The Masiosare of Zunzunegui in Bolivia | El Masiosare de Zunsunegui en Bolivia

By Fabian Aguirre:

If Mexican writer Juan Miguel Zunzunegui had been born in Bolivia, he would have written a book similar to Masiosare, The Strange Enemy using Bolivian language. The book refers to a phrase from the Mexican national anthem: “But if a foreign enemy dares to profane your soil with their foot, think, oh beloved homeland, that heaven gave you a soldier in every child.” “Masiosare” has become an excuse for the prevalent Mexican victim mentality that attributes every misfortune to others. Likewise, Bolivians live with a misguided attitude, stuck in the past, carrying historical victimhood that blames outsiders for conflicts and misfortunes. We fail to understand that our resentments and conflicts are often tied to our own history, either because we cannot accept or comprehend it or because we ignore it, always attributing problems to external factors.

Paraphrasing Zunzunegui: “Bolivians are as good as bread.” And how we love to hear and repeat that! We believe we are honest and hardworking, rich in values and traditions. We see ourselves as poor, simple, honorable, and devout in a country of pure, noble sentiments. We pride ourselves on patience, generosity, hospitality, and solidarity. We are part of a wonderful people surviving calamity and ruin caused by historical forces beyond our innocent selves.

All misfortunes began with the Spanish conquest and later foreign interference, including the Americans, which harmed our development. Throughout our existence, foreign interests have interfered and taken advantage of Bolivian innocence. With this narrative, we came to believe that problems always come from outside. Whatever happens in the country is never our responsibility—the “stranger” (the “other”) is to blame. We do everything right, yet everything seems to go wrong.

For many Bolivians, we are the beautiful legacy of ancestral cultures: Inca, Aymara, Tupi Guaraní, Guarayo, Chiriguano, and other indigenous peoples, evoking pride. We are excellent dancers and singers, and we unite only to celebrate our football team’s victories. Yet, we quickly disband and deflate in defeat, blaming external factors: “FIFA doesn’t want Bolivia in the World Cup. The referees are bought.” There is always a conspiracy against us.

To further illustrate this point, neighboring countries took advantage of us by stealing vast stretches of territory. Chile seized the long and extensive coastline, leaving us without access to the Pacific. The Chileans stole our guano and saltpeter. And we suffer because we have no outlet to the sea. Brazil took Acre and part of the eastern Chaco. The Brazilians took rubber and Brazil nuts. They robbed us of valuable natural resources. Paraguay took the central Chaco to seize our oil. And through the Treaty of Petrópolis, we had to cede a small part of the Amazon to Peru. All these concessions and territorial losses inflicted enormous harm. Everyone wants to steal from us. If further explanation were needed, let us recall the recent case (lost in international court) over the use of the Silala waters. Moreover, Chile and Peru have always envied our music and folklore. They want to appropriate our dances and rhythms (morenada, caporales, and many others) that gain greater notoriety near our borders.

Bolivians also inherited deep mental scars from the Spanish conquest. Spaniards brought Europe’s worst: diseases, vices, deceit, mistrust, and bad customs. They mistreated our ancestors and raped our grandmothers. We were great until those sent by the Crown of Castile conquered us and exploited our silver for Europe.

History, or the narrative of misfortune, repeats itself: Bolivians remain resentful and paralyzed, thinking Bolivia’s independence served only private interests. After the presidencies of Bolívar and Sucre, subsequent leaders acted behind the people’s backs. Just as we liberated ourselves from Spanish oppression, criollos and mestizos—once defenders of independence—sought personal gain.

“The Indian is treacherous,” claimed Alcides Arguedas in Raza de Bronce, promoting the myth against indigenous people. The struggles and wars for power throughout Bolivian history never allowed justice to be done for our predecessors. In the first half of the past century, the infamous Tin Barons plundered and exploited the country during the most crucial period for global demand of those mineral resources. During the second half of the century, we constantly fought for democracy, but partisan interests prevailed, and politicians ended up wrecking our coexistence and chances for progress. In the 1950s, the MNR ruined us with nationalization and universal suffrage, and in the 1960s and 70s the de facto military regimes abused power to line their own pockets.

When we regained democracy, first ADN and later MIR rose to power to amass fortunes while doing little or nothing for the people. We could have been rich, but we were blocked by the damned interests alien to the Bolivian people—those nefarious groups of politicians and businessmen tied to transnational interests. Ultimately, millions of Bolivians end up believing that any form of liberalism and capitalism with globalization is bad for the country because they are strategies and mechanisms of subjugation.

