INDIGENOUS ANARCHISM IN BOLIVIA

An Interview with Silvia Rivera Cusicanqui

by Andalusia Knoll, Rustbelt Radio, Pittsburgh

The South American nation of Bolivia has filled the headlines of the global press with its fight against water privatization, struggle for nationalization of gas, non-compliance with free trade policies, and the 2005 election of the continent’s first indigenous president, Evo Morales. These struggles are rooted in the long history of indigenous resistance to colonialism and imperialism in Bolivia. In an interview conducted during her recent stay in Pittsburgh. subaltern theorist Aymara sociologist and historian Silvia Rivera Cusicanqui discussed Bolivian anarchism, the health benefits of the coca plant and the cocaleros' (coca growers) fight for sovereignty. Rivera Cusicanqu is a founder of the Taller de Historia Oral Andina (Workshop on Andean Oral History) and author of Oppressed But Not Defeated: Peasant Struggles Among the Aymara and Quechua in Bolivia, 1910-1980 (United Nations Research Institute for Social Development, 1987). She was born in 1949 in La Paz.

Andalusia Knoll: Could you talk about some of the things that you have uncovered in your research about anarchism in Bolivia as related to the struggles of the Aymara and Quecha people?

Silvia Rivera Cusicanqui: We started as an Aymara collective that basically wanted to uncover the Aymara and Quechua struggles and we discovered that there were many links with urban Aymara communities that had organizations linked both to the indigenous communities and to the union movement, which in the 20’s was basically anarchist.

What happened in Bolivia is that there have been two official histories: the official history written by the [Revolutionary] Nationalist Party—MNR—that basically denies all the agency of both workers and peasants and indigenous peoples; and the official history of the left that forgets about anything that was not Marxist, thus eclipsing or distorting the autonomous history of anarchist unions,

It's the links between the anarchists and the indigenous people that gave them another nuance, because their communities are self-sustained entities and they basically are places where anti-authoritarian type of organization can take roots. They don’t need this leadership that is like permanent leadership. The communities have leaders, but as a rotational thing that is a service to the community. It’s kind of a burden to be a leader for a community, you know? It’s something you do once in a lifetime and you do because you ought to do, and that the community says its your turn or the turn of your family. So, that creates a totally different relationship with power structures and, in a way, it decolonizes power and to a certain extent gives it back to the people.

That is what fascinated us most about the communities and, on the other hand, it led us to discover that communities were not only rural but also urban and worked with [1920s anarchist] Luis Cusicanqui and other anarchist leaders because they had such an affinity between the way they saw struggle, autonomy, domination, and oppression.

AK: Anarchism in general, I think, is perceived as a European tradition that has been brought to the United States and places like Argentina and people don't generally associate anarchism with places like Bolivia or places in Africa, et cetera. Could you talk about how anarchism was in line with many of the beliefs of the Aymara and Quechua people and the way their communities were governed.

SRC: A general point of departure of Bolivian history with the rest of Latin America is that many—especially anarchists—have had to go through the filter of their own traditions of struggle that are basically anti-colonial. So, what happened is that there was like a mutual breeding, a mutual fertilization of thought and an ability to interpret universal doctrine that is basically a European doctrine in Bolivian, Chola and Aymara terms.

That’s why Bolivian anarchism is so important, because it has roots in the grassroots urban unions. Because most urban workers were also Indian in Bolivia and still are. 62 percent of the population in Bolivia self-identify as indigenous, as Aymara, Quechua, Guarani and as many other indigenous peoples.

So we have a majority, even in urban settings, and therefore have a particular brand of anarchism. I would say it is Anarcho-Indianism. And also it is Anarcho-Indianism-Feminism because the chola figure, the women, the female fighter, the female organizer, is part of Bolivian daily life. If you have been there you know what the market looks like, how strong these women are, how in solidarity they are when there is a march coming from the cocaleros, when there are these marches that last ten, twenty days without much to eat. These women prepare these huge pots of soup they give away to the poorest people. They have such a tradition of union associations that self-organize. And they self-organize basically in the administration of space,. The market is a space and it’s very symbolic that they take over this space and just grab it from the municipality or from the central state.

So, you have a very specific chola brand of anarchism that explains why it was so attractive for so, so many people. And it explains why one of the most salient things in Bolivian anarchist history is that their leaders made their speeches in Aymara. And just thinking that another non-Western language, non-European language is filtering the thoughts of anarchists and helping to phrase, to express the rage, the proposals, the ideas—it gives such richness, you know? In Aymara you can say, "us" in four different ways.

