Monthly Archives: July 2010

CLACS to Help Organize Film Series on Immigration

Indocumentales - Film series - CLACSCLACS is excited to participate as a co-organizer for a film series titled “Indocumentales / Undocumentaries: The US-Mexico Interdependent Film Series.” In collaboration with Cinema Tropical and what moves you?, CLACS will the series aims to broaden the scope of the discussion around immigration, opening up dialogue on related themes, providing additional teaching resources to interested organizations and schools, and incorporating diverse voices in this discussion. The series is will first open in New York City, and will soon travel to destinations across the United States.

Visit the Indocumentales website

Read a blog entry about a recent screening posted by Alison Bowen, CLACS GloJo alum, posted on the Latin American News Dispatch (LAND)

Bikes Races and Sancocho…Only in Colombia.

OReilly - Colombia Research - CLACS at NYUAfter being in Colombia for two weeks and having some bad luck trying to find anything that resembles a bike race, I finally made it to local race on Sunday that ended in the town of La Union. The bike race, aptly named “The Second Annual, Let’s Eat Lunch in the Park”, ended in La Union’s main plaza with a sancocho lunch for 1,000 people. To be honest I’ve never seen a bike race quite like this one. It featured pro racers, men over the 60 and kids as young as 12 all racing on the same route. While there were different classifications for the riders, it was tough to tell who was who and who actually won what classification. Add to that the fact that roads the race was held on was open to traffic and things got a bit dicey.

However what the race lacked in organization, it made up for in charm and Colombian style. One of the great things about the sport of cycling that other sports can’t emulate is how close fans can get to their heroes. During the race kids rode next to a world champion and ate their soup with cyclists who had competed in the Tour de France. In other sports this doesn’t happen and is one of the reasons why the sport is so popular in Colombia. The professional cyclists from Colombia are people who the average person sees everyday. In the morning when they are on their way to work, they’ll pass a professional cyclists training on the roads, then later will be sitting in a restaurant next to a group of riders. These athletes are not the untouchable figures that most professional athletes in the U.S. or Europe are, but the sons of farmers and shopkeepers. They’re people who you knew growing up and have seen develop throughout their lives.

Another thing I’ve learned about the sport in Colombia is that Colombian’s are fiercely proud of their success in the sport and their cyclists. While soccer may be more poplar on television, those people who follow the sport are fanatics with almost photographic memories of events, riders and races. I spoke with an older mathematics professor watching a race at the Luis Carlos Galán Velodrome in Bogotá who could remember the exact weather during a stage in the Vuelta a Colombia….in 1957!

Cycling is also a family thing here and the love for the sport is passed down from generation to generation. I was living for a time with the family of Willian Valdivia, a young pro racer for the Indeportes Antioquia squad. He got involved in the sport through his father, who when he was younger rode against some of the best cyclists in the country. His father who seems to only own a poncho, jeans and dirty rubber boots and works on a flower farm, showed me photos of him as a young man climbing next to the some of the biggest names in cycling in the 1980s.

Later this week I head out with a pro team to follow them on the Vuelta a Antioquia, so I’ll hopefully have more insights soon to come.

Andrew O’Reilly is an MA Candidate at CLACS / Journalism at NYU

Personal Narratives of Violence in Colombia – #2

Rojas - Research in Colombia - CLACS at NYUI have spent four weeks in Colombia, and my work is going well. I have collected some bibliography that I hope will be very useful for my dissertation proposal. It includes some literary criticism about the authors I intend to study, about literature and violence in Colombia, and about the Colombian armed conflict. After months of making contact with the organizations that work with victims, I have finally had a breakthrough. I was allowed to search an archive from the Comisión Nacional de Reparación y Reconciliación, containing interviews with war victims. I started today and I hope to find some interesting testimonies and to get a broader picture of what the commission is doing. I had an interview with Ayda Martínez, a journalist that works for the CNRR and is in charge of “La hora de las víctimas”, a radio program dedicated to the victims and the process of justice and redress. It was very interesting talking to her, because she has traveled throughout the country with the CNRR, interviewing victims, and she says that despite the concerns for their security many victims are actually willing to be recognized and made visible. They don’t want to remain anonymous, as one might expect. Ayda Martínez told me today about two CNRR projects for collecting testimonies in Barranquilla, on the Atlantic Coast, and Bucaramanga, in the north-eastern region of Colombia. In Barranquilla, written testimonies are being collected, while in Bucaramanga, there is an exhibit of letters addressed by victims to their missing loved ones. I’m planning to contact the CNRR in those cities and, if my schedule and my budget allow it, I would like to visit those archives.

