They’re leaving | Se van

By Sayuri Loza, Brújula Digital:

The latest polls published by various media outlets show a low voting intention for the offspring of the once-hegemonic MAS. Some voices, naively triumphant, proclaim that the runoff will be between Tuto and Samuel, leaving the “left” behind. I don’t want to be that optimistic. My dance teacher (who has proven to be a better political analyst than many) always says: “If you think this is going to end well, you haven’t been paying attention.” And it’s true. Polls should be taken with caution because often, very often, they are wrong. But there is a trend in the latest surveys: it seems that at least the arcista wing of MAS is leaving.

I’m glad, because with them goes the discourse of crisis denial, the ego of a mediocre and stubborn economist who, with the phrase “neoliberals, this is how you run the economy,” watched us sink further and further while strumming a guitar dressed up as a machetero, t’inku, chaqueño, tarabuqueño, miner, etc. With various outfits, Luis Arce allowed the economy to nosedive—an economy that could have been saved in 2014, when we had thousands of options and reserves to change course, had there been humility and swiftness. But the gods blind those who seek to destroy.

But it’s not just them who are leaving. The fall of the hegemonic MAS also drags down an unviable economic system that leaves behind voids that are hard to fill. The fixed exchange rate turned Bolivia into a country that imports everything. Artisans, market vendors, and farmers decided to become merchants because it was far more lucrative to sell Chinese or Peruvian products brought in cheaply; all you had to do was find a good spot, rent it, and your life was set. Those who rented out commercial spaces also had it easy. We saw Uyustus, Tumusla, San Miguel, 16 de Julio, and their counterparts grow across Bolivia. In every city, people fought to rent stores, knowing the profit was guaranteed and high.

Street fairs and markets became giants that outgrew their old structures. Block after block of galleries, which also offered chicken, hamburgers, grilled meat at prices affordable for every pocket—all subsidized by gas sales that helped keep the dollar cheap. But nothing lasts forever, and that applies especially to the economy. There’s a joke from Chespirito that illustrates this well. El Chómpiras says: “I could live like a king for the rest of my life… as long as my life lasted 15 minutes.” That’s the mentality Bolivians lived with, spending as if there were no tomorrow. Now we realize that tomorrow is today.

The dreams of “entrepreneurs” trying to find a way outside the limited job market have also vanished. Many food businesses are closing due to product shortages, even of things we produce ourselves, because smuggling sends them to the borders in search of more stable and valuable foreign currency. A poor country where even toilet paper is expensive—especially knowing that when panic strikes, the first thing people do is stock up, but now even that won’t be possible. People are holding on because they believe a new government will fix the situation; we desperately need to believe, we need to be lied to, because facing reality is too painful.

Could it get worse? Can you imagine not even being able to photocopy your ID—the most widespread, almost ritual tradition in this country—because there’s no paper to do it? Can you imagine not having gas, internet, or electricity? It’s a scenario that grows more plausible by the day. The signs are clear: a hummer working as a taxi, long lines for gasoline and diesel, the large number of empty rental storefronts with no takers; restaurants and lunch joints closing because their owners can’t take it anymore. Sadly, as polarization expert Ana Lucía Velasco says, polarization has distracted us—and still does.

That’s how we approach the Bicentennial. With an economy on the brink of default, as the most corrupt country in the region and the second most corrupt in the world; with the so-called social movements prostituted, stripped of class, and unable to defend their bases—who are the ones most affected by the crisis. With institutions broken, corrupt, prebendal; with immoral, arrogant, shameless authorities. We know who to blame for this collapse, but they’ve got their lives figured out. Their children wait for them in Paris or Spain; not in Venezuela or Cuba. They sell themselves as defenders of the humble, as representatives of the people—while our children become a lost generation, with no future and no expectations.

Leave a comment