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2016 Geographical Conflict in Bolivia: Mobilization of Identity by the Comité Pro Santa Cruz Julie Michele Mura

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COLLEGE OF SOCIAL SCIENCES AND PUBLIC POLICY

GEOGRAPHICAL CONFLICT IN BOLIVIA: MOBILIZATION OF IDENTITY BY THE

COMITÉ PRO SANTA CRUZ

JULIE MICHELE MURA

A Dissertation submitted to the Department of Geography in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

2016

Julie Mura defended this dissertation on July 15, 2016. The members of the supervisory committee were:

Victor Mesev Professor Directing Dissertation

Eric Coleman University Representative

Ron Doel Committee Member

Christopher Uejio Committee Member

The Graduate School has verified and approved the above-named committee members, and certifies that the dissertation has been approved in accordance with university requirements.

To Justin, Jackson, Rosco and Dutchess

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This dissertation could not have been completed without the continued support of my family and a select few friends and colleagues who assisted me throughout this research process. In particular, I would like to thank Yesenia Escribano, my friend and most valued supporter throughout my academic journey. Yesenia’s guidance with locating valuable data and work with the creation of the maps that appear in this dissertation is what truly helped produce this work. I am so appreciative of my lovely assistant Brooke Boynton, for working with me in my first months as a new mommy and in the strangest of office settings. Your support in the final stages of the dissertation process was unbelievable. I am also so appreciative to any colleagues who reviewed and offered critical feedback of this dissertation. I would like to thank Dr. Victor Mesev, who stepped in as my major advisor and persevered with me through the remainder of my research, helping me refine the direction of my work. I would like to thank as well, all of my committee members, Dr. Ron Doel, Dr. Christopher Uejio, and Dr. Eric Coleman, whose guidance at key moments in this process was vital. I would also like to thank Julianne Thomas in the Florida State Financial Aid Office. Your constant support in funding this research has been amazing. Many thanks go out to everyone who assisted at the libraries and archives both in Florida and in Bolivia. A special thank you to Nicole and Manuel de Lemoine to opening doors to so many contacts in Bolivia. Finally, thank you to my mom, Nancy Mura, my sister, Lisa Abrams, my man, Justin Kowalsky and our son Jackson. Your love and support have meant so much to me. And also, thank you to my love Rosco and Dutchess for always being there.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

List of Figures ...... vii Abstract ...... xi

1. INTRODUCTION ...... 1

1.1 Geography of Bolivia ...... 5 1.2 El Comité Pro Santa Cruz...... 11 1.3 Research Question(s) ...... 18 1.4 Overview of the Chapters ...... 19

2. LITERATURE REVIEW ...... 21

2.1 Social Movement Politics Literature ...... 21 2.1.1 Spatial Imaginaries and Cultural Identity Production ...... 22 2.1.2 Identity’s Relationship to Territory and Power ...... 24 2.2 Geographic Mappings Literature ...... 25 2.2.1 Technology and Authority in Mapping...... 26 2.2.2 Mapping Practices in Contemporary Social Movements ...... 29

3. METHODOLOGY ...... 30

3.1 Population Census Data ...... 36 3.2 Mainstream and Social Media Data ...... 38 3.3 Cartographic Data ...... 39 3.4 Fieldwork ...... 45

4. COMITÉ PRO SANTA CRUZ HISTORICIZTION OF IDENTITY ...... 47

4.1 Population Census Data ...... 49 4.1.1 Cultural Identification: Interpretation of Questions, Responses, and Results ...... 54 4.1.2 Cultural Identification: Interpretation of Enumerator Manuals ...... 62 4.1.3 Discussion of Census Data...... 67 4.2 Media Data ...... 68 4.2.1 Social Media ...... 68 4.2.1.1 Comité Pro Santa Cruz on Social Media ...... 70 4.2.1.2 Nación Camba on Social Media ...... 86 4.2.2 Discussion of Media Data ...... 91 4.3 Cartographic Representation ...... 95 4.3.1 Visualizing Guaraní Territory ...... 95 4.3.2 Discussion of Cartographic Representation ...... 104

5. CONCLUSION ...... 108

5.1 Contributions of the Dissertation ...... 108

5.2 Future Directions ...... 113

APPENDIX ...... 116

A. List of Provinces by Department ...... 116

REFERENCES ...... 118

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH ...... 134

LIST OF FIGURES

1.1 Departmental level map of Bolivia ...... 6 1.2 Provincial level map of Bolivia ...... 7 1.3 Indigenous Nations of Bolivia as declared in the 2009 Constitution...... 11 1.4 Rightwing vision of Bolivia map ...... 18 3.1 Non provincial features ...... 43 3.2 Multipart feature Cercado ...... 43 3.3 Explode multipart feature ...... 44 3.4 Remaining Cercado features based on location within department ...... 44 3.5 Digitizing gaps in limite_provincial.shp shapefile ...... 45 4.1 Enumerator’s Manual 2001: Question 32 ...... 55 4.2 Enumerator’s Manual 2001: Question 49 ...... 56 4.3 National Census of Population and Housing 2012: Question 29 ...... 57 4.4 Comparison of ethnic identification based on 2001 and 2012 Population Census Results 58 4.5 La Razón cartoon, August 8, 2012 ...... 60 4.6 La Razón cartoon, August 10, 2012 ...... 60 4.7 2001 and 2012 Bolivian Population Census comparison map...... 62 4.8 Enumerator’s Manual Rural 1976, illustration in index ...... 63 4.9 Enumerator’s Manual Rural 1976, illustration in index ...... 63 4.10 Enumerator’s Manual Rural 1976, illustration on page 4 ...... 64 4.11 Enumerator’s Manual Rural 1976, illustration on page 2 ...... 64 4.12 Enumerator’s Manual Rural 1976, illustration on page 34 ...... 64 4.13 Enumerator’s Manual Rural 1976, illustration on page 3 ...... 65 4.14 Enumerator’s Manual Rural 1976, illustration on page 5 ...... 65 4.15 Enumerator’s Manual Rural 1976, illustration on page 9 ...... 65 4.16 2012 Official Census symbol ...... 66 4.17 Wiphala Flag ...... 66

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4.18 2015 Album, Illustration of the founding of the Comité pro Santa Cruz ...... 71 4.19 2015 Album, Gallery photograph of all past CPSC presidents ...... 71 4.20 2015 Album, Illustration of civic struggles of the cruceño 1957- 1959 ...... 71 4.21 2015 Album, Illustration of the Unión Femenina Cruceñista 1957-1959 ...... 71 4.22 2015 Album, Archival photograph of Dr. Elffy Albrech speech ...... 71 4.23 2015 Album, Archival photograph of Unión Femenina Cruceñista ...... 71 4.24 2014 Album, Modelo de Desarrollo cruceño flyer ...... 72 4.25 2014 Album, Bajo el Cielo Más Puro de America banner ...... 72 4.26 2015 Album, Guaraní warrior mural ...... 73 4.27 2015 Album, Guaraní warrior mural at CPSC headquarters ...... 73 4.28 2015 Album, Illustration of CPSC Coat of Arms ...... 74 4.29 2015 Album, Photograph of CPSC Flag ...... 74 4.30 2015 Album, Photograph of Fernando Castedo at the Morning Star Ceremony ...... 75 4.31 2015 Album, Photograph of Guaraní peoples dressed in native attire and costumes ...... 75 4.32 2015 Album, Photograph of Guaraní children in the 24 de Septiembre Parade ...... 75 4.33 2015 Album, Photograph of Guaraní children at the 24 de Septiembre Parade ...... 75 4.34 2014 Album, Photograph of Fernando Castedo with disabled indigenous peoples ...... 76 4.35 2014 Album, Photograph of an indigenous man receiving medical care ...... 76 4.36 2015 Album, Photograph of demonstration at Christ the Redeemer Statue ...... 77 4.37 2014 Album, Photograph of CPSC banner ...... 77 4.38 2015 Album, Photograph of a Guaraní ceremony at the Cathedral ...... 77 4.39 2014 Album, Photograph of a parade for the demands of Beni ...... 78 4.40 2014 Album, Flag of Chuquisaca Department ...... 78 4.41 2015 Album, Photograph of an event for the Oriente Boliviano ...... 78 4.42 2014 Album, Photograph of banners at an event in the Plaza 24 de Septiembre ...... 79 4.43 2014 Album, Photograph of an Unión Juvenil Cruceñista march ...... 79 4.44 2015 Album, Illustration of the founding of Santa Cruz de la Sierra in 1561 ...... 80 4.45 2015 Album, Illustration of the Battle of Santa Barbara in 1815 ...... 80

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4.46 2015 Album, Illustration of the Rebellion de los Domingos in 1891 ...... 80 4.47 2016 Album, Archival photograph of a parade for productivity in 1958 ...... 82 4.48 2014 Album, Photograph of civic mobilization for decentralization in 1984 ...... 82 4.49 2015 Album, Civic demonstration for autonomy in 2008 ...... 82 4.50 2015 Album, Archival photograph of the Plaza 24 de Septiembre ...... 84 4.51 2015 Album, Indigenous shoe shiner in the Plaza 24 de Septiembre ...... 84 4.52 Mura, 2012, Person photo, Indigenous man sharpening scissors ...... 84 4.53 Mura, 2012 Personal photo, Queen of the Carnival ...... 86 4.54 2015 Album, Parade brochure ...... 86 4.55 Mura, 2012 Personal photo, Carnival pamphlet ...... 86 4.56 2015 Album, Photograph of the indigenous maiden ...... 86 4.57 2015 Album, Photograph of the Queen of the Carnival ...... 86 4.58 Mura, 2012 Personal photo, VIP staging area ...... 86 4.59 Nación Camba vision of Bolivia map ...... 87 4.60 2015 Album, Nación en accion ...... 89 4.61 2011 Album, Illustration of the Wiphala flag in flames ...... 89 4.62 2008 Album, Illustration of Nación Camba anarchy flag...... 89 4.63 2015 Album, Nación Camba Porras Quote ...... 89 4.64 2011 Album, Nación Camba Rand Quote ...... 89 4.65 2008 Album, Nación Camba political satire...... 89 4.66 2015 Album, Archival photograph of army occupation of Santa Cruz ...... 90 4.67 2011 Album, Archival photograph of civic mobilization in 1977 ...... 90 4.68 2008 Album, Archival photograph of a political rally in 1921...... 90 4.69 2014 Photos, Nación Camba Aymara Queswa map ...... 91 4.70 2015 Photos, Nación Camba Alto Peru map ...... 91 4.71 2014 Photos, Nación Camba Mi País map ...... 91 4.72 Original Guaraní territory ...... 96 4.73 Map of central South America 1652-1658 ...... 98

4.74 Map of South America 1777 ...... 98 4.75 Map of Jesuit provinces 1732 ...... 99 4.76 Map of native settlements 1789 ...... 99 4.77 Map of Peru and Bolivia 1851 ...... 100 4.78 Map of South America 1862 ...... 100 4.79 Map of central South America 1868 ...... 101 4.80 Map of movement of Santa Cruz de la Sierra ...... 101 4.81 Alternate mapping of Bolivian nations ...... 102 4.82 Alternate population map ...... 103 4.83 Guaraní overlay map ...... 104

ABSTRACT

My dissertation explores the Comité Pro Santa Cruz, a Bolivian rightwing social movement which developed to promote the political and economic interests of the eastern lowland department of Santa Cruz’s white and mestizo “elite” social groups (those of predominantly European descent who are also members of powerful political and business networks). I examine how in order to legitimate contemporary claims to political, economic, and territorial rights, the CPSC is constructing its own historical-geographical imaginary, one that describes a lengthy regional struggle for both recognition and autonomy from the Bolivian state, while simultaneously claiming a shared indigenous cultural and territorial identity with lowland indigenous peoples. My research posits that the CPSC established their discourse of identity by 1) manipulating language, 2) through use of both mainstream and social media, and 3) through depictions of space. My dissertation explores how each of these methods are engaged by the organization to achieve their greater political, economic, and territorial goals. In spite of their continued and growing importance throughout the region, as Perreault (2008) suggests, there has been little work by geographers on rightwing or elite social movements. Seeking to advance research on rightwing and elite social movements, my dissertation explores how the CPSC enacts its discourse in ways that attempt to naturalize racial, social, and spatial boundaries. My research employs Foucauldian discourse analysis through an examination of Bolivian Population Census and media data (with a predominant focus on social media), analysis of cartographic representations (both contemporary and archival), and data has gathered during personal fieldwork in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Bolivia. Underpinned by geographic literature on social movements politics and geographic mappings, my dissertation provides new ways of visualizing rightwing and elite discourse. I find that this type of analysis can broaden our understanding of cultural identity politics and how movements of both the left and right use identity to obtain political, economic, and territorial rights.

