that tells me a little more about class inequality in Bolivia. Even statistics, I've learned a lot about what numbers can tell me about greater happenings. 

I've started calling it everyday ethnography, the poignant art of listening and noticing and observing. I'm reading a book on education in Bolivia right now: they called their methodology "convivir, dialogar y compartir" (live with, dialogue, and share) -- I like that. And I think that is why I am starting to love anthropology so much -- I am realizing the ways in which we all want to tell our stories and truths, and anthropology, at least to me, seems to be a place where lives are uplifted and tried to be understood. 

Bolivia gave me a lot, but if it gave me anything in full it was the practice of empathy, the art of asking a good question, and the importance of then listening. 

Bolivian Beauty Ideals

When my little cousin held up my wrist and told me I needed to engordar (gain weight), I didn't think much of it.  People say that in the states too. It was just strange coming from a 10 year old.  But when I learned that cholitas wear layers of skirts in order to appear thicker in the hips, I realized that being larger here is good. Being hefty in Bolivia is a sign of power and prominence.  Which is so the opposite from many other western ideals of beauty. When I went to France last year, I constantly listened to my host sisters and mothers talk about losing weight, wishing they were smaller, and not wanting to eat as much.  As a big proponent of positive body image, I couldn't stand it.  But in Bolivia, it's necesitas engordar when you are at healthy, normal weight.  It's still not entirely "positive" body image, but it's better than what American and other women are used to. 

Why is it so different here?  How can we explain traditional definitions of beauty that still influence modern society? And how do women see themselves? I wonder how prevalent eating disorders are here, too.  I've hung out with Bolivian female dancers, some of the most body conscious people, and it seems to me that there is not huge concern with being "skinny." It may have just been the people I was with, but generally speaking they did not discuss dieting, not eating, or exercising. I'm sure there's individuals here like that, but for the most part I really haven't experienced that kind of attitude. Whereas at my old sorority house in the US, this was constant lunchtime chatter. And if you didn't contribute to shaming yourself, it was considered strange or even rude.  All I know is that I like this better and that it's been a nice break here being around people who don't give a damn about their weight.  Thanks women of Bolivia, keep doing what you want. 

Better feminism?

Something I’ve reflected on more than once while experiencing Bolivia is the self-asserted “correctness” of the “Western” model of development. I’m not speaking towards economic development models at the moment (though there is certainly content to be discussed there). I’ve been pondering more the crossing and conquest of modern cultures and ontologies. For example, feminism. In the post-modern age identity has become increasing removed from long-standing social norms. What does it mean to be a woman? What does it mean to be a man? These cultural shifts are just that – changes in culture. Not all cultures are the same. One cultures values aren’t necessarily correct, something that is forgotten frequently in the United States. 

Back to feminism now. What it means to be a woman in Bolivia isn’t necessarily the same as what it means to one in the United States. Just because the United States is changing doesn’t mean Bolivia must too. Just because the United State is changing, doesn’t also signify the change is for the better. Relativity.

We visited an NGO that worked with women this past Monday. Centered in El Alto, women could come in and take seamstress (I know that’s a ‘feminine’ word please remain calm) and cooking workshops. On the day we visited, they were learning how to make traditional Aymaran woman’s clothing. In the kitchen they were baking cakes. There was a daycare for their children. A popular radio station has broadcasted their ideals for years now. Many of the minibuses listen to their station.

In this feminism, a place is reserved for women. They strengthen their identity, reinforce what they know. Alternatively, in the more metropolitan areas of La Paz, Feminina stores, letters of emblazoned pink, have started popping up, selling lacy undergarmets and other "feminine" products. Start contrast to the intricate skirts made in the NGO's workshops. In the United States, the media coverage of feminism often only shows the other extreme, that women are raging against the system to achieve some ideal of equality, tossing out old identifiers. Free the nipple. And entirely different response to the gender's norms. Surely, history and previous social norms play a large role in current feminisms. Birth control as freedom in the US, birth control as patriarchy and control in some indigenous feminist circles here. Puritanism, indigenous-colonial norms. I think all of this raises profoundly interesting questions about values and truth. Can we be sure that one way, one method, one belief, is better than another? 