AK: How do these struggles of indigenous people in the '20s and '30s relate to struggles against neoliberalism today?

SRC: Liberalism made its big reforms in the late 19th century, which were anti-Indian reforms. They killed the market for indigenous crafts and goods. They took Indian lands. They jailed all the leaders of the communities. They wanted them to become servants of the haciendas and have a quiet and domesticated, low-paid labor force in the mines and in the factories.

You have a second liberalism here now that wants basically the same thing, except for the issue of haciendas. Haciendas are out of date in Bolivia because of agrarian reform. Yet there is still a need for agrarian reform because the big land ownership has moved, it has been displaced to the lowlands and still it's doing the same thing. It's usurping indigenous lands.

So you have basically the same set of problems and aggressions, but you obviously have cultural differences, a cultural gap. Because in those times, you didn't have much of a literate working class, or literate leadership in the communities. The communities had many problems just trying to understand the language of the documents that decreed their extinction, or decreed the laws against them. So they created a movement in favor of schools. That was another link with the workers, because the workers, especially the anarchists, had their own self-organized schools. The indigenous communities came in search for support for their schools and found a very fertile terrain in the anarchist unions.

AK: Could you talk more about the struggles of the cocaleros? Here in the United States there’s very little dialogue about their struggle and people don't even realize that there is a difference between coca and cocaine.

SRC: Well, let me tell you, I have been researching, and every time I come to the US I go to the libraries with one question: Why is coca so underground, so unknown, so mistreated, so stigmatized? Why do people believe all these lies? Why can you get any drug but not coca? It's because if coca was a drug you could get it.

And I'm finding a big conspiracy against coca in the late 19th century by the pharmaceutical industry. And it is a conspiracy against people's health in general. But the conspiracy against coca was particularly mean and ill because it was a conspiracy against a people. The Indians had been in touch with coca for millennia and have been able to use it in a variety of ways; as a mild stimulant for work, as a ritual item, as a recreational commodity that you chew at parties, at wakes, at weddings, or even as a symbol of identity and of struggle.

So, coca leaves are almost pervasively present in the Bolivian context but there is like this press blindness, blindness of the media. Blindness of the media that in many senses is dictated by the US embassy, you know? It’s the US embassy that dictates the policy on coca and blackmails the government so that if we don’t do as they say, the funds for development or, I don’t know, the funds they give to the Bolivian government will be cut. I always said to the leaders, "Let them cut! We won’t die! And we can’t live forever on somebody else’s alimony."

It's hard because really there is a problem of poverty; but poverty in Bolivia is constructed, it’s a result of bad policies! And it’s a result of being robbed of our resources. And so I think the coca issue is very, very enlightening in terms of what the power of interests of corporations can do to truth... Just veil the truth to such an extent that...common sense has been overcome by this absurd idea that coca is cocaine. I have chewed coca since I was 16 years old. When I came to the states, of course you miss everything you don’t have, but I’m not in a [withdrawal] syndrome. I have a [withdrawal] syndrome of coffee! When I quit coffee I had symptoms of being addicted to coffee, but the coca leaves are not addictive. I just chew them and enjoy them everyday and if I don’t have them I don’t chew them and that’s it. And I’m very healthy and I think so many people would be rid of osteoporosis and calcium deficits and gastric disorders and obesity and cardio-vascular problems and diabetes [if coca were available].

And that's why it is an enemy of the pharmaceuticals; because we wouldn't need all their shit! All their pills, all their venoms that make us believe that they are good and then they have side effects and then you go back, and they give you another thing, and you keep on going back and then you end up with having a full pharmacy in your drawer and then you feel miserable and you have lost control of your life. That’s what they want and that’s what we’re against and coca is our big, big shield against companies taking over our bodies.

AK: Earlier you had mentioned one of the marches of the cocaleros. Could you talk about some of the actions that people have taken to defend their rights to grow coca and their sovereignty?