Carlos Rojas is a PhD Candidate in Spanish and Portuguese at NYU

“M. Team en La Casa”

Ramadan - Research in Puerto Rico - CLACS at NYUHours within landing in Puerto Rico I get an email from one of my contacts saying there is a panel on Puerto Rican Muslims happening that night close to where my cousin goes to school. Shocked at my luck I quickly got ready and made my way over there and met both of the contacts I had made while still in the states my first day here. I came during an interesting time to the island: the University of Puerto Rico student strike has affected many, even preventing high school students from completing this year due to their schools’ affiliation with the University. Also going on are the Central American and Caribbean Games this year located in Mayagüez, Puerto Rico. It is interesting to see the combination of festivities and strikes.

I have noticed the island is full of graffiti and it is a popular form of expression, from pieces dedicated to Puerto Rican pride to those in opposition of Ley 7. Driving through the island most walls are covered in spray paint and I find myself staring out the window making plans to take out the car and take some pictures.

I am surprised I have actually found Muslim Hip Hop artists here. I was connected to one before coming to Puerto Rico and once here I went to a mosque to meet him for an interview and he introduced to a few more. Upon hearing what I was doing here they seemed pleasantly surprised and we all got into a conversation about my work and their art. They invited me to lunch at a halal fried chicken spot (which I didn’t even know existed in Puerto Rico).

I’ve realized the Muslim population that island Puerto Ricans are mostly exposed to are Palestinians not Afro-Americans like I thought. This complicates my initial hypothesis: I expected Rican Muslim Hip Hop artists to relate to the Afro-American community through Hip Hop and Islam but those on the island aren’t as exposed to an Afro-American Muslim community as Ricans are in the United States notably New York City (which my state-side informants are all from).

Omar Ramadan is an MA Candidate at CLACS at NYU

A Case Study of Murga Porteña (#2): Collective Practices

Pardes - Research in Argentina - CLACS at NYUOver the past two weeks, I have developed a better understanding of contemporary divisions among murga troupes in the metropolitan area of Buenos Aires based on interviews and interactions with murgueros in Cachengue y Sudor. One major point of differentiation is whether troupes participate in the “official” Carnival sponsored by the Comisión de Carnaval (Carnival Committee) of the government of Buenos Aires or the “unofficial” Carnival organized by the Movimiento de Murgas Independientes (Movement of Independent Murgas). The Comisión de Carnaval was created in 1997 when the city government declared Carnival activities and associations as cultural patrimony and passed an ordinance which committed financial resources to support murga troupes and Carnival festivities. This significant step forward in reviving Carnival was spurred in large part due to the mobilization – including protest marches calling for the re-establishment of Carnival as an official holiday (which was eliminated by the military dictatorship of 1978-1983) – of both younger and older murgueros in Buenos Aires.

Several years later, in 2004-2005, the Movimiento de Murgas Independientes emerged as murga troupes throughout metropolitan Buenos Aires pursued alternative channels for organizing and putting on Carnival. One reason for this is that the Comisión de Carnaval only includes and assists murga troupes in Capital Federal (the “city of Buenos Aires” and not the surrounding “provinces of Buenos Aires”). Another reason is that in the early 2000s, the Comisión de Carnaval began instituting a concurso (competition) in which murga troupes are required to perform in a pre-Carnival evaluation. The troupes are judged based on a set of criteria that, according to a few murgueros in Cachengue y Sudor, reflect the aesthetic standards of more “traditional” murga troupes. In addition, this evaluation affects the funds and visibility allotted to each murga troupe for Carnival. Several murgueros in Cachengue y Sudor mentioned to me that this concurso has introduced an unnecessary competitive spirit among murga troupes, reinforces a vertical/hierarchical organizational model, and functions as a way of limiting innovation and creativity within murga as an artistic/musical genre.