Life lessons from Bolivia

As my time in Bolivia comes to an end, I can confidently say the past few days have been some of my hardest. We started our last week of class learning statistics. Spoiler alert- I am absolutely horrible at statistics. I don't understand it. And as hard as I try, I'm not sure if I ever will. For our weekly assignment, we were given a set of five questions to complete by Friday. Should be easy right? Today's Friday and I'm here to tell you that was far from the case. 

After class on Monday we went straight to the cafe, optimistic that with a head start on the assignment we could knock it out. Little did we realize that by Wednesday we would have only completed two of the five problems. Almost three days of working on two problems you can only imagine how overwhelmed we were. Thursday rolls around and I get home from class to find my computers crashed and 99% of my work deleted. It took me a few minutes (ok more like a hour) to compose myself, but with a pep talk I knew the homework had to get done and that I could do it. 

This morning I was confident. It was our last day of class and I was ready to finish this assignment. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but that I could do it. I arrived at the cafe after class, ready to knock our the remaining questions, and I open my computer to a flashing file. This was it. My computer had officially crashed. There was no looking back now-panic was sinking in. I quickly realized that there was nothing I could do. I couldn't fix this problem until I returned to America. I had to step back and let it go. 

Spending four weeks in Bolivia has taught me a lot. Throughout the month we have steadily learned about the many obstacles Bolivia and its people have faced. My personal obstacle dealing with the meltdown of my computer was so trivial in comparison to the trails of Bolivia's past and present history. The country and people of Bolivia don't give up, and through learning its history that's become extremely clear. Being emerged in the rich culture and history of Bolivia for the past month has truly presented me with an immense appreciation for Bolivia and its people. In the United States this is something that so many people, included myself completely take for granted, forgetting about the history and culture that defines our nation- only to get caught up in the minor (and in this case, fixable) obstacles brought upon by material possessions. Bolivia has reminded me that life's not about getting upset over the small things, but rather being grateful and celebrating the big things. And for that I'm eternally thankful. 

Gregoria Apaza

This week we had the opportunity to visit the nonprofit organization, Gregoria Apaza, in El Alto. Before our afternoon visit, the founder of this organization came and spoke to our class. Although I know very minimum Spanish, she presented a slide show, which was very interesting discussing the history of female involvement in Bolivian legislation. I was excited to visit her organization in El Alto as from what we were told, it was providing amazing opportunities for the female communities of El Alto and La Paz. As we made our close to an hour taxi ride to the city of El Alto, I was growing quite anxious about the upcoming experience at Gregoria Apaza. 

While some of my classmates love El Alto, for me, based on its outer appearance; it's truly a difficult city to spend time in as it largely represents the immense poverty within this area of Bolivia. Each time I travel up the mountain to El Alto and into the city, I honestly have no idea what I'm about to witness from the backseat of the taxi. With that being said, I guess it's only natural that I was having anxiety about our visit at Gregoria Apaza. Even though I was hesitant, the visit to Gregoria Apaza ending up being one of the greatest and most influential experiences of my time in La Paz. 

Upon arrival at Gregoria Apaza, we were greeted with smiling faces, who were beyond excited to tell us about the wonderful things happening within this five flight industrial building. What was so inspiring about this nonprofit was that they were empowering women within a community historically dominated by men, to create a better future through the gift of education- not only for themselves but their children. During our visit, we had the opportunity to visit three classes where women were sewing beautifully detailed clothing and baking delectable pastries. They were proud of their creations, as they absolutely should be. 

Obviously once we left I couldn't help but further think about this organization as a safe haven for women and their children, as many of their services help women not only politically and economically, but with the seriously neglected issue of domestic violence. The director of Gregoria Apaza told us that within the country on Bolivia there's only eight locations for women who are victims of domestic violence, one of which was Gregoria Apaza. During my time in Bolivia I have come to believe that President Morales doesn't really exemplify a proper respect for women. Learning about some of the scandals that have taken place during his presidency with extremely young women (or girls, as some would argue), could easily provide the argument that his public lack of respect for women within Bolivia has provided an example for the men in this country on what is considered the "acceptable" way to treat women. I can only imagine the difficulty Erika Brockmann faced when founding this organization, but with hardships comes blessings. Gregoria Apaza is truly a blessing for El Alto and La Paz, providing an environment of support and empowerment- ensuring a better future for the female community that's been neglected for so many years. 

