Mass March of Miners- Quibdó, August 1, 2012

Quibdó, August 5

Photographs of the Miners' March. 

I've finally managed to get some photographs posted--as well as making some changes/addition to the texts. I hope you enjoy them...

Quibdó, August 1, 2012

[No photographs yet—I hope to post some soon. And the Spanish translation will have to wait a while.]

A mass march of miners and supporters had been called for 8 AM today, August 1, starting at the cathedral in the center of the city. I knew very well that nothing would start anywhere close to 8 AM, but try as I might I could not overcome my gringo impulse to be on time, so I left the house at about 7:20—earlier than necessary to get there at 8.

From the house where I’m staying you walk down an unpaved street, which is always quite calm and tranquil, to get to the main street. Usually at this hour the main street is very busy—buses, taxis, a few private cars, and many rapimotos—motorcycles serving as taxis—making a huge racket, and many people on the streets and in the shops.

But this morning, the street was quiet—there were a few vehicles, but not many. The shops were closed and shuttered a few people were trying to get to the center. No sense waiting for the bus, which I usually take; who knows when it might come? So I climbed onto a rapi. Today, they were charging 2,000 pesos instead of the usual 1,000, taking advantage of the situation. About $1.10 USD instead of about $.55. It’s amazing how you adapt to your situation and start resenting those extra thousand pesos.

A paro has its advantages; I have to admit enjoying the calm and relative quiet in the streets as we made the 15- or 20-minute ride to the center.

When we got downtown, the streets were similarly quiet and the shops shuttered. Even among the people who crowd one of the main drags, selling vegetables, fruits, cheese, chickens, fish from carts and tables, only a few were to be seen. Some of the cafeterias and restaurants were open, expecting (I imagine) a lot of business. It was a little creepy, actually. The only time I had ever seen Quibdó like this was on January 1.

With this difference: on the street that runs along the river, and the malecón, people were beginning to gather, by the hundreds. The mood was light—people were buying snacks from vendors, putting on t-shirts that identified where they were from, and chatting. After wandering around for a while, taking some pictures and just looking around, I ran into a friend. Humberto has been a grass-roots activist for many years. He comes from a mining family and in the past has taught me a great deal about traditional practices.

—Humberto, where is the march going to leave from?

—Here, the cathedral. It’s unusual.

—And when will it leave?

—At eight…

—But there aren’t that many people here…

–No, but they’re arriving, you’ll see.

After we separated, I checked the time—it was nearly 8:15, so we were clearly not going to make the 8 AM step-off time.

At about 9, a truck arrived with breakfast for the communities. It was unloaded, and the communities started lining up to get their food. I realized that we had a lot of time to go, and went to visit some friends.

I didn’t check the time, but sometime between 10 and 10:30, the march started off. And Humberto was right—it was huge! There were many thousands of people. I have no idea how many, but it went on for blocks, which were truly filled with people.

The marchers were organized primarily by their communities. many had come from all over El Chocó—from the traditional mining areas of the southern part of the department—but the majority were from the communities of the Río Atrato, and even some of the neighborhoods of Quibdó. And the majority of the people, the vast majority, were barequeros, people who work in artisanal mining either in the pits opened by the retros, or in the rivers and quebradas.

This inevitably raises again the issue of the relationship between the barequeros and the owners of the retros. It’s clear that many people identify with those señores. From what I can make it, it all goes something like this: when we mined in the rivers, we would find very little, and it would require great physical effort (often standing in thigh- or waist-high water for hours). When these machines open a new pit—if they let us in while the machinery is still operating—we are able to find more gold with somewhat less effort. And once the machines leave, we can mine in the pits as much as we want.

The owner of the machines are smart—some of them allow people to work in the pits even while they are still there, and all of them “invite” people to mine in the pits when they leave. Many people see this as offering an opportunity for good work. But it has some problems—including the social distortions of turning people into full-time miners, leaving behind many more productive activities.

Before the march started, I got into a conversation with a couple of men I didn’t know. They asked if I was a reporter, and I explained how I work. I also let out all my negative feelings about multi-national mining companies, which didn’t hurt the relationship. Then I asked them about their work. The one man who was really talking to me explained that he is a retro operator (worker, not owner). He was very proud of the economic benefits of the pits for the communities:

—First, we give direct employment to some people.

—How many people work—say in a typical pit that has two retros?

—Between 17 and 20—including operators, hosemen, maintenance workers, support people and cooks. It’s that many because they work in shifts. But then there is the indirect employment. As many as 500 people may work as barequeros in a mine. They have to figure out how to do, who gets to work in each spot, but that’s their problem.

