Author: Travis Neeson

The Exploitation and Contradiction of South America – When Societies Go Bad: Volume 2

When Societies Go Bad

Listen: All childish bathroom humor aside, Lake Titicaca is a geologic wonder. Powerful forces from deep within the earth combined, over millions of years, to form what we now call the Altiplano or high plain in South America. It’s a relatively flat expanse in the middle of the widest part of the Andes covering some of Southern Peru, and much of Western Bolivia. The altitude seems to average around 4000 meters (14,000 feet for you metrically non-inclined readers). In the center of the Altiplano lies the remnants of an ancient inland sea. A lake of extraordinary magnitude which straddles the Bolivian-Peruvian border. Let’s call her over 200 km long, 100km wide, and 1000 meters deep in spots. She is held sacred by the Inca’s as the birthplace of the sun. As an added bonus, the lake is highly recommended by Lonely Planet and Let’s Go.

Sunset

Coming from the Peruvian side, my amiga Amber and I found a boat that would take us out to a historically fascinating little island 24 km onto the lake, called Isla Taquile. Now let’s talk history, shall I? The ancient Pre-Incan race to occupy Titicaca maybe 12,0000 years ago was the Uros who lived on the lake fishing, hunting and, in an amazing bit of foresight, building tourist trinkets out of reeds. On Taquile itself, another indigenous culture flourished, the Aymara. They did well for themselves until the Spanish came to occupy the islands in the early 1600’s(ish). Rather than be slaves to the guns, germs, and stealing of the Spaniards, the Aymara fled the island. The Spanish then brought native Quechuans to do the slave labor for them. Like most other areas in South America, when the Spaniards had either exhausted the resources or felt no more harm could be done, they vacated the island, leaving the Quechuas to form their own society.

Fast forward to circa 1960. The residents of Taquile had formed their own self-sufficient, self-governing, basically socialistic system where all money is shared. Labor is shared, all projects are community projects. The small populous of about 800 report to a commission of eleven “governors” who in turn meet every day in the plaza with the head honcho. However, evidence of the Spanish conquest remains. Traditional Spanish uniforms fitting of status are worn by men and women, all pray to Jesus Christ in the Catholic faith, and Spanish is taught in the schools. Enter la plata (money) from tourists, or as it will be called in the future, the second conquest of Taquile.

Today Amber and I walked slowly, breathlessly, cursing the altitude, up the steps to the top of the island to the plaza in its only town. Shy kids whispered, offering us woven bracelets as grandmothers sold blankets and food and water. Our guide helped us make sense of the tourist chaos which overruns the island and influxes a number of tourists equal to half of their population every day.

There were only three laws in the Quechuan society on Taquile, he explained: 1. Don’t lie. 2. Don’t steal. 3. Don’t be lazy. Simple enough, hey. And a reflection of the old values can still be seen in the fact that prices for all tourist items island-wide are fixed so there is no competition and every island member benefits equally. In addition, the tour groups are assigned, as they arrive on the island, a particular restaurant at which to eat so all restaurants receive equal clientele. So what has created the stress and imbalance on this formerly serene island?

Like a lesson straight out of “The Gods Must Be Crazy”, the almighty dollar has created division, conflict, corruption, and (gasp!), the biggest sin of all, intended disregard for the three laws of Taquile. It all may have started with home stays. This is where a tourist or group of them stays in the home (duh!) of a local family for a small price or gift. As this gift is discretionary and not community property, the family who competes to win the most home stays, wins the most plata. This created financial division and conflict amongst families. In the last 15 years, the tourism boom of the area has lead almost the entire island to rely on the industry and turned it into the theme park we entered today (for an extra entrance fee which is supposedly divided between families).

To make matters infinitely worse, the fierce competition and bickering amongst the families has served to turn tourists off of home stays in Taquile and onto the nearby “less-touristy and more rustic” neighboring island. The people of this newly touristed island, in all their innocence and ignorance, will now feel the curse of capitalism on their simple society. The residents of Taquile who have become dependent on home stay money for their livelihood, are now suffering together.

Today at one o’clock, like every other day, the twelve leaders of the island, dressed in uniform, met on the steps in the front of the main plaza to publicly discuss the issues for today’s meeting. They then retired to a room for an hour or so to address these issues. We had been exploring the town, but at 3900 meters and in the direct sun, we were feeling a bit fatigued. Around two o’clock I noticed a few men sitting against the wall in the shade of a building near us in the corner of the plaza. They were dressed in Spanish Castilian garb like most other men of the town. Each clutched an elaborate, colorful, hand-woven bag which had a strap that went around their shoulders. These men were clearly breaking law number three “Don’t be lazy”. All opened their bags and pulled out a handful of coca leaves. Ritualistically, they each exchanged one handful of leaves with one another before beginning to voraciously shove them into their mouths, chewing softly. Although most people on the island spoke Quechua not Spanish, I saw this as my chance to “experience culture” or “interact with the locals”.

