Last Friday I had
reached the point that one gets to at say the end of a pledge drive for your
local NPR station. The local elections had taken over the town, and I was tired
of sitting through breakfast, lunch and dinner conversations that centered
around who offered what for votes, and who was going to vote for who. I admire
the people that fight the fight of politics, and sometimes wish I had that
passion for policy, but I was just not born that way, and always find the
inevitable corruption disheartening.
Let me back up and set
the scene for local politics in Peru. First off it is obligatory to vote in
Peru. If you don´t vote they fine you up to the equivalent of 80 dollars. The
banks know who hasn’t voted based on the records of your identification number, and so if you want to
receive benefits from any social programs in Peru, the money is transferred
through the bank, and thus the majority of the populations goes to the bank. You
can only vote from the address that is on your identification card. My small town of 500 people more or less, has
a municipality that is responsible for my town as well as three ‘annexes’ as they
are called. Annexes are rural communities that are too small to have their own
government representation so they fall under the jurisdiction of the closest
larger concentration of population. Some annexes are only accessible by foot or
horse, and are often the last to benefit off of government programs or
projects. Many of the families that live in my town have moved from one of the
annexes and still have family connecting them back to that land. Anyways our
little municipality has two secretaries; one for civil unions, births, and
records of that sort, the other is the right hand woman to the mayor, and deals
with electricity and water bills. We have two municipality workers who drive
the potato truck, prune the plaza, collect the trash, chauffeur the students on
class field trips, and do just about anything you can imagine. These four
people are around most days, and are the faces of the municipality. Then there
is the mayor, a vice mayor, and five councilmen who come in every other week or
so to meet, plan, and review requests from the community that have been
submitted. Currently the municipality is working on a waste water system
project, they just built a new kitchen for the school, as well as bought
several computers for the school, they improved the road to one of our annexes,
are working on improving the town’s soccer field, and provided transportation
for the peace corps volunteer (me) to take a group of community members to
visit a biodigestor project in another town. As far as I can tell I am lucky to
have a municipality that functions, is willing to do projects, and is for the
most part helpful, as this is not the case for many volunteers.
Anyways election
season started about 10 months ago as buildings started to be painted with the candidates’
symbols, and famous Peruvian songs were transformed into campaign propaganda, that
blared through the radio speakers. Just when I was feeling proud of myself for
learning the lyrics of famous Peruvian songs, they go and change them up. This
election year was for local mayors, regional mayors, and regional presidents
(which I suppose we call governors in the States). I live in the region of
Amazonas in Peru, where regions are like our states, with representation in the
regional capital. The first campaigns to appear were for the regional positions
and from this came the major parties. Unlike The U.S. where we have set parties
that exist all the time, here parties are formed based on the candidate for the
regional president and all other candidates must align with one of them. This
year there were nine candidates for the regional president and thus nine
political parties in the region of Amazonas. These six parties aggressively
took to the streets to paint their mark on any blank space they could get their
hands on. Sides of houses were no long brown adobe but covered in political
propaganda, huge rock faces on the side of the highways were somehow
miraculously painted, and cars were littered with party symbols. The four most
prevalent parties were The Oranges, The Trees, The Houses, and GH. GH right off
the bat was perhaps the most famous of them, for GH is the owner of a main bus
line that runs throughout Amazonas and connects the region to Lima. GH are the
initials for a very powerful wealthy man, that owns six very successful
rotisserie chicken restaurants in our regional capital, has plans to open his
own airline, and is confirmed as a major drug trafficker in Peru.
When I first found out
that GH was a candidate for the regional president I was a bit awe struck that
someone who was famous for drug trafficking would be a major candidate in the
elections. All anyone could say for GH was that he had a lot of money and could
buy all the votes in the rural communities. It was hard for me to visualize how
one goes about buying votes. In June the
local mayor candidates were announced in my site and each candidate, through a
system that I am unclear of the behind the scenes going ons, aligned with one
of the major parties for the Amazonas region. In my site we had six candidates
for mayor. My host uncle, who is also the technician at the tree nursery, was a
mayor candidate aligned with the Oranges party and so naturally I felt a slight
inclination toward the delicious fruit. Our current mayor was running for
reelection with the support of the Trees, and the rest of the candidates I was
not much concerned with.
