This podcast was produced after my talk at InDigital, a biannual conference on indigenous community media held February 15, 2019 at Vanderbilt.
This podcast was produced after my talk at InDigital, a biannual conference on indigenous community media held February 15, 2019 at Vanderbilt.
Today, the fates of indigenous activists who were sanctioned for their leadership in the 2011 anti-mining protests in Puno region, Peru, have been decided. By the court’s ruling decision, 10 Aymara citizens have been acquitted for their involvement in organizing and leading a region-wide uprising—known as El Aymarazo— against the Santa Ana silver mining project operated by Vancouver-based Bear Creek Mining.
Only the movement’s widely-recognized leader, Walter Aduviri, stands convicted on a count of inspiring destruction of state and corporate property. (All defendants were acquitted of the charge of extortion.) He left court in high spirits nonetheless, surrounded by loyal supporters who marched behind him through the urban center of Puno, the capital city of the region.
Aduviri faces the likelihood of seven years in prison and a fine of two million Peruvian Nuevo Soles (about $575,000 USD). His final sentencing is scheduled for July 18th, 2017, but today’s provisional sentencing carries heavy consequences for the political future of this region’s indigenous citizens. As a result of the court’s decision, Aduviri, who held political ambitions for 2018 regional governance in Puno, may lose his lands and campaign financing in attempt to pay the exorbitant fees, and be ineligible for public service once his sentence is finalized. Aduviri runs on a stringently anti-mining campaign platform, and his political symbol, a blue gotita (droplet) of water with a winking face, is painted along myriad houses and community buildings all along the highway tracing the southern shores of Titicaca.
The politically-charged consequences of these financial sanctions have incensed many of Aduviri’s Aymara and Quechua supporters, who demonstrated en masse, braving the cold and waving wiphala flags in support of “Hermano Walter”. Discussion and planning is already underway for a new wave of Aymara protests, road blocks, and regional strikes, though citizens are awaiting the final sentencing in a few weeks. Just after the decision was announced, I raced north across the city the recording studio at Pachamama Radio with Aymara communicator and women’s rights activist Rosa Palomino.
She and her communications team broadcasted their weekly Aymara language news and culture show, Wiñay Pankara (Always Blooming), with a focus on the day’s legal proceedings. On the air were Palomino and her associates from the Union of Aymara Women of Abya Yala, or UMA, and invited guest Lucio Ramos, a local yatiri, or Aymara spiritual leader and
educator, who encouraged listeners to take charge of their indigenous communities’ bienestar (wellbeing) and “train-up” to be indigenous sociologists, anthropologists, and community reporters. Central to the program’s discussion was the theme of representation; from the state’s refusal to address collective land rights issues, to the mainstream media’s avoidance of indigenous rights violations and neglect of Aymara perspectives on illegal land concessions and corporate manipulation of local governors.
The proposed Santa Ana mine at the center of today’s conflict is located in the Aymara village of Huacullani, an Andean community of the altiplano, the arid high-altitude plain that traverses the Peru-Bolivia border along the shores of Lake Titicaca. Back in 2011, the conflict over unwanted mining infiltration at Huacullani ignited the El Aymarazo uprising, which quickly spread to protests and demonstrations against various extraction projects throughout the region, all of which were operating against the United Nations’ ILO 169, which guarantees indigenous communities the right to free, prior, and informed consent on all extraction and development projects on their territories. It remains to be seen if a second wave of El Aymarazo will retain the same strength in numbers as the 2011 movement that successfully halted state and municipal roadways, and shut down the center of Puno for days on end. But after Thursday’s momentous court decision, across the radio fields of the altiplano, cries for a new “Quechuazo y Aymarazo” echoed into the night.
In 2011, indigenous men and women at the Peru- Bolivia border near Lake Titicaca successfully halted one of the world’s largest projected silver extraction projects using radio for local organizing and social media—particularly, Facebook and WhatsApp— to garner regional and international support.
In May of that year, on the eve of a national presidential election, 25,000 Aymara and Quechua from around the region gathered in the principal city of Puno to protest the Santa Ana mining project managed by Canada’s Bear Creek Mining Company.
After weeks of road blockades and multiple incidents of police brutality, during which protesters were joined by thousands of supporters and featured in international broadcasts on CNN, FoxNews and other major networks, the Peruvian state revoked the site prospecting license.