Who is the father

On Tuesday afternoon we went to the center that tracks all of the births, deaths, marriages, and voter eligibility, among other things, in Bolivia. They have a national database for all of the Bolivian citizens. When a person is born or dies, someone must report it to this center to be recorded. One thing that really sparked my interest is how people name their children here: a baby takes its mother's and father's last name for a double last name. So, what do you do if you have a child but you're not married? Well, in the days of old, women in Bolivia had to mark that their child was born without a father, and that stayed on the child's record. This is a disgrace in Bolivian culture, and women did not want to have their children marked if they were without a husband. Even if a child was born to a couple but they were not married, then the father could 'claim' the child, but the child would still be marked as born to an unwed couple. However, the child would have two last names. This all sounds very complicated just to register your baby into the Bolivian system.

Also, this all sounds very complicated on the mother's part. This system places blame on and stigma around the mother of the child if she was not wed when she gave birth. Even if having a child out of wedlock were a real issue, then the man still had a child out of wedlock, too! The woman should not have to bear any shame for having a baby, and she definitely should not have to face that alone. Class A example of patriarchy.

Alas! Bolivia has moved forward in women's rights and has worked to correct this problem to some extent. If a woman has a child out of wedlock and the father will not claim the child, then she can just put down the father's name regardless of his consent. If she does not want to put down the name of the father, then she can mark the child as 'natural born,' which is less stigmatizing than the previous indicator that was more along the lines of 'bastard child.' If the father really does not want to take responsibility for the child, then he can undergo the process of having DNA paternity testing done to prove that the child does not belong to him to have his name removed.

This is a step forward for gender equality in Bolivia, but I do think it still has some implications. I would be worried that some people would falsely or mistakenly put down the wrong name of a man who truly is not the father of this child, and now he is legally responsible for the kid. I personally think they should just remove the title of 'natural born' altogether, and then the woman could just give both of her last names to her child.

Decolonizing Feminism?

One of our final, and my favorite, visits of the month was to the Instituto Gregoria Apaza, a foundation dedicated to promoting gender equality in three different areas: economic empowerment, personal empowerment, exigibilidad [there is no direct translation of this – “The point is to start from social rights rather than corporate rights, and to demand that which is required to fulfill social needs” (Globalization, Knowledge and Labour: Education for Solidarity within Spaces of Resistance, Novelli and Ferus-Comelo, 2009)] and incident (this frequently looks like formal law assistance in cases of domestic and sexual violence).

The majority of my research interests are centered on feminism and women’s movements, what those look like in different contexts, and the ways in which Western, liberal feminism (not that I don’t identify as one) can inhibit gender parity movements in non-Western spaces. I am particularly interested in feminism as development – something I think is easy for us, women who live in an already-developed country, to forget.

Instituto Gregoria Apaza was the perfect place, basically a dream, to see some of my thoughts as reality –

The first space we visited was a daycare area for young children whose mothers were in the second space we saw: classrooms where women were learning to sew and bake.

For me, a feminist raised to believe and embrace liberal values, this was so ironic. Where was the math? The sciences? Why were they teaching women traditional gender normative skills? I mean, I’m from a place where home economics is no longer offered in school because it was too conservative.

While shocking when I first saw, I do not believe teaching women to sew or to bake is inherently bad or gender normative. I do, however, believe it is a great example of feminism as development and a fabulous way to give economic power to women who otherwise would have none.

The model Instituto Gregoria Apaza follows offers up a great opportunity for us feminists in the West to rethink our doctrines and to open up our table to women who are non-white, non-Western. Our feminism has brought us so far, so much that we can now project all of our energy toward projects like $0.77 for the $1.00 or #FreeTheNipple. Not to discredit those campaigns, as I think they are worthwhile, but there are women around the world who are unable to fight for equal pay because they are completely excluded from the labor force, or who, due to (just as valid) traditions or customs, have concerns that are primarily centered on the ideas of mothering and motherhood.  

I am a white feminist with many critiques of my own movement:

We cannot pretend feminism only if for the equality of the sexes, ignoring all of the added connotations that have cumulated over time. We cannot act as if feminism hasn’t primarily benefited white women.

We can, however, being to ask: What does it mean to be a woman in a constellation of different cultural values that differ from Western values? What does feminism as development look like? And how might women organize? Can our feminism include women who still strongly identify by some sort of gender role?

Or, more honestly and candidly, does feminism, as we know it, even have anything to offer to Latin or indigenous women?