CHAPTER ONE

INTRODUCTION

I first became interested in Bolivia through discussion with friends about the region during the early months of my doctoral studies. Whenever my coursework allowed, I began to delve into a deeper understanding of Bolivia’s many unique qualities. I became fascinated with the history of conflict endured by the indigenous population and found myself drawn from the time when the country first elected a leader who represented the majority indigenous peoples. I wanted to conduct research on Bolivia and began planning a reconnaissance mission soon in case political conditions worsened and field trips become difficult. The physical landscape of the country was also an initial concern. The airport in LA Paz- the highest altitude airport in the world- was a particular obstacle to me later after I became pregnant. Local means of transportation was another potential hazard, especially in remote areas, where travel by bus is treacherous on mountain roads, or through salt flats. Walking to remote rural villages can also delay fieldwork for weeks because of bad weather. An additional preliminary concern was how I would be treated as an American, and even more so, as an American student, as many local people have become quite leery of foreigners nosing in areas where the government felt they did not belong. For these reasons and as I had only just begun to learn Spanish, I opted to begin my travels in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, the capital of the department of Santa Cruz, a thriving urban center and a primarily English speaking city. At the same time, I had just read Perreault’s (2008) review of the geographical literature on Latin America, where he noted that in spite of their continued and growing importance throughout the region, there has been little work by geographers on rightwing or elite social movements. He commented that researchers tend to engage with the subject position which they are most sympathetic to, and that this may not allow for a more thorough understanding of respective conflicts. I realized that I had the perfect opportunity to begin my work in a city that was also home to the minority non-indigenous, Bolivian right. While in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, I met and engaged with many residents who were also members of the Comité Pro Santa Cruz (Pro-Santa Cruz Committee) (or CPSC), a rightwing organization, and one of the original proponents for establishing regional autonomy in the country. The CPSC originally developed to promote the political and economic interests of the eastern lowland department of Santa Cruz’s white and mestizo “elite” social groups (those of

1 predominantly European descent who are also members of powerful political and business networks). From that moment forward, I began a regional geography study on what is geographically known as lowland Bolivia and the inhabitants of the lowland region, whose national political and economic interests are largely represented by the CPSC. I examine how in order to legitimate contemporary claims to political, economic, and territorial rights, the CPSC is working backward through history, constructing its own historical-geographical imaginary, one that describes a lengthy regional struggle for both recognition and autonomy from the Bolivian state, while simultaneously claiming a shared indigenous cultural and territorial identity with lowland indigenous peoples. The benefit of a recognized shared indigenous heritage equates to two very important things; a claim based on the 2009 Bolivian Constitution to native lands rich in resources such as gas, oil, iron ore, and lithium, and the territorial cohesion needed to maintain departmental autonomy rather than losing vital (resource rich) territory by the creation with the department of an indigenous autonomous region. As my original interest in Bolivia was examining what I understood to be the ongoing repression of the indigenous population, I was determined to set my biases aside and what I originally perceived as right and wrong or good and bad sides in this ongoing cultural and territorial conflict. My motive was simply to examine the discourse of the CPSC and how a group of wealthy and privileged citizens believed their rights and way of life were being repressed. While my point of view as an American, with no inherent connection to Bolivia or Bolivian culture, clearly situated my position as an outsider in this research, I find it allowed me to be more aware of the binary cultural categories created within the country and the fluidity of interpretation of these categories I was analyzing based on various geographic locations within the country, and amongst varying classes of citizens. As this is a regional geography study, I had a particular interest in considering how these issues I was examining with in Bolivia can relate to the broader region of Latin America, and to the rest of the world. While there is much that is unique and significant about the conflict between people considered highlanders and with those known as lowlanders, and between indigenous and non-indigenous populations in Bolivia, the conflicts may not always receive sympathy from neighboring countries. What sympathy is shown from countries, such as Argentina and Brazil, is over who is in control of the region’s abundant natural gas and oil resources, and the growing foreign interest in the country’s extensive lithium deposits in the

Salar de Uyuni and agricultural exports such as the growing soy industry. Yet as my dissertation will discuss, an examination of the cultural tensions that have long echoed throughout Bolivia offers much to those interested in the engagement of cultural identity, and how movements of both the left and right use identity to obtain political, economic, and territorial rights. Utilizing conceptualization offered by Snow et al. (2004, p.11), social movements can be thought of as “collectivities acting with some degree of organization and continuity outside of institutional or organizational channels for the purpose of challenging or defending extant authority, whether it is institutionally or culturally based, in the group, organization, society, culture, or world order of which they are part”. Contemporary movements in Bolivia, such as the Guerra del Aqua (Water War) of 2000, Guerra del Gas (Gas War) of 2003, or in the ongoing Autonomía (Autonomy) movement utilize ethnic background and social class to accentuate geographic understandings of citizenship and identity. This is as true for the CPSC as it is for indigenous movements of the country’s Andean west, as both are rooted in a historical view that hinges on the refashioning of identity and its articulation with understandings of national space (Perreault & Green, 2013, p.56). The way I interpret collective identity is the context of this research is that of a group of people asserting a shared way of life that has historic roots. In the context of legal documents in Bolivia and the government agencies that make decisions on matters where identity is engaged, such as approving autonomous region status, the definition of identity is engaged as a group of people that demonstrate shared specific common features such as the same cultural language, historical tradition, and worldview (cosmovision), and can also demonstrate a connection to ancestral lands from times unmemorable. Although there has been important work by political scientists (such as Eaton), and anthropologists (such as Gustafson), little work by geographers has engaged in rightwing movements in Bolivia. Insightful discussion of the Bolivian right has been largely presented in geography by Fabricant, although her work focuses almost solely on the physically violent means and spectacular performances staged by the more extreme ethno-regionalist group Nación Camba. My contribution to the geographic literature lies more specifically in my examination of the subtler ways a group (in this case, Bolivian elites) establish an identity. My research posits that the CPSC established their discourse of identity by 1) manipulating language, 2) through use of both mainstream and social media, and 3) through depictions of space. My dissertation explores how each of these methods are engaged by the organization to achieve their greater political, economic, and territorial goals.

To solidify greater regional control (and as a basis to oppose emerging Andean indigenous movements), there has been a deliberate aim by the CPSC to construct a shared regional history (Perreault & Green, 2013). The most prominent form of identity construction to this end has been the articulation of the camba and colla territorial marker. Lowlanders (e.g. Guaraní, Chiquitano, and Guarayu peoples) or cambas (a term which conveniently refers to all lowland Bolivians independent of their ethnic, linguistic, or socioeconomic status), are described as fundamentally different from highlanders, or collas (e.g. Aymara and Quechua peoples). As Perreault and Green (2013, p.54) point to, the term camba has been refashioned over the past half-century into an identity position denoting a particular kind of mestizaje (or racial/cultural mixing) distinct from that in the country’s Andean west. My research employs Foucauldian discourse analysis through an examination of Bolivian Population Census and media data (with a predominant focus on social media), analysis of cartographic representations (both contemporary and archival), and data gathered during personal fieldwork in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Bolivia, to explore how the CPSC engages these linguistic categories in ways that naturalize racial, social, and spatial boundaries. Underpinned by geographic literature on social movements politics and geographic mappings, my dissertation provides new ways of visualizing rightwing and elite discourse. My research posits that this type of analysis can broaden our understanding of cultural identity politics and how movements of both the left and right use identity to obtain political, economic, and territorial rights. By documenting and analyzing the ways in which social movements historicize collective identity (i.e. to make or appear historical through collective memory), my research has the intellectual merit of enhancing our understanding of how movements conceptualize local, regional, and national space and how these conceptualizations may be engaged in varying social geographies of mobilization. By giving more attention to rightwing and elite movements, my study adds new dimensions to geographic research that investigates the complex negotiation of multiscalar (local, regional, and national) ontologies in Latin America. My study also has broader impacts by documenting the historicization of Santa Cruz’ white and mestizo elites and through unique interpretation of data which may have interdisciplinary implications. That the (re)imagining by the CPSC has a significantly different tone than other movements of the Bolivian right and left- with reference to such key concepts as ethnicity, indigeneity, and national space- is in little doubt. What is less clear, however, is just

what this difference means in political and spatial terms. It is this complication between imagining and action that my dissertation will explore.

1.1 Geography of Bolivia But first some background on Bolivia. The geography of Bolivia is quite unique among the nations of Latin America. Physiographically bisected, economically divided, and culturally bifurcated, Bolivia is a severely challenged State (de Blij, et al., 2014, p.263). Moreover, the country’s prospects are further complicated by its political geography. It is one of two landlocked countries on the South American continent, and is more rural than urban (an area occupied by 2,000 or more persons) (ine.bo.gov). Although some two-thirds of Bolivia’s territory consists of tropical and semitropical lowlands, from the Pacific coast deserts of the Atacama region (until this past century) in the west, to the vast stretches of eastern lowlands and flood plains forming parts of the Amazonian and Pilcomayo river basins in the east, humanity has been concentrated in the highlands from remotest times until today (Klein, 2011, p. 1). A society that has successfully adapted to one of the highest altitudes of human settlements on earth, Bolivians have created a constantly changing multiethnic society. Bolivia is one of the most physically, ecologically (and by extension, culturally) diverse places on the planet. The country soars over two Andean mountain ranges and the high, cold plateau between them known as the altiplano (or high plateau), before dropping eastward through high, dry valleys and then plunging into the dense humidity of the Amazon basin in the north and the arid, dusty Chaco plain to the south (Kohl, et al., 2011, p.xxiiiv). Although two-thirds of its territory is lowlands, most outsiders only know its mountainous region, home to the majority of its approximately ten million people (Características de Población y Vivienda, p.4). Bolivian society evolved in a highly complex and unusual environment. Although situated in tropical latitudes, it was in fact an unusually high altitude society only comparable to those few similar societies in the Himalayas. From the earliest human settlement to the present day, a good part of its people have lived at altitudes over five thousand feet above sea level, with the majority of the population found at 12,000 feet or above (Klein, 2001, p.1). Governed during the Spanish colonial period as the Audiencia de Charcas, the territory of present-day Bolivia was divided into four large intendencias (municipalities): Chuquisaca, La Paz, Potosi, and Santa Cruz. Each intendencia became a department upon independence, and out

5 of these existing departments, five additional departments were subsequently carved: Cochabamba (1825), Oruro (1826), Tarija (1826), Beni (1842), and Litoral (1867). The department of Litoral, along with Bolivia’s coastal access, was lost to Chile in the War of the Pacific in 1881, and an additional department (Pando) was carved out of Beni in 1938 (Eaton, 2007, p.75). Thus, for the past nearly eight decades, Bolivia has been divided into nine regional departments, five in the mountainous western part of the country and four in what is known as the media luna, or crescent-shaped area that curves around the foothills of the Andes in the northern, eastern, and southeastern lowlands (ibid) (See Figure 1.1). Bolivia’s nine departments are regionally divided between indigenous-majority departments in the west and those with mestizo majorities in the east. The capital city, La Paz, lies on the indigenous-majority Andean Altiplano, but many mestizo Bolivians do not recognize it as such: historically the functions of central government have been divided between La Paz (the administrative headquarters) and Sucre (which lost most of its government branches in 1899 during the so-called guerra federal (federal war) but retained the Supreme Court, thereafter calling itself the “constitutional capital”) (ibid).

Figure 1.1 Departmental level map of Bolivia

Bolivia is further divided administratively into 112 provinces (See Figure 1.2) (See Appendix A for province names), 339 municipalities, and 1,384 cantons (United Nations, 2016).

Figure 1.2 Provincial level map of Bolivia

Since the sixteenth-century Spanish Conquest, Bolivia has almost invariably served the needs of foreigners and national criollos (those claiming pure European heritage). The dominant economic pattern, no matter what the economic and political model, has been based on the export of Bolivia’s vast natural resources. Even though it gained independence from Spain in 1825, the legacy left by colonialism and a rapacious extractive economy has persisted, profoundly damaging the physical environment and creating one of the most extreme cases of economic dependency in Latin America. It has also skewed Bolivia’s economic income distribution. According to the United Nations Development Programme (HDR 2009), the country was second only to Haiti as the most unequal in the world’s most unequal region, with 10% of the population controlling 40% of all income and an even greater share of land and other wealth (Kohl, et al., 2011, p. xxv). Bolivia’s economic boom and bust cycles have consistently produced major distributive conflicts between its constituent departments. Throughout history what has remained unchanged is the heavy dependence of the economy on natural resources. Despite this continuity, the

identity of the leading commodity has changed through time, and each commodity shift has generated tensions between regional winners and losers (Eaton, 2007, p.76). In the late nineteenth century, for instance, the town of Potosí in the eastern cordillera became a legend for the discovery of immense deposits of silver in its vicinity, tin, zinc, copper, lead, and several ferroalloys (de Blij, et al., 2014, p. 262). The tin boom led to the construction of railways from the department of La Paz through the department of Oruro to Pacific ports in Chile and Peru, severely displacing agricultural goods from the department of Santa Cruz and marginalizing it from the national economy for decades (Eaton, 2007, p.76). While the shift from silver to tin favored one western department (La Paz) over another (Chuquisaca), the subsequent collapse of mineral exports and the rise of agro-export activities in the 1970s and 1980s led to the decline of western departments relative to the departments of the media luna. Revenues from natural resources including timber, petroleum, and gas became increasingly important in the second half of the twentieth century (Eaton, 2007, ftnt 14). As Eaton (2007, p.77) notes, this shift in the economy accelerated with the discovery in 1997 of natural gas deposits in eastern Bolivia- the largest in Latin America outside of Venezuela. By 2000, and as a result of this latest regional shift, the department of Santa Cruz, with less than a quarter of the population, produced 40% of the country’s export revenue and 42% of its tax revenue (Eaton, 2007, p.77). Santa Cruz, the agro-industrial capital of Bolivia, currently accounts for 42% of the nation’s agricultural output and 34% of its industrial gross output, while neighboring department Tarija, accounts for 80% of the natural gas (Fabricant, 2009, p.769; Kirshner, 2010, p.109). Santa Cruz is now the Bolivian headquarters of multinational agricultural and petroleum firms including Archer Daniels Midland, British Gas, Spain’s Repsol, and Brazil’s Petrobras (Kirshner, 2010, p.109). Although Bolivia in the wake of the 1952 Revolution experienced one of Latin America’s most significant land reform programs, land redistribution on a significant scale occurred only in the western departments (Klein, 2003, p.215). As a result, land ownership in Santa Cruz has remained highly concentrated among a small percentage of the population that holds vast tracts of land. For all of the nineteenth century and half of the twentieth century, Santa Cruz elites were owners of agricultural plantations that used debt peonage to produce goods for regional markets and in a much more limited fashion, for the national market to the west. Beginning in the 1950s, however, these traditional haciendas were replaced with modern and increasingly extensive agrobusinesses that produce sugar, wheat, cotton, soy, and beef for both national and export