From 2000 to 2004, Cachengue y Sudor participated and performed within the “official” circuit of Carnival, and now is one of the few murga troupes based in Capital Federal that belongs to the Movimiento de Murga Independientes (the majority are murga troupes from the provinces). Many murgueros in Cachengue y Sudor stated that they deeply value the principles of “horizontalidad” (non-hierarchical social relations) and “autogestion” (self-management/funding) that define how the murga troupe operates as a collective project.

Over two consecutive Sunday meetings of Cachengue y Sudor, I had the opportunity to observe how murgueros put horizontalidad into practice during a process of annual self-reflection and collective critique about how the troupe has fared in artistic, logistical, and organizational terms. About 30 adults and 4 children gathered in the living room at the home of one of the murgueros, where all of us sat in a circle – some on sofas and chairs, and others directly on the blue concrete floor. Although it was a chilly evening (and the living room opened up directly to a central patio area) murgueros transformed the bare space into a warm and friendly atmosphere – they were uninhibited about sitting close to each other and showing affection and solidarity through hugs, passing around snacks, and sharing matés. Over a period of almost 10 hours of discussion (over two Sunday meetings), murgueros demonstrated a serious commitment to listening to each other, reflecting on the issues raised, and offering suggestions for how the troupe as a collective might function more effectively. There were specific murgueros that volunteered to jumpstart the meetings but no one led or dominated the discussions. As one murguero said, “nadie es el dueño de Cachengue” (“no one owns Cachengue”).

To more easily include everyone’s voices, murgueros spent time talking in both smaller and larger groups. In each group, someone took the initiative to note the names of those who wished to speak in the order in which each murguero/a raised his/her hand. While there were definitely interruptions, and a lot of commotion due to both adults and children coming in/out of the room, I could see how murgueros made an effort to be attentive as each person expressed her/his opinions or experiences, regardless of whether s/he had been in the murga for a few months or several years. It was an opportunity for honest and non-confrontational venting, addressing tensions, and healing conflicts that emerged over the course of working together. It is also my impression that this intentional community, or extended family, has tremendous value to its members in the face of urban fragmentation and diminished feelings of cohesion in the neighborhoods of contemporary Buenos Aires.

Mariana Pardes is an MA Candidate at CLACS at NYU

Motorbike Musings in Guatemala

Toner - Research in Guatemala - CLACS at NYUEveryday I ruffle plastic overalls over my jeans when whisperings of rain saturate our senses and afternoon water darkens the clouds. Our rides can be long, bumpy and wonderfully gritty; occasionally I daydream I’ve made it to the final tryout for an international development/microfinance biker gang. Granted, I’m not actually driving, I wear the cheapest and therefore least-macho rain suit available, and internally complain when my lower half goes numb after 30 minutes, but John Fogerty seems to continually rasp me into bigger and bigger ideas as I realize coach has essentially put me in and I’m ready to play.

Beyond trying to savor every cloud drift, every volcano in the distance, every pastoral postcard that is my life, the long hours I’ve spent on the bike allow for what one rarely has in New York: time to problem solve through contemplation. And so, as I seek to validate my happiness and make use of my privilege, I give in to the puritanical rejection of pleasure and muse.

Last Thursday, for example, I completed my only client interview of the day around noon, but still accompanied the loan officer, Fernando, on five individual visits in sporadic small towns all the way back to Totonicapán about an hour and half a way. Unlike communal banks of 15-20 people, individual loans are “easier” since you don’t have to wait for latecomers or deal with on-the-spot crises when someone doesn’t bring their payment.

That day, as with others recently, I continued to develop ideas. One topic I’ve been considering is incentives both for loan officers and clients. Many organizations have incentives for opening new accounts or for when a certain percentage of their clients remain solvent.