Alcohol relationships

Have you ever had a beer at Starbucks or a whiskey and coke at Dunkin' Donuts? No. You cannot even order a Bailey's and coffee at those chain coffee shops. It occurred to me how strange it is that you can order alcohol in nearly every cafe or coffee shop in La Paz. I drank a beer at Cafe Alexander the other day while others around me enjoyed smoothies or lattes, and I have seen people drinking wine there before. Cafe Alexander is essentially the Starbucks of Bolivia: a franchised chain that you can find in just about any neighborhood in La Paz. It seems that alcohol is a more integral part of the culture here, or at least it is more accepted than in the southern United States.

I wonder why you can order a beer at a commercial coffee shop in La Paz and not in the US. Bolivia is historically Catholic and a very religious nation, as are the southern US states. Alcohol consumption is also a large part of southern American culture, but I think it may be a bit more taboo in the US than in Bolivia. I wonder if relationships with alcohol are healthier in Bolivia because alcohol is more ubiquitous and consumption is not limited to bars and dinner restaurants, or if the relationship is less healthy because you can drink alcohol at any time of day with ease. At the minimum, I think that the alcohol is less taboo in Bolivia, and that is positive for creating healthy relationships with alcohol.

     The visit to the electoral court was very interesting. The fourth power, allegedly independent from the government, is something like the Supreme Court in the United States. A group that meets to organize, supervise, direct, and administer the electoral processes. They do so in a fairly simple room, where we got to meet the other day. The court currently consists of four women and three men. It is mandated that there be at least three women and two indigenous people on the court.
     I have several questions about this institution, first regarding pressures from the government on an independent body. How do MAS and Morales view the electoral court? Do they ever collaborate? Has Morales taken measures to limit their power? At one point, a member shared with us that her most difficult time has been the referendum. They felt strong pressure from all sides. I wonder in what manner and from whom explicitly? How did the court come to a conclusion on such a controversial issue and how did the Morales administration react?
     Another question that arose was surrounding the fact that this country has mandatory voting. Not only that, but the voting process itself is rather complicated. People are required to present birth certificates, fingerprints, proof of residence documents, and more. How does this affect voter turnout? I would like to see a test comparing voter turnout from before the requirement was enacted and at several years after. Furthermore, I would be interested to see if more indigenous people have voted since the implementation of this policy, as well as the proportions of voters who are rural or urban residents. With such a complicated process, does this voting process provide a sample that is representative of the Bolivian population? I am curious to learn more about this fourth extension of the government and about the voting process in Bolivia and its implications.

Almodóvar and Americanized Culture

            Tonight, I went with my host family to take in Julieta, the riveting new picture by Spanish director Pedro Almodóvar. Anybody who has known me for at least 53 seconds knows that I adore the cinema, and so I was excited to go (and pleased with how much I understood without the aid of subtitles). However, a thought soon struck me. Julieta was, in fact, the only film that was made in the Spanish language playing at the multiplex. All the others were English-language films from the last couple of years, mostly American releases from what I could tell. Even Julieta was filmed, produced, and set in Spain, not in Latin America, let alone Bolivia. I understand that Bolivia has more pressing concerns than growing any indigent film industry it might possess, but it appears that Bolivia is absent its own popular culture. In the United States, we take for granted that we can go to any theater and see a movie without worrying about dubbing or subtitles. I doubt I would have become the serious (to the point of annoying) film buff that I am if I had had to read my films rather than view them. It is often overlooked how important a common culture is to establishing a coherent nation. Now, it’s not as though having a favorite “so-bad-it’s-good” Nicolas Cage film is crucial to an American’s identity, but we all know Rocky’s theme song and most will try out their best Marlon Brando impression at a christening without fail. There is something specifically American about these shared references, just as there is something uniquely British about Doctor Who and something crucially French about Jean-Luc Godard. At any rate, Bolivia is in this respect a kind of cultural no-man’s-land. Apart from a few reality/competition shows and the news, most of television and film derives from the United States, Mexico, Argentina, or maybe Great Britain. Even the soap operas dutifully watched at lunchtime on Unitel are optioned Peruvian or Turkish programs (which still confounds me). At any rate, I could only assume that this absence of definite Bolivian cultural touchstones is one among many factors as to why Bolivians, centuries after colonization, still identify so strongly with their respective indigenous groups, whose cultures are defined and shared. It is difficult to point to a cultural artefact and definitively state that something is undeniably and integrally Bolivian. Not Aymara, not Quechua, not Spanish, but intrinsically and solely Bolivian. With these fractured cultures, Bolivia is set to remain a greatly fractured state, and, who knows, movies could be a first step to greater social cohesion. At any rate, these were the thoughts swirling in my head as I sat in my chair as an American, surrounded by Bolivians, ready to watch a European film.