markets (Eaton, 2007, p.73). Despite diversification into nonagricultural activities however, agriculture remains the dominant activity of Santa Cruz’s economic elite, which as a class is committed to the defense of a highly concentrated pattern of land tenure (Eaton, 2010, p.74). While Bolivia’s economic prospects will always be impeded by the loss of its outlet to the Pacific Ocean, presently, natural gas and oil, exported to neighboring Argentina and Brazil, are leading sources of foreign revenues, and zinc has replaced tin as the leading export metal (de Blij, et al., 2014, p. 263). At the moment, hydrocarbons and soy comprise 80% of the country’s exports (Gustafson, 2006, p.360). Additionally, Bolivia’s Uyuni salt flats represent one of the country’s most promising new development opportunities. Once a liquid layer of salt brine evaporates, the residue consists mainly of lithium (de Blij, et al., 2014, p. 264). This lightest of all metals is used to manufacture the lithium-ion batteries that power portable electronic devices and hybrid motor vehicles, and Bolivia’s salt flats contain as much as half of the world’s lithium reserves (ibid). This economic prospect is complicated in that much of the land of the salt flats is the property of indigenous groups, whose land claims are legitimized by the country’s 2009 constitution, which enables indigenous communities to have control over resources in their territory- and potentially control the future course of development (ibid). Bolivia’s cultural geography (and by extension, political geography) is as divided as its physical geography, with the power base of the indigenous population lying in the altiplanos and mountains, and that of the mestizo minority centered in the interior lowlands (de Blij, et al., 2014, p. 263). According to the 2001 Bolivian Population Census, 62% of Bolivians considered themselves indigenous, the highest proportion in the Americas (ine.gob.bo), although that number dropped to 40.3% according to results of the 2012 Bolivian Population Census (Características de Población y Vivienda, p.31). And about 25-30% of the population are said to identify themselves as mestizos- those of mixed European and indigenous heritage (Kohl, et al., 2011, p. xxiiiv). Given the fluidity of indigenous identity, in practice, mestizos are usually urbanized people of indigenous heritage who largely reject their culture of origin’s customs. As Klein (2011, p.x) stresses however, the Bolivian definition of mestizo differs considerably from the more general meaning of the term for most Latin Americans. In Bolivia, the mestizo more closely identifies with his or her indigenous past than with the Western part of their culture and tends to maintain clothing and other symbols of identity even when adopting Spanish as their

9 primary language. Equally, the term “indígena” has become the standard to define all those who identify themselves as pertaining to an Amerindian group, even if they are mestizos (Klein, 2011, p.x). Yet, indígena (or indigenous) increasingly expresses subject positions and political claims that are not ethnically confined, which as Perreault & Green (2013, p.48) point to, signals the fact that indigeneity in Bolivia is not only an ethnic marker but rather that it intersects with, and is mutually constitutive of socioeconomic class and geographic region, serving to articulate diverse subjectivities and political claims. Moreover, in Bolivia, the term indígena, as it has come to be used in the past few decades, is typically used to refer to Amerindian groups specifically in the Amazonian and Chaco regions of the eastern lowlands, and not to Quechua or Aymara populations in the western Andean highlands. As a result, the term indígena is often associated with ethnic cohesion and territorial claims that have limited applicability to Andean groups (Perreault, 2008b, p.3). More commonly used among the most traditional Aymara and Quechua communities is the term “originario”, a more recent discursive innovation, signifying the country’s original inhabitants. This term was adopted in the 1990s as an Andean counterpart to the lowland-inflected indígena, and is today most closely associated with the Aymara and Quechua ayllu movement, an ethno-political project that claims roots in traditional socio- territorial organizational forms dating to pre-Columbian times (Perreault, 2008b, p.3). Though smallest in number, the most powerful economic and political group, comprising less than 10% of the population, are criollos (Kohl, et al., 2011, pp. xxiiiv-xxiv). While the 1952 revolution certainly improved life for the majority, the criollo minority maintained much of Bolivia’s exclusionary society and blocked indigenous peoples from fully integrating socially, economically, and politically. This created a deeply fractured country where social unrest and conflict have been the norm (Kohl, et al., 2011, p.xxv). Far from a static founding document, and of revolving contestation to indigenous peoples, mestizos, and crillos, Bolivia’s constitution has always been a work in progress. Since the first constitution enacted in 1826, Bolivia has had 17 versions (Albro, 2010, p.74). The history of citizenship in Bolivia has likewise been dynamic, with successive expansions of citizenship rights being a principal feature of consecutive national projects dedicated to the reinvention of the country. The 1952 Revolution was a democratic watershed, advancing the recognition of indigenous people as fellow citizens (though not as “indigenous” but as “campesinos”, or small-scale agriculturalists) and asserting their rights to vote, to education, and

to land, as well as other individual civil and political rights (ibid). This process, however, was accompanied by a project of consolidation of Bolivia’s identity in which class, ethnic, and regional distinction were to be brought together under the umbrella of an integrationist mestizo nationalism. While the 1952 State is often associated with key extensions of citizenship, it has nevertheless been viewed as an “uncompleted revolution” since its promises dissipated with the years of dictatorship that followed (Malloy, 1970). It has further been noted that the revolution failed to transcend the pervasive facts of “internal colonialism” (Rivera, 1993). Decades later, in a move away from the mestizo assimilation commitments of the 1952 State, the 1994 constitution described the state as “multicultural and pluriethnic” (Albro, 2010, p.75). For the first time, Article 171 of the constitution also formally recognized the social, economic, and cultural rights of the country’s indigenous people (ibid). Reforms that originated in the 1994 constitution set the stage for the overhaul that became the 2009 constitution. Passed by popular referendum in 2009, Bolivia’s current constitution established four types of autonomy; regional, departmental, municipal, and indigenous. It also redefines Bolivia not as a republic but as a “plurinational state” composed of 36 indigenous nations (Neuva Constitucion Politica del Estado, 2009). Each indigenous nation is recognized individually for their respective language, customs, and way of life that has been maintained for centuries. (See Table 1.1).

Indigenous Nations of Bolivia Aymara, Araona, Baure, Bésiro, Canichana, Cavineño, Cayubaba, Chácobo, Chimán, Ese Ejja, Guaraní, Guarasu'we, Guarayu, Itonama, Leco, Machajuyai-kallawaya, Machineri, Maropa, Mojeñotrinitario, Mojeño-ignaciano, Moré, Mosetén, Movima, Pacawara, Puquina, Quechua, Sirionó, Tacana, Tapiete, Toromona, Uruchipaya, Weenhayek, Yaminawa, Yuki, Yuracaré, Zamuco

Figure 1.3 Indigenous Nations of Bolivia as declared in the 2009 Constitution

1.2 El Comité Pro Santa Cruz

The CPSC is the umbrella organization for all unions, civic and business organizations representing civil society in Santa Cruz. Backed by the powerful business class (i.e. doctors, lawyers, architects) and the synergetic forces of the 183 member organizations (i.e. the private chamber of commerce, the cattlemen, the industrialists, the forestry chamber, the agro-livestock chamber, the soy producers chamber and representatives of provincial civic committees and

social clubs), the CPSC has been able to bring about real pressure to the government and thus consolidate itself as the de facto regional government of Santa Cruz (Buitrago, 2005; Gustafson, 2006, p.363). The CPSC was formed in 1950 when the then 43,000 cruceños (moniker for citizens of Santa Cruz), living in the isolated region of Bolivia (present day Santa Cruz), were mobilized by a group of university students (ibid). At the time, the first priority of the new organization was to demand the integration of the city through a road connecting Cochabamba and Santa Cruz. In addition, the committee asked the central government for drinking water, electricity, a sewer system and for paved streets (ibid). In early 1951 the first cabildo (town hall meeting or mass street assembly) was organized marking the beginning of a long tradition of cabildos to express cruceño demands (ibid). The advent of the 1952 revolution marked the dissolution of the committee as the Movimiento Nacionalista Revolucionario (MNR) placed in its firm grip the city of Santa Cruz de la Sierra. But, the disappearance of the CPSC was short lived. In 1957 the organization resurfaced with new demands for the central government and fought for the right to receive an 11% stake from the taxes of oil production (reflecting the shift in foreign resource interest from tin to oil). This represented one of the CPSC’s first major victories and a convenient issue to contest the central government's rule and the power of Sandoval Moron, the then president of Bolivia (Fabricant, 2009, p.771). To further promote their campaign, they emphasized their Spanish, non-Indian heritage to claim rights to such resources as the direct heirs of the conquistadores (ibid). When the period of MNR rule came to an end with the military coup of 1964, the resulting repression of political society at the national level drew even greater attention to the vibrancy of departmental civic committees (Eaton, 2007, p.76). The CPSC won its battle for a larger share of oil revenues and dedicated this income to a series of expansive regional development projects, which favored large-scale agricultural and urban-based industry. The themes that infused early resistance to central government- geographic and historical marginalization, ethnic and racial differences, economic expansion, and strong opposition to redistributive proposals- set the stage for the present conflict (Fabricant, 2009, p.771). Over nearly two decades of a military-led government in Bolivia (1964-1982), the influence of cruceño elites was significantly extended at the national level. Throughout the political volatility of this era, support for change of national government, rather than demands for departmental autonomy, was the consistent motive of the CPSC which directly correlated to

significant economic benefits for the department (Eaton, 2007, p.77). Increased state centralism and neoliberal economic policy, used in the 1980s and 1990s, only further benefitted the department of Santa Cruz. The adoption of market-friendly and pro-export economic policies had a strongly negative impact in the western part of the country, where the producers of non- tradable goods dominated, and a very positive impact in the east, where the bulk of the country’s exports were then located (Eaton, 2007, p.79). Beginning in the 1990s, however, Bolivia began to experience a series of transformations at the municipal and national levels that directly threatened elites in Santa Cruz- primarily decentralization policies at the municipal level (rather than the departmental level) enacted under President Gonzalo Sánchez de Losada (1993-1997) as an attempt to keep regional authority limited (based on interviews by Eaton, 2007, p.80). It was during this time that the CPSC embraced autonomy as its new goal and dismissed decentralization as something that had already taken place in Bolivia (ibid). Ultimately the national emergence and rise of Evo Morales’ Movimiento al Socialismo (Movement toward Socialism) (MAS) after 2000- which was facilitated by the multiple victories his party lined up at the municipal level- signified the deepest challenge to elite interests in Santa Cruz. The emergence of MAS as a majority party meant that Morales, Bolivia’s first indigenous (Aymara) president, did not need to negotiate with any traditional parties. As a result, elites in Santa Cruz did not perceive their loss of voice in the national government to be a temporary matter and instead contended that the defense of their interests required some form of autonomy from central government (Eaton, 2007, p.83). Of great importance to the Autonomía movement were two days in June 2004 and January 2005, when hundreds of thousands of cruceños answered the call issued by the CPSC to demonstrate on behalf of autonomy for Santa Cruz (Eaton, 2007, p.84). In the period between these two demonstrations, the CPSC collected approximately 500,000 signatures in support of a referendum on autonomy and led a civic strike in November 2004 in the attempt to force the national government to hold this referendum (based on an interview with J.C. Urenda, one of Bolivia’s foremost experts on departmental administrative law, by Eaton, 2007, p.84). In addition to protests and strikes, the CPSC also unilaterally moved to create a departmental assembly (not allowed within Bolivia’s previous constitution) and symbolically declared its own president as governor of Santa Cruz in January 2005 (Eaton, 2007, p.84). Additionally during this time, the CPSC began working on the autonomy issue with other organizations, including;

the public Universidad Autónoma Gabriel René Moreno (Gabriel René Moreno Autonomous University or UAGRM), the Unión Juvenil Cruceñista (UJC), the Nación Camba (a radical ethno-nationalist movement), the Cámara de Industria y Comercio (Chamber of Commerce and Industry or CAINCO), and the regional Central Obrera Departmental (Departmental Worker’s Central or COD) (Centellas, 2010, pp.9-10). While these actions provoked a strong response from the military, the mobilization capacity worked in a sense that they forced the central government to agree to two sets of elections; for regional prefects (regional governors) and a nationwide referendum on departmental autonomy (Eaton, 2007, p.84). While the majority of Bolivians (56%) rejected regional autonomy in this referendum held in July 2006, 71% of voters in Santa Cruz voted in favor of autonomy (ibid). Morales campaigned against the referendum but pledged his party would respect the results in Santa Cruz and would initiate a debate on autonomy in the constitutional assembly (ibid). He was later more hostile to the 2008 series of unsanctioned referendums (held in Beni, Pando, and Tarija) which gave voters an opportunity to approve their own autonomy statutes (Centellas, 2010, p.12). In January 2009, voters across Bolivia went to the polls in a referendum to approve the new constitution that included recognition of regional autonomy for those departments that had previously approved it through popular referendum. In December 2009, voters in the five departments that had not previously approved autonomy were given another chance to vote for autonomy- a vote which was overwhelmingly approved in all five departments (Centellas, 2010, p.14). In mid-2010, voters again went to the polls, but to vote now for departmental governors and assemblies, as well as municipal governments. Thus after years of conflict with the central government, the CPSC and other leaders of the Santa Cruz Autonomía movement could claim a comprehensive victory. Santa Cruz was a constitutionally recognized autonomous region with a self-drafted autonomy statute (ibid). The Bolivian government moved quickly however to establish a Ministry of Autonomies to centralize autonomy and continues to make every attempt to impede departments from actually exercising their autonomy. For example, the state pressed charges against each of the governors in the departments that voted pro-autonomy (but has not pressed charges against the remaining five governors in departments that it does not consider opposition, even though they are also by law now autonomous) (boliviabella.com). The use of the population census as a means to curtail recognition of large segments of the population and to therefore impede departmental funding is arguably an additional tactic by the central government

