In my last post on Paraguay, I referred to grass-roots movements in Paraguay and their role in bringing about change in that country. I recently wrote a review of an anthropological monograph on peasant movements in Paraguay called Guerrilla Auditors: The Politics of Transparency in Neoliberal Paraguay (Duke 2011) by Kregg Hetherington. Hetherington describes peasant “audits”–peasant claims on land through direct negotiation with technocrats–of the bureaucracy that handles the titling of land in Paraguay. In an age of supposed transparency and bureaucratic efficiency, the Instituto de Bienestar Rural (or IBR), a bureaucracy created under General Alfredo Stroessner (r. 1954-89) is one of the last tangible throwbacks to the hellish days of Stronato. At least, this is the narrative that “new democrats”–proponents of neoliberalism and transparency in Paraguay’s democracy–assert with regards to the IBR. But to peasants who for decades have worked with and within this bureaucracy to attain the status of title holders in Paraguay, it is the only viable non-violent method for attaining legal ownership of the land.
Hetherington describes the historicity of land redistribution and land claims in this way. He finds the rifts between campesinos and new democrats in the recent authoritarian past, under General Stroessner’s heavy-handed rule (1954 to 1989). In the 70s and 80s, Stroessner promoted a massive land re-distribution campaign that seemed to favor would-be small landholders. Ostensibly, the land reform proposed to build a new nation and modern economy on the shoulders of campesinos as they developed redistributed land. But receiving a land title was the last step in a long bureaucratic process for campesinos, which involved demonstrating that they had sufficiently developed a homestead. (There were three legal categories of landholding what culminated in “title” and only this last one was legally viable in courts). In this way, Stroessner’s Cold War land reform propaganda suggested that rights were material goods acquired through labor, linking the idea of political subjectivity to the development of uncultivated land (105).
Hetherington argues that in the transition years after the 1989 coup that removed Stroessner from power, campesinos (formerly Stroessner’s political base) and new democrats (the opposition to Stroessner and the ruling Colorado Party) articulated increasingly divergent goals for national development. Given campesino’s connection with Stroessner and his land reform, new democrats see campesinos as anachronisms in the new democratic age. Campesino interests do not fit into neoliberal goals of market rationality, which involve selling thousands of acres of land to Brazilian soy farmers.
Hetherington’s analysis of the Stroessner years needs further development and clarification, but is still one of the only recent analyses that sheds light on Stroessner’s land policy. In the Stronato historiography, Stroessner is cast as an enemy to land rights in Paraguay, with emphasis on his violent repression of several libertion-theology-inspired campesino movements. Hetherington shows, on the other hand that many campesinos look to Stroessner with fondness because he provided them with land and ostensibly served as their political patron.
In Stroessner’s framing of the situation in the 70s, campesinos were the answer to settling Paraguay’s “frontier” or vast tracts of unused and thereby “uncivilized” land still inhabited by Guarani gatherer/hunters. He envisioned (and partially realized) the settling of the land through massive handouts to would-be small landholders organized in small farming communities. These campesinos could ultimately achieve title status once they demonstrated that they had sufficiently “settled” the land, a process that became very messy and corrupt, as Hetherington describes. At the same time, Stroessner redistributed hundreds of thousands of acres to his fellow Colorado generals and clients. This land would turn into vast tracts of soy fields sold to and developed by a variety of large Brazilian agro companies.
This narrative demonstrates that peasants have had a complicated relationship with Stroessner, that their alliance with Stroessner and the Colorado party have been contingent upon their ability to come through with land. This then brings us back to the recent killings in Canindeyu, the event that prompted the parliament to impeach and oust Lugo. The media coverage of the conflicts in Canindeyu suggested that peasants were moved to violence after a long struggle to regain “tierra malhabida” or “ill-gotten land” given out by Stroessner’s to one of his generals. The use of this term “tierra malhabida” is interesting since it is not normally used to describe land acquired by large landholders. New democrats have dominated the use of the term when referring to peasants supposedly squatting on land that isn’t theirs. Many of these peasants would claim that they have ownership of the land because it was distributed to them under Stroessner’s land reform.
For many, Stroessner and his land bureaucracy are the only thing giving them a bit of legitimacy to their claims on land. This knowledge should cause us to question the historical significance of the Stronato on land in Paraguay and complicate portrayals of land struggles in Paraguay today.