So for this man, the machines create lots of indirect jobs. I think his 500 is an exaggeration—the mines I’ve seen had more like 100 to 200 people working, but the idea is that they are a source of employment for a lot of people. I don’t think that interpretation is ridiculous or loony. But I do think it’s mistaken, for a couple of reasons:

First, it suggests that the people who work in this way in the pits would otherwise have no productive occupation. That’s wrong for many of the people, who—as I pointed out yesterday—often abandon lives that are at least as rich to devote themselves to the bareque in the pits. Indeed, there have been examples of whole villages who relocate to the pits, leaving behind crops, school (they take the kids), chapel and health station if they exist, and more, often to wait for the days the owners say they can enter the pits to work. They leave in transitory villages at the edge of the pits, often doing nothing.

I asked people in one such village how they eat when they cannot go into the mine. “Oh, the men who own the machines have a store here and they sell us food on credit.” Often, people manage to find only enough gold to pay their debts.

Second, despite the hopes of the people, they don’t necessarily find that much gold, especially in the abandoned pits (after all, the machines leave for a reason). A few years back, I became friendly with a couple of brothers-in-law who bought gold from the barequeros in a town on the Río Andágueda. They were considered by the miners to be more honest than the other buyers in town, and more generous in what they paid. (This was during the run-up of gold prices; I began to understand that part of their friendliness was that they wanted me to serve as their agent in the US…). One day I asked one of them if the people working in the pit were going to be able to get themselves out of poverty by mining. “Never in their lives,” he said. “We are making some good money, but they can’t find enough gold for that.”

Still, many people identify with the "small miners," or feel their future lies with them. And as one activist friend pointed out--it doesn't matter that people were paid to come to the march from the communities, or even if they felt intimidated. What is most relevant is that the miners were able to mobilize so many people."

Well, back to the march. Though there had been some anxiety about what might happen, the march, though very large, was quite disciplined, totally peaceful. By about 1 PM, everyone had arrived back at the cathedral, and the march dispersed—though many people just hung out for the rest of the day.

The march was very well organized. The  miners' federations provided food, organied the delegations, even even had big banners that crossed the road, saying where everyone was from. There were some funny aspects to this: for example, there were a few banners that said "Health (that health institutions or workers) support the paro," and "Education (that is schools and teachers) support the paro." But it was evident that the people holding them weren't health workers or teachers, but mine workers or barequeros. The truth is, most people not directly associated with the issue kept their distance, and in general behind closed doors, because of what turned out to be exaggerated fears.

After the march ended, I went back to the house to transfer images and have some lunch. As we approached the house, the rapimotero asked me how the paro was going. We got into a conversation about mining, which continued once we reached the house:

—I come from mining people, in Condoto (an important mining area in southern El Chocó). My father was a miner. He worked and planned, got some property, got everything prepared, it all looked very good. Then those guys came and took the land from him.

—But “those guys” weren’t transnationals; they’re not doing that yet?

—No, the men with the machines. These guys. They are going to be hurt by the transnationals, but that doesn’t excuse they way they act.

Which of course expressed the contradiction at the heart of the current solidarity with these “small” miners: we have to oppose the coming of the transnationals, but it’s hard to defend these guys after all they’ve done.

Later addition--August 2:

By Thursday morning,  normalcy had returned; there was an announcement on the radio yesterday evening that the miners’ federations will be negotiating with the government and the paro had been lifted. That's good for everyone, I think.

But there remains a serious issue, even before they deal with the transnationals. It's fine that the government and the miners will be negotiating--but if the communities, the federations, the organizations are not invited to the table, there's no way to deal with the issues—environmental damage, violation of the special rights of Afro and Indigenous communities in Colombian law, and more—generated  by the current arrangement, can be addressed.

And in the end, I worry, even if the miners, the communities, the activists can all come together and form a common front, in the face of the enormous power and resources of the Colombian state and the transnational corporations, and in the era of Free Trade Agreements, whether they can put up an effective resistance.

Both in the short run and for the future, there's still a lot to unfold.

UPDATE:

Since writing this post, I have learned some more details about the agreement between the national government and the miners that allowed them to feel confident they could lift the paro. The points included:

1.     Within two weeks, a permanent mining working group will be formed, led by the director of the national Mining Agency, which will develop the requisites and procedures to give formal status to the small miners in El Chocó. This responds to a key demand of the miners, that they not be considered illegal. And treating them as illegal has been a piece of the government’s strategy to replace them with transnationals, so it seems this is an important concession by the government.

One good thing is that some of the federations of the affected communities here seem to have places at this table.

The first meeting of this group was scheduled for August 15, but on August 14 we learned that it had been postponed for a week.

2.     The Mining Agency will create a regional office here to respond to requests for mining titles, and will have a different set of rules for mining areas in indigenous and Afro communities. This may be a response to the numerous denunciations of mining starting without serious previous consultation with the communities, and even with falsified papers.

3.     There will be a pilot plan developed for formalizing the mining activities in El Chocó, and the mining titles that have been granted will be examined for their legality.