(see detailed discussion in section 4.1). Thus, while the new constitution declares all Bolivian departments to be autonomous, the struggle to take this from theory into practice continues. Unwilling or unable to introduce greater autonomy when they enjoyed influence in the national government, lowland elites were forced to push for autonomy as a pressure group outside of central government (Eaton, 2007, p.85). The discourse of autonomy, for regional elites, now constitutes not just political autonomy for the lowland east but greater control over rents derived from the region’s natural resources (i.e., land, timber, gas, and oil) (Eaton, 2007, p.74). As shown in the Santa Cruz Autonomy Statute (the de facto constitution of Santa Cruz), autonomists seek full departmental authority over the administration of schools, health care, justice, and even internal migration. In addition to authority over economic policy (including the right to retain two thirds of all tax revenue generated in the department), the signing of contracts with multinational corporations, extraction of subsoil resources, and land distribution, while curtailing the national government’s reach and legitimacy (Asamblea Provisional, 2007). A major obstacle to their efforts has been the widespread perception that lowland elites are merely seeking to defend their own specific economic interests (for example, interviews conducted by Eaton (2007, p.85) in La Paz made problematic the position of the CPSC’s pro-autonomy position as the organization is opposed to proposals by Bolivia’s Guaraní population to create a new tenth department in the country’s gas-rich Chaco region, which would be carved out of the departments of Santa Cruz, Chuquisaca, and Tarija). To counter this perception, elites in Santa Cruz have sought to repackage their demands as broader geographic or territorial demands. To solidify greater regional control (and as a basis to oppose emerging Andean indigenous movements), there has been a deliberate aim by the CPSC to construct a shared regional history (Perreault and Green, 2013). The most prominent form of identity construction to this end has been the articulation of the camba and colla territorial marker. Lowlanders, or cambas (e.g. Guaraní, Chiquitano, and Guarayu peoples), are a group people described as fundamentally different from highlanders, or collas (e.g. Aymara and Quechua peoples). It is prominently asserted in the eastern lowland that cambas (a Guaraní word), are “progressive, productive, and peaceful”, whereas collas (from the Quechua word Kollasuyo, the Bolivian sector of the Inca Empire), are positioned as “regressive and combative” (based on interviews with CPSC activists by Perreault & Green, 2013, p.52). As Perreault and Green (2013, p.54) point to, the term camba has been refashioned over the past half-century into

an identity position denoting a particular kind of mestizaje (or racial/cultural mixing) distinct from that in the country’s Andean west. Initially for instance, cruceño was a term used to describe a person of pure Spanish blood, and camba described a dark-skinned indigenous peasant, a peon tied to the plantation, by debt (Stearman, 1985). More recently, however, elites have appropriated the term camba for themselves, de-Indianizing it, whitening it, and making it an acceptable designation for themselves despite their identity as Europeans (Pruden, 2003). Indeed, Pruden (2003) locates a strong shift toward this understanding of “camba” following the 1952 revolution, when Santa Cruz elites sought to forge a more coherent, inclusive, and homogeneous identity for the region to avoid some of the changes occurring in the Andes. In post-revolution eastern Bolivia, camba has become a regional rather than a racial term, referring to anyone born in the lowland zone. As lowlanders attempt to demonstrate their geographic superiority over their highland counterparts, such linguistic and symbolic categories have been critical in determining regional citizenship, rights within the city, and territorial claims to peripheral lands (Fabricant, 2009, p.769). As Fabricant (2009, p.57) contends, linguistic distinctions between highlander and lowlander, Indian and mestizo, only bolster territorial claims to land and natural resources by shifting the focus away from economics and onto race and ethnicity. The CPSC upholds lowland indigenous groups such as the Guaraní, Chiquitano, and Guarayu as “their Indians,” who exemplify the progressive character (and, no doubt, the political moderation) that they embrace as their own (Fabricant, 2009; 2011b; Gustafson, 2006, 2008; Lowrey, 2006). As Perreault & Green (2013, p.57) contend, “the CPSC indigenous identity is at once necessary and negated, as it is only in relation to indigeneity that a regional camba identity is produced”. In this sense, the indigenous bodies that animate camba imaginaries conform to Hale’s (2004) notion of the indio permitido- indigenous subjects whose identities are authorized, modern, and deserving of recognition, albeit within highly circumscribed and paternalistic political frameworks. In this context Andean indigenous immigrants occupy the slot of undeserving, dysfunctional other, seen as unruly, vindictive, and conflict prone (Hale, 2004, p.19). While discursive representations such as these employ a broadened sense of indigenous identity, which articulates particular interests and ideological positions (that of lowland indigenous territorial rights and self-determination, with white goals of regional autonomy), they also serve to reify social and spatial divides that complicate any attempt to forge broader

coalitions between Andean and lowland indigenous groups (Perreault & Green, 2013, p.48). Indigeneity is hence represented as part of a broader political, cultural, and territorial project (Perreault & Green, 2013, p.44). Such discourse by provincial elites has been employed elsewhere. For example, Poole (2004) describes a similar case from Oaxaca, Mexico in the 1920s, where regional elites (again those of predominantly European descent) recast “their Indians” as racially distinct from those of the national revolutionary project and incorporated signs of this distinctiveness into the cultivation of a regionalist unity. In similar fashion, the idealization of Guaraní, Chiquitano, and Guarayu identities by the CPSC serves to construct a shared multiethnic past which is meant to legitimate elite claims to territory and resources, even as it obscures a long (and ongoing) history of racialized hierarchy and white supremacy (Fabricant, 2009, p.772). Yet, as Eaton (2007, p.91) points to, the incorporation of non-elite groups and individuals has been of significant importance because it allows the CPSC to claim that it speaks for the department as a whole. Indeed, one of the most distinctive patterns in the discourse of CPSC activists is their insistence that all of civil society in Santa Cruz have supported the CPSC’s proposals for varying degrees of autonomy. The CPSC refers to itself as the “moral government of all cruceños”, and as the arbiter of what it means to be cruceño (cruceñidad) (from speech by Ruben Costas, former President of the CPSC and current Governor of the Santa Cruz department in Eaton, 2007, p.91). Given the considerable flows of migration from the highlands to Santa Cruz, a major challenge for the CPSC has been to cultivate the support of migrants who continue to make up even larger shares of the department’s population (ibid). The Autonomía movement and the CPSC trumpet the existence of a separate camba nation within a clearly delineated lowland space, standing not just apart from Andean Bolivia but also, and explicitly, against it (Lowry, 2006) (See Figure 1.4). To this end, the committee has made a conscious choice to strike a more inclusive tone by now defining cruceños as “vivientes en Santa Cruz” (those who live in Santa Cruz) rather than “nacidos en Santa Cruz” (those who were born in Santa Cruz) (interview with Daniel Castro, Media Coordinator for the CPSC, by Eaton, 2007, p.91). Because camba and colla are territorial rather than ethnic markers, this enables the groups that dominate the CPSC to portray Santa Cruz as the victim of collas, and thereby to refrain from explicitly anti-indigenous rhetoric (Eaton, 2007, p.91). Therefore, for the CPSC to defend their interests, they are

deliberately appealing to, and helping construct, popular attachment to a camba (or cruceño) identity.

Figure 1.4 Rightwing vision of Bolivia map

1.3 Research Question(s)

Through a regional geography study on Bolivia, my dissertation broadly explores how a group attempts to establish an identity. In the case of the Comité Pro Santa Cruz, I find that the organization established their identity primarily through 1) manipulation of language, 2) through the use of media (including a more distinctive engagement with social media), and 3) through depictions of space. Through in-depth examination of these areas, we can learn more about how rightwing groups in Bolivia, and more broadly throughout Latin America, and in other parts of the world, work to produce, refashion, and manipulate identity to further their political, economic, and territorial agendas. From here we are better equipped to understand how indigenous groups respond. My work brings together two strains of literature that accentuates geographic understanding of; (i) how spatial imaginaries affect social movements and shape their dynamics, through literature on social movement politics and (ii) how movements create spaces, through

literature on geographic mappings. Through examination of the Bolivian Population Census and media data and drawing on cartographic representations (both contemporary and archival), and in conjunction with personal fieldwork conducted in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Bolivia (the departmental capital), my dissertation explores how the CPSC enacts its discourse in ways that naturalize racial, social, and spatial boundaries. Additional and narrower questions are asked such as how does the CPSC historicize (i.e. to make or appear historical) a collective regional identity which is represented as both the essence of Bolivia, and in opposition to an (equally imagined) Andean Bolivia? How does the Bolivian Population Census (as an arm of central government) function to reify or challenge the prevailing discourse of identity and to what affect? How is mainstream media and more recently, social media utilized by the CPSC (and other movements of the right) to create a narrative of unity or discord? And how is the CPSC’s historicization of its cultural identity engaged through cartographic representation (the organization’s own and other depictions of) to construct a shared regional history to solidify greater regional territorial, economic and political control?

1.4 Overview of the Chapters Following background, Chapter 2 explores key literature on social movement politics and geographic mappings. The social movement politics literature further investigates spatial imaginaries and cultural identity production, and identity’s relationship to territory and power. The geographic mappings literature further investigates technology and authority in mapping and mapping practices in contemporary social movements. From this theoretical background, I lay out my methodology for conducting my research in Chapter 3. Utilizing both contemporary and archival data, Foucauldian discourse analysis is employed to examine the production of identity and the historicization of identity in Bolivia. Census data was obtained primarily from Instituto Nacional de Estadística (Bolivian National Institute of Statistics), and media data was obtained from both Bolivian mainstream media outlets and social media outlets Facebook and Twitter. Archival data was collected from Archivo del Museo de Historia Regional de la Universitario Gabriel Rene Moreno (Archives of the Museum of Regional History of the University Gabriel Rene Moreno) in Santa Cruz, the University of Florida Center for Latin American Studies Library and Map Collection, and the Library of Congress. Chapter 4 offers original interpretation of Bolivian census data (from the 1976 Population Census to the 2012 Population Census) and

the use of mainstream and social media by the CPSC (and other movements of the right). Through this analysis, and in conjunction with information documented through fieldwork in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Bolivia, such areas are explored as cultural identification, political boundaries, and migration patterns, presented in both textual and visual form. Also examined is the CPSC historicization of its cultural identity through cartographic representation (both contemporary and archival). Original maps are also created to offer visualizations of lowland space (both real and imaginary). Chapter 5 discusses the contributions of the dissertation and offers suggestion for future research.

CHAPTER TWO

LITERATURE REVIEW

My work brings together two strains of literature that accentuates geographic understanding of (i) how spatial imaginaries affect social movements and shape their dynamics, through literature on social movement politics and (ii) how movements create spaces, through literature on geographic mappings. The social movement politics literature further investigates spatial imaginaries and cultural identity production, and identity’s relationship to territory and power. The geographic mappings literature further investigates technology and authority in mapping and mapping practices in contemporary social movements.