            As an aside, I can heartily recommend Julieta for anyone staying a few more days, as it is not due to have a wide release in the United States. The narrative style is a bit disjointed, and the cinematography is nothing to write home about, unusual for Almodóvar, who is typically Kurosawa-like in his ability to set a mood by tonal lighting. Nevertheless, the film represents a welcome return to form for the Spanish master filmmaker, following his disastrous comedy The Passengers.

Equality

Bolivia introduced a series of progressive reforms and laws aimed at included political participation of women. The constitutional reform of 1995 included a series of quotas, one of which requires that at least 30 percent of candidates on the party lists be women.

With this, Bolivia, which still struggles with politically harmful legacies such as personality cult, clientelism, patrimonialism, caudillismo, is a step ahead of many Western nations. In the US for example, women still hold less than 20% of all congressional seats. In Bolivia, it is almost 50/50. In the US women’s share of political power is way below their share of education and economic power. But due to the majority electoral system it is very hard to impose quotas, since they work best in systems that incorporate lists (not that there is the political momentum for this anyway.) In many Western countries, there has been internal struggle over quotas. The German government, after seeing how small the amount of women at the head of DAX-listed companies was, struggled over attempts to introduce a quota. Unfortunately, it failed and resulted in an ineffective “voluntary” quota that enabled companies to set their own.

The most important organ of the Electoral Court in Bolivia, the Sala Plena, has seven members; four women and three men. It too has quotas, at least three of the spots have to be filled by women and two of the sports by someone who is indigenous. Some people criticize such affirmative action programs by saying positions should be earned by merit. However, we should all acknowledge that we live in a patriarchal society that makes it un-proportionally harder for women than for men. I wish things would just naturally work out in a way where we had gender equality, but reality is different. Sometimes you have to force things along, good on you Bolivia.

However, this does not mean that Bolivia deserves a gold star on all women’s issues. At the Gregoriana Apaza, an NGO dedicated to women’s issues, I learned that the entire country only has eight women’s shelter, a number entirely too low.

Police Relations

    Police in Bolivia. A relationship and organization about which I am really curious to understand more. One of our first days here, as we walked through Plaza Murillo and the surrounding area,  we had to be strategic in our navigation because many roads were blocked off with large gates and manned by police officers at the doors. I originally saw the large number of police and assumed they were there to mitigate any ill-will and tension that might arise. When I was in France, another country where protests are an almost ubiquitous affair, I noticed that the police were always present at such protests. However, they were always dispatched in order to protect the people. They did not stop or intervene with the protests , but simply stood by to ensure the safety of those involved. So when I saw the police near the Plaza, I first assumed such. But then I was informed that they were blocking protestors from entering the square. This made me wonder at the relationship of the police force to citizens in La Paz and Bolivia as a whole. 

     With a history of military dictatorships and police brutality, I wonder at how the functions of the police have evolved. I do not know if Bolivia has a right guaranteeing the freedom to gather, but at least this act seems like an infringement on freedom of speech. When we visited the representative from the UNCI, he spoke on freedom of speech and how though it is legally guaranteed, it is often not as protected in practice. What measures is the MAS administration taking to ensure freedom of speech and other social inclusion? This also leads to a previous question I had proposed, is MAS more interested in protecting indigenous people’s rights and less on those of others, such as LGBT rights and women’s rights? Is he truly a proponent of social inclusion? And if he claims to be, what has he done statistically and politically in order to progress social inclusion?   

US Influence in Bolivia

On Sunday, I went to see the second Independence Day movie with my family—which by the way isn’t nearly as good as the first one.  I looked around at all the movies playing at the theatre, and about half were American films.  I always forget that Hollywood has an influence on the world, and that movies made in the US can reach all corners of the earth.  And then I start to realize how influential the United States is. I didn’t really notice that many non-Americans and non-English speakers watched our TV shows and movies until I went to France last year and we were bonding over some fad series at the time. She said, “We have everything you have.” 

