The Starry Night

An unforgettable trip

Maybe one of my holidays of a lifetime was when I went to the Chiquitania (in the East of Bolivia). I travelled there with a group of friends and the man who would be my future husband. As the majority of this work team were Spanish, I thought that it would be interesting to get around to the Chiquitania route for many reasons (cultural diversity completely different from the west of the country, diversity in fauna and flora and above all because of the incredible historical Jesuit tradition of its churches, its architecture, art and music offered by the towns that make up the Chiquitania area).

The first part of the trip was by plane, which apparently did not involve much difficulty (1 hour or so). However, we had the bad luck of losing some of my husband's luggage, which was strange because it was a very short flight and with no flight change. After making the corresponding claim in addition to the paperwork, my husband began this adventure only with the company of his philosophy books. Far from looking like a set-back, my husband took this mishap philosophically (never better said).

Once we arrived in Santa Cruz (the closest city to the Chiquitania) we rented a car, we took on a guide, who at the same time would be our driver, and whose references that had been given to us were great but we certainly did not know him at all. That is how it all got started.

Without any more ado, the first day we could arrive without problems in San Javier, the first town that is included in the Chiquitania route. We were all amazed by the landscape, weather, people, and so on. At dinner we decided to spend the night in the village, especially because one of the team members is a biologist and needed more time to make his photographic record. The funny thing was that the only free place we found was a guesthouse and it only had double rooms. We had no problem sharing the room with the team, until the guide told us in a regretful tone that he would sleep in the car. All of us decided to include him with one of the team in a room ... sorry for the friend who shared the room with the guide, because he said that his snoring did not let him sleep for a moment and that if he repeated this experience he himself would be the one who would sleep in the car.

The whole route to San Ignacio was great, until we decided to stop in the middle of the road to walk and swim a little. By the time we realized, the guide-driver was not among us, nor the car, nor our ID, passports, money, etc. I must confess that I was so scared because we were in the middle of nowhere and I was the only one responsible for this group. Finally and fortunately for us, the guide reappeared and he told us that he had relatives near that place and he had decided to go and see them. Fortunately, nothing had disappeared. On the contrary, we were invited to a very special barbecue with the guide's relatives.

With this fact, life gave me a lesson of faith in some people. I was surprised, not only myself but also the entire team, by the behaviour of this family, that they had not only welcomed us all that night, but also when they learned that my husband had lost his luggage, they gave him typical T- shirts and shirts of the area. We were all thrilled to see so much generosity. It was undoubtedly a night of great surprises including a jam session.

Along the route I was able to learn and discover much more about my own culture and its history. It was also the first time I had the experience of sleeping in hammocks, in a kind of a tatami, of tasting fruits that I had never heard of, enjoying baroque music live, admiring the skill of the artisan carving of each and every one of the churches, to be involved in pre-Hispanic rituals, to get goose bumps when a young man explained to us that Chiquitania's churches were built on a horizontal level because God is among us and not above us, to enjoy dreamy landscapes, to get back to nature and perhaps the most impressive of all of this, to see the most breathtaking sunrises .... what colors!

Our adventure that initially was going to last for five days was extended to ten, and returning to our homes became much more difficult than we had imagined, we had created some bonds that continue right up to today.

El camino del guerrillero

I must admit that since I have lived in Spain, it is not that I now have a chauvinistic feeling towards my country of origin, but yes, I have been more interested in what happens there.

That is why in the few opportunities when there are news or talk about my country I am hooked. Precisely this happened to me last summer, while I was zapping channels, I was amazed to see a scene well known to me. It was the case of a kidnapping that happened in the 90s. Although the film was halfway through, I could not stop watching it.

For this reason, the last time I was in my country, I looked for that video, which left me with a double sensation. On the one hand, that the social injustice that exists in my country is the engine of many types of endless struggles. And on the other hand, that even the "bad guys" can and do have a good side.

The film which I refer to is: El camino del guerrillero, made by Von Andreas Pichler in 2007. The video begins with the news of that moment, reporting the tragic decade of the kidnapping of businessman Jorge Lonsdale in 1990, as well as the capture of some of the members of the armed group Comisión Néstor Paz Zamora (CNPZ) and identifying the leader of said group: Miguel Nothdurfter.

Pichler, far from focusing only on the kidnapping, tries to make the spectator know, and tries to understand what led Miguel Nothdurfter to take up arms. For this reason, the cinematographic work revolves around the figure of Miguel Nothdurfter, a native of the alpine region of the Tyrol, who received his basic training for the Franciscan order in the city of Bolzano. 