I appreciate Colin’s posts on the recent happenings in Paraguay. I want to provide a few opinions that I’ve gleaned from friends in the country. My more conservative contacts tell me that the ouster of Lugo has been in the works for months and that the disaster in Canindeyu was only a debacle that Lugo’s enemies were waiting for to make their move; that much has already been made clear in much of the news coverage of this issue.
What the media has not covered well is that the coalition between the Liberal Party and other smaller left-leaning parties recently fell apart. Conservatives are saying that in preparation for the upcoming presidential elections in 2013, Lugo told Blas Llano, president of the Liberal Party, that their coalition had ended and that Lugo would not rely on the liberals to achieve re-election. Supposedly he was planning on relying on the Tecopora Party (Guarani for “living well) and the Tecojoja (“living in union”) Party, parties built from Lugo’s popular welfare programs. Lugo’s behind-the-scene’s rejection of the Liberal Party, according to some conservative insiders, is ultimately what prompted the coup.
This opinion stands in stark contrast to what many “new democrats” and several news outlets and bloggers have said. That is that the coup is reflection of “growing pains” in a democracy that is struggling to negotiate old-guard styles of running the country and the infusion of grass-roots political activity. Thus, many observers in Paraguay find the term “parliamentary coup” an apt term to describe what happened and that charges against Lugo were completely illegitimate.
Several articles have suggested (sometimes snidely) that Paraguay’s democracy is still in its infantile stage, and needs some “maturing” still. This rhetoric of a democracy “growing up” sounds familiar and resonates with rhetoric found in the age of US interventionism of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. It assumes that there is a standard, ostensibly Western Europe and the U.S., to which all democracies must aspire. While, yes, the coup in Paraguay was reprehensible, I do not think we can simply say that it is indicative of a democracy that is not quite like ours. Instead, we must understand historically how Paraguayan (and many LA countries’) democracies function: with a high degree of patronage and clientelism. In other words, I do not think we should engage in a centuries’ old practice of placing countries on a “democracy meter” whose standards are set by the U.S. (This opinion stems from my training as a colonialist and critical reading of the enlightenment as a “universally” good thing).
Still, I feel that we need better analyses of the tensions between the newer grass-roots politics and old-guard politics, the results of which I feel we are seeing. The historical question we can ask is the degree to which Lugo’s career was a reflection of these new politics or was he just a new player in the same game? I think historians will find that it was a mixed bag.
A few weeks back, Colin posted on one of the Madres, Zaida Franz, celebrating the identification of the remains of her disappeared daughter. It does not surprise us that this Mother would feel a sense of closure and relief at this discovery.
But after the military Junta fell in 1983, the Madres seriously debated whether or not to accept their disappeared children’s remains from the government. After a number of very contentious debates, the human rights group decided to oppose the unearthing of remains of the disappeared. Opposition stemmed from the fact that the government was simply handing out random skeletal remains to the Mother to silence them and “close the wounds” of the military’s reign. One mother reported that in 1984 she received a box from the government containing a partial human skeleton. An accompanying letter explained:
In response to your incessant search for your daughter Patricia, we have decided to send you part of her remains which should satisfy your anxiety to be reunited with your dear daughter…. This decisions was taken after an examination of her conduct as a member of a camp of armed guerrillas. In case you were unaware of them, we are listing the crimes that she committed with her husband Carlos Francesco:
-Betrayal of her country
-Concealing the activities of the enemy
-Collaborating actively with the Montonero assassins
For these reasons she was condemned to death. May God have mercy on her soul.
The Madre who received the package later verified that the remains belonged to a middle-aged male, not her youthful Patricia. Besides the attempts to close the door on the disappeared, the Mothers advocated keeping their children alive and bringing the military leaders to justice.
Since the 80s the process of finding the disappeared has become much more transparent and accurate, especially with the use of DNA testing. Still, the issue of bones has a long and painful history.
The New York Times posted a video report and accompanying article on deforestation in Paraguay’s Chaco. The report focuses on the government’s meager attempts to stop deforestation, the role of foreign ranchers, and the displacement of indigenous people, like the Ayoreo. Highlighting the unsettled nature of the region and the difficulty of access, the reporter/narrator added that “even the Spanish conquistadors” struggled to settle the region.
