Pope Francis sweats due to altitude sickness. He has little time to acclimatize to the political tensions inherent in his visit. Thousands of Bolivians have waited eight hours for his sacred sign of greeting in August 2015. While the Pope stands on the steps of the main Cathedral of La Paz, in the colonial architecture of Plaza Murillo, the clock of the adjacent Congress building advances in the opposite direction. Evo Morales’ support was perhaps with the movement of the needles, whose counterclockwise turn seeks to help the Bolivian people rediscover their sarawi, which in Aymara means «path».
The oral ones remained inside the Cathedral while the Pope left. His skepticism towards the fervent Catholic tradition of his country, which for him represents the colonial past, is well known. The noise of his absence was drowned out by the selfie stick war in the crowd.
This visual chaos, a reflection of the country’s national identities, also symbolizes the current state of Bolivian politics and Morales’ own presidency. Like the colors of the Wiphala of Qullasuyu, Bolivia’s national flag, Morales’ policies have many shades. The president must maintain friendly relations with Western investors, while responding to the demands of Bolivia’s 37 indigenous groups for a greener, more local economy.
Three terms ago, Morales was elected as Bolivia’s first indigenous president. For many, his election represented a departure from the neoliberal policies of the 1980s and 1990s, and a return to an economy that slowed the structural transformation of Bolivia’s rural areas.
Morales remains attentive to the historically silenced voices of indigenous groups, forcing him to respond more appropriately to foreign investment and the expansion of the natural resources sector. In the systemic reorganization following Bolivia’s socialist revolution in 1952, three miners were incorporated into the cabinet. Labor rights were at the center of Bolivian political consciousness.
However, after the failure of the MNR in the decade prior to the economic crisis of the 1980s, the meaning of progress in Bolivia remains a contentious issue. If the clockwise moves counterclockwise, they are still tied to a larger structure. Morales may have renationalized three of the country’s largest mines in his first term, but there are no miners in his cabinet. The president faces fiscal pressures to expand the natural resources sector and allow private companies to invest. Morales must balance these conflicting interests: more and more balls are added to his juggling act, and some fall.
The mines of Cerro Rico look like a forgotten ball on the political road. Abandoned in the reprivatization of the 80s, Morales has never taken them back.
Piercing the heavy dust, our lanterns trace the jagged caves of the mines. Poor ventilation fills the mouth with crystalline silica dust faster than words can come out. Distant vibrations rise up my feet as we stand silently at the convergence of six veins. We heard the dynamite explosions. Miners dig deeper into the mountain. The Uncle, the demonic protector of the mines, resides on a makeshift throne on a lower level of the mountain. The destructive quality of Morales’ indifference to the miners’ calls is palpable.
Catholicism does not penetrate the farthest corners of the mine. Inside Pachamama, also known by its ancient epithet «the mountain that devours men,» miners sacrifice coca leaves and absinthe to the lord of the underworld. These offerings protect them from silicosis and the gradual collapse of the mountain. The names that try to humanize the mountain reflect the desire to understand the magnitude of its ancestral mortality: since the sixteenth century, 8 million miners have died.
«I am the rich Potosí… the envy of all kings.» The motto on the city’s coat of arms in the 17th century is one of the earliest songs of capitalism. From the mines sprouted silver coins, the strength of the Spanish empire, the chains that led to the mita, the system of forced labor that enslaved thousands of African, Inca and Peruvian workers. If the mountain has dried up after 500 years of exploitation, the thirst for its silver and tin has not. Through the windows embedded in the meter-thick stone walls of the Bolivian Mint, where coins were hammered to bear the «P» mark, the mountain today is dotted with miners’ huts who live near the vein entrances.
The workers of the Cerro Rico mines belong to cooperatives, are hired by the state or by foreign private companies. This clash of labor systems reflects Morales’ own difficulty navigating the interests at stake in Bolivia. It kept the mountain privatised after it was deemed «unprofitable» for nationalisation in the 1980s, leaving cooperatives vulnerable to exploitation by private interests, such as the US company Coeur Mining Inc.
The cooperatives, without a fixed salary, dig in the most dangerous parts of the mines to ensure an income. These 22,000 workers do not have time to form unions and demand more rights. In 2011, Morales called the cooperatives «anti-national» by signing contracts with Coeur Mining, and yet the government is under fiscal pressure to allow these private companies to invest $240 million in the mountain, as part of their profits go to the state. Mining is Bolivia’s second largest source of income.
Julio Zambrana showed me the palms of his hands, calloused from forgetting to wear gloves as he descended through a winch to the lower levels of the mine. «I wasn’t Spider-Man or Rambo, I was eighteen.» Julio worked in a cooperative mine at age 18 and now runs a tourism group that donates 15% of every ticket to the miners he visits.
Moving up through the miners’ Sunday market, where second-hand toys from the U.S. and China are sold, we arrive at the Cruz family home. Julio worked in the same cooperative as Guillermo Cruz, but, unlike Julio, who managed to attend university, Guillermo has remained in the mines. His children and grandchildren are also miners. The family of thirteen people lives in a two-room shack in the mining area, at an altitude of more than 4,500 meters. From the concrete roof, you can see the naked Andes.
Martina Alejo Cruz, the grandmother, cries looking north. Cerro Rico has stolen years from his family and took the life of his 16-year-old son by suffocation. The average life expectancy of a miner is 40 years, due to silicosis and blood poisoning.
The dense dust mist in the mines impedes vision. More transparency is needed in all aspects of the mountain. A lack of organization prevents improving job security and opening a political dialogue on working conditions. Violent protests are the main means of communication between Morales and the miners.
If Morales heeds the Potosí miners’ call for the growth of public infrastructure, it could infuriate indigenous environmental groups and private companies. But it will save thousands of lives. «I hate Evo Morales,» Julio says.