Since the 2011 protests, Aymara community radio activists, or comunicadores, have begun to train at international indigenous communications conferences where presenters claim that using “media power” will help advance gender equality in communities and support the tactical defense of Pachamama. Indigenous activists at Santa Ana argued that the proposed mine would contaminate local water sources, including the sacred lake, Titicaca, and demanded that the Peruvian government recognize the legitimacy of Aymara communities and the sanctity of Pachamama, the animate Earth Mother who pervades every level of social meaning in the Aymara sense of place (Stone 2009).
Given the extreme glacial melting of the Andean Cordillera (Rasmussen 2015) highland Peru is one of the most notable exemplars of the consequences of rapid climate change. Peru exercises control over vast ecological territories. In the Andean Highlands, mining and gas extraction operations threaten to further pollute Lake Titicaca, a watershed considered vital, sacred and alive by the Aymara.
Here in the Peruvian altiplano, or high plains desert, indigenous radio fields comprise both the social and geospatial networks of people and places where community radio content is created, produced, listened to and discussed. When imbricated in social movements, these Andean radio fields become site of identity formation and political strategy. Bessire and Fisher have examined recent renewal in anthropological concern with radio fields, noting that “radio’s rugged and inexpensive materialities have become invested with new import in the many places where topography, poverty, or political oppression limits access to web connectivity, computers, or electricity” (Bessire and Fisher 2013:364).
Below, Aymaras sift crops in the early afternoon while listening to the radio.
Culturally, the Aymara see their landscape as animate, having a willful presence, known as Pachamama, who is both embedded in the landscape and transcendent. Within communities, many other Earth Beings reside (De La Cadena 2015).
Most frequently, the two highest peaks within community landscape are considered the Achachilas, or ancestor peaks, of the place. The highest peak is considered male, and the second highest, his female compliment.
In Huacullani, the community’s feminine Achachila sits atop a silver reserve projected to be one of the largest in South America.
“We come from within Pachamama, Live on Her, and Return to Her” (Stone 2009).
The ethnohistorical record shows a historical continuity to the Aymara’s self- identification as autochthonous inhabitants who emerged from Lake Titicaca after being created by Pachamama in the realm of Manqa pacha, the underworld, place of transformation, death and reemergence (Silverblatt 1987).The Aymara live and dwell and have their being in the realm of taypi, meaning center place, or navel. The land of human dwelling is also known as Aka pacha, the Center world. The word Pacha means ‘everything that exists’ ‘totality’ or ‘holism’. It means both “time” and “place”, embedded, as one. Adding to Pacha the modifier, mama, makes her gendered. She is the landscape of Aymara Radio.
Bessire, Lucas and Daniel Fisher 2013 The Anthropology of Radio Fields. Annual Review of Anthropology, 43:363-78.
Rasmussen, Mattias Borg 2015 Andean Waterways: Resource Politics in Highland Peru. Seattle: University of Washington Press.
Silverblatt, Irene 1987 Moon, Sun and Witches: Gender Ideologies and Class in Inca and Colonial Peru. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Stone, Mary Louise 2009 The Andean Mother: Weaving a Culture of Reciprocity. MA Thesis. San Francisco: California Institute of Integral Studies.
Reflections on the concepts of space, place and landscape in anthropology…
Pictured above is an alpine ridge running through the Merrimack River watershed in the humid continental foothills of New Hampshire’s White Mountains. The peak shown here is circumscribed by a winding, hand-cut path known to a small number of local hikers as the Ledge Loop. At the base of the slope, barely marked by a dark green plaque nailed to an adolescent maple tree, is the eastern entrance to the Pinnacle Trail, a narrow two-kilometer traverse that follows a deer run up the southeastern slope of the ridge, bisecting the Ledge Loop and continuing to the Pinnacle, where broad slabs of granite and shale create a natural clearing within the flat grove at the summit. The Pinnacle Trail then winds back down the southwestern slope of the ridge to a second access point at the road. This is the landscape.
Within this landscape, those who dwell engage with sites and sounds of multiple species as part of everyday reality. “Nature” and “Culture” are not a dichotomy here. The knowledge of this place is reserved to locals—as evidence of this, resident hikers note that even while “geocaching” can be found reliably at nearby Audubon reserves, it never came to occupy the Pinnacle Trail, a non- Audubon trail that is part of a land easement legacy left to the township several decades ago.