4.     The national government will add an article to the Mining Code that will facilitate the activities of the small miners who are within the formalization process, including steps to provide security and protection to guarantee their development.

These agreements feel like a real victory for the “small” miners. Of course, the Colombian governments, and particularly the administrations of the last two presidents, Uribe and Santos, have not been characterized by their concern for the needs of people like the small miners, smaller business in general, and grassroots people. It will be important to see how they actually implement their agreements.

Unfortunately, the obligations under FTA/TLC will make it only too easy for these agreements to end up being a little thin in their implementation.

And it will be important to see how inclusive the membership of the permanent working group is, and who will be included at the negotiating table.

What still feels certain to me is that the power of the transnationals and their allies in the national government is very great. And also that for the Colombian Pacific, as well as for countries like Colombia, Peru, Bolivia, Chile, Brazil, El Salvador, Guatemala, and many more, and even more in Africa and Asia, and of course, even at home in the US, our futures hang in the balance as extractive industries (mining, oil drilling, lumbering) seem every day to be a greater threat to our cultures, to our social arrangements, and to our planet.

                                                                                                                     

Waiting for the "Paro Minero"

Quibdó, El Chocó, Colombia

July 31, 2012

Waiting for the "Paro Minero"

(What follows is an informal note—some things thrown together from notes I have sent to friends, from scribblings in the first stages of an article I am going to write about gold mining in El Chocó, and various thoughts. It seems too long for the blog, though maybe…and for now, it’s in English, so only going to people who can read English (or who I think can read English).

[No photographs yet—I hope to post some soon. And the Spanish translation will have to wait a while.]

Tomorrow, August 1, is a Hemispheric Day of Action against Transnational Mining (though hemispheric sounds a little grand; there will be activities in at least four countries, maybe more). In Canada, it’s directed against the unfortunately very dirty role that Canada has played in this area. ]

Here in Colombia, the issue is the push to bring transnational the mining companies into various area, some of which have been protected from this type of exploitation in the past. For a number of reasons, the issue has been posed as “small-scale” Colombian miners versus transnationals. While there is some truth to this description, and it’s certainly true that the “small-scale” miners will be wiped out if this push succeeds, it’s also true that at least here in Chocó, they have also been responsible for a lot of damage, both environmental and social.

Tomorrow was going to be a one-day work stoppage, with marches and demonstrations in a number of cities—except in El Chocó, where the strike (“paro minero”) was declared for an undefined period of time…and we heard that communities near Quibdó were advised to do food shopping in advance.  This afternoon I heard that there has been some sort of agreement between miners and the national government. They will no longer be referred to or treated as “illegal,” but rather “informal.” Threating them as illegal was a government ploy, part of their program of supporting the arrival of multi-nationals. But, in fact, in El Chocó, much of their behavior has been illegal…But this doesn’t justify bringing in the big mining forms, and all the damage they are going to do.

So just today, the marches and demonstrations planned for tomorrow were suspended—expect in El Chocó, where the miners’ federation has not agreed to the new arrangement.

There are lots of rumors flying around, and a lot of fear. Will this be a huge demonstration? Will there be violence? From what I can see, it doesn’t seem likely, and people I have confidence in think an effort is being made to calm things down among the miners. But since Monday, downtown has been filling up with miners—easy to recognize, actually, they’re mostly Paisas with boots on. We’re expecting a lot of barequeros to come to the march—some because they identify with the miners, some because they’re being paid to come, some perhaps because they are being intimidated—perhaps with not being let back into the mines, or perhaps with violence.

So what’s behind all this?

The big issue here is not so much the TLC or FTA, but extractive industries, especially mining. The big transnational mining companies have their eyes on the Pacific, as well as other places in Colombia, and they are getting government concessions. The communities are divided on this issue, very deeply and painfully. Some people see this as the economic hope they were looking for, but most people see it as a terrible danger to them and the forest. Some of the leaders, including leaders of COCOMACIA, were clearly bought by the companies...

Colombia is a country rich in minerals—gold, platinum, copper, coal, and more, without mentioning the emeralds, which have the colorful distinction of being traded on the street in one important downtown Bogotá corner—like diamonds in New York City. But it’s gold that has the richest history. El Chocó has always been an area of “bareque” (artisanal mining), which here, as it’s panning, is called “washing the mine “lavar mina”). And since the conquest, gold has played an important economic role. Indigenous cultures mined for millennia, but this is another history, also very interesting—and it is the history recounted in the Museo del Oro, where the modern struggles of miners and laborers and communities are not presented. Today, the indigenous communities that are close to productive rivers mine in very much the same way as the Sfro communities, and are in the same mining economy.

