A hooded Inca stands at the base of the crimson mountain, conversing with a hat-wearing Spaniard. The dismembered hands of the Virgin Mary frame the conical mountain, her head floating before the summit. Golden flashes suggest divine sanction from the Spanish colonization of Cerro Rico de Potosí in the 17th century, when the ‘Virgin Mountain’ was painted by an anonymous artist. The oil painting is cracked, it is four centuries old. Today, the West’s intervention in Cerro Rico is varied, manifesting itself in both charities and exploitative foreign mining corporations.
«How do they know about us?» Julio asks when explaining why he doesn’t work for one of the European charities in Potosí. Julio Zambrana began asking himself these questions at the age of 20. Now, as a miners’ rights activist and director of an ethical tourism company, he saved his salary from mining and studied history and tourism.
«I used to sleep three hours, wake up at 7 a.m., and then go straight to college.
Since then, he has been an ardent advocate for education, using himself as an example for other miners struggling to leave the mountain. Julio wants to provide the children of miners with the vocabulary needed to question and redefine this intervention.
PFor the Cruz family, the issue of education is complicated. Like many parents in the mining neighborhood of Potosí, the desire for their children to complete their education is born of the increasing number of deaths in mining life. The mountain is collapsing, mining equipment for the cooperatives is still obsolete, and Morales is not listening to calls to improve public infrastructure in Potosí. Education can offer a permanent escape from the mountain—and Julio’s foundation will provide the dynamite.
From the cement terrace of the family’s two-bedroom home in Potosí’s mining neighborhood, the city center seems far away. At this altitude, the Quechua of northern Bolivia surpasses the Spanish one. The old town of central Potosí is not exposed to the dry winds that blow from the Andes; Hundreds of meters below, it is full of tourists. The windburn marks on the cheeks are signs of those who live on the margins of Potosí’s social consciousness, at 4,700 meters above sea level.
Julio used to work in the mine with Guillermo Cruz, Martina’s husband. Living in the city center, Julio has falsified documents proving that Roberto Cruz, Guillermo’s son, works in his office, thus allowing three of his daughters to attend the prestigious Santa Rosa School in the center. William’s daughters are a rare exception. In Potosí, geography is political; catchment areas determine your future.
A Bugs Bunny sweater print is distorted, stretched over the visibly pregnant belly of 15-year-old Daisy. She is the girlfriend of Chacho Cruz, Guillermo’s son. Up on the surface, there is no Tío, the protector of the mines, to take care of the women and girls growing up in the mining communities. The dropout rate in primary and secondary education is the highest among girls; Sexual abuse, teen pregnancy, and lack of support leave many women dependent on their partners to survive. For miners in cooperatives without a state salary or pension, their premature deaths from blood poisoning leave their families abandoned in the informal sector, often selling on the street to survive.
«Chacho is the youngest, he’s 17 years old,» Julio says before climbing the mountain to his house. His brothers and father never wanted him to work in the mine.
Julio recreates the dialogue between Chacho and his father Guillermo, after Daisy, his then-girlfriend of fifteen years, became pregnant:
«I’m going to work!»
«Where?»
«With you, Dad. How old were you when you married Mom?
«Fuck you!» I was 17 years old, but it’s different! I’m your father and I don’t want you to be a miner, you have to study.
His mother, Martina, switches from Quechua to Spanish as she tells us that Chacho has decided to drop out of high school, marry Daisy, and become a miner, like his two older brothers.
Julio is furious; Its curses bounce between Quechua, Aymara, Spanish and English. His hands point in multiple directions as he speaks: toward the invisible figures who control Potosí, the refinery owners, the overburdened teachers, the government officials. He rises abruptly from his chair in his dark office, having a hard time sitting still when he talks about the lack of government intervention in Potosí.
He is upset because the postcards he sells in Sucre to raise funds for the miners do not even cover the cost of his ticket and lodging. Because of the laws he fought to change, prohibiting tourists from exploding dynamite in mines in 2008, and because of the legal obligation since 2011 for tourism companies to allocate 15% of their profits to miners. Because the basic educational materials that the miners requested in 2014 have not yet been granted by the Morales government. Public schools in the poorest areas of Potosí continue to be neglected, with little attendance and without materials. But the mouth of Cerro Rico won’t close anytime soon, and public infrastructure remains just a memory on miners’ torn protest posters.
Education offers a way out of the appalling conditions of the mines, both for the present and for the future. Chacho’s life expectancy in the mountains is as fragile as the foundations of the mines themselves. Since the reprivatization of Cerro Rico in 1985, transnational corporations such as Coeur Mining Inc have maintained their operations on the dangerous upper levels of the mountain.
Julio’s new foundation, Nuevo Amanecer Para Los Niños, wants to break through these unfavorable circumstances. A window with steel bars is engulfed by a dense cave. A gleaming drill stretches out like a welded sword; the sound of the stone tearing against the metal is imagined. Emaciated cheeks float above an advertisement for beer made from quinoa. The paint is not cracked. The mural Julio commissioned from a local artist to adorn the front of his office serves as a visual prologue to the conditions he wants to change. The image offers a more realistic portrait of Cerro Rico than the ‘Virgin Mountain’: painted from the inside, like New Dawn for Children.
Nuevo Amanecer Para Los Niños has been legalized by the government and should be ready to receive donations by the end of July 2016. It does not yet have a website, but it can be found by searching for the name of the foundation. Please visit and share to help spread the word about this important cause.