For most Bolivians with prejudice and a victim mentality, the Movement Toward Socialism was at some point the best government in republican history. It’s a pity, they say, that it lacked time to do things right. Businessmen and capitalists supposedly conspired against the left. Many Bolivians still believe these narratives of the narco MAS leader, portraying him as the only one who defended poor Bolivia. The pedophile and his corrupt henchmen convinced the popular classes, coca growers, street vendors, miners, intercultural groups, peasants, and indigenous people that Spanish imperialism continues to bring subjugation, poverty, and destruction of ancestral traditions.

According to the MAS discourse, there was no choice but to convene a new constituent assembly to forge a new plurinational state that would genuinely defend the sovereignty of our battered homeland. For that, it was also necessary to create a Ministry of Decolonization to put an end to false beliefs inherited from colonial times. Furthermore: “Bolivians want partners, not bosses.” “We want help, but without conditions.” This was how the discourses were justified—and still are—that caricature developed countries (the U.S., Europe, and others) as exclusively evil and malevolent entities.

Equally, portraying the “oppressed people” required highlighting the immense cultural, ethnic, and linguistic wealth of indigenous-peasant peoples. As if this richness were unknown or denied by most Bolivians, it was vital to give the indigenous dimension preeminence, in order to fight the stubborn racism and Western classism. Thanks to this, in the popular sectors there prevails an antagonistic and hostile view toward any liberal, capitalist, or right-wing stance, whose interests are seen as directed at exploiting and taking advantage of the national majorities. To this day, many Bolivians applauded—and would applaud again—the expulsion of U.S. agencies (DEA, NAS, and USAID) from Bolivia and embrace ALBA (Bolivarian Alliance for the Peoples of the Americas), with Cuba and Venezuela as supposed models of cooperation between peoples without domination.

Victimhood also fostered a mindset of us versus them—we, the people, against those who do not belong to the people. Bolivians see themselves as victims of those who are different. It’s a stance that divides and promotes class struggle. The rich are enemies of the poor. And as our anthem repeats, “to die before living as slaves,” it becomes preferable to reject investments in oil and gas rather than live in subjugation and dependence on foreign aid (which always takes an extra cut). In this way we ended up pushing away foreign capital. We lost the ability to produce gasoline, diesel, LPG, and other fuels. And in the future, we may even face shortages of natural gas and energy.

We have generated mistrust, resentment, and conflicts that not only obstruct cooperation and dialogue among ourselves and with the international community but also reinforce (as others say) the view of Bolivia as a country where it is extremely complicated to live and do business. The victim mentality has become the core of national identity, amplifying perceptions of injustice, even in controversial and ambiguous cases. For instance, the assault and killings at the Hotel Las Américas were deemed justifiable because they supposedly stopped separatist aims in eastern Bolivia. Even though the International Court determined there were extrajudicial killings without proven culpability, lies and aberrations prevail in the misguided minds of many Bolivians.

Among other things, we also suffer from myths of division between western and eastern Bolivians. Westerners believe easterners are racist and regionalist. Easterners believe westerners are closed-minded and backward. Many think there are at least two different Bolivias: one in the west and one in the east. Yet all the major migrations from west to east show that we all want the same thing: a country with freedom and development.

Victimhood has also helped perpetuate the rentier mindset: the paternalistic state must provide assistance to children, the elderly, women, entrepreneurs, and others instead of fostering personal initiative. Bolivians have swallowed myths and tales that traumatize us against any capitalist or liberal proposal. It is better to choose the candidate who acts like a chameleon, saying exactly what we want to hear. Yes, we are victims of the prejudices of the past. And we are deeply immersed in poorly conceived ideas about ourselves and about those who appear different from us. Thus, those with foreign surnames are deemed untrustworthy. One must be wary of anyone with a European surname, and even more so with a Croatian one. Wearing a suit and tie represents the negative image of the bourgeois landowner or capitalist. It is better to wear a sweater, a poncho, or use an aguayo, since the native represents the genuine and the innocent.

If Zunzunegui were Bolivian, he would argue that the Spanish conquest of Upper Peru cannot be reduced to a narrative of subjugation, oppression, exploitation, or colonization, but should be understood as a complex process of mestizaje that gave rise to a unique Bolivian identity. Instead of blaming the Spaniards, we should recognize that indigenous peoples allied with the conquerors to overthrow local power structures that, like everywhere else, also caused oppression and exploitation. Like it or not, that collaboration between Spaniards and indigenous (though not free from conflict) resulted in a cultural fusion that defines Bolivia today: a country of over 11 million people united by the Spanish language.