For generations, families in the Afro-Colombian communities have “mined” for gold—really, panned for gold in the rivers and quebradas. But this was always oart of a range of activities that made up the family economy. Gold was the main source of money (along with some crops produced for sale, or excess fish) for things that had to be purchased—cloth, tools, rifles, salt, household goods—but the rest was an economy outside the area of exchange of money—planting on the land, fishing, hunting. They lived poor in money, but in many ways they lived well (One friend has pointed out that the terrible problem of unemployment is a new one—as recently as thrity years ago, there were no jobs, but there was little unemployment, because people lived off their land).

Fifteen or twenty years ago the “retors”—big backhoes that were already operating in other areas, including the southern rivers of El Chocó, but not in the Río Atrato basin, began to operate here. They are called “small-scale miners,” though really, “small-scale” is a relative term—compared with what existed before, they’re huge.

In these fifteen years or more, the so-called “small-scale” miners have done a lot of damage with their backhoes—both to the forest and to the social structures and what was once a varied family economy. I’m trying to write about this. But one problem is that the artisanal miners—the barequeros—see them as their partners, despite the damage they have caused. I think I understand this; working in the pits created by the “retros” promises a lot more gold, but in reality the people abandon much of their traditional economic activity and devote themselves to a practice that sinks them deeper into the cash economy without providing very much money for most of them.

But now these “small” operators are threatened by the coming of the transnationals. They see themselves as victims, and they will be. But as one source says, probably the big difference is that the big companies will just destroy the forest faster...In any event, right now people who have been very critical of the miners are now making common cause with them against the big transnationals. This is President Santos’ big plan—extractive industries will be “locomotive” of Colombian economic development. But last year, I heard a knowledgeable activist say in a big meeting that it won’t be a locomotive for El Chocó, but a steamroller...

One of the sources of the militancy here in El Chocó is that in addition to the “small miners” themselves, there are some underground interests that are very important. The two things I’m going to mention are never discussed in any of the meetings, interviews, etc., but are widely discussed by very knowledgeable people here. First, there is a suspicion on the part of some people that gold mining is used to launder coca money. Could be...

The other point is clearly true. In this area, at the very least the FARC guerrillas get paid off—they “tax” or “extort” the miners, depending on your perspective. Some of the people in whom I have a lot of confidence—and whom I’m not going to name, for obvious reasons—tell me that some of the mines are actually owned by the FARC. In any event, it’s clear that they have a lot to lose in the unequal struggle between the transnationals and the “small miners.” Everyone feels it’s obvious that the guerrillas are behind the resistance of the Chocó miners to compromises reached by others.

There will certainly be barequeros in tomorrow’s march. But why are they here? Some undoubtedly because they identify with the “small miners.” Some because they are being paid to come. Sand some because they are afraid that if they don’t come, they will lose the ability to enter the pits in the future. Whether there is real intimidation it’s impossible to say…

Well, we’ll see what happens tomorrow…

Meanwhile, a new flyer has been circulating threatening a new wave of “social cleansing,” which means killing thieves, drug-dealers, and “deviants.” In the leaflet, the anonymous issuers of the threat apologize in advance for the innocents who will be wrongly killed! While nobody likes the level of crime and drugs around here, this is not about freeing the population from crime, but about terrorizing them…

If you want some images of some of the damage done by the “retros,” and “baregueando” in the pts, hyou can check out the four “galleries” at: http://www.pbase.com/stevecagan/goldmines

an afterthought:

I almost forgot something about "paros"-- —they aren’t quite like strokes as we know them. When I got to Quibdó a few weeks ago, indigenous communities were in a paro along the road that leads from Quibdó towards the neighboring department of Antioquia, and there eventually to Medellín.

But a paro on the way didn’t mean that they were boycotting the highway, but that they were stopping traffic on the way—no one could use it. It lasted over a week—not quite long enough to cause shortages in Quibdó, but long enough to piss people off…

Similarly, a serious paro here could mean not just that the miners had stopped working, but that they expect everyone else to stop working as well. It’s likely that they will just have a peaceful march tomorrow and then things will return to normal on Thursday or Friday. Meanwhile commerce will stop in the city center.

but it’s also possible that this could go on for a while, and really disrupt life here—not likely, but possible. Against that possibility, people started buying groceries this afternoon. As I left the center, about 6, the place was just one big traffic jam, as people bought in the many stores in the center. I was carrying a lot, nd anyway the camera I was carrying decided to die on me suddenly, so all I got was a few silent iPhone videos, but it was impressive.

When I got to the neighborhood where I’m staying (Jardín, for those who know Quibdó), I stopped at the local little supermarket, usually quite slow and lazy, now filled with people, though they weren’t exactly emptying the shelves—I bought a little extra bread and beans and eggs and oranges, just in case.

Even at that intersection, there was a terrific traffic jam that required traffic cops to unsnarl. I asked the owner if they are going to open tomorrow, and he said, “We don’t know yet—it depends on the situation tomorrow.”

