Crashing a Parade

I'm in Bolivia right now, finishing our major project this year, a telenovela made by indigenous kids from the shantytowns above La Paz.  The story of the soap opera traces the lives of a dozen kids in the middle of a huge social movement that expelled two corrupt presidents in 2003 and 2005, and then finally elected Evo Morales, the first Indian president of this overwhelmingly indigenous country.  The challenge we have faced, however, is how to represent the huge uprisings in 2005, when millions of people blockaded the city, protested in the streets, and finally forced Carlos Mesa from office.

By chance, this week is the anniversary of La Paz... something like 400 years as a city, if I recall.  And Bolivia celebrates these civic events with parades that remind me of what I read about cities would present themselves in France in the 18th century, where each état (social group) would march through the streets to be recognized by the others: the butchers, the bakers, the traders, the priests...  Here, each of the city government departments marches with a military band, so you have all of the tax collectors, then the street sweepers, then the sewer cleaners, then the bureaucrats from the water department, and on and on.  Most march in uniforms.  The rest of the population (probably half a million people last night) stands by the side of the main street in the city and watches, cheering or protesting, depending on what they think of the civil servants (social workers working with the disabled got big cheers.  Tax collectors did not).  It is a very, very strange event for someone from outside, but central to what it means to be Bolivian.

The tradition of social movements invading the parade is not as venerable as the parade itself (which probably dates to the founding of the city), but it is much more interesting.  So Compa (the organization we collaborate with on this project) and several other groups decided to crash the parade to demand that the government release the archives of the military dictatorship.  Because though the government of Evo Morales has done wonderful things with macroeconomic policy, social inclusion, education, and other issues, it had to ally with the military to avoid a coup d'etat.  This has meant that the country has not yet come to terms with its repressive history.  The families of the disappeared were in front, all carrying the photos of their loved ones, and Compa came behind with a murga band (sort of like an Andean samba) and loud voices demanding justice.

It was not easy to crash the parade: we found a side street and organized ourselves in the watching crowd, and then as the legal groups moved forward, we slid in to the line, rather like a car trying to merge into a lane that doesn't want it there.  Dozens of other groups, from high schools and gay clowns  to the fan club of the Bolívar soccer team, we trying to do the same.  For half an hour, I wondered if I would ever escape, as thousands of people pushed from all sides, each one with an instrument, a sign, or a disguise.  It was about 35 degrees Fahrenheit and, at 12,000 feet above sea level, hard to breathe, but finally we were there.  Drums, dancing, the roar of the crowd to approve a cause they thought just... and about 5 miles of marching.

And for our group, a perfect representation of what the revolution of 2005 looked like from inside.  It will make for a great couple of episodes of the telenovela!