We still face the challenge of accepting a shared heritage that shapes us for the better, rather than dividing us against one another. The prevailing resentment in many sectors of the Bolivian population blocks possibilities for new paths of coexistence and progress. Zunzunegui rightly criticizes the victimist discourse that blames the Spaniards or the “foreigners” (read capitalists, right-wingers, or liberals) as the sole culprits of the country’s problems, from the loss of the coastline to today’s economic crisis.

Thus, Bolivians have fallen into passivity and stagnation because the price of innocence is impotence. The left has skillfully exploited this victimist sentiment to cling to power for two decades, polarizing the country with extreme positions. Hence, populist electoral strategies continue to rely on emotional votes instead of rational ones. The candidate who speaks charmingly in our popular style convinces more than the one with technical plans, vision, and capability. Bolivia’s victimist identity is the root of the problems that divide and destroy the possibility of building a better country.

Over two centuries, Bolivians have forged a whining and innocent culture. The root of our ills lies in false envy, jealousy, or hatred toward those mistakenly perceived as different from us. Poor coca growers—so good and with no choice but to cultivate the sacred leaf. Either they plant coca or they die of hunger. On the other side are the drug traffickers—well-organized mafias run exclusively by external interests. Traffickers take advantage of the growers’ supposed goodness. And of course, the great demand for drugs originates in developed countries. If there were no demand, there would be no supply, right? In short, villains are always out there, harming the simple and honest Bolivian people.

Bolivia’s wealth, with its Aymara, Quechua, and mestizo diversity, is anchored in myths of pre-Hispanic greatness and in the demonization of Spanish heritage. Each Bolivian sees himself as different from the other. The rich are against the poor. The East against the West, and vice versa. How wrong we are to believe these narratives. It is difficult and complex to speak of a national identity when we are incapable of embracing mestizaje, where every heritage can help us forge a better future. When we deny part of what we are and when we see ourselves as different or superior to others, populist and leftist discourses gain countless adherents.

Returning to Zunzunegui’s narrative: Where do corrupt and abusive presidents come from? The answer: they come from the people. Where do lying and treacherous leaders come from? All from the people. Where do drug traffickers come from? Where do the corrupt police officer and the citizen who feeds corruption come from? Where do so many deputies and senators willing to sell out their own families for wealth come from? Where do businessmen who exploit workers with unfair wages come from? Where do agitators or looters, even when paid by the government, come from? All come from the people. And those who cause blockades, steal, and fuel conflict? Again, from the people. The answer to all these questions is that the problems originate within the Bolivian people themselves.

There is no way to justify blaming Spaniards, gringos, capitalists, or those who want to live in Bolivia but are not considered “part of the people.” We are not some innocent people ruined by external forces, but a society with virtues and defects, where corrupt leaders, regional conflicts between East and West, and social divisions emerge from the people themselves. The Bolivian people are responsible for the destiny of the country—its problems, conflicts, and crises. That is why the narrative of a “good people” versus a “bad government” is a fallacy that prevents us from recognizing that the problems stem from the false beliefs within each of us.

Economically, we are on the brink of collapse. And something very bad is bound to happen in Bolivia if we continue attributing all ills exclusively to the “blocking government.” The solutions are not about lowering taxes, legalizing contraband cars, teaching English in schools, or handing out more bonuses and incentives that distort supply-demand balances. The real issue is confronting our mental poverty. We will not achieve much progress from the theory of a good people and a bad government. As Zunzunegui explains, if we truly were the good people we claim to be, we would not have the governments or the society we have today. The truth is, every country has the government it deserves, and the real problem lies within each of us—in our false beliefs and victimism.

There is no outside enemy conspiring against Bolivia, seeking to exploit or ruin the country. Capitalism and liberalism are not foreign proposals aimed at harming Bolivians. Change begins with accepting and embracing the past, letting go of hatred and grudges between social classes, and setting aside radical or extreme positions. The future depends on viewing reality more objectively, with fewer prejudices, and free of historical traumas. Unfortunately, until this happens, populist candidates will continue exploiting the victimist narrative to persuade Bolivian majorities that any liberal or capitalist proposal is alienating, harmful, and unpatriotic.

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