June 21, 2002

Dear Friends,

More than a month after they left their homes, several thousand indigenous marchers arrived in La Paz. Their numbers multiplied along the way, as groups joined in from Sucre, Potosí, Oruro and other regions of the country. They march for many reasons, calling themselves a "March for Popular Sovereignty, Territory, and Natural Resources," but their most common cry is for una asamblea constituyente, a democratic assembly that would finally include the voices of communities that have been marginalized in Bolivia for centuries.

As I arrived in La Paz on Monday after attending a Joining Hands workshop in Santa Cruz, we passed the last group to arrive. Hundreds of people scattered off the road as they approached a nearby school where the group would rest before finishing the trek. Hundreds more stood in line for soup and bread. Our bus slowed behind the marchers, patiently waiting for them to pass, while we passengers stood with our heads poking out of the windows to see the people we had been hearing about for weeks.

"Mallkus," the traditional leaders in Aymaran indigenous communities, wore their black and red ponchos, a heavy rope slung around their shoulders indicating their status. Scruffy teenagers in sweatshirts and sandals hobbled from sore feet. Aymara women "de pollera" made the walk in tiny dress flats, carrying bundles and babies on their backs. A woman in front of me gasped and quickly pulled a bag of bread from the cubby above her head, calling out to a young man "Take this and share." He waved gratefully, as did others. We were all silent on board, in awe of what we were witnessing.

Most of the marchers arrived in La Paz sick, with bloodied feet, underdressed (the folks from Santa Cruz are accustomed to 80 degree weather, not the biting cold of the Altiplano), hungry from days with scarce food. Later, I asked one woman what they had eaten along the way. She and her friend laughed. "Potatoes and potatoes. Oh, bread too."

When I went to visit the marchers yesterday, families had collapsed onto the patio of a local university, settling in for the night. I was reminded of a comment a friend once made: "So much of social movements must be about waiting." A month into the march, participants now settled in to wait. Wait for their leaders to meet with government representatives to see if they can reach an agreement to the marchers’ demands.

Today, that same patio was filled with huddled groups of mallkus and community members, all trying to assess where the process stands, what options remain, discussing the news trickling out of the official "dialogue." The cold and lack of food has begun to wear on the several thousand people involved. Some have turned home. More surely will tonight. A line of 20 people waited for the one outhouse. Every person I spoke with communicated in a nasally whine, stuffed-up and coughing, sick from exposure and close quarters. We joked "everyone is sick in solidarity."

The catalyst for this march was a series of constitutional reforms proposed by a select group of non-elected "experts" pulled from the Inter-American Development Bank, the United Nations Development Bank, and the World Bank. Many of the people involved in generating the proposed constitutional reform had questionable ties to big businesses, including logging and oil companies such as Enron and Shell. Marchers and their supporters fear that the reforms will increase economic inequality while granting concessions to logging and oil companies to the detriment of the environment, especially in indigenous territories. In response, the march has called on a democratic assembly that would include the voices of all sectors of society to evaluate and reform the constitution. They want their voices heard, really, for the first time. I asked one woman why she participated. She said so that her voice might reach Congress. She had been walking for 37 days.

People are tired, and not just from the march. As another network member told me "people say they have nothing to lose. Why not march, what other options do they have?" Bolivia’s majority indigenous population has basically faced social exclusion for the past 500 plus years, and previous efforts have not yielded much substantial change. But the recently offered reforms have proven to be too much, galvanizing communities across Bolivia to action.

We do not know what the result of this march will be, but calling someone an "indio," and Indian, has always been the most scathing affront in Bolivia. As I heard someone say: this march, then, is so that "indian" will never again be an insult.

Abrazos,

Susan

To learn more about the U.S. connection, Enron and Shell in Bolivia, visit www.amazonwatch.org