In the first part of the video, we can see and meet Miguel Nothdurfter from childhood until his youth, through the eyes of his mother, his relatives, his friends and his teachers. We can see that Miguel Nothdurfter was a charismatic leader, restless and a dreamer. Feeling a call to serve the most disadvantaged, Miguel Nothdurfter was ordained as a Jesuit and then went as a missionary to Bolivia in 1982.

From his arrival in Bolivia he could see and live the worst face of inequality and social injustice from the front row. He soon realized that being a priest was a privilege that contrasted to the way of life of many poor people. And feeling that from that figure of priest he could not reach the working-class and, even more, could not achieve any change, he decided to leave the Jesuits to study sociology and feel part of the ordinary people.

As a university student, he understood the reality of Bolivia and its problems. As a result in 1987, Nothdurfter created the Ejército Patriótico de Liberación Nacional (EPLN) and later the Comisión Néstor Paz Zamora, with the intention of transforming society through revolutionary action.

From this moment Pichler skillfully intertwines the events, (the kidnapping of businessman Jorge Lonsdale -representative of Coca-Cola in Bolivia-, the attack on the American embassy, ​​dynamiting the Kennedy's monument, among many), with the comments of the survivors of the armed group, with the letters that Nothdurfter sent to his mother and friends). The impact of all this is to identify that the armed group was made up of young people no older than 19, 20 or 22 years old. It is compelling to hear their dreams of wanting a different country, their audacity, their loyalty, their fears before those facts and their tragic descent. Likewise, you can detect the lack of experience and naivety they had when facing the police agency.

The descent in many ways was fatal, the death of Lonsdale, Nothdurfter, some members of the armed group, the suffering of Nothdurfter's mother, who like many of us could not stop thinking about whether this fight made sense or not. I was shocked by all the testimonies of the survivors on the other side. But undoubtedly I am disturbed to listen to Nothdurfter still with a very German accent singing the most popular cueca of the country, which says: long live my country Bolivia, a great nation, for her I give my life too, and my heart too.

It is incredible how he loved this country and gave everything he had for a change that we are still waiting for.

A fit of laughter

I grew up in a Jesuit school and for this reason it was usual to prepare and/or participate in the church

services. I remember that once a friend and I had to write the petitions. We agreed that if I wrote them, she would read them. As it seemed a good idea to me, we did it.

The day of the mass, I passed her the paper on which I had written the petitions. When it was her turn she got stuck in one of the words. At first, I thought she had not understood my handwriting; but no, the truth is that in her second, third and other attempts, she still got stuck while reading... The sympathetic priest told her to pass on to the next one. When my friend finished reading, the priest added:  

Lord. listen to our requests and also please we ask you to enlighten us with reading.

I could not help having a fit of laughter and even more so when I saw that my friend also took it with humor. The truth is that this Mass was so prolonged because of the attacks of massive laughter.

The last look?

Logically, since my father passed away, I have not stopped thinking about what it implies or means and what death leaves behind. Being in the house where he had lived his last years, the inevitable was present: to see him in every corner, to await his arrival as not so long ago, to still feel his scent, to get his things together without feeling his absence, or embrace his clothes waiting for his affectionate hug back. His huge collection of Long Plays, as well as his books and plans, or his huge photographic records are the evidence of how he had grown in size and wisdom from childhood until his last days. Each one of his belongings told us who he was, and at the same time they seemed to deepen his absence.

When the spate of memories became unbearable, I naively left his home, to try to forget him. It was an impossible mission, because just as in his house, out of it there was also reason to see him. My father was a very active person, so every corner of the city of La Paz ​​was reason to remember him; his university where he lived and gave his best years, his office, the stadium where he lived as a true fan, his favorite restaurants, the Plaza Murillo where he would read the newspaper so many times or where he would have his shoes polished, churches in which his faith grew, shops where he bought his magazines, the record store, the school where he studied, the house where he was born and grew up ... Maybe what I am trying to explain seems crazy, but even seeing older or young people, was a reason to remember him ... I suppose that I am still unable to understand or accept his absence...it is not true that time heals all wounds!

The good thing about all this was that being with my mother and my brothers, living for a few days in the same house like when we were kids, we started remembering my father's way of being, anecdotes that my mind had already forgotten, his peculiar humor, and in the end, all of us could only see the good things about him. Obviously, there were some not so positive things; that being said, time showed us that my father did the right thing and / or the best he could.

