UPEA and María Galindo Brought Down | La UPEA y María Galindo por los suelos

By Pedro Portugal, Brujula Digital:

María Galindo must be worried. On Tuesday, September 9, she stormed into the offices of the Political Science Department at the Public University of El Alto. She arrived with her arrogance and overbearing attitude—the same approach that often wins her success when she confronts public offices: there, she humiliates at will officials, political figures, even guards and police officers. But at UPEA in El Alto, she failed. She was booed, attacked by students, and ended up knocked to the ground.

In a country where most of the population pays attention to symbols and omens, being thrown to the ground in a brawl can only mean future misfortune: the earth “grabs” the person, turns them into katjata, casting the shadow of coming illness and failure in their endeavors. We will surely see the smoke of the wajtas that yatiris and other officiants will carry out in the headquarters of Mujeres Creando to exorcize that threat. And this—sign of the times—what was once anathematized as Indian superstition is now increasingly part of the habits and customs of urban criollaje.

But it is not the “cultural” side of the incident that matters, but its political and social meaning. The style of Galindo, which ended with her on the ground at UPEA, is the same that elevates her in another social setting. Galindo shakes whomever she pleases, as long as they come from the criollo sphere. Bureaucrats and dignitaries bow their heads humbly under her scoldings. Even candidates for high political office. But when she uses those tactics among popular sectors, the shot backfires. For this is not Galindo’s first stumble of that sort. Back in 2005, when Felipe Quispe terrorized the cities with his peasant marches, Aymara men and women whipped Galindo and her entourage in the middle of the street. Carrying washbasins, they had approached the marchers to wash their feet—an act full of symbolism for Galindo and her companions, but differently interpreted by the Aymaras, who punished them until they ran away.

UPEA is a university of Aymaras in an Aymara city. Galindo went to the Political Science offices, surely summoned by students, to settle some internal dispute. A mistake by those students, who, unable to resolve the matter internally, did not imagine their champion would end up on the ground, asking them to form a protective sit-in around her—when what should have happened was precisely the opposite.

The incident goes beyond the anecdotal. Decolonization is, ultimately, simply empowerment in social and political life. Indigenous rights were recognized as part of naive, well-meaning imaginaries. The indigenous person does not need to cling to alien images in order to—extravagantly—recover their identity. They must refine, renew, and strengthen their own. In doing so, not only do they increase their worth, but they can also contribute to other segments of society—segments that seem paralyzed by conceptions and attitudes inspired by what abroad is called woke culture. Woke culture, in Bolivia, seems only to suffocate creative capacity in the social spheres that adopt it, expressing itself in eccentricities and baseless gestures that, in the end, provoke only ridicule and aggression from sectors rooted in other cultural references.

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