They run with smiles on their faces

On the state of student protests, Ecuador 2002

They run with smiles on their faces
dodging tanks and tear gas
they run like children
playing hide and seek
they throw stones at police
in a game with no end
they take classes on the side
studying engineering in any form
optometry, general high school
anything so they can forget
anything to earn money and get ahead
send their children to the US
they run with smiles on their faces
because they get a day off school
they scatter unorganized
while they taunt la policia
they break windows and rip up streets
angry about what
they run with smiles on their faces
playing hooky from school
while the revolution stands cold
they pick their fights carefully
so they can sleep easy
so they can drive cars and wear nike
and then one of them is dead
killed in “battle”
carrying a fake gun and wearing rock wounds on his head
and now there’s a real reason to fight
but everyone’s confused
and they still run with smiles on their faces

It is safe in this syrupy stew, Cuenca Ecuador

To F. Scott Fitzgerald

Upside down images
of a sky turned black
the inside of a skeleton
lost in shadows
blood pulsing inside my tubes
the sunshine drips
drips and covers me
like sweet molasses
it is safe in this syrupy stew
swimming in circles
inside circles
inside squares
leaning toward remembering
and then back the other way
I am left on the right side of life
the road leading away is
clear
the road leading here
cluttered and heavy
with boxes,
great secret trunks
full of memories
memories that slide around
inside circles
inside squares
life is funny
the way it follows lines and curves
to certain spots of light
to images of beauty
like strands of connective tissue

I visited my old host family in Cuenca tonight. They were so nice even after my two-year absence. They told me their house is still my house – to come back anytime. Cristian, the oldest son, tells me that the 16-year old protester who was shot and killed by the military 2 weeks ago was a friend of his. Cristian tells me the boy had a fake gun or a gun with no bullets in it and he pulled it out during a protest. The cops, thinking he had a gun and was going to shoot at them shot him instead. This seems like a strange story. I wonder how much I miss in the translation and how much Cristian is just making up. It seems so meaningless and such a silly way to die. Supposedly there was also evidence of several blows to his head adding more confusion and mystery to the story.

The tanks were shooting las bombas lacrimogenas (tear gas) at protesting students from tanks late into the afternoon. They moved from the Parque Calderon (the center of Cuenca) to one block away at the market, scattering kids everywhere. Business people and passersby pull out their handkerchiefs or hats and cover their mouths, speeding up their gait in order to leave the tear gas behind more quickly. They are accustomed to these disturbances, just as they were two years ago when I was living in this city.

The students seem to have no vision. They just want to be pissed off, throw rocks and run from gas. It’s the same routine as when I was here two years ago. Protest, gas, run, protest, gas, run. It doesn’t seem there is much forward movement or even a clear idea of what they hope to achieve. They seem stuck in some impotent cycle that is perpetuated year after year.

This is in sharp contrast to the organized indigenous groups who have been known to effectively shut down the entire country with strategically placed road blockades. They were the ones who led the protest on the capital that forced Mahuad to resign his presidency two years ago. The indigenous make up 60% or so of the population here and are a force to be reckoned with.

There are two kinds of bombs in Cuenca: las bombas lacrimogenas y las bombas aguas. One makes you cry and one makes you furious. Water balloons are thrown at pedestrians by squealing, hiding children on every street here. Buckets of water are dumped from balconies. Water guns are aimed from car windows. All are prolific in these mountain towns – I am told that it is the preparation for some holiday I still can’t quite understand. These water bandits have no mercy and are especially pleased when you yell at them and get angry. They seem to enjoy targeting tourists. Can’t say that I blame them. I imagine them keeping score as they giggle in the safety of their balconies or cars. Tourists are 50 points, locals 25 points and men in suits and women in high heels at least 75.

Claude Levi-Strauss (Tristes Tropiques)
“A journey occurs simultaneously in space, in time and in the social hierarchy.”

A Moment of Silence: Riobamba, Ecuador

16 January

Belonging

I feel alone
a lone star breathing
breath of the universe
universe-ity of life
life’s filled with desire
desire must be lonely
lyghts flicker quietly
quiet as the end of time
time raises questions
questions of belonging
belonging

I have decided to try a moment of silence – once a month on this day or two before I start bleeding. Before the physical pain and ovarian release begins. I will use this 24 hours of silence to center and find my peace. I can’t seem to find it outside myself. More often than not the things I do say on this day before my period are self-pitying and alienating. I am blank and confused. I see no need not to treat it as a day of fast and quiet – a day only for me.

[Months later, I remember this day. Jacob and I were at each other’s throats. Unable to see past our defenses. It’s interesting that I carry all the blame on myself. That I blame our inability to communicate on my period, which didn’t start for another week anyway. Why did I do that? Why did I let him make me feel so bad that day?]

17 January

Today we left Banos and arrived in Riobamba. Banos was beginning to feel like a big vortex sucking us in. We stayed too long (4 days?). My favorite thing there was our hostal, with it’s beautiful view, the whole top floor to ourselves, kitchen, clean bathroom and toilet paper included in the price, as well as the sweet old guy who has run the place for 30 years. I also liked the hot volcanic pools and cold waterfalls though for some reason we only went once, the last day we were there.

Riobamba is alive with people, not only tourists and those who serve tourists, but People. There were no angry signs in Banos, no graffiti, no call to action or armed protest, no demands for a government of and for the people. In Riobamba it is everywhere – people wanting and suffering, maybe even feeling revolution. Jacob seems equally happy about this change of scenery.

I ask “Why did we stay there so long?”

“We got sucked in”, he says.

The vortex. We agree.

At the Chifa (Chinese restaurant) tonight, we see a news story of student protests in Quito at the Universidad Central. It seems that many people were injured from the pictures on the news. There was tear gas, shooting, a burning bus, road blockades. We begin to get looks in the Chifa as we watch the news, not understanding as the news anchors speak quickly of the breaking story. I can only understand that students protested, that they were upset about a $.10 raise in the price of gas and prices rising for other things in the stores. I also picked out that the reporter focused on one injured student who was hurt very badly. We will have to wait until tomorrow for more.

I am reminded of Vipka saying that she can feel discontent bubbling just below the surface all over Ecuador. She predicted that it is inevitable or at least very likely that things will start to happen soon. I remember her story of Banos on New Year’s Eve. She told me that during the big New Year’s Eve celebration the people burned a large effigy of the World Trade Center towers and maybe one of George Bush. Everyone cheered and celebrated around these burning images in the center of town. I suppose my image of Banos was incomplete.

18 January
(only one day later and such a change of heart)

Riobamba is loud and unfriendly. It’s the first place I have seen people actually laugh openly at Jacob’s appearance – his blue dreds and loose free-box clothes. It’s too close. The hostal is dirty. We go to Cuenca early tomorrow. There’s not much to do in this city. It seems there are few places to hang out and little escape from the push of humans everywhere. I think I would have appreciated Banos more if more time had passed between our arrival in Quito and our visit there.

20 January

random related thoughts:

1. like small stars we head south part of the ever-changing constellation

2. the return to Cuenca filled with memories and a feeling of loss

3. dodging water balloons and buckets I pick my way through central Cuenca. (then): drenched by a child oblivious to my mask in honor of some strange holiday only the children seem to understand

4. (then again): soft children with eyes of the ancient quietly begging for money for food for
life

5. (sometimes) I think it’s easier to respect things I am not than to accept things that I am

6. to Dan: I think the best thing that can happen to your faith is a loss of trust in the person who represents that faith

7. people are crying all over the world.