Hmm..well, we’ll see

The New Highway / la Nueva Carretera

In the past, some of you have heard me talk about the terrible state of the road that connects Quibdó, the capital of El Chocó with the rest of the country. Okay, there are two—the other goes more southerly, towards Pereira, with a turnoff to southern El Chocó. The road to Pereira has always—in the short time I’ve been visiting—been in much better condition.

But the road to Medellín is really more important. Medellín is the major city that the people of El Chocó, and certainly of Quibdó, relate to. Although correctly referred to as “the highway,” the people here call it, more accurately, “la trocha”—a path cut through the forest.

There is a lot of local lore about the road. It was constructed in the 1930s, and several communities and landmarks along the road are known by the construction camps that were erected where the communities are today. This I have visited “El 7,” “El 12,” “El 16,” “El 18,” “El 20,” and “El 21”—the last three being active Embera-Katio communities that hug the road. These places have real names, but hardly anyone could tell you what they are. And of course, there are other communities in the “zona de la carretera,”—indigenous communities like Toldas, Consuelo, Sabaleta, and deep into the forest quite a few more. As you approach El Carmen de Atrato, further ea and in the foothills of the Andes, the communities are more “paisa”—people of mixed ancestry (the term relates to the special mestizo culture of the “eje cafetero,” the coffee-growing area of the lower mountains). And as you approach Quibdó, especially once you get to the town of Tutunendo, the communities are much more Afro-Colombian (and wetter—the single rainiest village on the planet is near Tutunendo.

The fact that the main artery connecting Quibdó to the rest of the country has been in such terrible shape is the result of several factors. For one, it has never been paved (although here lies an important story—below). Also, the rains here are so constant, and often so heavy, that landslides onto the road, or cutting away bits of the road, are common.

Further, the main traffic is heavy trucks, that bring in almost everything that is sold in Quibdó (with the exception of local bananas and plátanos, some small-scale agricultural products, and fish, which all come in from the river. And the trucks leave carrying away loads of tropical hardwoods—the rain forest is being stripped away, and not that slowly.












Last year, some equipment was sent by the government to level the road, and it made a huge difference. Before, the trip from Quibdó to El Carmen—some 105 or 110 kilometers (about 65 or 68 miles)—would take, in a good car, eight or nine hours if there were no delays! Last year that was cut in half or more—but this year, the rains and the heavy trucks had done their work, and things are getting pretty bad again (I haven’t gotten as high as El Carmen yet on this trip, so I don’t know how long it will take now).

At times, things get bad enough on the trocha that Quibdó is essentially cut off from ground traffic—I was here once when there were six separate landslides, and for a week or more, no freight vehicles got through.

The truth is, the condition of the main road—no, the road—linking Quibdó, a departmental capital, with Medellín and from there most of the country is shameful, as well as being a symptom of much of the social and political problems of this country and this region. When I started coming here, seven years ago, there was a big billboard erected in the middle of this route, showing a big picture of the modern high-speed highway that was being built there (I have always regretted that I didn’t get a picture of that billboard). But that was it—no actual work, no paving, no nothin’.

My friends who are locals here explain that on paper that road has been paved several times—each time, the project is approved, the budget is approved and allocated, money is sent for materials and construction, and the money is spent. The only thing missing is the actual paving, which somehow never happens.

But on a recent trip up the trocha, I saw a clear indication that this time seems to be different; there is real work being done between Quibdó and Tutunendo. This is a happy change. Though people expect the project to take a few years, they are hopeful that it will really happen and make a difference in their lives.

But those who fear that in this way something of the culture of El Chocó will be lost needn't worry--except for the main streets, in Quibdó nothing has changed: in the barrios the streets are hardly straightened out, and much less paved.







En el pasado, algun@s de Uds. me han escuchado hablar del estado terrible del camino que une Quibdó, la capital de El Chocó, con el resto del país. Bien, hay dos—el otro va más bien al sur, hacía Pereira, con un desvío para la parte sureña del Chocó. La vía hacía Pereira siempre ha sido—en el tiempo corto que he estado visitando—en condición mucho mejor.

Pero la vía hacía Medellín en realidad es más importante. Medellín es la ciudad importante que más incidencia tiene en las vidas de la gente de El Chocó, y por cierto de Quibdó. Aunque se llama correctamente “la carretera,” la gente de acá la llama, muy acertado, “la trocha.” [¿necesita explicación?]