2.1 Social Movement Politics Literature

Geographers have in general been less concerned than sociologists or political scientists with classifying social movements into rigid typologies, or to explain their emergence and success (or failure) according to models of grievance, political opportunity, or resource mobilization (Wolford, 2004). Instead, geographers tend to place emphasis on historical contingency, political economy, and constructions of identity that have informed social movement mobilization. Social movements and the geographers who research them are more so centrally concerned with the production of and relations between place and identity, contestations over the use and control of space, the politics of scale, and the establishment of trans-local political, economic, and cultural networks (Escobar, 2006). Emphasis on the spatial effects of social movements serves to decenter the movement itself as the focus of analysis, and permits a more nuanced understanding of the longer-term and sometimes contradictory impacts of mobilization. The importance of place and the ways that the spatial construction of the social informs decisions about whether and how to participate in social movement politics can be highlighted through examination of spatial imaginaries– cognitive frameworks, both individual and collective, constituted through the lived experiences, perceptions, and conceptions of space itself (Lefebvre, 1991). During the past three decades, social movement politics have become a regular feature of Latin American society and of geographical scholarship on the region. Perreault (2008a) points to the attention garnered by, indigenous movements, followed by transnational solidarity and left

21 political movements (Massey, 1986; Slater, 1986). In the 1980s, theorists such as Laclau and Mouffe (1985) led researchers away from the earlier reductionist emphasis on class as the basis for understanding collective actors. They brought into focus the far greater diversity of social categories around which people mobilize in order to reach group goals and shape social change. As Hertzler (2005, p. 47) notes, this genre of research was useful as it illuminated the significance of the formation of collective identities based on different conceptions of gender, race, ethnicity, nationality, community, and even ecology (Alvarez, et. al., 1998; Alvarez and Escobar, 1992). Applied to Latin America, these theoretical perspectives have provided needed insight into a wide variety of social movements (both indigenous and non-indigenous) that are based on cultural distinctiveness and not on simple notions of class. Aside from the aforementioned areas of contemporary social movement research in Latin America, as Perrault (2008, p. 1363) suggests, more geographical attention needs be paid to movements of the elite and the political right, gay, lesbian and transgendered movements, and the entry of social movements into formal electoral politics. In spite of their continued and growing importance throughout the region, there has been very little work on rightwing or elite social movements. Of notable exception is Wolford’s (2005) work on neoliberal agrarian discourses among elites in Brazil (however this article does not in fact analyze an elite social movement, but rather elite discourses about an agrarian social movement) and Perreault and Green’s (2013) work which compares the Bolivian ayllu and lowland autonomy movements.

2.1.1 Spatial Imaginaries and Cultural Identity Production

Important to my research is the constructivist nationalism literature of Anderson (1983) and Hobsbawm (1990) which articulates cultural identity production as the basic element for emerging political imaginaries where narrative identification supplies powerful incentives to participate. This work stems largely from Geller (1964) and his presupposition of regional identities as “constructed imaginaries”. Anderson’s (1983) contention that the nation is an “imagined community” has inspired a generation of scholarship on the ideological, political, and discursive relationships between identity and nation and examples of such ethno-territorial projects (indigenous and otherwise) abound in the academic literature and historical record. The engagement by geographers has mediated between self and society, inclusion and exclusion, private and public and has animated struggles as diverse as those in the Niger Delta

(Watts, 2004) to those in the Amazon Basin (Perreault, 2003; Rogers, 1996) to contrasting geographical imaginaries at play in Chiapas and Guatemala, with Mayans (Nash, 2001; Warren, 1998) and Ladinos (Bobrow-Strain, 2007; Hale, 2006), each of which exemplify constructing divergent visions of history, territory, and community and each of which deploys creative forms of what Spivak (1988) identifies as strategic essentialisms. In recent years, scholars of contentious politics have paid increasing attention to the dynamics of space and place in the construction of organized resistance (Wolford, 2004, p. 410). To date, however, the literature has tended to focus on the social construction of space rather than the equally important spatial constitution of the social (ibid). Wolford’s (2004) work demonstrates motives of movement formation and spatial imaginaries. Her work analyzes the decision to join the Movement of Rural Landless Workers (MST) among small family farmers in southern Brazil and rural plantation workers in northeastern Brazil. People from both groups decided to join the movement, but the farmers from southern Brazil used their spatial imaginaries to embrace the act of occupying land and to create new frontiers for colonization while the rural workers from northeastern Brazil overcame the spatial imaginaries produced through the plantation labor system and joined the movement because they had few other options available to them (Wolford, 2004, p.409). Because such imaginaries stay with people long after they engage in the initial acts of mobilization, incorporating this sort of analysis introduces an important dynamic component into the analysis of movement formation (ibid). An extensive literature has formed around the concept of how mobilization is shaped by (and shapes) the way people internalize and engage with their specific material and symbolic spatial environments (Escobar, 2001; Massey, 1994; Miller, 2000; Pile and Keith, 1997; Sewell, 2001). Recent work by three veteran scholars of social movements, and more specifically contentious politics (McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly 2001) have paid increasing attention to the dynamics of space and place in the construction of resistance. As Sewell (2001, p. 56) argues, scholars of resistance should take space seriously because, ultimately, “all social life is located”. People, or “spatial agents,” manipulate the material and symbolic character of location in expressing discontent, and at the same time, their actions “can restructure the meanings, uses, and strategic valence of space" (Sewell, 2001, p. 55). This conceptualization of space as the physical environment that structures (facilitates and constrains), and is restructured by, resistance dominates the academic studies of mobilization (Wolford, 2004, p.410).

Influenced by the spatial turn in critical social theory, excellent work has been done both within geography and outside in such areas as safe spaces (Gamson, 1989; Whitter, 1995), segregated spaces such as urban ghettos (Feagin and Hahn, 1973), tactical manipulations of space (Auyero, 2003; Marston, 2002; Routledge, 1997), symbolic reappropriations of place (Escobar, 2001; Moore, 1997), spatial patterns of state control (Routledge, 1997; Sewell, 2001; Tilly, 2000), the “power of distance” (Davis, 1999), and “jumping” (or manipulating) scales (Adams, 1996; Herod, 1997; Miller, 2000; Smith, 1993). Place and space constitute more than the physical world in which we life, and, as Massey (1994) has argued more generally, we need to go beyond the “social construction of space” to better incorporate the spatial construction of the social. As Wolford (2004, p. 410) contends a geography of resistance needs to examine the ways in which both physical and social environments are internalized, embodied, imagined, and remembered. Specific to my research is work that examines the way cultural identity is being imagined and produced in lowland Bolivia. Much of my dissertation in informed by the work of Lowrey (2006) that examines the evolution of white separatism in the Bolivian lowlands since the 1930s; the work of Fabricant (2009; 2011a; 2011b) that explores the performative politics of the camba countermovement in eastern Bolivia; the work of Gustafson (2006; 2008; 2009) that looks at the way spectacles and symbolism of autonomy have permeated lowland society in Bolivia.

2.1.2 Identity’s Relationship to Territory and Power

Examinations of identity’s relationship to territory and power have long been a cornerstone of research in cultural and political geography (Agnew, 1987; Keith and Pile, 1993). As Bondi (1993, p.96) asserts, identity politics is about deconstructing and reconstructing (necessarily multiple) identities in order to resist and undermine dominant mythologies that serve to sustain particular systems of power relations, and geographers have taken up these themes in the context of contested notions of community (Watts, 1996), critical race theory (Kobayashi and Peake, 2000), postcolonialism (Wainwright, 2008), and citizenship (Secor, 2004). In his examination of the discursive production of indigenous identities in relation to oil development in Nigeria (a case with significant parallels to that of Bolivia), Watts (2004, p.210) notes, “there is no pre-given ethnic identity but complex and unstable genealogical histories of identification that have emerged in the last century. The indigene has to be made- interpolated

around a strong sense of territory and in the context of cultural, economic, and political heterogeneity”. Central to this understanding of indigeneity is the discursive production of the indigenous in relation to the colonial, national, and the dominant, which as Castree (2004, p.155) notes, “necessarily rests on an insider/outsider distinction”. In his discussion of indigenous territorial struggles Castree (2004, pp.151-152) notes that the politics of indigeneity (what he refers to as indigenism) “is pursued by and on behalf of people who claim a certain identity for which they seek recognition and which, in turn, can be used as a resource in specific struggles… unlike most other global social movements, indigenism is in a fundamental sense, about the control of place”. Such is the case in Bolivia, where particular understandings of indigenous identity are discursively mobilized in the making of territorial projects and the refashioning of ethno-regionalist ideologies (Perreault & Green, 2013, p.45). Specific to my research is work that examines the way the production of cultural identity is being produced and challenged in lowland Bolivia in ways that has specific political, territorial, and social implications. Much of my dissertation in informed by the work of Perreault (2003; 2008a; 2008b) and Perreault and Green (2013) that examines how movements engage identity to legitimate claims to political and territorial rights; and the work of Kirshner (2008; 2010) that explores the position of indigenous migrants in respect to lowland conflict.

2.2 Geographic Mappings Literature

A now well-established scholarly literature has demonstrated the power of maps to reinforce or challenge dominant perceptions of geography. As Farish (2009, p.442) contends, “maps, in this revisionist history of cartography, do not stand as records of reason, but are instead treated as instruments active in the production of truth”. What is called critical cartography assumes that maps make reality as much as they represent it. As Crampton (2010, p.18) contends, “maps are active; they actively construct knowledge, they exercise power and they can be a powerful means of promoting social change”. Building on the conceptualization of Castree (2000) and Blomley (2006), Crampton (2010, p.17) identifies four principles of critical cartography. First, that maps are incredibly useful ways of organizing and producing knowledge about the world, but that these orders of knowledge also incorporate unexamined assumptions which act as limits which deserve to be challenged. Secondly, one way to challenge these orders of knowledge is by putting them into historical perspective. This historicization of knowledge

not only shows that other times did things differently, but provides an intellectual history to conceive of other knowledges that might be useful. Critical mapping also emphasizes that the way maps and spatial knowledges have been deployed has varied tremendously between cultures and places that can be described as the spatialization of knowledge. Thirdly, critical mapping also holds that geographic knowledge is shaped by an array of social, economic, and historical forces, so that knowledge does not exist except in relation to power. And finally, critical mapping also has an activist, emancipatory flavor to it. At times this approach seeks to dismantle more specific forms of knowledge, such as recent work by feminists in critical GIS or community activism in public participation GIS (PPGIS) (Kwan, 2002; Elwood, 2006). At other times, this approach is concerned with overthrowing the influence of official knowledges by showing their historical and spatial contingency (Livingstone, 2003; Sparke, 1998). Building on the seminal work of Harley, key advances in the contemporary work of maps and mappings have been made by critical cartographers such as Wood and Pickles. As Wood (1992) contends, all maps represent a particular image that reveals the agency of the map-maker and therefore cartography. For Wood (2010), mapping is a form of political discourse concerned with the acquisition and maintenance of power. Pickles (2004) draws on a wide range of social theorists to show how maps and map making shaped lived-in spaces and builds on the foundation that historically, maps have reached into social imaginaries to both define space and shape identity.

2.2.1 Technology and Authority in Mapping

Cartography, it has been argued, is a discourse- a system which provides a set of rules for the representation of knowledge embodied in the images defined as maps and atlases (Harley, 1989, p.164). As Harley (1989, p.164) contends, “maps extend and reinforce legal statutes, territorial imperatives, and values stemming from the exercise of political power”. But Harley further argues, that to understand how power works through cartographic discourse and the effects of that power in society, both external and internal powers need to be examined- power that serves to link maps to the center of political power as power is exerted on cartography and alternatively, power that is exercised with cartography (Harley, 1989, pp.164-165). The power of the map maker is not generally exercised over individuals but over the knowledge of the world made available to people in general (Harley, 1989, p.166). Harley dealt with this topic of maps,

knowledge, and power in his work with Cosgrove and Daniels (1988). Here he considers some examples of the specific functions of maps in the exercise of power- as maps which fused “polity and territory” at different scales, “ranging from global empire building, to the preservation of the nation state, to the local assertion of individual property rights”- maps bequested power to those who had them (Harley, 1988, pp.181-182). The focus of inquiry therefore shifts from the place of cartography in a system of power to the political effects of what cartographers do when they make maps (Harley, 1989, p.165). Farish (2009, p.443) argues that while it is collectively acknowledged that maps are selective representations, “it is quite another thing to question the politics of mapmaking, or the uses to which maps can be put”. Even when maps are not deliberately used for overt territorial claims or political propaganda, they still carry the covert cultural assumptions of the cartographer (Hamilton, et. al., 2016, p.116). Thus, as Monmonier (2011) contends, maps should be treated as interpretations, not as definitive and unquestionable reflections of geopolitical reality. If cartography is understood only as a precise science, made increasingly accurate by new technologies, then the political dimensions of maps are not always foregrounded (Farish, 2009, p.443). Harley, influenced by the work of Foucault and Derrida, emphasized what he called the “humanistic” aspect of maps, the circumstances of their production and reception, and their function as images of power (Harley, 1988, p.70). Harley sought to situate maps as social documents that needed to be understood in their historical contexts. He argued that maps are ideological, and are embedded with cultural and social values and beliefs that say as much about the mapper as the mapped. Harley’s call was to search for the social forces that structure cartography and to locate the presence of power, and its effects, in all map knowledge. In Deconstructing the Map (1989), one of his most cited papers, Harley was dealing not only with the ways in which paper maps are constructed but also how maps and mappings have agency in the world and the purposes they serve (Lilley, 2004, p.175). Following Foucault, Harley dealt with the agency of maps, or in this sense more specifically how the map works in society as a form of power-knowledge (Harley, 1992, p.243). With this tactic, Harley was making the point that maps convey particular geographical knowledges to meet the needs and requirements of those who are doing the mapping or having the maps made (Lilley, 2004, p.176). To this end, Harley (1992, p.238) suggests that “maps are a cultural text” and they are “a text that is rhetoric, that silences as well as informs”- Harley also saw this agency of the map as an exercise of