In Bolivian, it’s more or less the same. They have American movies, music, TV shows, books, and clothes.  And imports like clothes and food cost way more than Bolivian made products.  The only part of the US that hasn’t infiltrated Bolivia is McDonald’s… Bolivia wanted to use their own potatoes for French fries and the US wouldn’t do it.  With all of this in mind, I’m constantly reminded of how our country is viewed here. American is rich and so are its people.  The American dollar represents wealth and success.  I wonder how it’s been as a Bolivian and growing up here with that sentiment in mind. I understand why many young people around the world want to learn English.  But something so many people forget is how being a symbol of wealth and success does not make us the best.  We have our many problems, as the past two weeks have displayed.  We have to remember that there are other ways of doing things and different customs in the world.  Just because something is different from the US, does not mean it’s wrong. 

Dry Riverbeds and Rustic Dreams

            Traveling through the Campo was a sobering experience for me. Even as a lifelong resident of Mississippi, I can’t claim to have ever seen such impoverished and isolated communities in my whole life. Just like many small towns in the American plains, these communities have dried up like their water sources, and now see their ways of life, practiced as long as the residents can remember, existentially threatened. As the residents informed us, they feel abandoned by the Morales government, which claimed initially to be the first administration dedicated to the needs of indigenous and rural Bolivians. Many have already fled these dying communities to go to La Paz or El Alto, often finding even more challenging conditions then those they left. Those that have remained behind often have to depend on urban family members sending back remittances that can scarcely be afforded. It is hard to imagine that any but the most stubborn campesinos see their lifestyles persisting more than another decade at most. Even with the improvement projects of groups like the Suyana Foundation, unless the climate or infrastructure surrounding these destitute communities somehow changes, their president predicament is untenable. However, one’s vision of oneself and one’s identity are very strongly associated with the way of life that one inhabits. Many of these residents likely feel as though they would lose something integral to themselves if they gave up the sheltering sky under which they have labored since their youth in exchange for a tiny, huddled apartment in a sprawling and unfamiliar city. Additionally, a fair handful cannot speak Spanish confidently, having been raised in a closed community of Aymara speakers. With all these odds against them, somehow, these communities still persist. Some family members still return to aid in the harvest. Plans are made to draw tourists and restore local churches in hopes of drawing some extra income. Petitions are made for the government to construct improved highways to their towns. Some of these hopes show promise, but others are pipe dreams. In the long run, this question must eventually be asked by researchers and the campesinos themselves: are they willing to move away from their homes and give up their previous way of life if no solutions are found, or would they prefer to fight the elements and passage of time to the bitter end, whatever that may be?

Dogs

I love dogs. Everyone who knows me is aware of this. It is difficult for me to deal with people who don’t love their dogs adequately, leave them outside all day, and never walk them or socialize with them. Even more difficult though is the sheer incredible amount of dogs I see in the streets every single day. Driving through El Alto I once counted 60 street dogs in a six block radius. Estimates say that the cities of El Alto and La Paz combined have an estimated half million street dogs. However, it is assumed that about 80% of these dogs actually do have owners, just in a very loose sense of the word. There is clearly an overpopulation problem and this very loose definition of ownership contributes to this problem. People do not feel that it is their responsibility to get their pets spayed and neutered, while instead letting them run around the city all day, making overpopulation inevitable. This immense number of animals in the streets lead to obvious issues, such as fecal contamination of the environment, car accidents, increased transmission of illnesses (rabies, parasites etc.), and biting incidents (around 7.000 every year just in La Paz). Numbers were lower before the city passed animal protection laws, which now prohibit the killing of these animals.

Murder obviously isn't the solution here, but it is a problem that needs to be addressed. But again, as with so many things, I believe it’s clear that people are at the heart of the problem. Due to cultural, financial, and educational issues many people are not responsible pet owners (this is a common problem in the US as well). Some people keep 10 dogs around for security at night, but during the day they throw them out to fend for themselves in the streets. These dogs are also not being feed, instead scouring through inner-city trash. Educational initiatives and free sterilization campaigns need to supplement rabies vaccination drives.

These issues will not resolve themselves easily, solutions are expensive and time intensive. A lot of southern European countries suffer from the same problem and the only way the US is able to combat overpopulation is through euthanization. Teaching people how to be responsible is painstakingly difficult (as seen by the fact that some people refuse to vaccinate even their children) and made harder when of lack of funds (both on the side of governments and owners) are an issue. There are attempts being made, but sadly billboards and graffitis such as this one are simply not enough.