Hay muchos cuentos locales sobre este camino. Fue construido en los años 30, y varios comunidades e hitos por el largo de la vía son conocidos por los campamentos de construcción que fueron establecidos donde hoy en día se encuentran estas comunidades. Así, he visitado “El 7,” “El 12,” “El 16,” “El 18,” “El 20,” and “El 21”—las últimas tres siendo comunidades activas embera-katio en las orillas o muy cercas a la vía. Estos lugares tienen nombres reales, pero no hay casi nadie en las comunidades que te podrían decir que son. Y por supuesto, hay otras comunidades en “la zona de la carretera” (o simplemente “en la carretera”)—comunidades indígenas como Toldas, Consuelo, Sabaleta, y selva adentro hay muchas más. Al acercarte a El Carmen de Atrato, más al este y en las faldas de los Andes, las comunidades son meas “paisa,”—gente de herencia mixta (el término hace referencia a la cultura mestiza especial del “eje cafetero,” la zona de cultivo de café de las montañas más bajas). Y al acercarte a Quibdó, sobre todo una vez que llegas al pueblo de Tutunendo, las comunidades son más afro-colombianas (y más mojadas—el pueblo que meas lluvia recibe de cualquier pueblo del planeta queda cerca de Tutunendo).

El hecho que la artería principal que une Quibdó al resto del país ha sido en semejante condición terrible es resultado de varios factores. Uno es que jamás ha sido pavimentado (aunque acá yace una historia importante—abajo). Otro son las lluvias, que son tan constantes, y muchas veces tan fuertes, que derrumbes que caen sobre el camino o que se llevan pedazos del camino, son comunes.

Además, el tráfico principal es carros de carga pesados, que traen casi todo que se vende en Quibdó (menos bananos y plátanos locales, unos productos agrícolas en pequeña escala, y pescado, todos de ellos llegan a través del río. Y los carros salen llevando cargas de madera dura tropical—la selva húmeda se está arrasando, y no a paso tan lento.

El año pasado, unas maquinas fueron mandadas por el gobierno a nivelar el camino, y la diferencia fue grande. Antes, el viaje de Quibdó a El Carmen—unos 105 o 110 kilómetros—demoraría, en un carro bueno, entre ¡ocho y nueve horas si no había trabas! El año pasado eso fue reducido por la mitad—pero este año, la lluvias y los carros pesados habían hecho sus labores, y la cosa está volviendo mala otra vez (no he llegado tan alto que El Carmen, pues no sé cuanto de demoraría ahora).

A veces, la situación llega a ser tan mala en la trocha que Quibdó queda esencialmente aislada de tráfico terrestre—una vez estuve acá cuando había seis derrumbes distintos, o por una semana o más, ningún carro de cargo llegó.

La verdad es que el estado de el camino principal—no, el camino—que une Quibdó, una capital departamental, con Medellín, y desde allá la mayor parte del país, es una vergüenza, además de ser síntoma de muchos de los problemas sociales y políticos de este país y esta región. Cuando empecé a venir acá, hace siete años, había una valla grande en medio de este trecho que exponía una imagen grande de la autopista moderna que se construía allá (siempre he lamentado no haber sacado una foto de esa valla). Pero esa era todo—ninguna obra real, ningún pavimento, nada!.

Mis amig@s que son locales acá explican que en los documentos ese camino ha sido pavimentado varias veces—cada vez el proyecto ha sido aprobado, el presupuesto aprobado y sacado, el dinero ha sido despachado para materiales y construcción, y ese dinero ha sido gastado. El único que ha faltado ha sido el pavimentar, que de alguna manera jamás se realiza.

Pero durante un viaje reciente por la trocha, vi una indicación que esta vez parece ser distinta; hay obra real entre Quibdo y Tutunendo. Este es un cambio bueno. Aunque la gente cree que el proyecto va a demorar por unos años, está esperanzada por la posibilidad de que suceda de hecho y produzca mejoras en sus vidas.

Pero los que teman que por eso se va a perder algo de la cultura chocoana no deben preocuparse--salvo por las calles principales, en Quibdó no hay cambio: en los barrios, las calles ni se arreglan, y mucho menos se pavimentan.

Exhibit of Photographs from El Chocó, Colombia

This March, I will be showing a lot of photographs from my work in El Chocó since April of 2003 at Casita Maria, an arts and education center in the South Bronx.

I’m pleased to have a chance to show this work in New York—but perhaps even more, I’m really happy and nostalgic to have a show in the South Bronx (mi terruño), and especially pleased to have the exhibit in Casita Maria, a terrific institution

The exhibit will include many black-and-white prints as well as a “draft” version of a proposed traveling interactive photo/text exhibit, intended to tour through and engage communities throughout El Chocó and beyond.

The show in Casita Maria will be open from March 8 to 30, 9 AM to 7 PM, Monday through Friday. I’ll be in the city the first week, and there will be a reception at Casita on Thursday, March 11, from 7 to 9 PM. (We’re also planning for me to give a couple of talks there, dates to be announced.) I hope I’ll see some of you there!

Casita Maria is at 928 Simpson Street, very close to East 163rd Street. It’s only a couple of blocks from Bruckner Boulevard, close to the Hunts Point Avenue stop on the 6 line, and the Simpson Street stop on the 2 and 5 (easy to get there!).

