2000

¡El Agua Es Nuestra, Carajo! -
The Water is Ours, Damn It!

Between November 1999 and April 2000, the indigenous and under-class people of Cochabamba “shut down the city with strikes and roadblocks.” State officials were truly scared that the “Indians are coming to seize the city.” But actually the call from the organizers came in a symbolic way, meaning that they wanted to take over the main square – la toma de la plaza, which they claimed was always theirs.
So what preceded all this? In a nutshell, the privatization of water came in the form of Bolivian Law 2029, governing water distribution, especially to rural areas. The law even prohibited the free use of people’s wells in private land and collecting rain water in tanks. President Evo Morales commented on this: “Without light, we can live […] with oil lamps, but without water we cannot live.” It turned out, that the Bolivian government approached IMF (International Monetary Fund) to help the region out with a loan. The IMF would make Cochabamba’s mayor accept a $14 million loan with the condition to privatize their water service. John Briscoe, the World Bank’s senior water official said it bluntly: “[…] getting water to poor communities is not a moral, but a practical question. […] water owned by the public managed by the public hasn’t done us any good in decades.” Subsequently, the Cochabamba government put up a bid to foreign investors. The winner was Bechtel from San Francisco, one of the largest engineering firms in the world with seemingly endless resources and global power. Bechtel formed a subsidiary, Aguas del Tunari, to manage the water supply. Cochabambinos were faced with 200 percent rate hikes, in some cases, $20/month for people whose monthly income didn’t exceed $60. The indigenous people of Bolivia look at water as somewhat sacred. “Water is s right for us, not something to be sold” they say. “The right to water is also tied to traditional beliefs since the time of the Incas.” So when the Bolivian and local government tried to sell out this God-given right of the people’s water to Bechtel, the people had enough. Full-fledged mobilization took place. Marcela Olivera, Oscar Olivera’s sister recalls the events of early February 2000. “For us it was like a party” she says further because it was supposed to be a gathering of campesinos and cholos from the city, “[…] because it was the demand of the people from the countryside and our demand from the city.” City and government officials both tried to dissuade the organizers from la toma because they thought it would be a violent takeover, but as Oscar Olivera recalls, the peoples’ representatives said: “Nothing is going to happen; it’s a toma with white kerchiefs, with flowers, with musical groups.” But the government officials didn’t believe the people and sent various factions of police and soldiers to “keep the peace.” Soon enough it turned out to be tear-gas and batons against the peaceful crowd, which started to involve more and more people, even ones who had no intention to get involved. Oscar Olivera remembers: “[…] something had deeply wounded [all] the people, a series of things that they felt inside and could not forget.” After a while the once peaceful crowd fought back with bricks and stones and slingshots or guaracas as they say it in the Quechua language. When they didn’t even have these “weapons”, they were banging on pots, just to do something. “We […] can’t get downtown […]. But at least we can make some noise.” The government gave in at this point and temporarily put a freeze on rate hikes. In March 2000, a consulta popular was organized, “which was the first in the country’s history.” More than 50 thousand people voted that Law 2029 had to be changed and Aguas del Tunari had to go. As the April 4 deadline came and went, it became clear that the government had no intention to change anything. Something had to be done. As Ana Lara Duran, a member of the Cochabamba Human Rights Assembly, recalls referring to “hasta las ultimas consequencias”, “Once you have already paid a certain price, you don’t back down, you don’t back down for nothing.” The final battle had started. “Between 50 to 70 thousand people attended the cabildos” for the final decisions. The spokesmen, led by Oscar Olivera, wanted a valid agreement signed by the government to accept the peoples’ demands. By this time, the movement was so infectious that unexpected people joined their cause. As Oscar remembers: “People from all walks of life participated. […] They were the rich from the Northern part of the city, with their clothes, their water, and their food, but this time something was different. This time they marched behind the slogans of the poor.” Again, the people raised road-blocks, took down Aguas del Tunari’s signs and peacefully took over their offices. Although the government forces tried to “behave”, tragedy still occurred. On April 8, 2000, 17-year old Victor Hugo Daza was shot in the face and killed in the main plaza. Other three campesinos in the outskirts of Cochabamba, El Alto, were also killed. Daza’s murderer, Capt. Robinson Iriarte was later acquitted and appointed as mayor without ever serving time for the murder. Finally Cochabambinos won their battle with the government that accepted all the people’s demands. Official agreements were signed. Bechtel and its Aguas del Tunari left. The Coordinadora, which was a representative entity of all the peoples in this fight, issued a statement, which expressed the all-encompassing thought about the Water Wars: The other great achievement of this mobilization is that we lost our fear. We came out from our houses and narrow communities in order to talk to each other. […] We occupied the streets and the roads because we are their true owners. We did it with our own strengths. No one paid us, no one required us to mobilize. […] For us, the working population of the city and the countryside, this is the real meaning of democracy. Today, Cochabamba still struggles with poverty and water problems. A woman stopped Oscar as the April blockades were coming down: “Compańero, now that the water is still going to be ours, what have we really gained?” Her husband had no job; she had to sell things in the street, and her children had to drop out of school because there was no money in the family. Also, as La Coordinadora activist comments: “Six years after the water revolt they still have water three days a week for two hours per day.” The hope however is there that one day with community initiative and input Cochabambinos will find the way to improve the situation and get water to all the people.