SRC: Yes. Well, I like to talk about things I really know first and there have been many, many marches. One of the most impressive ones was in 1994 and it is really very incredible to be a part of one of these events. And in 1998, when things were getting really bad because of forced eradication and assassinations of cocaleros, and army raids where they into the coca fields and destroyed everything was a daily occurrence... there was this big march that I joined... And I was able to get into the rank-and-file cocaleros within the march and see how there is this Gandhian ethic of self-sacrifice accompanied with coca. It’s also a Gandhian ethic of not eating too much, because...[i]t is the force of the spirit and the force of the belief that goes and carries your body. And so your body has to be light. And that’s why you learn a lot about ethics when you do this type of struggle... [Y]ou're doing a sacrifice for a cause that is for the good of many people and it really feeds your spirit. It is very important to have something beyond your own belly... [A]nd also to go for a cause that is for the whole of the Bolivian people, because sovereignty is the missed task. No revolution of whatever kind—liberal revolution, nationalist revolution, leftist—has really been freed from imperialism, freed from colonial domination.

So, that task requires all the strength and these marches, vigils and hunger strikes have been, always, a typical characteristic of the Bolivian people. A peaceful type of non-violent actions—but so massive! so massive!--where people are ready to die. And that generosity...is very, very heart-lifting, you know? And so, it gives people a strength to overcome many obstacles, to overthrow governments, and to even take governments. And so, I think that’s a result of our strength; our collective strength.

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This interview originally appeared on Rustbelt Radio, Pittsburgh Indymedia's weekly review of news from the grassroots. To hear the complete interview, go to http://pittsburgh.indymedia.org/news/2007/03/26831.php

It also ran July 25 in The Defenstrator, Philadelphia, PA
http://www.defenestrator.org/silvia_rivera_cusicanqui

RESOURCES:

Anarkismo en Bolivia, Radio Perdida, September 2007
http://radioperdida.blogspot.com/2007/09/anarkismo-en-bolivia.html

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http://www.ww4report.com/node/4501Reprinted by WORLD WAR 4 REPORT, Oct. 1, 2007
Reprinting permissible with attribution

Wasáse and the Indigenous resurgence

Book Review

Taiaiake Alfred, Wasáse: Indigenous Pathways of Action and Freedom (Peterborough, ON: Broadview Press, 2005).

Review by Alex Khasnabish, recent graduate of the Ph.D program in Anthropology at McMaster University.

What would a politics of contention rooted in an anarcho-indigenous perspective look like? What would such a political philosophy even mean? In Wasáse: Indigenous Pathways of Action and Freedom, Kanien’kehaka (Mohawk) scholar and activist Taiaiake Alfred undertakes the provocative, challenging, and hopeful task of envisioning and articulating just such a politics and in what follows I will attempt to do justice to this vision in a spirit of solidarity and constructive engagement. As Alfred explains, “Wasáse” is a Rotinoshonni (Six Nations) war ritual, the Thunder Dance (2005, 19). In the context in which he uses it, “Wasáse” is a new way of thinking about an Indigenous politics of contention and resurgence. This radically contentious and hopeful spirit is what animates Alfred’s text and his vision of socio-political struggle and possibility.

Wasáse is a challenging and provocative text, its aims are no less than the development of a politics of contention rooted in the regeneration and resurgence of Onkwehonwe (first peoples) existences and the destruction of colonial realities and imperial desires. Before proceeding however one central issue needs to be addressed. Unapologetically, Alfred’s text is directed toward Indigenous peoples and particularly those inhabiting territory now known as Canada and the United States. Alfred’s contentious political vision is directed toward inspiring a radical Onkwehonwe resurgence and as such his words are meant to resonate within Onkwehonwe communities themselves. As a non-Indigenous, academically-trained, relatively privileged person whose political commitments nevertheless express a strong affinity for the kind of radical, anti-capitalist, anti-colonial, and anti-imperialist politics Alfred espouses, approaching this text and engaging with it require accepting that in some ways this work is not primarily meant for me. As Alfred notes in his opening pages, “If non-indigenous readers are capable of listening, they will learn from these shared words, and they will discover that while we are envisioning a new relationship between Onkwehonwe and the land, we are at the same time offering a decolonized alternative to the Settler society by inviting them to share our vision of respect and peaceful coexistence” (ibid., 35). The de-centering of the so often assumed normative subject (white, male, heterosexual) makes this text experientially as well as politically challenging and revelatory – can non-Indigenous but politically sympathetic individuals learn to listen and value radically different perspectives that challenge the very foundations of our contemporary social existences, particularly in the Americas? More importantly, can we find ways to take up Alfred’s offer and move toward building new relationships not premised on colonial histories and domination and not built upon a politics which privileges Euroamerican traditions (often without even acknowledging that there might be other traditions)? The fact that engaging with this text generates these questions in the attentive reader is itself a success I believe.