From conversations with those who have worked for more than one organization, the monthly salary of some loans officers in micro finance can reach up to 5,000 Quetzal (about $625 USD). This might be the case, for example, if the organization has an incentive program for opening new accounts, clients remains solvent, and the organization provides officers with a stipend for gas and motorbike repairs. At the same time it might be as low as $375 USD if those elements are not in place. These figures are still significant, considering most families of 4 or more in rural areas survive on 100-200 Quetzals a week. What if officers were given incentives to strategically link clients to social services or if clients were given opportunities to grow their loan amounts if they or their children pursue education opportunities?

Some organizations like Pro Mujer in other countries provide comprehensive services beyond credit that including health and educational programs. Some governments such as Brazil offer conditional cash transfers to poor populations. A family, for example, that can show their children are enrolled in and attending school might receive up to $7 USD a month for up to three children. Other transfers include women’s health and cooking gas credits.

It is not, however, common practice for many micro-credit organizations to provide these extra services. One loan officer told me there are as many as 30 to 40 micro credit groups just in Sololá, a department with only about 423,000 inhabitants. I now am researching how to better coordinate between existing social and health support groups, governmental and non governmental, to provide these services. Micro credit organizations would benefit as clients further their education and can grow businesses, lower costs through preventative health visits, and can link to savings groups.

Anyone involved in development would highlight the need for these comprehensive services in order for communities to thrive and become self-sustaining. Any urban planner or USAID director would highlight that broad consensus and piggyback services are essential. Yet, how does one create such agreement? Perhaps more importantly, how can we facilitate competition and empowerment for rural clients to choose?

Essentially, given a weak government with limited resources, I’ve been considering how might one “privatize” economic and social development at the scale and rate of success of Brazil. I’m well aware of the baggage the word carries, particularly in Latin America after the oft-criticized shock therapy and neoliberal reforms. Yet, I’m a realist. Micro-loans did not originate from governments nor should we always turn to government for development.

Microcredit groups might or might not be responsible and interest rates might or might not be competitive. Why is it that people in the developing world can log onto the internet and receive 4 to 5 quotes for car insurance, health insurance, and even educational loans, yet the poorest of the poor rely upon sporadic outside help? I am developing strategy ideas for putting the demand for micro-credit and relevant educational and health services into the hands of those who need it. Just as Brazil’s bolsa familia began at the local level so too might we proceed with coordinating social and economic development. How can we better link communities to competitive services then?

One way is to use mapping and qualitative studies, much like my research here. Imagine you go online and see a map of Guatemala and then can see concentrations of poverty, even topic specific poverty such as areas where there is no water coverage, poor health care, or a certain income threshold. Then you, as a globally aware citizen or ED of a business development non profit, could locate, say, microcredit groups who need business training for their clients and present the group with an offer. Ideally, it would also facilitate competition and small groups/communities would have options themselves, not having to rely on the micro-credit middleman.

It might also keep a profile of groups and coverage in the area. That is, lets say an area or community has a lot of microfinance and business training groups, but lacks basic education and potable water. On the map, you’d be able to see if an area has a “complete link” of minimum coverage so communities are given the full range of comprehensive development, not just piecemeal.
So government entities, NGOs, even individuals could target where the need is in a very specific way – you could even use the database for relief efforts, as one could incorporate interactive elements to see where landslides or flooding occurred.

Some of the technology is available, but not being used to these ends. I’m just working out how to make it overtly profitable and to sift through the ridiculous amount of consensus needed to implement it/ the clear drawbacks such as intrusion of international and agenda-based groups into culturally sensitive or vulnerable areas. Also, one might argue it could either detract from the strength of the state or enhance it, depending on how the consensus comes along.

I have plenty of time, of course, to think about these issues while buzzing along mountain roads. More importantly, I’m making a mental list of who to contact when I get back to make it happen. If you or anyone you know are involved in similar projects or ideas, please let me know.