27 power, where “cartographers manufacture power or create a spatial panopticon through which the land and its people can be watched over, controlled, and subjugated (Harley, 1992, p.244). For Harley (and for many geographers and cartographers since), the map, therefore, is a social product, a social actor, and a product of and embedded in complex networks of social relations and interests, reflecting them intentionally and unintentionally. Maps work by serving determinate interests as they are products of history and contribute to the construction of particular histories. The hidden agenda of mapping (including cartography’s modern claim to accuracy of representation) is precisely what makes them interesting and problematic texts- first in terms of silences of maps (those elements that are omitted) and second (and often related to the first), in terms of the implicit and explicit authoritarian nature of the map as a tool of power (Harley, 1989, p.14). In particular, the authoritarian nature of the map has had to do with cartography as a power-knowledge. As a result, the history of cartography is to be both an uncovering of hidden agendas, silences, elisions and ideology critique. It is in this sense too that Wood (1992, p.187) is concerned less with developing a method and theory of map interpretation than with encouraging a broader and critical awareness of map production and use, with “constructing and reconstructing the map” in ways that reveal its hidden and naturalized choices and interests. The crisis of representation is also a crisis of democratic practice and ethics in which technical knowledge (in particular digital geographical informational systems) displaces more accessible hard-copy maps that have for generations allowed a certain kind of public practice and exercise of civil society in the face of power. They are partial representations and the interests they serve are masked. As Pickles (2004, p.48) states “like any other technology and product, the map must be interrogated in its social contexts of emergence, dissemination, and use”. Harley engaged with the conceptual changes that were characterizing geographical thinking more broadly in the 1980s, developing positions from critical theory and drawing upon postmodern and postcolonial literatures to raise geographers’ and cartographers’ awareness of maps and mapping in the themes that were becoming more significant, such as geography’s history, imperialism, modernity, nationalism, identity and landscape (Cosgrove and Daniels 1988; Graham and Nash, 2000). While work such as Law’s (2010) demonstrates how map making helps to maintain a particular set of ideas and how the technology of mapping is a power-laden process.

2.2.2 Mapping Practices in Contemporary Social Movements

Social movement studies as a subfield has recently turned to questions of space and spatial practice while theories and technologies of space and spatial mapping are generating particular interest in and among social movement activists themselves (Cobarrubias & Pickles, 2008, p.37). As Pickles (2004, p.64) contends by appropriating the act of map-making, we can begin to think of ways in which maps can be used to empower different people and serve different interests. In referring to the work of Foucault as the “new cartographer”, Deleuze (1988, pp.23-44) pointed to a mode of investigation and writing that sought not to trace out representation of the real but to construct mappings that refigure relations in ways that render alternative worlds. This new cartographic agency is being used by social movements to refigure the relations of power that structure socio-spatial life and to remap the social spaces of everyday life in ways that produce new political subjects. “The new cartographers are the social movements who- across very wide spectrums of groups and location- are rapidly expanding the scope of their spatial practices and their production of new mappings to render new images (and practices) and to render visible their geographies in new ways” (Cobarrubias & Pickles, 2008, p.40). But this is not only a representational politics of making the invisible visible. As Cobarrubias and Pickles (2008, p. 40) contend, “if traditional cartographies sought to represent the real, then new mapping practices seek to unmask a new type of real. They produce it, either by rendering it visible as a form of socio-spatial practice and collective action, or by producing alternative imagined spaces to those being built by the state and other transnational actors”. Here the traditional logics of cartography (the logics of tracing and reproduction) are to be transformed by mappings that produce new conceptions of place and region, proliferate the kinds of relations among them, open up spaces for action, and constitute new subjects (Cobarrubias & Pickles, 2008, p.41). As Lefebvre (1991) contends, understanding how spaces and spatial imaginaries affect movements as well as how movements create spaces of different sorts can open up an understanding to more complex movement dynamics and unevenness in movement development. Scholars, therefore, are interested not only in what it means to think cartographically about social movements, but also what it means when social movements themselves think and act spatially and more specifically cartographically (Cobarrubias & Pickles, 2008, pp.37-38).

CHAPTER THREE

METHODOLOGY

My dissertation employs Foucauldian discourse analysis through 1) an examination of Bolivian Population Census and media data, 2) analysis of cartographic representations (both contemporary and archival), and 3) data gathered during personal fieldwork in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Bolivia, to uncover ways the Comité Pro Santa Cruz is working to establish a shared a discourse of a shared cultural, and therefore, territorial identity with lowland indigenous groups. I examine ways in which their discourse has been successfully engaged and ways that it has been challenged. Discourse analysis is now a well-established interpretive approach in geography used to identify the sets of ideas (or discourses) used to make sense of the world within particular social or temporal contexts (Waitt, 2010, p.217). Discourse analysis is quite different from other qualitative research methods through its interpretation of the ideas of French philosopher Michel Foucault. Following Foucault, discourse is a mediating lens that brings the world into focus by enabling people to differentiate the validity of statements about the world. Foucault’s (1972) meaning of discourse is different from conventional linguistic definitions, which understand discourse as passages of connected writing or speech (Waitt, 2010, p.218). In a broad fashion, discourse analysis refers to the taken-for-granted, and most often, hidden frameworks of ideas that structure both knowledge and social practice (Berg, 2009, p.215). Foucault is interested in how particular knowledge systems convince people about what exists in the world (meanings) and determine what they say (attitudes) and do (practices). Discourse can be seen more as a set of unspoken rules which govern, control, and produce knowledge in culture (Berg, 2009, p.216). For Foucault, discourse is defined by rules of knowledge production that outline clear distinctions about what can be said and its degree of validity (Waitt, 2010, p.218). Such an approach is labeled constructionist- an approach that demands asking questions about the ways in which distinct social “realities” become naturalized. More narrowly, discourses can be characterized as “frameworks that embrace particular combinations of narratives, concepts, ideologies, and signifying practices, each relevant to a particular realm of society” (Berg, 2009, p.216). Foucault’s interest in discourse was to explain how those statements accepted as “true” are always historically variable, being the outcome of uneven social relationships, technology, and power (Waitt, 2010, p.217).

According to Foucault, to believe at face value what one hears, reads, or sees as truth would lead to the serious error of overlooking the social circumstances within which particular sets of ideas are produced, circulated, and maintained. Hence, discourse analysis offers insights into how particular knowledge becomes common sense and dominant, while simultaneously silencing different interpretations of the world (ibid). The centrality of language in meaning production has meant that discourse analysis tended to focus on “text” as an object of analysis. However, as Berg (2009, p.216) notes, text is conceived broadly, and thus discourse analysis has focused on all sorts of social and cultural production from printed words, paintings, photos and maps, to social, economic, and political institutions. Many complex and often contradictory discourses can be in circulation at any one time, but one discourse is usually hegemonic, and thus it tends to constitute the general conditions under which members of a society “know” their world (Berg, 2009, p.215). Importantly, Foucault does not see power as operating top-down, but, instead, he sees power as infusing all social relations and operating to produce subjects and objects (rather than operating between pre-given subjects and objects). This concept of power/knowledge has become an important concept for geographers interested in understanding the complex relationship between knowledge, space, and power (Berg, 2009, p.215). Interestingly, Foucault struggled with writing “how to” conduct discourse analysis. He feared that a methodological template would become too formulaic and reductionist. Perhaps it is this absence that led others to describe Foucault’s methodological statements as “vague” (Barret, 1991, p.127). Several handbooks for qualitative research methods in the social sciences are equally hesitant to give formal guidelines (Phillips & Hardy, 2002; Potter, 1996). For a range of reasons, some scholars argue that guidelines undermine the potential of discourse analysis. My research draws its methodological direction from Waitt (2010) and lessons given by Rose (1996; 2001) and Fairclough (2003). Rose (2001), provides seven stages through which the technique can move- choice of source materials, suspend pre-existing categories (become reflexive), familiarization (think critically about the social context of the source materials), coding (once for organization and again for interpretation), power, knowledge, and persuasion (investigate source materials for effects of “truth”), rupture and resilience (take notice of inconsistencies within source materials), and silences (silence as a discourse and discourses that silence). These axioms, it is noted by (Rose, 2001, p.158), do not need to be strictly adhered to, but can be used rather as

a guideline for research. This project for example, does not engage in the technique of coding, although all other stages are adhered to. Discourses are expressed through a wide variety of source materials including: official reports, statistics, interview transcripts, brochures, photographs, maps, the spoken word, and many more. Different categories of source material can be subdivided further into genres. Being mindful of the genre is important because the producer of each genre or category is addressing a particular audience. Of additional consideration is the particular means of technology through which each source is produced, circulated, and displayed (Waitt, 2010, p.221). This project engages with the primary source materials of text, photos, and maps and works across multiple genres (for example census documents, official reports, both mainstream and social media, and both contemporary and archival mappings) to identify dominant discourses put forth by the CPSC. These discourses are also an example of intertextuality- a term employed to describe the assumption that meanings are produced as a series of relationships between various source materials rather than residing within one source material. As such, intertextuality acknowledges that meanings are co-created with an active audience (Waitt, 2010, p.222). In selecting (or excluding) source materials, attention was paid to the richness of detail. Attention to richness of source material allows the researcher to interpret the effects of discourse in normalizing understandings (ibid). While working with quantitative data in Foucauldian discourse analysis may provide some insight into the strength of an attitude, as Waitt (2010, p.222) notes, it is virtually impossible to use such data to find an interpretation of how and why people understand a place in a particular way. Instead, qualitatively rich source materials are sought- those that provide detailed, descriptive insights into how understandings of a place are forged. In turn, taking advantage of the insights into how an individual (or group’s) understanding of a place is fashioned can then better explain that person (or group’s) experiences, attitudes, and practices (Waitt, 2010, pp.222-223). For purposeful sampling to be most effective, early and ongoing secondary research is required. But because the research process is a continuing building process, as the project unfolds, other source materials may become relevant and important to the project’s success. Justifying when a particular source material is meaningful to the project is therefore an integral step in establishing rigor and such justification is also important to writing research that is transparent and open to scrutiny by both the participant and interpretive communities (Waitt, 2010, p.223). Whereas in inferential statistics sample size can be prescribed

32 by demands of representativeness, in discourse analysis the number of source materials depends on what will be useful and what is meaningful in the context of the project (ibid). The imperative of shelving preconceptions is underpinned by the objective of discourse analysis- to disclose the created “naturalness” of constructed categories, subjectivities, and particularities (Waitt, 2010, p.224). According to Foucault (1972), as all knowledge is socially constituted, and there is no independent position from which to suspend pre-existing knowledge. Therefore, it is vital to question how discourses are illustrative of the producer’s understanding of the world, not the researcher’s, and to take steps to ensure that the researcher’s interpretation must always be considered provisional and does not impose discourses from elsewhere (Waitt, 2010, p.225). Familiarization to source materials is essential, including thinking critically about the “social production” of the materials in terms of authorship, technology, and intended audience (Waitt, 2010, p.225). These social dimensions of source materials are good starting points for critical interpretation because discourses operate as a process, restricting not only what can be said about the world but also who can speak with authority (Wood & Kroger, 2000). Foucault understood discourses to be grounded within social networks in which groups are empowered and disempowered relative to one another. He saw discourse as a form of social control and power. One effect of discourse therefore, is the privileging of relatively powerful social groups. That is, particular voices and technologies are favored over others, often counted as sources of “truthful” or “factual” knowledge, while other voices many be excluded and silenced, perhaps by becoming positioned as untrustworthy, anecdotal, or folklore (ibid). The key point being that all source materials are the outcome of a power-laden process, fashioned within a particular social context. Hence, an integral part of the familiarization process is to conduct background research to help anchor source materials within a particular historical and geographical context (Waitt, 2010, p.226). First, authorship must be considered as the outcome of a highly social process, and investigation of the author’s relationship with the intended audience is fundamental. In interpreting the relationship between discourse, knowledge, and power, it is important to carefully reflect on what social dynamics are carried into the production of the source material that may operate as a subtle form of social control (ibid). Questions must be asked such as who produced the selected material (paying particular attention to how the author is positioned within historically and geographically specific understandings of gender, class, sexuality, and ethnicity,

as these are not “natural” categories but are as well constituted through discourse)? When and where was the selected material produced? And why was the selected material produced? The ultimate question being, are the social identities of the author or audience portrayed in the selected material (does the material help to naturalize belonging to a particular group in society)? Additionally, more specific questions about the social conventions linked to producing the selected materials must be asked- the key being to examine how the selected material was produced- in particular, the implications of technologies of production? Narrower questions then may follow, including thinking critically about how different categories of source materials have their own social histories and geographies (ibid). An integral part of discourse analysis thus is remaining alert to the role that different technologies play in such strategies of conviction (Waitt, 2010, p.228). Third, the social circumstances of the audience in which discourse is produced must be investigated. Audiences are not pre-given but are again thought of as the outcome of a highly social process. How a source material is produced is in part dependent on its intended audience. In other words, an author will draw on particular discourses, mindful of the needs, demands, and fantasies of the intended audience. Foucault did not envision audiences as passive recipients of meaning of source materials, as interpretation of materials is always a socially, spatially, and temporally contingent process (Waitt, 2010, p.230). Hence, audiences can be conceptualized as co-authors of a source material (Waitt, 2010, p.228). Persuasion entails establishing and maintaining sets of ideas, practices, and attitudes as both common sense and legitimate. Foucault (1980) sees persuasion as a form of disciplinary power that operates through knowledge. He focuses on how particular knowledge is sustained as “truth”. According to Foucault, the mutual relationship between power and knowledge is underpinned by discursive structures. Foucault (1980), uses the term discursive structures to refer to sets of ideas that typically inform dominant or common sense understandings of and interconnections between people, places, plants, animals, and things. Discursive statements are complex systems of signification governing the production and use of knowledge and meaning in cultures, where cultures themselves are established through the complex interdependent relationships formed between, in, and through discursive practices (Berg, 2009, p.217). Such practices are governed by rules that circumscribe the objects of discourse, the speakers of discourse, and the forms of discussion that may take place in particular discourses (ibid). As