Days before, at another high-elevation locale, Amber and I had decided to check up on an ancient Incan tradition and we purchased (legally) some coca leaves of our own. What we hadn’t known previously was that along with chewing the leaves, a catalyst is required in order to dissolve the leaves and extract the chemical which provides relief from hunger, fatigue, the effects of altitude, etc. This can be a basic chemical such as sodium bicarbonate, but for thousands of years the locals here have been using a type of ash or lejia. Amber and I purchased a very light colored, highly-dense ball of lejia for about ten cents.

Today, at 3900 meters, on Taquile seemed like a great time and place to try the effects of the leaves and lejia. And when I saw the locals taking part, I walked up to them, ball of ash in hand, like a drug dealer at a rave.

“¿Alguien necesita esta?” (Does anybody need THIS?), I confidently asked the three, holding up my round ball proudly. One of the men reached out his hand and accepted the ball of ash.

“¿Dònde la compraste?” (Where did you buy it?), he asked, clearly impressed.

Not knowing if he had ever even been off the island, I told him I got it in another village far away from the island. He put the hard stone up to his incisor and chomped a large chunk out of it, turned to his friends, and stated, “Es tan Buena.” (It’s quite good.) They all took a large bit of ash, mixed it in their mouths with the leaves, and continued their hushed conversation in Quechua.










Sharing Coca leaves

Sharing coca leaves


I was feeling great, like the kid at school who is the first to have the new toy everybody wants. So my new friendship was accepted based on the fact that my friends only wanted to take advantage of what I had but couldn’t care less about me. I was willing to accept that for a few minutes in this foreign culture. So I proudly took my place next to the group and opened my humble bag of coca leaves. Mine were not held in a fancy hand-woven sack of colorful native design, but rather a dingy, thin, biodegrading plastic bag. But I still had the confidence to walk over and give a handful of leaves from my sack to one of the other men. I retook my seat and proceeded to stick the leaves in my mouth, as I had seen them do, and chew. As they continued to ignore me, I figured I would simply ask to use my ash. Not only would this include me in the conversation with my new friends but it would allow me to get my ball back, which I intended to split with them since they liked it so much.

“¿Dònde està la lejia?” I nervously questioned the three. The man in the middle patted his fat pouch of leaves as if to indicate, “It’s right here for safe keeping.” I thought that this question would be enough for them to realize I hadn’t had any ash yet, and it was, and they did, but they went right back to conversing. Suddenly I understood. They had absolutely no intention of returning my ash. The only two options I could think of were: 1) They thought me bringing the lejia to them was a gift or 2) They were blatantly stealing it from me. Hey, that is breaking Taquile island law number 2!! Now not only were they being lazy but they were stealing.

Around this time, the rest of the group I was with noticed that these three gentlemen happened to be some of the eleven governors of the island. They were wearing the special uniform only the most important men wear. In fact, the one in the middle who now held my lejia captive was the head honcho himself. Although a dime’s worth of ash was at stake here, this infuriated me further. In my mind we were witnessing a microcosm of the downfall of the ethics of the island. Corruption and greed all starts there at the top and works its way down through the entire populous.

Perturbed, I decided to ask once more if I could please partake in some of MY lejia. As they sat chewing their cud nonchalantly, I leaned over, flustered, and asked clearly to the president of the island, “Por favor, ¿Puedo usar la lejia?” (Can I please use the ash?). He looked me directly in the eyes, smiled, and said, “Si.” But again they went right back into their conversation, sloughing me off like so much dead skin. And just like that he had broken rule number 1: “Don’t lie.”

This was too much for me. I cordially exited the circle of which I was never a part, accepted the loss of my lejia, and the dollarized demonization and destruction of what had once been a flourishing, self-sufficient, non-capitalistic society. As our group headed away from the plaza and off the island later that afternoon (we opted out of the home stay based on the insinuation of our guide that it is “the root of all the evil on the island”), I gave one last chance to Mr. President to help me resolve my internal dispute. I made it evident that I was leaving by walking off and waving my hand, hoping they would understand and “remember” to return my lejia to me. They reciprocated with only a nod and it was settled: The exploitation by tourism had produced apparent greed and corruption. Worse, it had surfaced the impending contradiction that ownership, material possessions, and tourist plata would actually help the society in question. But the reality is that many have been left morally decrepit and unhappy. And as our tourist boat, now a bit lighter from the weight of the plata we had jettisoned on the island, headed toward the mainland, the sun set over the magical lake as it has since its birth there many, many generations ago.