John Toner is an MS Candidate in Global Affairs at NYU

Festival Internacional de Música y Danza

Reidy - Research in Spain - CLACS at NYUI came to the Granada for the Festival Internacional de Música y Danza with an interest in the intersections of place, history and music in the region and in representations of the region – especially those presented by female singers and dancers who modeled myths of Southern Spain in popular urban entertainment for audiences across Europe and North America during the 19th and early 20th centuries. But I also came with the less grandiose short-term goal of doing preliminary historical and ethnographic research to prepare for my dissertation proposal. At just over three weeks duration, this trip is shorter than is ideal – especially given the task of beginning some painstaking archival work – but it has nonetheless been immensely fruitful and provocative thus far.

My time is governed largely by Granada’s work schedule, so I devote my mornings to archives until they close for siesta, take siesta hours for lunch and review of my research from the day, and then spend evenings at a Festival concert or, if scheduling permits, two. Initially, I planned to focus my historical work on the Archivo Manuel de Falla, where I worked for my first week, and then on the Archivo Historical Municipal. But after familiarizing myself with the research centers organized through the Universidad de Granada and Andalucían Library and Archive system, I discovered that the lesser known Museo Casa de los Tiros holds the strongest collection of material relating to the cultural life and urban history of pre-Civil War Granada. I have since been making the most of the Casa de los Tiros’s extensive book and newspaper archive, generous afternoon work hours, and infinitely helpful staff. I spend my weekends and stray daytime hours attending Festival events (including master-classes and discussion panels) and exploring Granada’s diverse districts (from the touristy medieval Albayzín to the working-class suburban Zaidín), cultural institutions (such as the Museo de Bellas Artes and the Fundación Euroarabe de Altos Estudios) and notable business establishments – particularly those recommended to me by archive functionaries.

For instance, one of my favorite finds this week was Bodega Castañeda – a bar off the main Plaza Nueva that is heavily styled as a late nineteenth-century café cantante, complete with musty old bottles, their yellowed labels, and iron-banded wine barrels. One of the archivists at the Museo Casa de los Tiros suggested that I visit the bar to see their collection of ephemera relating to popular Spanish performers of the period. After four incredible minutes soaking in walls decked with antique imagery ranging from 2-cent postcards to an original oil portrait of La Tortajada – the Granada-born star of Paris’s Folies Bergère who performed in St. Petersburg and Los Angeles but only once in her native country – I had more explicit data on Spanish dancing-girls than I had been able to uncover in four days of tedious archival work! While perhaps surprising, it is indicative of the “official” narrative of Granada which structures the archive and organizes its contents.

In Granada, I find my thoughts lingering over sounds and sights in unexpected consort with post-colonial anthropologist Nadia Abu El-Haj and German founder of Musickwissenschaft Guido Adler. In 1885, Guido Adler espoused a scientific musicology patterned upon the empirical and comparative methods then current in biology, paleography, geology and archaeology; in 2001, Nadia Abu El-Haj published a controversial critique of the deployment of archaeological practice in the construction and materialization the Israeli nation-state. Today, in Granada, both are particularly apt. For here, following the roads traced by the Festival Internacional de Música y Danza, visitors are engulfed by an official cultural discourse that maneuvers them into contemplation of a particular historical past through a strategically mapped and selectively sanitized material presence. This narrative draws them to the medieval Albayzín of restored Nasrid mansions and Barroque churches, blinding them to its history of vice and poverty with advertisements for the “rehabilitation of historical patrimony.” And it steers them away from the suburban districts of Zaidín, Chana or Ronda where migrant populations from Morocco, Senegal, Peru and Romania have gathered in search of work – much as rural, North African and American migrants crowded into urban Granada in the nineteenth century in the hopes of reaping the promises of industrialization.

I came to Granada armed with the two-pronged narrative of Guido Adler’s day: first that, while rich in the architectural bones of antiquarian civilizations, Spain had failed to erect its own musical monuments; and second, that in lieu of great civilization Spain was gifted with great spirit, evidenced in its musicality and penchant for dance. The later half of this narrative survives in the brightly colored images of dancing women and charging bulls that populate ubiquitous postcard racks – images now mass produced and unmoored from the nineteenth-century cultural life and labor from which they came. Like the ephemera on the walls of the Bodega Castañeda, they are mere ‘local color.’ The first half, however, appears to be curiously reinvented.