Berg (2009, p.217) notes, discourses are governed externally, internally, and through control of access. Discourses are governed “externally” through prohibitions of speech, divisions of reason and madness, and oppositions of truth and falsehood. They are also “internally” policed through the application of commentary and ritualized discussion. Finally, “access” to discourse is controlled via speech rituals, societies of discourse, doctrine, and social appropriation (Berg, 2009, p.217). Hence, while Foucault understands discourses to be inherently unstable, discursive structures are understood to “fix” ideas of the world within particular social groups at specific historical and spatial junctures (Waitt, 2010, p.233). For both individual and collectives, discursive structures establish limits to, or operate as constraints on, the possible ways of being and becoming in the world by establishing normative meanings, attitudes, and practices (ibid). Simply put, discursive statements are a form of social power that fix, give apparent unity to, constrain, and/or naturalize as common sense particular ideas, attitudes, and practices. Foucault (1980) refers to this form of social control as the “effects of truth.” The way that knowledge becomes understood as appropriate is not restricted to the use of particular technologies in the production of source materials (for example, computers, photographs, or maps) but also encompasses the way that sets of ideas are legitimized by the subtle deployments of different knowledge-making practices (i.e. statistics, policies, anecdotes) or categories of spokesperson (politician, scientist, academic, priest, eyewitness) (Waitt, 2010, p.234). One key aspect to Foucault’s notion of discursive power is that such power is not just “repressive” in the sense that it prevents action or controls existing agents and outcomes, but that it is also “productive” in that it creates new actions, events, agents, and outcomes (Berg, 2009, p.216). While one rationale for doing discourse analysis is to identify the limits on how a particular social group talks and behaves, another is to explore inconsistencies within sources. When particular relationships become understood as common sense, they set limits to the cultural know-how of a particular social group (Waitt, 2010, p.235). Foucault understood dominant or common sense understandings as discursive structures- that may appear eternal, fixed, and natural. However, because discursive structures are embedded within different social networks, they are fragile and continually ruptured (ibid). Hence, there are always possibilities for meanings, attitudes, and practices to change or be challenged, and therefore an essential part of doing discourse analysis is to be alert to possible contradictions and ambiguities in source materials (ibid).

Finally, becoming attuned to silences in source materials is as important as being aware of what is present. Rose (2001, p.157) reminds that “silences are as productive as explicit naming; invisibility can have just as powerful effects as visibility”. According to Foucault (1972), silences operate on at least two levels. First, silence as discourse is a reminder of how speakers’ subjectivities are created within discourses. Who has the right to speak or is portrayed as an authority is itself constituted through discourse. Silences may become particularly relevant when the voices within source materials are considered in terms of the intersections of gender, age, class, ability, sexuality, and race (Waitt, 2010, p.236). Being aware of whose “voices” are silenced with source materials is an integral part of discourse analysis. Second, Foucault’s ideas draw attention to how a privileged discourse (or dominant discourse) operates to silence different understandings of the world. Here, of vital importance are Foucault’s arguments concerning the intersection between power, knowledge, and persuasion. According to Foucault, silence surrounding a particular topic is itself a mechanism of social power within established structures. Ultimately the goal of discourse analysis is to reveal how particular ideas that help forge social realities become common sense. This technique has become widely applied in geography, partly because discourse analysis can provide insights into processes of social and environmental injustice (Waitt, 2010, p.237-238). Foucault’s concept of discourse draws attention to the social constitution of all knowledge. According to Foucault, how certain knowledge is constituted as truth is not an accidental or haphazard process. Instead, through careful tracing of ideas expressed in the authorship, technological production, and circulation of diverse source materials located in specific geographic and historical social contexts, it becomes possible to unravel how and why particular forms of knowledge have become ascendant (Waitt, 2010, p.238).

3.1 Population Census Data

My dissertation utilizes population census data gathered from a variety of Bolivian census documents (including official census forms, enumerator’s manuals, and official census results) from 1976 to 2012. These primary documents were reviewed using discourse analysis to uncover potential bias by the State through the rewording of census questions, and through instruction provided to enumerators. Questions on each census are formulated by the prevailing government bodies in addition to any instruction to enumerators, therefore critical analysis of the questions and response options of varying administrations can reveal subtle manipulation.

I primarily focus on a comparison of the 2001 and 2012 Bolivian Population Census to demonstrate what might account for the significant drop in those who self-identify as indigenous (from 62% in 2001 to 40.3% in 2012). While there was an increase in percentage points for those that identify as Aymara and Quechua (highland indigenous groups), there was a decline in those that identify as Chiquitano, Guaraní, and Mojeño (lowland indigenous groups). As these numbers translate to congressional seats and departmental funding, and are also concerned with the creation of autonomous regions, they hold significant value to the Morales government, while simultaneously are a problematic for organizations of the lowland right, specifically the CPSC. My analysis is limited to these years as a question on self-identification was not asked in prior censuses. Prior census did ask a question of language, and although this may be used as a proxy for determining the share of the population that is indigenous, it is an imperfect comparison as many ethnically indigenous also speak Spanish. From the 2012 Bolivian Population Census, the following documents were analyzed: Instituto Nacional de Estadistica, Estado Plurinacional de Bolivia Censo Nacional de Población y Vivienda, 2012 (National Institute of Statistics, Plurinational State of Bolivia National Census of Population and Housing, 2012). Manual Del Empadronador Bolivia, Estado Plurinacional de Bolivia Censo Nacional de Población y Vivienda, 2012 (Enumerator’s Manual Bolivia, Plurinational State of Bolivia National Census of Population and Housing, 2012). Características de Población y Vivienda, Censo Nacional de Poblacion y Vivienda, 2012 (Population and Housing Characteristics, National Census of Population and Housing, 2012). From the 2001 Bolivian Population Census, the following documents were analyzed: Instututo Nacional de Estadistica, República de Bolivia Censo Nacional de Población y Vivienda, 2001 (National Institute of Statistics, Republic of Bolivia National Population and Housing Census, 2001). Manual Del Empadronador Bolivia, República de Bolivia Censo Nacional de Población y Vivienda, 2001 (Enumerator’s Manual Bolivia, Republic of Bolivia National Population and Housing Census, 2001). Also, from the 1976 Bolivian Population Census, the following documents were analyzed: Manual Del Empadronador de Areas Rurales, Republica de Bolivia Ministerio de Planeamiento y Coordinacion Instituto Nacional de Estadistica, 1976 (Enumerator’s Manual of Rural Areas, Republic of Bolivia Ministry of Planning and Coordination National Institute of Statistics, 1976). Manual Del Empadronador de Areas Urbanas, Republica de Bolivia Ministerio de Planeamiento y Coordinacion Instituto Nacional de

Estadistica, 1976 (Enumerator’s Manual of Urban Areas, Republic of Bolivia Ministry of Planning and Coordination National Institute of Statistics, 1976). In addition to Bolivian population census documents, my dissertation utilizes official documents and statements from a variety of state and departmental government agencies in Bolivia including the Ministerío de Autonomias (Ministry of Autonomy) that was established on February 7, 2009, Estado Plurinacional de Bolivia. 2009 (2009 Political Constitution of Plurinational State of Bolivia) including Supreme Decree 29894, that came into effect February 7, 2009, Estatuto del Departamento Autonomo de Santa Cruz (Autonomy Statutes of the Department of Santa Cruz) originally drafted following the Mandate of the Council in January, 2005, and ratified by the Provisional Assembly of Autonomy of Santa Cruz in July, 2007 and officially recognized by the 2009 Bolivian Constitution, and Supreme Decree 231 of Ministerío de Autonomias and the Autonomy Law of 2010.

3.2 Mainstream and Social Media Data

My dissertation examines the CPSC’s utilization of mainstream media, primarily through media outlets El Deber and La Razon and the organization’s postings of contemporary photographs, archival photographs, drawings, maps, newspaper clippings, and corresponding text from social media outlets Facebook and Twitter. It also looks at the use of social media by other right wing organizations in Bolivia, as demonstrated through examination of the group Nación Camba. There are numerous print newspapers in circulation throughout Bolivia. In order to locate rightwing and elite discourse embedded in Bolivian print media, I critically examined dozens of newspapers focusing on the time period 2006-2016, as this timeframe commences with the Morales era of government and includes the creation of the 2009 Bolivian Constitution and the 2012 Bolivian Population Census. Using the Readers Guide to Periodical Literature, Lexus- Nexus, microfilm available at the University of Florida Library, and various online databases, I searched for key terms such as colla and camba or cruceño, as well as phrases such as “race war”. Using these same academic databases, as well as individual searches of print media both in Bolivia and the Western world, such as (but not limited to) The Economist, The Guardian, The NY Times, The Washington Post, Time Magazine, and Newsweek, I searched for the use of cartographic images employed and how such images depicted Bolivia and its inhabitants.

Through individual searches of Bolivian newspapers, I found outlets El Deber and La Razon to offer the most coverage of the CPSC. I focused primarily on locating interviews by CPSC leaders and looking for common themes to emerge from visual images such as photographs, cartoons, and mappings. Most print newspapers also maintain a page on Facebook and Twitter. These pages were also culled through for the same. In my examination of social media by the CPSC and Nación Camba, I reviewed all postings, both textual and visual, from the origin of the respective first posting to each group’s account. My most extensive examination was the CPSC’s use of Facebook. The visual depictions I employ are selected from a much larger collection of images. I examined thousands of photographs posted from 2012-2016 (corresponding to the organization’s respective first use of their social media account). Using discourse analysis, I looked at each individual image for the symbology employed (i.e. what version of a flag was shown) and what symbology was absent (i.e. he Wiphala Flag). I looked at the framing of the photograph, meaning how was the image centered and who or what was foregrounded and in the background. I reviewed what event was depicted and reviewed the details of each event noting original dates, reasons for the event, and which organizations and peoples were present at said event. In terms of archival photographs, I examined the details of the original events and looked at how the images being used depicted said event, and what occurrences were largely left out of such depictions. In terms of mappings, I located other online sources where such images were circulated. I also read all corresponding text to all images, although I chose not to employ this commentary in my dissertation to protect those who posted such comments. While I find Bolivian print media continues to maintain a strong presence throughout the country, I contend that social media allows for a much broader circulation both within the country and beyond for traditional media outlets as well as for the discourse of such organizations as the CPSC and Nación Camba.

3.3 Cartographic Data

My dissertation employs a variety of both archival and contemporary cartographic representations from a diversity of sources. Images are presented in their original form or have been digitized in ArcGIS (Arc 10.2). In addition, I have created original maps to offer visualizations of space (both real and imaginary).