I can’t help but chuckle at the reporter’s surprise that the Spanish conquistadors indefatigable spirit was challenged: you’re darn right it was. The Chaco region was never really “settled” by the Spaniards nor was there much desire to since most natives were non-sedentary. The Chaco region was also much larger then. The Paraguay river defined a borderlands for the Spanish settlements, with unsettled territory to the west of the river (now Argentina). The norther borderlands were defined by the Jejuy and/or Apa Rivers, about 200 miles north of Asuncion. Spaniards referred to Chaco groups generically as the Guaycuru. These were non-sedentary groups that subsisted from fishing, hunting, gathering, trading, and raiding who shared in the Guaycuru linguistic family. They often traded slaves for horses and iron items from Spaniards. At the same time, they constantly attacked and raided both Guarani and Spanish settlements. In the mid-17th century, Spaniards constructed a string of forts along the Paraguay River (see image below), but these were hardly the “castles”, that Spaniards described in print and in paint. These small outposts were mainly used to spot enemies coming up the rivers and then to sound the alarm so that those left defenseless could flee.
It was only in the late 18th century that Spaniards made serious attempts to settle the region, this after Jesuits had been working apace in the region for more than fifty years. Despite military attempts at pacifying the region, Guaycuru groups still troubled the new Paraguay nation. Today, the Paraguayan government turns a blind eye to its Chaco natives, allowing foreigners, mainly Brazilians to buy-up huge tracts of land while only employing a total of three environmental prosecutors.
Brazil’s National Indian Foundation or Funai has reported that a Kaiowa-Guarani leader named Nisio Gomes was executed today near the Amambay in Mato Grosso do Sul. Forty masked men entered the the Guarani’s encampment, executed Gomes in front of his son who was also beat up and shot with a rubber bullet. (It’s interesting that hired thugs would possess rubber bullets–sounds like law enforcement or trained security was invovled). Two others were kidnapped, their whereabouts are unknown.The rest of the Guarani fled to hide in the forest. Apparently the gunmen were hired by local ranchers after the Guarani occupied land from which they were previously evicted. The Roman Catholic Indigenous Missionary Council (CIMI) told reporters that the Guarani remain defiant.
These types of land disputes and subsequent murders are common in Mato Grosso do Sul and in Paraguay’s chaco region. Throughout the twentieth century as monoculture agriculture and cattle ranching grew non-sedentary natives began to bump into farmers and ranchers. Many of these encounters resulted in just the thing that happened today in Mato Grosso–ranchers used violence to get natives off land they sought to use. In the 50s and 60s Catholic and Protestant missions tried to intervene. Many missions were established in cooperation with ranchers in an effort to bring natives out of the wilderness and out of conflict with advancing “progress.” This is a definitely a simplification of complicated processes with individual native groups, but many of them seem to have begun in an effort to save natives from these types of interactions with mestizo farmers and ranchers.
Unfortunately, as many anthropologists report, native populations were decimated once they came into constant contact large numbers of white missionaries. Encounters like today sadden me and reveal modern nation-states’ utter lack of resolve to preserve and protect minority indigenous peoples.
Yguasu Falls (y- water, guasu- big) of Brazil, the longest waterfall in the world, measuring 1.7 miles across (caveat: Victoria is officially longer because it is unbroken, while Yguasu is not). When I visited the falls recently I was struck by the hugeness of the place. My photographs and video clips seemed so pointless; it’s truly an “experience” type of place. As I walked along the paths that overlook the falls I was reminded of a Jesuit’s description of the place when his company encountered it in the early seventeenth century. From a mile or so out from the falls, the Jesuit described what he thought was a forest fire, a huge plume of smoke rose high above the horizon, but as he got closer he realized what it was. Their descriptions indicate they were truly at awe.
The region surrounding the falls has an interesting history. Most websites credit Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca with the “discovery” of the Yguasu Falls; I believe a section of the falls on the Argentine side bears his name. Most sites jump from “discovery” to the nation-state and the “first population of the region” by Brazilians. “Discovery” is a stupid word to describe these events since Cabeza de Vaca was led by friendly natives to the place. More to the point, the region of Guaira, as it was called during the colonial period, was colonized and populated by Spaniards beginning in the latter half of the 16th century due to its large concentration of natives. Really, Guaira and most of the settlements lay fifty to one-hundred leagues to the north of the falls.
Histories of colonial Paraguay suggest that Guaira was colonized because elite Spaniards in Asuncion didn’t want to share their social and cultural power with their mestizo sons. This ‘push effect’ came on the heels of a rebellion in Asuncion supported by angry and anxious mestizos (the conquistadors’ sons) who apparently protested the fact that they were not granted Indians in encomienda. While many details of this historical thread need to be worked out this follows in line with other “push campaigns” throughout the Americas, a trend that some historians call conquest by relay.