As summer months
heated up the U.S., Peru fell deeper into elections season. Soon trucks blaring
music and shouting chants came rolling through town offering hats, calendars,
and t-shirts to promote their political party. There were rallies where the political
parties paid to have essentially dance parties in the town to show support of
their candidate for mayor. I never actually attended these rallies but it became
clear that this was where they got the voters liquored up and made promises of
things that were nearly impossible to keep. The biggest promise that came out
of this was that GH promised every person that voted for GH would be given a
new farm. Another tactic for the parties was to pay for the bus ticket that
people had to buy in order to return to their hometown to vote. After each
rally the community sized up who brought the most boxes of beer, the better
music, and the best promises
Seeing as much of the
voting population in the rural areas are beginning learners the symbol of the
political parties is very important. All promotion posters demonstrated how to
mark the box with their party symbol, and advised that if you mark one box for
the Oranges you might as well mark them all. The actual ballots have very few
words, and voters simply have to put an X through the symbol of the party they
are voting for..
In September the
rallies took over the plazas in the regional capital, and political caravans would
sweep through our town blaring their horns to offer anyone that wanted a ride
to the rallies a free lift into the regional capitol. GH always spurred up the
most enthusiasm, spreading rumors of famous bands they had got to attend their
rallies, and recruiting local kids to stand in the back of their trucks and
scream chants throughout the town with a large line of revving motorcycles
following behind them. I was often very tempted by the energy of the caravans
to get people to their rallies, and wanted to jump into the fun.
Finally the first week
of the October rolled around. Election Day was Sunday the 5th of
October and Peruvian law says that it is illegal to have any political
promotions during the first week of October. On September 30th the
political parties made their last attempts, with a particularly impressive
parade around the plaza from the GH vehicles that I observed from my bedroom
window. The next day the regional
government sent up election workers, with official work vests, to paint over
any political propaganda that was within 100 meters of the voting locale (the
school). Sadly they only sent one very young girl to paint over our house
walls. House owners in the states are much more concerned about the appearance
of their paint, it was clear that this was not as important, as this young girl
threw some white paint onto the walls of houses. When it became appearent that
she was going to be there all night if she didn’t get any help, I recruited
some local kids to roll paint onto the walls and scrape off posters that were
pasted on. The reality that Election Day was approaching seemed somehow very
exciting. Along with painting house we posted up signs at all the 4 stores that
sell alcohol (beer). Another Peruvian law is that establishments cannot sell
alcohol the day before and on the day of elections. This however was a minor
bump in the road for most people as access to strong homemade sugar cane
alcohol is always readily available.
The day before
Election Day it quickly became clear to me that Peruvian elections are much
more than a day where you have to run an extra errand in between picking the
kids up from school and dropping them off a soccer practice, or in the case of
Oregon simply fill out the form and send it in, not interrupting any daily
schedules. In Peru it is a festival, an excuse to take a couple days off, and
reason for family members to come to town from far off lands of Peru. At first
I thought it must be difficult to officially change the address on an ID card,
because people go out of their way to return to their homeland on Election Day.
Turns out it is quite easy to change your official address but nobody does as
they like the excuse to come back to their motherland. Cars packed full of
passengers rolled into my site, and families were reunited and happily greeted.
This in some ways is very sweet, but for politics it means that most people are
voting outside of where they actually live, and thus have very little knowledge
of local political candidates, and the needs of the community.
6:00am the day before
the elections I was woken up to cheerful chatter outside my door. I got up to
go to the bathroom and realized that the election partying was in full swing at
my house with loud music, dancing, laughter, and local liquor. Deciding I did not really need to be part of
the all day partying I headed off on a hike with some of my students and let
the festivities roll on without me.
7:00pm the day before
the elections my host family and I go over to my host uncles house for dinner.
The party is in full swing and spirits are high for the Oranges.
Day of the Elections
8:00am on my run I
notice there seems to be many people dressed up walking toward our plaza. I
think maybe they are going to church as it is Sunday.
9:00am from my window
I can see the school and the line forming to vote. The plaza is beginning to
fill with people hanging out.
