Open veins

If Katine was Pachuni

The headline in my Guardian Weekly leaped out: “Can we together help one African village out of the middle ages?” The story trumpeted a new scheme by the Guardian together with NGOs Amref and Farm Africa as well as Barclays Bank to work together to help Katine in northeast Uganda over a period of three years. The aim is to “harness the power of 21st century communications, expertise, resources and good will to help change lives still trapped in the fourteenth century.” The Guardian hoped that a campaign focused on one village could “dramatise the issue” of worldwide poverty and change lives, giving its readers “evidence of progress.” .

My question as I read the story was not how I could mobilize “my goodwill, resources and expertise” to rescue Katine, but wondering what would be the impact of such a scheme in a village near where I live in Bolivia. What if Katine, in fact, was exchanged as the “problem” for Pachuni, a village four hours walk up from where I live which I last visited in June?

Blood on the mine

The news splashed on the pages of the papers this morning was the traumatic report of 16 deaths and 80 injuries as a result of clashes between two groups of miners in Huanuni, a town south of La Paz. On the ground outside the Posokoni mine, the land was splashed  with blood.

The clash came apparently as a result of cooperativistas (who despite their name are really employees of private mining companies) trying to storm a state-owned mine whose workers then defended themselves against attack. The struggle broke out into an all-out war on the hills of the mine. Two groups of workers who usually sweat out in often miserable and harsh conditions to extract minerals were instead attacking each other with dynamite.

The conflict broke out after weeks of pressure from Cooperativistas to take a greater stake in the mine which is part owned by the State Mining Corporation, part private including an interest owned by a British company called RBG, ex-Allied Deals. The Government is being blamed for not anticipating the violence by sending in police earlier and for the inherent bias of the Mining  Ministry which is run by an ex-Cooperativista, Walter Villarroel.

A country born from and identified with mining is today grieving the loss of fourteen miners.  As the Vice-President Alvaro Garcia Linera said "What should have been a blessing for the country, to possess such natural riches, today has become a curse."

It sadly seems to be a curse of many countries rich in resources - look at Nigeria. It is certainly tragically true of Bolivia for centuries. Eight million indigenous people are said to have died in the 16th to 18th Centuries as a result of Spanish system of exploitation of Indian labour to extract silver. It's an even more shocking figure when you consider that Bolivia has a population of eight million today.

This cycle of deaths has continued into the 21st Century. 67 people died in October 2003 calling for nationalisation of gas. Yesterday and today 14 people have died living grieving families as miners have fought against miners. The clash comes at a time when many in Bolivia saw great hope for the country in the rising prices of minerals in the world market.

Bolivia gifts

Are you fed up with consumerist Christmases? Do even the fashionable alternatives of buying a goat or a worm farm bore you? Then I have just the option for you - Bolivia gifts!!  Give knowing that the money will be delivered by hand to projects and programmes that Nick has visited and been impressed by...But seriously, it crossed my mind that some people might have a bit of spare Christmas cash and might want to direct it towards Bolivia. Any money I get will be divided between four projects:

1. The families fighting for justice for 67 people who were killed by the Government in protests for nationalisation of gas in October 2003.
2. A small clinic in El Alto, where the 26 year old doctor works voluntarily coping with high levels of illnesses caused by poverty and lack of access to clean drinking water and basic services.
3. A project by the El Alto Residents' Association (FEJUVE) distributing Christmas gifts to children and families in El Alto during December.
4. A refuge in Cochabamba where women go to escape domestic violence and recover from the trauma and start to rebuild belief in themselves.

Halving poverty means halving injustice

As the world's leaders gather to meet in the UN, I thought I would share an article which was first published for the World Development's Movement's WDM in Action magazine. I would strongly recommend joining WDM. Find out more>>

Since I wrote the article, the situation unfortunately is even worse as the US has systematically gone through resolutions deleting many references which oblige action by a specific deadline.

It was the year 2000. The Greenwich dome stood as a monument to our lack of imagination, the millennium bug had barely infected even a computer screen, and “end of the world” cults sat around disenchanted that life was continuing as normal.

In this context, more than 150 Heads of State gathered in New York in September 2000 for the largest gathering of world leaders in history. The result of the meeting was the Millennium Declaration which outlined eight development targets which included an overarching goal to halve world poverty by 2015. 

Rising to the occasion, the leaders declared grandly that “We will spare no effort to free our fellow men, women and children from the abject and dehumanizing conditions of extreme poverty.”

Five years later, the International Community prepares to gather again in New York to assess progress towards the Millennium Development Goals. The results hardly live up to the heady rhetoric of 2000. In fact, progress has been pitiful. 

Fruits of labour?

She sat on a high stool with a shawl around her shoulders, piles of fruit spilling out from her ample apron. Brilliant-red strawberries, bananas blackening in the sun, mottled oranges, polish-glazed apples.

Attracted by her smile, I approached to look at the melons. Through the gnarled tough skin, I could smell the slightly heady ripeness.

"They are very sweet," she said. I envisaged them sliced up juicy and fresh at breakfast. I proceeded to buy them together with some apples.

As she served me, I looked at her sun-splashed face which was lined with tiredness.

"What time did you start working?" I asked.

"6am" she replied.

"So when do you finish?"

"About 7 or 8pm".

She went onto explain that she works the same hours every day, 7 days a week. Unthinking, I said " But what about holidays?" and almost immediately regretted saying it.

But she didn't look angrily or disdainfully at me. She even smiled gently: "I can't afford to have holidays. I even work on national holidays. That's what life's like for poor people," she said.

Working 14 hours a day, 365 days a year.

I didn't know what to say, but despite our vastly different worlds felt a human connection and warmth. I wished her well and walked off down the market, the weight of my fruit gently stretching the plastic of my shopping bag.

Shoe shining dreams

He approached me swinging his shoe-cleaning box as I sat in the sun reading a paper. Unlike many shoe-cleaners in La Paz, I could see his grin as it wasn't obscured by a balaclaver.

"Sir, would you like me to clean your shoes?" he said pointing at my scruffy trainers. Before I could reply, he said "I have some special fluid for cleaning trainers." I politely declined, but he sat next to me and proceeded to ply me with questions.

Where was I from? What did I think of Bolivia? Did I have a girlfriend? His smile continued on his shoe-polish-smudged face as he listened with interest to my answers.

He told me he was 12, and had been making his way down for 3 years from El Alto to polish and shine the shoes of Paceños as they make their way to work, stop for lunch or sit in the sun reading papers. At the weekends, he heads down to work all day. During the week, he heads down straight after school to work for 4 hours to get some money to take back to the family.

"I like it," he said although I didn't get a chance to ask why. What about school? He told me he loved school too, especially maths. I confessed it was my worst subject. He said he hoped that if he continued his studies, he could become a lawyer. "They earn good money, so I could support my family," he explained.

At that point, a balaclavered friend approached. He said a cheery goodbye, and they left arms around each other in companionship, swinging their shoe-cleaning boxes in their hands.