You can get a downloadable jpeg of the leaflet by double-clicking on the image above. You can get a good pdf of the leaflet by clicking here

(Like the poster design? Check out Shauna Cagan's web site!)

Another View of my Work / Otra Vista a mi Trabajo

Here in Colombia, I’m very used to getting a lot of praise for my photography, and for the way I carry it out, engaged with the communities I visit here in El Chocó. This praise comes from people in the art world, in journalism, and from the communities themselves and the organizations that work with them, and with which I try to cooperate and provide support. In addition, I’m accustomed to getting occasional email notes that are also very positive. (Back in Cleveland, I’m unaccustomed to such praise, but that’s a story for another time…) Maybe I was getting too comfortable with so much praise.

But not to worry about that. Recently, I received a note that took a totally different approach. I’ll reproduce it here, then give you a translation:

“Vi sus fotos. Que magnífico ejemplo de espectaculo vacío. Sus imágenes poco colaboran para poner en contexto la violencia en Colombia. Creo que el suyo, es un intento de trascender en su propia sociedad, exotizando a "los otros", personas a quienes poco importa si un fotografo del primer mundo les toma una fotografía para prostituirlos o no. La calidad de la composicion además, es de baja calidad y deja tantos vacíos que da asco.”

“I saw your photos. What a magnificent example of an empty spectacle. Your images cooperate little in putting the violence in Colombia in context. I think what you’re doing is an attempt to succeed in your own society, exoticizing “the others,” people to whom it matters little if a photographer from the first world takes a picture to prostitute them or not. The quality of the composition in addition is low quality and leaves so many holes that it’s revolting.”

What’s most interesting about this is that even if I were inclined to answer (which I am certainly not), I’d have the problem that I can’t tell if this attack is coming from the extreme right or the extreme left—they could both take this position.

Well, I’ll post a couple of pictures below (after the Spanish translation) to make this more interesting for you-all.

Otra Vista a mi Trabajo:

Aquí en Colombia, estoy muy acostumbrado a recibir muchos elogios por la fotografía mía, y por la manera en que la realizo, involucrado con las comunidades que visito acá en El Chocó. Este elogio viene de gente en el mundo del arte, del periodismo, y de las comunidades mismas y las organizaciones que trabajan con ellas, y con las cuales intento colaborar y proporcionar apoyo. Además, estoy acostumbrado a recibir de vez en cuando unas notas por correo electrónico que también son muy positivas. (Allá en Cleveland, no recibo semejante elogio, pero esto es cuento para otra ocasión...) Quizás me volvía demasiado cómodo con tanto encomio.

Pues, no hay que preocuparse por eso. Últimamente recibí una nota que toma posición totalmente contraria.

Acá la reproduzco:

“Vi sus fotos. Que magnífico ejemplo de espectaculo vacío. Sus imágenes poco colaboran para poner en contexto la violencia en Colombia. Creo que el suyo, es un intento de trascender en su propia sociedad, exotizando a "los otros", personas a quienes poco importa si un fotografo del primer mundo les toma una fotografía para prostituirlos o no. La calidad de la composicion además, es de baja calidad y deja tantos vacíos que da asco.”

Lo más curioso es que aún si estuviera dispuesto a contestar (el cual seguramente no estoy), tendría el problema que no puede estar seguro si este asalto vino desde el extremo de la izquierda o la derecha—ambas pueden asumir esta posición.

Pues pongo un par de fotos para darles algo que les interese más.

I'm a little behind with posts /Estoy un poquito atrasado con las entradas

I arrived in Medellín the night of July 18, and left for Quibdó August 11. In these three weeks I worked at an exhausting pace, conducting classes and workshops for the University of Antioquia en Medellín and the coastal town of Turbo, working with a group of artists to put together the “laboratory” at the Centro Colombo-Americano on daily resistance (here are two good links, a and b), giving a couple of talks, participating in the Encuentro de Fotografía-Medellín 2008, and more. I had very little time off, which was OK because this was good work, and I felt I was making a real contribution. But unfortunately the pressure of time meant I have been very far behind in writing posts for the blog, and that I took few pictures in Medellín. In the days and weeks that come I expect to finally post some entries about these experiences, but for the time being, to make sure you know I haven’t forgotten about you, I’ll just post a few pictures that you might enjoy not so much for social content as for a general view of some of the beauty of the area.