I naively believed the Chinese proverb: eyes that see no heart, do not feel (out of sight, out of mind), so I thought that when I returned to Spain, that pain that my heart occupied in all this trance, would diminish; but on the contrary, I discovered that my dad is in me and it's hard for me to accept that the person who I loved a lot and who loved me most in this world... is no longer ...

Many say life goes on ... and that makes me depressed, because for me life is not the same anymore, at least right now, so I do not feel the same and of course I am not the same person. I can not hold back the tears coming to my eyes in the most unexpected places and situations.... I guess I am stuck with what they call sadness ...

Wednesday, 13rd December

Maybe this day is one of those that will remain so intact and painful in my memory at the same time. I remember that, as always, when I got up I saw my father´s picture, but this time I had a feeling; I'm not superstitious, but I thought this day would bring bad news ... Finally, when I got home around 11.20 I saw that I had a voice message .. My soul shuddered to see that the sender was my younger brother ... I thought, humm he almost never sends voice messages; something had happened ... and indeed, that message was the atomic bomb that just destroyed me on the inside.

The incredulity, the sadness, the rage and impotence took me over; yes, it's true my father´s health was very delicate, but how to accept that he was gone, how to accept his farewell, how to accept that I could never hug him again or tell him I love you, how ...

I remember how my mind almost stopped working, I could not figure out what to do, I immediately called my parents' house, my brothers, but nobody answered, maybe it was the time difference ... but no, they were in the middle of the sad task of the medical paperwork and the death certificates ... only with the help of my husband could I get the ticket for the longest and saddest flight I've ever had.

In less than 18 hours I stepped on Bolivian soil, and of course, how to forget all those occasions when my father waited for me at that airport; even then I missed his absence. The next thing happened so fast, seeing my family broken in pain, seeing his room and his things again, with a terrible silence, with a huge absence, dressing for the wake, and maybe the most terrible thing to see him without his vital energy, without hearing his strong voice.

But it was when I stroked his face, his hair and saying goodbye for the last time when I felt myself dying, when I felt that life no longer made sense; lo and behold, in a spontaneous way when his friends, people with whom he worked and shared a lifetime, began to give testimony to what he was, once again my father surprised me, that rock of leadership, that charisma, the ability to be the best friend and make friends, that headstrong and quixotic attitude of he who gave his life for what he believed, made me feel so proud and blessed to be his daughter.

Knowing that my dad marked the lives of so many people was the best farewell we could give him.

The normality of crimes

A couple of days ago a friend told me about a criminal act. Her friend, an elderly woman who was returning from work at night, was beaten up by a group of teenagers apparently for no reason. This fact made me think that nowadays, crimes seem to be inevitable, like illness, death or pain.

Under this assumption, I would like to present the following argument: If all societies impose systems of norms on their members, these rules would comply to the attempt to serve the purpose of normalizing behavior and prohibit deviations that society condemns. However, since human beings are very different and have tendencies to be original and creative, some of the forms of behavior they undertake will be among the prohibited ones. These prohibited actions range from prophetic statements condemning the existing society to antisocial behaviour classified as "criminal".

As long as a society imposes regulations, it will necessarily condemn actions that ignore those rules. If the punishments against for certain acts, for example -murder, is very hard, the violent crimes in that society can be reduced. Nevertheless, once this has been achieved, attention can be diverted to deviant behaviour that had been particularly tolerated. To illustrate this idea, we could think about a developing society where there is a lot of violence. In this society, differences in the norm of conduct are probably tolerated. But in a highly regulated society as in a class, where violence has been completely eliminated due to heavy punishments, the actions that are considered infractions would be whispering, chewing gum, using the mobile and similar things. In this way while there are rules, there will be infractions. Consequently, these deviations will be considered as regrettable and will be classified as deviant or inappropriate behavior. Therefore, wherever there is a system of norms, there will be deviant behaviour.

Considering the previous reasoning, there will be people who can affirm that human beings are educable and that antisocial tendencies can be eliminated over time. Others may say that as long as the differences are not eliminated, that will be useless. As I see it, all that is needed is for people to learn to be more tolerant of interindividual differences. I just wrote this and the following paradox arises: if, assuming an extreme position, it could be that the real origin of the problem is in the rules themselves, and/or if all of them were abolished and people could manage their free will, would the the antisocial behaviour disappear? .... Humm I just could not find an answer ...