10:00am after I wash
my bed sheets I observe that my host parents seem to be getting ready to go
out. They announce that it is time to join the voting line. I jump up at the
opportunity to join them to go to the plaza. They are clearly in their best
clothes, and have purposely showered making me feel very underdressed for
voting day. I walk behind them excitedly exclaiming how important it is to vote
as it is their right in Peru. On the street every person we pass questions if
I’m going to vote or if I had already voted. I get kind of annoyed at this
question for the answer seems pretty apparent to me. I’m not Peruvian so I
can’t vote. In the States there is so much emphasis on how to register to vote
and who can vote. Here every Peruvian has a national issued ID card that is
orange when you are a minor (under 18) and blue when you are an adult. Every
Peruvian has to have one of these if they want access to the health post, sign
a document, get on a bus, or really do anything. This card is their identity to
vote as well, there is no registration needed, so everyone is qualified to
vote. Therefore I suppose it makes since that people assumed as a human being
in Peru that I would have an ID and thus be able to vote. Most of my
conversations that day started out with me explaining that no in fact I don’t have
an ID card and no I don’t want to borrow someone else’s so I could vote, but
yes I can vote in my county.
11:00am the plaza is
packed with people hanging out with their families. The sun is shining and it
feels sort of like the last day of school when all the families come out to
potluck together to celebrate. It is the only time in my past year here that I
have seen so many people just hanging out where alcohol is not the main center
of focus as well as the main divider between sexes. It was a very sweet moment
where I realized why people don’t eagerly change their address, but rather pay
what it takes to make the journey back home to vote (or have a political party
pay their way). The democracy has turned into a pilgrimage back to your
homeland. I sat with my host dad and his family members who live in an annex
down the hill and we talked about politics, shared ice popsicles, and enjoyed
the thankfully very nice weather.
1:30pm I continue
hanging out in the plaza with my neighbors when my host dad appears to exclaim
that I am late for lunch and they are all waiting for me. We hurry back up to
the house with the dogs in tow, to sit down to a delicious meal of beets,
carrots, chicken and rice.
3:00pm I debate
whether to go back out to the crowds or just watch the process from my window
where I have a clear view and continue feeding my addiction to the TV show
Bones.
4:00pm Staying in guilt gets the better of me
and I venture down to the plaza, this time not accompanied by the comfort of
others but rather left on my own to mingle. I head to the main restaurant in
town, run by my host aunt, and always a promise of good times. Her kids are in
town, visiting from the regional capital where they go to school (40 minutes
away). We start up a dance party while cleaning the floors in the lull between
lunch and dinner. The voting doors to the school have been closed, and now it
is just a matter of waiting for the votes to be counted. They will announce the
winner of the mayor race that night once all the votes have been counted by the
‘members of the table´ as the officials are called. These members of the table
are at least originally from my site, some now work in other cities, but they
are technically from the community. I mention this only because I think this is
a main access to corruption.
5:30pm During a break
in our dance competition there is word that someone overheard a policeman
talking and The Oranges are up. This promotes more dancing and celebration as I
am amongst strong Orange supporters.
6:00pm I stroll again
around the plaza and groups are still hanging out with predictions that at
7:30pm they will announce the winner. After much questioning I figure out that
in order to announce the winner the officials come out with large papers with
each candidate and the number of votes he received (all candidates were males).
They will then post this on the wall of the school and people rush to crowd
around and read it. In my mind this would be a crazy mob of people with a
strong potential of fighting to arise.
7:00pm I find my host
cousin and we head up to the house of my host uncle, the candidate. I find him
there surrounded by friends and family sitting on the floor of the house they
are just building that looks out over the plaza. The atmosphere seems calm and
composed. I sit with my host aunt as she finishes up preparing dinner. The
Oranges political party seems the least backed with money and I have a feeling
this will lose them the election. My host aunt serves me and my host cousin
first and we enjoy the warm food and make plans to go back down to the plaza as
I am determined to see how this announcement of who wins really plays out.
8:00pm Kids are
running around playing soccer, chase, and whatever other games their
imaginations can come up with in the plaza. Every bench is full with a group of
people waiting for the winner to be announced. There is a buzz of chatter
throughout the plaza which is normally abandoned and quiet. My host cousin and
I find some other friends to stand with as we keep one eye on the conversation
and the other eye on the door of the school.