In terms of his advocacy of a politics of Indigenous resurgence, Alfred notes that the central challenge facing Indigenous peoples today is that of “regaining freedom and becoming self-sufficient by confronting the disconnection and fear at the core of our existences under colonial domination” (ibid., 20). Only after this regeneration and resurgence has occurred can a reshaping of Onkwehonwe-Settler relationships take place. The emphasis that Alfred places upon personal and communal transformation is significant and is not in any way discrete from the anti-colonial and anti-imperial struggle he envisions. Alfred’s political vision for Indigenous contention and resurgence is also explicitly anti-statist, he has nothing but contempt for “Aboriginalism” and other “paths of least resistance” which he sees as the “end game” of assimilation, the “terminological and psychic displacement of authentic indigenous identities, beliefs, and behaviours with one designed by Indian Department bureaucrats, government lawyers, and judges to complete the imperial objective of exterminating Onkwehonwe presences from the social and political landscape” (ibid.,126). Alfred is unapologetically combative in this sense, he sees absolutely no value in strategies of negotiation and collaboration within social and political relations as they are currently constituted, a position that evokes many of the anarchist and anarchist-inspired currents within the contemporary global justice and global anti-capitalist movements. It also resonates with the political philosophy of the Zapatista movement in Chiapas, Mexico which Alfred sees as being an exemplary manifestation of powerful Indigenous resurgence. The combination of these positions leads Alfred to formulate what he calls a political philosophy of “anarcho-indigenism”, a concept which he unpacks by elaborating on each of these terms: “indigenous, evoking cultural and spiritual rootedness in this land and the Onkwehonwe struggle for justice and freedom, and the political philosophy and movement that is fundamentally anti-institutional, radically democratic, and committed to taking action to force change: anarchism” (ibid., 45).

As with so many debates surrounding issues of radical change today, and particularly in a post-9/11 context, the specter of violence looms ever-present on the margins of Alfred’s politics of contention. To his credit, Alfred does not shy away from engaging this issue. Alfred does not reject violence as an element within a larger social struggle but neither does he valorize it, rather, he situates it within the context of a necessary capacity for “self-defence” which he explains by stating: “I believe there is a need for morally grounded defiance and non-violent agitation combined with the development of a collective capacity for self-defence, so as to generate within the Settler society a reason and incentive to negotiate constructively in the interest of achieving a respectful coexistence” (ibid., 27). Avoiding the dogmatism of pacifism as well as that of those who would advocate a philosophy of social change predicated on the position of “by any means necessary”, Alfred displays a nuanced and pragmatic appreciation of contemporary socio-political dynamics in contexts such as Canada and the United States. The role of violence in Alfred’s political vision addresses the fact that even in “liberal-democratic societies” the violence of the state and elite interests is frequently mobilized against dissident groups while simultaneously acknowledging that these are also places where the logic and fantasy of armed revolution or violent contestation holds very little sway. More significantly, Alfred’s perspective emphasizes the fact that for truly radical social change to occur, there needs to be consistency between ends and means, a position also evocative of anarchist thought.

Throughout his work, Alfred is quite clear that the “enemy” of Indigenous resurgence is not the “White Man” in any kind of racial or essentialized sense but rather the set of cultural and intellectual supports and practices that produce and reproduce colonialism. In this sense, it is the foundations of the colonial mentality and Settler society that must be undercut for radical change to occur. In this context, Alfred argues that “regeneration”, “restitution”, and “resurgence” are key dimensions of Indigenous struggle as opposed to “recovery”, “reconciliation”, and “resistance” (ibid., 151). The distinction between these sets of principles is that while the latter are products of liberal frameworks and fit within existing colonial relations, the former do not, they explicitly challenge the socio-political and cultural bases upon which Indigenous-Settler relations are currently constituted. Within this vision of a politics of contention rooted in Indigenous resurgence, Alfred contends that in order for this politics to be successful it will be necessary to create “crisis” on two fronts: first, to bring about “a disjuncture between the political consciousness of the Settler society and the realities of state power”; and second to engender “a moral conflict between contemporary Settler identities and the forced renewal of the need for the use of explicit colonizing violence” (ibid., 268). Alfred argues that a politics of contention rooted in Indigenous lifeways and committed to challenging the foundations of colonial relations socially, culturally, and politically will bring about precisely such crises. The foundations of this politics of contention and the capacity to defeat colonialism will themselves be found only in “liberation from domination, freedom from fear, a decolonized diet, a warrior ethic, and reconnection to indigenous cultures” (ibid., 282).