Llegué a Medellín la noche del 18 de Julio, y salí para Quibdó el 11 de agosto. En estas tres semanas trabajé a un paso muy agotador, dictando clases y talleres para la Universidad de Antioquia en Medellín y el pueblo costeño de Turbo, trabajando con un grupo de artistas para montar el “laboratorio en el Centro Colombo-Americano sobre el tema de la resistencia cotidiana (estos son dos lazos buenos, a y b), dictando unas charlas, participando en el Encuentro de Fotografía-Medellín 2008, y más. Tuve muy poco tiempo libre, que fue bien porque este fue un buen trabajo, y sentí que aportaba algo real. Pero desafortunadamente, por la presión de tiempo he estado muy atrasado en escribir entradas para el blog, y por la misma saqué pocas fotos en Medellín. En los días y las semanas venideros espero por fin poner unas entradas sobre estas experiencias, pero para mientras, para asegurar que sepan que no les haya olvidado, pondré unas cuantas fotos que posiblemente les gusten no tanto por su contenido social, como por una vista general de parte de la belleza de la zona.


Santa Elena, in the mountains above Medellín, is one of the centers of the flower-growing industry. Although I have serious reservations about the sustainability and internal practices of that industry, there's no doubt about the beauty of some of the cultivated and native flowers.

Santa Elena, en la montaña arriba de Medellín, es uno de los centros de la industria de floricultura. Aunque tengo dudas serias sobre la sostenibilidad y prácticas de esa industria, no cabe duda de la belleza de algunas de las flores, tanto cultivadas como nativas.


Guadua, a native bamboo of Colombia. It gives its name in Embera to the river, Chigorodó, which is also the name of a town in the Antioquian Uraba, near the Caribbean coast.

Guadua, un bambú nativo de Colombia. Presta su nombre en embera al río, Chigorodó, que también es nobre de un pueblo en la Urabá antioqueña, cerca la costa caribeña


Río Chigorodó, the Bamboo River in Embera.

Río Chigorodó, el río de guadua en embera.



Cargo boats in Turbo, the main port in the Antioquian Urabá.

Lanchas de carga en Turbo, el puerto principal de la Urabá antioqueña.





The Antioquian Urabá is an area of vast banana plantations, while in the Chocoan Urabá, the main crop is plátano.

La Urabá antioqueña es una zona de vasta plantaciones bananeras, mientras en la chocoana, la cosecha principal es el plátano.


The view of the mountains as you approach Medellín from the north.

La montaña vista al acercarnos a Medellín desde el norte.


At the entrance to the cathedral in Ríonegro, the city which houses the international airport that serves Medellín.

Al portón de la catedral de Ríonegro, la ciudad donde se encuentra el aeropuerto internacional que sirve a Medellín.

The “lumpen gourmet” returns! A Good Lunch in Houston Airport / ¡Vuelve el “gourmet lumpen”! Un buen almuerzo en el Aeropuerto de Houston

Getting decent food in airports is often a problem. Either it’s too expensive, or it’s too…well, it’s too “airport food.” But I found a nice meal in the Houston Airport (I cannot and will not call it by its official name), and I’ll tell you about it. I hope this isn’t a bad omen for the restaurant—the one I recommended in Bogotá closed shortly after.

The place is called Pappasito’s; it’s a counter in a little food court. At first I thought the name was Spanglish for “papecito” but after a while I realized that there must be someone named Pappas who owns a number of places to eat here.

The item I recommend is the Tampico burrito. A vegetarian burrito, with nice big chunks of onion and green and red pepper, and some black beans and mild sour cream. I had feared Taco Bell-like food, but this was really good. And the iced tea wasn’t sweetened. It cost $6.49, and the iced tea was about another buck and a half—a delicious and filling lunch.

Your lumpen gourmet will be on the lookout—next report might be from the Panama City airport—it’ becomes a long trip from Cleveland to Medellín


Encontrar comida decente in los aeropuertos muchas veces nos resulta difícil. O es demasiada cara, o es demasiada…pues, demasiada “comida de aeropuerto.” Pero di con un buen almuerzo en el Aeropuerto de Houston (el nombre oficial, no lo puedo usar y no lo voy a usar), y les voy a describir. Espero que esto no sea mal augurio para el restaurante—aquel que recomendé en Bogotá cerró poco después.

El lugar se llama Pappasito’s; es un mostrador en un pequeño patio de comidas. En un principio creí que el nombre era Spanglish por “papecito,” pero luego me di cuenta que debe haber alguien que lleva el apellido de Pappas que es dueño de unos lugares donde comer por acá.

Lo que recomiendo es el burrito Tampico. Un burrito vegetariano, con trozos sustanciales de cebolla y pimentones verdes y rojos, unos frijoles negros y un poco de crema suave. Yo había temido comida tipo Taco Bell, pero esta fue verdaderamente buena. Y el té helado no traía dulce. Costaba $6.49 (USD) y el té helado arededor de peso y medio más—un almuerzo delicioso que me llenó.

Su gourmet lumpen estará buscando outros lugares—próximo informe puede ser del aeropuerto de Panamá—el viaje de Cleveland a Medellín ha vuelto largo.