I was expecting to find some tale of Spanish or even Andalucían musicality echoed in the Festival. However, while foreigners to Andalucía certainly approach the few flamenco events at the Festival with this story (many if not most of whom are Spanish!), austere granadinos in attendance at the manifold concerts of court and ecclesiastic music from the Early Modern siglo de oro clearly have a different tale to tell. Picking apart the Festival Internacional de Música y Danza from within Granada, I am intrigued to find that the “Festival Internacional” of today is not a narrative of Spain, but of Andalucía and the linguistic patrimony it shares with Latin America – against the linguistic hegemony of the Castilian center. And “Música y Danza” is not an appeal to musicality as a cultural habit or behavior, but an affirmation of the monumentality of Andalucían musical works. Thus, the “musical patrimony” is not the musicality or even monumentality of a Spanish patria, associated historically with Castile and Catholicism. It is a collection of monuments that comprise the colonial heritage of Andalucía in both Latin America and in Granada itself, a Monument to the patrimonio andaluz granadino.

In this post I have written liberally about music and history, but have only peripherally dealt with place and music. One of the features of the Festival Internacional is a partnership with eMultipoetry, a poetic-educational project of the European Union’s Grundtvig Programme, which pairs sound artists, who compose paisajes sonorous or ‘soundscapes,’ with poets, who write poetry in response to the recorded soundscape. The Granada Festival has included several performances of these collaborations in an attempt to develop an appreciation of the quotidian soundscape of the city as cultural patrimony, equal to that of conventional musical works. In my next post I will dwell in more detail on the sounds of the city and will share some bits of the many hours of recording that I have made in Granada during this trip.

Anna Reidy is a PhD Candidate in Music at NYU

¡El Agua es nuestra, carajo!

Farbman - Research in Bolivia - CLACS at NYUIt’s hard to be a Latin Americanist without a hyperawareness of the systematic gutting Latin America and the Caribbean have experienced at the hands of Europe, and later the United States. The region has endured inconceivable losses in natural resources, wealth, cultural autonomy, and most tragically, life. Through 500 years of colonization and imperialism, both in war time and in “peace,” there have been countless attempts on the part of the oppressed to fight for their liberation. These represent some of the most exciting moments in Latin American history, when ordinary people gain a sense of confidence in what they can accomplish by organizing and uniting in collective action.

In the constant struggle between a ruling class in perpetual search for new mode of wealth extraction (and the corresponding oppression required), and resistance from below, it’s impossible to predict whether a given moment will represent a victory for the rulers or the ruled. Oftentimes it is a combination of both.

But in Bolivia, in the final years of 1999, the deck certainly seemed to be stacked in favor of those at the top. The President (and former dictator) of Bolivia, Hugo Banzer, worked with the World Bank to award a no-bid contract for 40 years of private control over Cochabamba’s water supply to US corporation Bechtel. While the city’s residents would see enormous, unaffordable rises in the cost of their water, Banzer’s arrogance (and willingness to employ the military to smash dissent) meant there would be little room for negotiation.

And yet in just over four months, ordinary Bolivians mounted a struggle that expelled the private water company, returning their water supply to municipal control. Leaders from the irrigation/agricultural communities and some important unions were able to bring together an unprecedented show of solidarity that crossed many segments of oppressed Bolivia. The streets were soon – and often – filled with indigenous peasants, miners, coca growers, factory workers, students, informal workers, street vendors, and some of the middle class.

In this incredibly short amount of time trust was built between groups who are constantly portrayed to be at odds with one another. Under the slogan “¡El agua es nuestra, carajo! (the water is ours, dammit!), over a hundred thousand people filled the Plaza 14 de Septiembre for several days at a time, to act as one through collective and democratic decision-making.

The astounding victory propelled Cochabamba into the global spotlight, as it provided inspiration to those around the world and to other Bolivians, who engaged in their own struggles in the ensuing years.