The political philosophy of anarcho-indigenism which Alfred presents in Wasáse is a compelling one and intersects significantly with the work of other scholars and activists working to envision and materialize new forms of political action (see for example Callahan 2004a, 2004b; Day 2005; Hardt and Negri 2004, 2000; Holloway 2000; Notes From Nowhere 2003). The kind of anti-state, non-hegemonic politics advocated by Alfred in fact offers fruitful ground upon which to build affinities with a multitude of others seeking to contest neoliberal capitalism, colonialism, and Empire. Drawing on interviews with a variety of Indigenous academics, activists, artists, community leaders, and warriors, Alfred presents his political vision in a form which is engaging, passionate, and rigorously considered. Nevertheless, there are elements to Alfred’s work that remain somewhat unclear and even problematic.

While largely avoiding the trap of essentialized “authentic” identities, Alfred does occasionally seem to posit something resembling this with respect to his vision of Indigenous resurgence. While speaking broadly of “Euroamerican” legacies and traditions, Alfred clearly asserts the superiority of Indigenous traditions over the socio-cultural and political traditions of the West that have brought colonialism, imperialism, and capitalism into being. In itself this is not necessarily a problem, indeed many (including myself) would be in agreement with such an analysis, but in situating his argument at the level of the macro Alfred effectively ignores all that has and is happening below it. While Alfred does acknowledge that Settler society is not homogenous or monolithic, for all intents and purposes his analysis relies on monolithic categories to advance its key points. What this obscures of course are the profound fissures within Settler society itself and while this is not Alfred’s concern in this work it tends to make his political philosophy more polemical and less analytical. Not only does this produce a rather reductive and somewhat essentializing argument, it also does violence to the powerful currents of struggle and alternative-building within Euroamerican history as well. In recent years, many excellent “histories from below” have been produced that focus on the stories of struggle and the desire for liberation on the part of a diversity of people against elite-driven projects of colonialism, imperialism, and capitalism (see Federici 2004; Linebaugh 2003; Linebaugh and Rediker 2000; Rediker 2004; Wilson 2003). These works all point to the profoundly violent nature of these exploitative and dehumanizing projects as well as to the fact that this violence was not merely directed outward toward other peoples and places but inward toward rebellious and undesirable subjects within these centres of power as well. Imperialism, colonialism, and capitalism and the associated constructs of “progress”, individualism, patriarchy, racism, and heterosexism (to name only a few) did not crystallize themselves out of thin air, nor did they emerge unproblematically out of a logical and linear historical trajectory. Rather, these projects and constructs have been built out of a protracted, bloody, terror-filled, elite-driven campaign for power and domination. To speak in this context of singular traditions and of unilinear paths of violence is to obscure these vital histories and the possibilities they give rise to.

But it is important to remember in this instance that Alfred’s purpose is to produce a political vision capable of generating Indigenous resurgence and the defeat of colonial and imperial realities, not to dissect the particular histories of colonialism or imperialism. Alfred’s target is not “Western tradition” itself but rather those elements of that tradition that have supported the colonial mentality and which have served as the justification for the genocide directed against Indigenous peoples that continues around the world to this day. Nevertheless, it would seem that his own analysis and argument would have been made all the richer and more provocative had the legacies and traditions which underlie contemporary systems of power and domination been situated within their appropriate context. Despite this, Alfred’s anarcho-indigenous politics is as inspiring as it is provocative and given its intersection with many non-Indigenous anarchist-inspired and autonomist visions of socio-political struggle and possibility perhaps there is hope for radical social change that does not require yet another mythology legitimizing domination or which requires us to wait for some constantly deferred totalizing revolutionary moment. This might be a glimpse of a politics and possibility of resurgence for us all.

http://aspen.conncoll.edu/politicsandculture/printer_page.cfm?key=519

http://web.uvic.ca/~gta/home/review.htm

Anarchist-Indigenous solidarity at the Six Nations’ barricade

http://newsocialist.org/newsite/index.php?id=1018

An Anarchist Study of the Rotinonshón:ni Polity

http://nefac.net/anarchiststudyofiroquois