Jesuits established reductions to the east of the R. Parana along R. Paranapanema, the R. Ivai between 1610 and 1630. By the 1630s unfriendly Indian raids and especially raids by Portuguese slavers drove the Jesuits to abandon the region and move to the region in-between the R. Parana and the R. Uruguay. For both the Spaniards and the Jesuits the region was in constant flux. The first major Spanish city, Villa Rica del Espiritu Santo, was established near the mouth of the R. Piquiry in 1570 but over the course of the next one-hundred years it moved six times finally ending up in the geographic middle of modern-day Paraguay.
In my previous post, I discussed the historicity of yerba-mate and as you might imagine yerba was an important commodity produced in Guaira. Because many parts of the region were so wet wild yerbales grew in abundance. Spaniards would send encomienda Indians to harvest these yerba from these wild groves as least once per year. Lots of the exports coming out of Guaira (including tallow, honey, hemp, and of course yerba) were sold in developing markets in Asuncion, Buenos Aires, and Santa Fe.
Unfortunately not much is known about social life in Guaira because most of the documentation from its cities and towns were “lost in the move.” But from the beginning it was a frontier that could not be tamed, a sentiment one feels when peering into the majesty and beauty of the falls.
In this post I thought I would discuss that beloved tea: yerba mate. Anyone who has visited the southern cone, especially AR, UR, and PA, will notice very quickly that the drinking of mate (AR, UR) and tereré (PA) are important cultural practices. If you find a porteño without his/her termo and mate kit, something’s wrong. In the heat of the day in the Paraguayan summer, especially in the interior, I would wager that at least 80% of the adult population is sipping their tereré in small groups of family and friends.
Mate and tereré are drunk out of a guampa, or gourd, and a bombilla, or a perforated metal straw. Mate is hot water and tereré is cold (iced) water. Tereré is only drunk in Paragauy.
Historicity of Yerba Mate
While there is little evidence, some scholars believe that the plant ilex paraguayenis or yerba, a species of South American holly, was consumed, in some way or another, by native peoples before contact. It is most likely from natives that Spaniards learned to consume the plant. By the 1580s, Spaniards throughout the region consumed the plant in the form of mate. The commodity spread quickly throughout the region and by the 1630s it was by far the most important export item for the Paraguayan province. Merchants from Tucuman, Santa Fe, BA, Santiago, and lower Peru came to Asunción acquire hundreds of arrobas (@). (One @ = 25 pounds). In upper Peru, the wealthy drank their mate from guampa and bombilla made from pure silver, an interesting iteration of the economics of the broader region. By mid-17th century export to Potosí was significant; one Spanish official/traveler recorded that in one year some 50k (1,250,000 pounds or 560 tons) were consumed in the mining town. (This sounds exaggerated, and I plan to do some checking later).
In the civil documentation for the 17th century I have reviewed almost every type of trade transaction involved @’s of yerba. Since coinage was rare in Paraguay, yerba became the common barter item. Until the mid-17th century, Spaniards north of the Tebicuary maintained control over yerba in the market, but the Jesuits began to rival and the stage was set for a continuous battle over yerba harvesters for the next decade or more.
Yerba harvesting was taxing and apparently extremely harmful to the indigenous population. Since the wild yerbales grew in damp—almost swampy—soil, disease was common. Moreover most of the yerbales were in the northern territories and these were subject to frequent attacks by unfriendly natives. The harvesting process was strenuous. Small settlements called ranchos were set up in the forest for the Indian laborers. The yerba shoots would be cut off the trees then carried back to the ranchos where they were held over a fire until the leaves were dry. Next the leaves were put on a grill for further drying then put into large holes lined with leather skins where they were beaten with wooden rods into a grainy powder. The finished product was taken to Asunción (or other clandestine ports) on the backs of mules and sometimes Indians.
The overland route or the camino real started in Asunción and followed the PA River to Corrientes where the Paraná and the Paraguay run together. From there, south to Santa Fe, then either west to Cordova and finally Santiago or south-east to Buenos Aires. From Cordoba the camino real headed north through San Miguel, Salta, and Tucuman to go up to Potosi.