The Water War in Cochabamba was clearly a victory with enormous significance to those throughout the world seeking to mount our own struggles. But the exact meaning of what happened is still unclear. Much attention has been focused on the spontaneous aspects of the Water War, as tens of thousands of Cochabambinos poured out of their homes to participate. Many observers have even called the Water War an example of a New Social Movement (NSM). But there has been less discussion of the role of leadership, of those who consciously organized in advance, laying the groundwork for the mass spontaneity to be channeled and effective yet incredibly democratic.

I am spending six weeks in Cochabamba this summer to collect as much information as I can about the organizers of the Water War. Because of the incredibly complicated nature of Bolivian politics, I have organized my work by creating a social network map and time line of events (including the gaps in what I know). These will be the basis for my interviews with several leaders of the water war, knowledgeable observers, and participants.

Discovering the ways in which such disparate groups were brought together so quickly is a critical question facing us in the United States, where mass anger amongst working people and the poor has not yet been matched by mass action. I am hopeful that my work on this issue will contribute to a fuller understanding of the Water War and of a tremendously exciting example of building struggle from below.

Jason Farbman is an MA Candidate at CLACS at NYU

Personal Narratives of Violence in Colombia

Rojas - Research in Colombia - CLACS at NYUI have spent almost two weeks in Colombia. Although I have encountered some obstacles—my luggage did not arrive with me and there was an episode of food poisoning that took me out of business for a few days—it has been a very fruitful trip. My purpose for the month and a half that I will spend doing research here is primarily to collect bibliography for my dissertation proposal. I have previous research experience in autobiography and in literature. This is the first time that I work on Colombia, my native country, and the first time that I work with a textual corpus that is not exclusively literary. I want to study autobiographical narratives related to the experience of violence in Colombia. I am planning to analyze some novels, but I also want to include some pieces of testimony. That is what I have been looking for here. I am consulting the catalog at the Biblioteca Luis Ángel Arango (BLAA) for written testimonies, critical bibliography about the literary pieces I will study, and general studies about the phenomenon of violence in Colombia. There, I found some very interesting texts that I expect to use during the elaboration of my proposal and later in the dissertation itself. I have also contacted some organizations aimed to provide aid to the victims of the armed conflict and to promote justice. So far, this has been the hardest part of my research. Either because they do not deal with the collection of testimonial materials or, I guess, because of fear, victims’ organizations have been rather reluctant to cooperate.

On the other hand, this work has entirely changed the way I relate to my own country. Living here has exposed me, as most people in Colombia, to direct and indirect violence. It is all over the news, every day, and we all have been touched by it to some extent. Being immersed in such an environment makes us live in a constant state of paranoia, but it also can make us less sensitive to the plight of those who are most vulnerable. I have spent the last few months reading personal narratives of violence, the stories of people whose life has been shattered by war and loss, and it has certainly made this return trip a different one. As the plane brought me to Bogotá, I watched through the window pane the amazing beauty of the landscape and recalled the stories of horror that took place in those very mountains. Although my project involves primarily the collection of bibliography in a library, a rather sedentary and safe exercise, I would like to venture out of the city to some of the rural areas that had some relevance in the history of the Colombian conflict. Last weekend, I visited a couple of towns in the province of Boyacá, a region struck by war in the period known as La Violencia in the late 40’s and the 50’s. I took this picture there.

Carlos Rojas is a PhD Candidate in Spanish and Portuguese at NYU

An Actor’s Dialogue: Negotiating Development in Huancayo, Peru – #3

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The Mantaro Valley phase of my research is now over. Before heading off to Lima I took a short break and ran off to the Sacred Valley and Machu Picchu for 6 days, which was a nice reprieve from the long days I have been working. The time I spent in the Mantaro Valley was very successful and I have managed to accumulate a lot of very useful information that paints a pretty clear picture of the Vaso de Leche as it is in its current form. I will go into some of the details of my findings in my final blog in two weeks. The direction that my writing will take is becoming clearer and is very different from what I anticipated I would write about before coming to Peru. I now have some very specific holes that I hope to fill in during my time in Lima. This home stretch will be more of a challenge since I have fewer contacts in Lima and in general, less experience in this massive city of 8 million. Ten days is not a lot of time to figure things out.

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