It’s been an interesting weekend here in La Paz. On Saturday was the start of the Fiesta of Small Things. People buy models of whatever they want—cars, houses, money, minibuses, babies—and then have them blessed by a shaman in expectation of therefore receiving them. I suspect some maybe disappointed.
Members of an equal-opportunities profession, the shamans sat in front of crucibles of burning incense and bottles of the 96% “drinking” alcohol, Ciebo. While the rest of Bolivia suffers under a booze ban, a special exception has been made for the shamans’ blessing ceremonies.
Sunday was the referendum on the new constitution. Billed as the decolonization of Bolivia and the empowering of the marginalized majority, I would find it difficult to vote no. However, it’s imperfect—vastly overlong, ambiguous and contradictory—providing ample ammunition for those who instinctively disagree with anything produced by Evo and the MAS government, or those firmly against socialism and secularization.
Both sides have behaved badly: government supporters unforgivably attacked a local no vote march and the opposition preposterously argued a yes vote is to kick God out of the country.
Voting is an obligation rather than a right here, and there’s a ban of traffic on election day to prevent people feeling obligated to place their tick in more than one location. The roads were by turn eerie and humanized: kids rode their bikes, fathers taught their children to ride, football games were played in busy thoroughfares and people walked their puppies (fully grown dogs are dumped as strays), elsewhere empty roads echoed the far-off celebratory explosions of dynamite fuses.
Even in the afternoon, hours before any result, Plaza Murillo—the parliament square—was already full. I’ve not seen so many crusty travellers in one place since Goa in 1995. A chant of Evo! Evo! went up but it failed to catch, but it was early days. There was clearly going to be some celebrating here when the inevitable yes-vote success came through.
Outside the MAS office, they were already hugging and kissing—even without a result, they knew this is a historic day.
Showing posts with label mas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mas. Show all posts
Sunday, 25 January 2009
Tuesday, 26 August 2008
10.8.8 Election day
Election day is perfect for a drive because all cars are banned from the streets. It’s less than perfect if you’re heading to a meet friends in a bar because groups are not allowed to congregate and alcohol sales are prohibited. Patricio and I were out with an official licence to monitor the recall referendum of President Evo Morales and the nine prefects (county heads).
We drove up to the hill from La Paz to the Alti Plano as the sun was burning off the cloud in the city valley. Unlike my experiences in the UK, the benches outside our first polling station were not for informal polling by reps of the local parties chummily sharing bum space, but for snack sellers. There would be no opposition representatives here, not without there being problems at least. MAS (the government party) were going to win anyway.
On the door to the schoolyard, which was playing polling station for the day, were MAS posters of the voting card with big ticks representing where to place your support. The cards are in Spanish, which was difficult for those older indigenous people who don’t speak the language or can’t read anyway. Patricio saw one old lady confirming with the voting administrator where she should place her ticks. Yes, Evo. No, Prefect.
Voting is required by law here, but the threat of sanctions did not seem necessary. The low sun cast long shadows in the dusty schoolyard as the people queued patiently waiting for voting to start. Bolivia has only been a democracy for 20 years and people take their enfranchisement seriously. Here they are MAS supporters and wanted to back their man.
On the desk at the front was a pot of indelible ink so the illiterate could use thumbprints to vote and everyone stained a fingertip to prevent them from voting again elsewhere. The actual placing of ticks is a serious act and the classrooms where it took place were guarded by stony-faced cholitas to ensure absolute secrecy.
Outside the social side opened up with food market stalls offering a range of delights knocked up on the spot, not all of it deep fried. Between polling stations, the roads were full of people making their way to vote. With no cars allowed it was a choice between walking and cycling. We went past one old chap hobbling painfully to fulfil his democratic duty and support Evo.
We drove up to the hill from La Paz to the Alti Plano as the sun was burning off the cloud in the city valley. Unlike my experiences in the UK, the benches outside our first polling station were not for informal polling by reps of the local parties chummily sharing bum space, but for snack sellers. There would be no opposition representatives here, not without there being problems at least. MAS (the government party) were going to win anyway.
On the door to the schoolyard, which was playing polling station for the day, were MAS posters of the voting card with big ticks representing where to place your support. The cards are in Spanish, which was difficult for those older indigenous people who don’t speak the language or can’t read anyway. Patricio saw one old lady confirming with the voting administrator where she should place her ticks. Yes, Evo. No, Prefect.
Voting is required by law here, but the threat of sanctions did not seem necessary. The low sun cast long shadows in the dusty schoolyard as the people queued patiently waiting for voting to start. Bolivia has only been a democracy for 20 years and people take their enfranchisement seriously. Here they are MAS supporters and wanted to back their man.
On the desk at the front was a pot of indelible ink so the illiterate could use thumbprints to vote and everyone stained a fingertip to prevent them from voting again elsewhere. The actual placing of ticks is a serious act and the classrooms where it took place were guarded by stony-faced cholitas to ensure absolute secrecy.
Outside the social side opened up with food market stalls offering a range of delights knocked up on the spot, not all of it deep fried. Between polling stations, the roads were full of people making their way to vote. With no cars allowed it was a choice between walking and cycling. We went past one old chap hobbling painfully to fulfil his democratic duty and support Evo.
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