Outsiders have viewed the consumption of yerba mate teas with various lenses. Similar to their reaction to coca, many Jesuits, ecclesiastics, and even Spanish officials claimed yerba was a harmful substance; yerba was at one time “on trial” with the Holy Inquisition! More modern observers have been inclined to see the more beneficial side of mate. One Argentine naturalist in the 1890s concluded that “the workers with mate possessed unusual resistance to heat and insects and were happy and satisfied to work under very poor conditions without thought of rebellion.” Following on the naturalists tail in the 1950s, the botanists R. Howard Porter observed: “In Asuncion, Paraguay, the workers in a mate mill in 1946 were observed to be strong and able to do heavy physical work handling the sacks of mate. For breakfast they eat little and work all day in the mill with no food other than mate taken as a drink.” Paraguayan labor problem?: solved!
When I first came to Paraguay I declined invitations to drink tereré for fear of catching a bug; remember, it’s a social drink that is shared. But that was in the countryside where it seems a different culture of tereré exists: come one come all. I observed that anyone and everyone was invited (and often accepted the invitation) when approaching a group. In Asuncion, I have found a less open tereré culture. Most of my friends explained that they only invite people they know (particularly those without herpes or other contagious diseases) and trust as good friends. Still there are many who share with any fulano or fulana that wants a drag.
I’ve enjoyed the drink, as a healthful alternative to other cold drinks: soda, juice, or just plain water. (Come to think of it I have not seen one Paraguayan carry around a water bottle, they rarely drink pure water). Some yerbas are quite bitter while others (like Kurpi) have a sweeter flavor. I’m not big on mate, probably a function of my hosts’ habbit of only drinking mate early in the morning, before I’m awake. If your a sweet tooth, you can try mate dulce which is drunk with sweetened milk poured in yerba mixed with crushed coconut or just plain yerba but with a little scoop of sugar for each turn.
I think that’s enough on yerba mate for now. The next time your around I invite you to partake, that is after I screen you for infectious diseases and cold sores.
For my first post I’ll reflect on Paraguayan nationalism, which despite the absence of major international accomplishments or glorious military victories, is extremely strong in this country. Two-thousand eleven is Paraguay’s bicentennial and Paraguayans are quick to claim that they are one of the first states to claim independence from Spain–in reality Paraguay claimed independence from Argentina/Buenos Aires more than they did from Spain. In my 45 minute bus ride (more like a packed meat hanger on wheels) to the archives in downtown Asuncion I pass hundreds of flags and banners celebrating the bicentennial. Businesses and state agencies alike scream red, blue and white, the bandera Paraguaya. In el centro, banners displaying portraits of important historical actors line the streets. Educators, statesman, war heroes, and even the country’s first veterinarian (!) are celebrated as the”lights of the nation.” I have yet to see represented indigenous leaders or human rights advocates, figures who caused the country’s 35 year dictator (1954 to 1989), Alfredo Stroessner, particular angst.
Paraguay really didn’t fight much for its independence from Spain, they let Platenses do most of that. Paraguay’s two major wars are the War of the Triple Alliance (a.k.a Paraguayan War) against Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay (1864-70) and the Chaco War against Bolivia (1932-35). The former Paraguay lost, the latter they came out “victors.” Surprisingly, Paraguayans rarely celebrate their victory in the Chaco War against Bolivia; instead, they recount how before the PA War they were a great power in the region, with a massive geographic territory and a potent military force. The war began when Francisco Solano Lopez went to the aid of Uruguayan president Atanasio Aguierre who ultimately lost power to Colorados which had its backing in Buenos Aires and Brazil. Brazilians occupied Uruguay in 1864 and Lopez hoping to thwart the shift in regional power to Buenos Aires rushed to the aid of Aguierre crossing through Argentina thereby apparently breaching diplomatic agreements with AR. Brazil, Argentina, and now Colorado dominated Uruguay could have their way with Paraguay.
The loss of life was astounding. The issue is debated, but some estimate that 1/3 of the population (out of a total population of 600k or 250k, depending on your historiographical preference) was lost in the war. The eccentric Lopez and a festering rural nationalist (to be continued—see Michael Huner’s dissertation) fed the war machine with human bodies. The photo appended here shows the Paraguayan “Cabichui”–Guarani for wasps– or Paraguayan soldiers as small in body, large in number, and molestador. The engraving is actually found on a private residence car-port door just around the corner from the national archives.
In the current national consciousness the historical memory of the Paraguayan War provides the greatest nationalist punch, truly a founding moment for Paraguayans. Since the country sort of skipped a “war” of independence, the country’s first president/dictator, Dr. Gaspar Rodriguez de Francia, represents the country’s first 40 years while the War of the Tripple Alliance is the “people’s” first major nationalist moment.