The township of Deering was incorporated with a human population of just under 900 in 1774, before the American colonies united, and at present has under 1900 people, with less than 60 per square mile. Deer, moose, coyote, bats, finches, orange spotted newts and a variety of charmingly fuzzy Rodentia run amok in these hills. Several years back, while ascending the Pinnacle Trail, one resident even came face to face with an American Black Bear. Fortunately, each had better things to do than interrupt the other, and the local neighborly tradition of keeping to oneself was observed. This story is still laughed about at “The Deering Speakeasy”, which is the way my cohort of local residents refers to this space-within-the-grove atop the Pinnacle Trail.
The Deering Speakeasy, as a “place” is imbued in this landscape—invisible yet palpable; non-discursive, yet seemingly capable of curating for visitors the cathartic experience that inspires its name. This is the place.
At the Deering Speakeasy, the olfactory experience is one of fresh pine and peat moss in a town where home well water tests evidence the vitality of local watersheds. There are almost always strong winds rustling the vegetation of the Pinnacle’s northern face. Wild blueberries grow along the southwestern descent in warmer months, and following the rain, the air is light and mossy, lacking the musky, almost palpable herbaceous fumes of so many warmer climate forests. The typical autumn haptic experience at the Deering Speakeasy usually involves brisk air chilling your hands and face, a cursory awareness of the rough texture of pine needles or the bark of a fallen tree trunk through the seat of your jeans, and the otherworldly, portal-like and temporal experience of ascending through the multicolored forest to the grove clearing itself. This is the space.
Space is most helpful here as a theoretical concept encompassing the multisensorial realms that shape the process of ‘dwelling’. In Wisdom Sits in Places, Keith Basso discusses Heidegger’s concept of “dwelling” as a descriptor for the forms of consciousness which shape individual perception of, and engagement with, geographical space. Heidegger’s concept of space describes a human-environment interactive relationship in which particular localities, or spaces, become imbued with ‘essential being’ as a result of being ‘objects of awareness’ to human minds.
This “essential being” is place. Sensing places, people dwell on them mentally, and thus create feedback loops of meaning when dwelling in them, physically. Basso calls this process interanimation, an apt way to describe the Deering Speakeasy’s origin story.
As a frequenter of the Deering Speakeasy, I have come to recognize an implicit ritual within the practice of “hiking the Pinnacle”. Usually, it goes something like this: So-and-so gets home from work, with an hour left before the sun sets. She is weary from an hour commute, the average for residents in this remote town. She calls Such-and-such, her closest neighbor down the hill, to see if Such-and-such is “up for a Speakeasy”; both being game, dogs are whistled for and grown-daughters are summoned from their cabins down the road, and the cohort convenes at the bottom of So-and-so’s driveway. Usually six-to-eight beings gather, and about half are human. The particular characters interchange with the days. A kilometer’s walk down Glen Road commences, while members of the cohort fill each other in on their recent experiences. Dogs bound along unleashed after squirrels and zigzag across the stone walls lining the fields and forest between home and the Pinnacle Trail’s access point. At some point before the beginning of the trail, on the basis of their mutual conversations and “updates”, the cohort will seemingly have identified the member with the most pressing current concern or strife, and will have oriented the conversation to focus on the key individual’s feelings or need to “vent”.
As the cohort ascends the Pinnacle Trail, discourse ceases; almost without fail, each to her own thoughts retreats. Perhaps it is the physical exertion of the uphill stride, perhaps the sensory shift that happens when one leaves the road for the forest, nonetheless, a seeming transition-to-dwelling takes place. At the top of the peak, a lone picnic table with fallen trunks for benches serves as the first of two ritual stopping points. Here, libations are shared among the cohort—usually, Such-and-such carries bottles of local beer in a backpack—and we sit facing east as the sun fades, talking through the issue. Before dark, we move to the north. The practice of climbing the Pinnacle seems to symbolically involve the intent to see “both sides of the issue” for the person affected with strife, in a place where these women feel able to “speak easily” about what currently befalls their marriage, their work life, their spiritual path, etc. Because of the particular route of the Pinnacle Trail itself, the descent involves passing by a panoramic view of the northern face, and thus the practice of stopping here for a second session of chatting has become rooted in the practice of “hiking the Pinnacle”. The ritual need we all seem to have, to see the view from both cliff faces before descending despite the bugs, chill, or heat of the season, suggests an almost spiritual commitment to this practice. This is a collective creating of a sense of place.
Try as I might, I cannot think of any explicit moment at which my cohort decided it would dwell in this space in this way. As Bourdieu might say, if there is agency, or will, it is housed in the “structure”, the landscape in which our social practice of the “Deering Speakeasy” was learned.