9:00pm still no
announcement of the winner and night is fully upon us. Temperatures have
dropped and I have not been back to my room to change into warmer clothes. My
host cousin and I decide to walk a loop around the plaza to try and warm up. We
take up a slow stroll and greet the groups of people as we make our way around.
9:30pm We find a new
place to stand on the other side of the plaza where some kids are playing a
girls vs boys game. A group of 20 boys have trapped one girl and are screaming
with energy that only comes from being up too late past their bed times. Before
we know it they have pushed the girl off the edge of the plaza and she falls
down a rock wall. I rush to help her up and with her hands hidden in her face I
try to console her with half the town looking on. It is an awkward moment until
her mom shows up and I hand over the duties for someone better suited for
comforting.
10:00pm another hour
gone and still no sign of announcement. We are intently watching as some lights
go off in the school’s classrooms. Then the plaza lights shut off and the crowd
is left in darkness. I jump up and down on my feet to try and keep warm, but
the cold is about to convince me to give up the wait and just go home to my
warm bed.
10:30pm we overhear a
conversation in the group over from us who say someone received a call from inside
the building that reported that GH won by 12 votes followed by The Trees, and
then The Oranges. This rumor is then confirmed by the husband of one of the
woman we are huddled with who has her 2 year old daughter tied to her back fast
asleep. She then informs me that this is
the fourth time my host uncle has run for mayor and this seems to be the
last. This makes the group of friends
and family supporting him up at his house seem a little more somber then I
originally thought. I can´t imagine running so many times just to face the
devastation of a corrupted voting system where the farmer that actually is from
the community cannot win an election. Then there are shouts from a big group
that is circled in front of the school doors celebrating a win for GH. Drinking
circles start to form in celebration, but those who are for other parties are
not convinced until they officially announce it.
11:00pm a water
fountain sound wakes me up from my cold half asleep stupor that I have fallen
into while waiting for the big announcement. Turns out the 2 year old had to
pee in her sleep and it came pouring out from the blankets. Another girl
announces that there is one ‘member of the table’ that is still counting votes
but it seems the GH is still up by 7 votes.
11:15pm we become
exhausted of standing up and decide to sit down on the grass to wait. I watch
as groups of people become increasingly more drunk. Some groups concede to the
win of GH and head home, the plaza seems to empty out a bit. A group of kids is
lying on their stomachs at the school entrance reporting any action that might
be going on inside.
11:27pm Finally the
doors open and a hush falls over the crowd. People move slowly and sleepily
toward the papers being posted, the tension of who has won seems to dissipate
and the energy that I original felt had mob potential disappears. One man
shouts out GH!! Announcing the winner to the whole plaza and that’s that.
Groups peel off some celebrating, some with drooping heads. I turn to my host
cousin with frozen feet and say ‘let’s go’. We say goodbye to our fellow
freezing company and head back to the house. It all somehow feels very
anti-climatic
11:30pm The cars in
the plaza rumble awake, as the passengers who were waiting to go back to the
regional capital had fallen asleep waiting for their drivers to learn who won
and then take them back to their houses. A parade of cars filed out of town
taking the once lively voters back down to their normal lives.
The sounds of partying
could be heard well into the night, throughout the town. The next day was
another day off work to either drown your sorrows or celebrate the future. News
from the regional capital announced that GH had also won the regional president
position confirming that money does win elections all over the world. It turns
out the GH won the mayor position in my site with 37% and five more votes than
the second place party. To me five votes seems like it is screaming corruption
in the counting of votes. The secretary of our time exclaimed it was better
than last time where the current mayor won by one vote. There is no up rise and
screaming for a recount of votes, people are just taking the day to recover
from the voting festival. The plaza is littered with drunken men drinking to
celebrate GH and recounting the events of the elections.
While I still am in
disbelief that people will elect someone who is a confirmed drug trafficker
that cleans his money in rotisserie chicken restaurants, the town will continue
as it has for many years. The current administration is still in office until
January hopefully still motivated to support projects. It was incredibly
interesting to catch a glimpse of another country’s culture of voting. The
States culture seems so strongly tied to watching a TV screen while continuing
your everyday life, whereas here they step out of their routine, come together,
gossip, and talk about corruption.