Using discourse analysis to uncover how indigenous territory in Bolivia has been depicted over time (with a more specific focus on Guaraní territory), I examined all maps of the territory of present day Bolivia held in three archives and map libraries: The Archives of the Museum of Regional History of the University Gabriel San Moreno, located in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Bolivia, The University of Florida Center for Latin American Studies Library and Map Collection, located in Gainesville, Florida, and The Library of Congress located in Washington, D.C. Each collection holds approximately 20 such images and each was inspected for the use (or misuse) of place names, any map captions or text (including the titles of maps and any notes by the cartographer), border demarcations, and the use of symbology. I researched the reason for creation of each map and where the map has been reproduced (for example in an atlas that may have been reproduced itself a number of times). As a collection of unique, single documents, created contemporaneously with the events they discuss, the materials located in archival repositories can provide a particular window on the geography of earlier times (Roche, 2010, p.174). As Baker (1997, p. 235) contends, “no source should be taken at face value. Rather, all sources should be evaluated critically and contextually”. It is also important to understand not only the superficial characteristics of a specific source but also the underlying motivation, background and ideology of the person(s) who constructed the document. In order to make the most effective and convincing use of a source, there must be an awareness of its original purpose and context and thus its limitations and potential for contemporary use” (ibid). Although it has much to offer human geography in general, archival research has tended to be neglected other than by historical geographers (Roche, 2010, p.188). As a research method, historical research using archival sources has multiple contributions, primarily in that it requires the relation of archival material to other contemporary sources of a textual and pictorial sort that may be held in other collections, and in that it asks the researcher to continually negotiate between the theoretical and the empirical (ibid). For each archive utilized for my research, I examined the finding aids, provenance of files, and files within the archives were examined. Finding aids (also called guides or descriptive inventories in respective archives) to an individual collection includes a detailed description of the collection, explains how it is organized, and outlines its contents, listing locations within a collection where relevant materials may be found. Finding aids are the archives equivalent to a library catalogue, typically taking the form of a list of accession of files by name as originally

organized by creating agencies (Hay, 2010, p.376). The provenance of files is the actual order of the material within the files itself that tells the researcher something about the situation that prevailed when the file was being created. It is the organizational principle for archives that stresses the importance of the original internal arrangement of a collection of files and the order of information in files as devised by their creating agencies as a means of understanding past events (Hay, 2010, p.385). Typically, the referencing system used by the creating organization is replicated and are usually numerical or alphanumerical and can include sub-series as well as large files that are broken into several individually recorded parts (Hay, 2010, p.387). The files within the archives are likely to be only a fragment of the original documents, and may be quite partial in terms of providing any insights about the past (Roche, 2010, p.178). In many cases, particularly with small archives, only the series list (a list of the individual files from a particular organization held in an archive) may be available as a guide (ibid). My research engaged with the Archives of the Museum of Regional History of the University Gabriel San Moreno, located in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Bolivia. This archive houses historic, civic, and ecclesiastic documents that date between 1614 and 1910. The archives concentrate on two main collections; the university’s historic archive that contains a small collection known as Fondo Melgar i Montaño, that brings together colonial documents and information from the independence era and Fondo Prefectural, which focuses on documents from the Department of Santa Cruz in the first Republican century. Since 2009, another archive known as the Archivo Histórico Departmental Hermanos Vasquez Machicado (Historic Departmental Archive of the Vásquez Machicado Brothers) is now at the Museum of History. The documentary collections of this archive belong to the Municipal Government and the Departmental Courts. These documentary collections are still being catalogued, and there were only indexes for some of them. Originally organized by year in folders, the collection is now catalogued into 72,080 pages grouped in 4,598 documents, 11 sections and 88 series, in 145 boxes related to the period 1825 to 1910. Similar progress continues to be made with other collections. My dissertation utilized multiple texts by Bolivian scholars working in this area, as well as multiple archival photographs and maps. My research also engaged with the University of Florida Center for Latin American Studies Library and Map Collection, located in Gainesville, Florida. The library consists of over 500,000 volumes, 50,000 reels of microfilm (including scarce historical newspapers), and the map library houses approximately 500,000 maps and atlases (of which some 50,000 are specific to the

region). My dissertation utilized multiple texts by Bolivian scholars working in this area that were obtained from the UF Library, some of which were sourced on request from Libros Andinos, a firm with offices in Cochabamba, Bolivia and Kendall, Florida. Also utilized from the UF archival collection, are the NACLA archives that include miscellaneous publications, mostly from social movements throughout Latin America. My primary engagement however was with the library’s map holdings. And finally, my research engaged with The Library of Congress, located in Washington, D.C. The institution is the first established cultural institution in the US and the largest library in the world, with millions of items including books, recordings, legal materials, films, photographs, maps and manuscripts in its collections. My dissertation utilized archival maps from this collection. Many catalogues from these sources are available printed and online. Continuing my use of discourse analysis here, I looked at dozens of online sites from personal blogs to governmental webpages to explore contemporary variations of the depiction of Bolivian territory, specifically in terms of a focus on Guaraní territory. I looked for variations in the how each map or territorial depiction located Guaraní territory, and how indigenous nations more broadly were identified and located. For example, one map (that was located on numerous webpages) was used for its depiction of Guaraní territory. The creator of this map however, not only relocated indigenous territory, but labelled Aymara indigenous territory as colla territory. I find that maps such as these, replicated through various online sources, is a way in which organizations such as the CPSC further enact and attempt to make common sense their particular discourse. In addition to the use of archival and contemporary maps, I offer several original maps throughout the dissertation to better illustrate the was the Bolivian right visualizes (and historicizes) its discourse. To create the Bolivian province level maps (used to visualize all data for my dissertation), an administrative level three (level one corresponds to Bolivia country boundaries; level two corresponds to department boundaries) vector file called limite_provincial.shp was downloaded from the Humanitarian Data Exchange website (an open platform for sharing data) and brought into ArcGIS. The file includes 115 features- three of which represent lakes (Titicaca, Poopo, Uru Uru) and two which represent salt deserts (Uyuni and Coipasa). These five features were removed from the file as they do not represent provinces.

Figure 3.1 Non provincial features

The remaining number (110) and names of features within this file were then compared to multiple online lists representing the provinces within Bolivia including Statoids and the Bolivian City Population Index. Analyses of these lists showed that several departments in Bolivia have a province called Cercado, however the limite_provincial.shp only listed one multipart feature called Cercado.

Figure 3.2 Mulitpart feature Cercado

This multipart feature was then exploded into individual features using the explode multipart feature tool within the editor toolbox. Exploding the multipart Cercado feature generated an additional three features for a total of 113 features.

Figure 3.3 Explode multipart feature

The Cercado features were renamed based on the department where the province is located and using the online province lists as guides; Cercado (Cochabamba); Cercado (Oruro); Cercado (Tarija); Cercado (El Beni).

Figure 3.4 Renaming Cercado features based on location within departments

Following this step, two locations duplicated named Muceñas were merged together bringing the adjusted number of provinces to 112. Due to the removal of the lakes and the salt deserts, it was necessary to do some additional digitizing of limite_provincial.shp. In areas where there were “holes” in the limite_provincial.shp coverage, delineations from another Bolivia province vector file called BOL_Adm2.shp were downloaded from the website http://www.gadm.org/ (developed by individuals at multiple universities with the intention of providing the public with free data for academic use and other non-commercial uses). BOL_Adm2.shp was not used as a foundation layer to develop the province coverage because it only includes 95 features and visual comparison to other online Bolivian province maps shows that it is missing the delineations of small provinces.

Figure 3.5 Digitizing gaps in limite_provincial.shp shapefile

3.4 Fieldwork

My dissertation builds on fieldwork conducted by me between 2012 and 2014 in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Bolivia. Data is presented from observation field notes, from personal photographs, and from maps and pamphlets gathered during this time. Ongoing communication with established contacts in Bolivia provides added value to fieldwork data and data gathered from census, media, and archival source materials. In Santa Cruz de la Sierra, I attended multiple events that utilized public space in ways that positioned cambas against colla. One such example was of a local election campaign by a

member of the CPSC who utilized the Plaza de Septiembre to engage with local cruceñas, and to demonstrate the discourse of the CPSC as accepting of a particular indigenous identity. Another important event I attended in assessing space in the city was Carnival. I attended the festivities with a group of CPSC members including journalists and local business owners and political figures. These and other experiences are documented throughout the dissertation as well as personal photographs that document these events. My personal photographs are primarily inserted to further reflect and amplify my analysis of the social media content. For my project, then, while I approached my research in Santa Cruz de la Sierra as an outsider, simply meaning that I was an American with no real connection to Bolivia or Bolivian culture, I attempted to make the field observation process as fluid and as natural as possible, so that those under observation (citizens of Santa Cruz de la Sierra that were representative of the elite class, lowland indigenous peoples, and highland indigenous migrants in the region) had the opportunity to convey their own experiences to me and that I might be able to maintain partiality in my observations and account of indigenous and non-indigenous, elite and non-elite, left and rightwing members of Bolivian society. Moreover, it is clear from completing this project that the such binary notions of identity are dynamic, meaning they are characterized by constant change. I certainly had my biases going into this research, that of one group as hegemonic and dominating the other (i.e. elites manipulating indigenous). However, after spending much time in Bolivia engaging with all classes of citizens, meeting with members of various organizations, attending political and social events, and observing the distinctions in understandings of individual and group identity and how these understandings translate to the lived experience in this geographic space, it would be difficult to say that I did not gain an insider’s knowledge into how various members of Bolivian society understand and practice their discourse. Utilizing discourse analysis, therefore, in examining census data and media data, and depictions of space, I find the examination offered in my dissertation allows us to have a better understanding of subtler ways a group works to establish an identity and ways that they are challenged, even if they are considered the dominant social group in a society.

CHAPTER FOUR

COMITÉ PRO SANTA CRUZ HISTORIZATION OF IDENTITY

On February 7, 2009, the era of the new Bolivian Constitution began and by Supreme Decree 29894, issued by President Morales, the creation of the Ministry of Autonomy. The Ministry of Autonomy was established to oversee the distribution of powers among the four newly established types of autonomy: regional, departmental, municipal, and indigenous. It is also responsible for delimiting boundaries between Bolivia’s constituent territorial units (Ministerío de Autonomias). By the end of 2009, the process of establishing of the country’s first Indígena Originario Campesino Autonomous Region was underway. According to Article 6 of the Ministry of Autonomy’s Supreme Decree 231, prior for a municipality to organize for a referendum to become an autonomous region, the municipalities required 1) a certificate enacted by the Autonomy Ministry (via a ministerial resolution), and 2) a municipality’s decree adopted by its council with two thirds of the votes in favor (Ministerío de Autonomias). The Ministry’s certificate moreover, implied three further requirements, as follows. First (1a), the territory had to correspond to ancestral lands inhabited by indigenous peoples currently living on it. Second (1b), the claiming indigenous peoples had to exist prior to Bolivia’s colonization. Finally, (1c), the municipality had to demonstrate shared specific common features such as the same cultural identity, language, historical tradition, territoriality, worldview (cosmovision), and their own judicial, political, social, and economic organization and institutions (Ministerío de Autonomias). These three requisites have proven extremely difficult to establish however, especially the connection between ancestral lands and the one an indigenous community currently inhabits (Tomaselli 2013, p.139). Simply said, for any municipality to undergo a conversion process, evidence must be put forth that the peoples requesting Indígena Originario Campesino Autonomous Regions are living in a territory that is inhabited by them since times unmemorable or a similar interpretation (Ministerío de Autonomias). As the Autonomy Law states, Article 290 of the Constitution also requires this condition (Estado Plurinacional de Bolivia, 2009). In addition, the issue of “territoriality” is problematic as only 25 out of the country’s 339 municipalities (7%) enjoy settled territorial boundaries, delimiting their jurisdiction by law. While, of the nine departments, only Pando has legally defined its boundaries (Duran, 2012). In July 2010, a newly amended Autonomy Law was enacted in an effort to better facilitate the

autonomy process. However, this new law did not emerge without its own inherent problems. The Autonomy Law established four layers of autonomy (involving multiple state, departmental, and municipal leaders), creating a system of coordination that is quite complex (Tomaselli, 2013, p 141). The Autonomy Law (Article 44) further details the Indígena Originario Campesino Autonomous Region legislative framework, and details the three mechanisms by which a new Indígena Originario Campesino Autonomous Region can be formed. The territory can be formed on a territory formerly known as Tierra Comunitaria de Origen (TCO), which according to the new Constitution is be converted into a Territorio Indigena Campesino Originario (TIOC). The territory can be formed as a municipality, thus converting it from a standard municipality as recognized in the 1994 Popular Participation Law into an indigenous one. Or a territory can be formed as a region, grouping a number of municipalities or provinces that convert themselves into an Indígena Originario Campesino Autonomous Region (Articles 46, 47, and 50) (Ministerío de Autonomias). According to Article 56 of the Autonomy Law, in addition to “ancestral- territorial” evidence (subject to arbitrary judgement) and territorial continuity (whether forming as a municipality, TIOC, or region) is required. As well, TIOC formation is subject to the issue of a numerical population quota. These quotas are 10,000 people for the highlands (reducible to 4,000 people in exceptional cases) and 1,000 people for the lowlands (Tomaselli, 2013, p.145). The latter is quite a difficult requirement to fulfill (in both the highlands and the lowlands), where in many instances only a few hundred people form a community, thus leading many communities to consider a formation with neighboring indigenous peoples (Tomaselli, 2013, p.156). To the present time, only four out of the 36 constitutionally recognized indigenous peoples are actually engaged in the process of autonomy, among these are the Guaraní in the lowland region (Ministerío de Autonomias). Within the context of these legal frameworks, my dissertation looks at how in order to legitimate contemporary claims to political, economic, and territorial rights, the Comité Pro Santa Cruz (CPSC) is working to construct its own historical-geographical imaginary, one that attempts to naturalize shared racial, social, and spatial boundaries with lowland indigenous peoples (e.g. Guaraní, Chiquitano, and Guarayu peoples) or cambas, and examines what has proved most problematic in this attempt.

4.1 Population Census Data

The narrower definition of a census geography focuses on the spatiality of census taking and analysis. My dissertation is a broader consideration of the issues of census procedure and implementation, as well as specific applications to which census data is applied (e.g., exploring cultural identification, assessing changing political boundaries, examining migration patterns). It also assesses some of the broader political context the census process is situated within. My research posits that while census categories may have evolved over time (for example moving on from questions regarding race and language to questions that allow for self-identification), governments can still be quite manipulative with the wording of questions, in ways that allow for a positive outcome for the State in terms of results. While censuses in some parts of the world may not affect the everyday lives of citizens, in Latin America, and in particular, Bolivia, population censuses are taken very seriously as results play a key role in determining allotment of congressional seats and departmental funding. A census is usually differentiated from a social or population survey by the fact that a census should enumerate (or attempt to enumerate) the total population of an area. Since a census is normally taken at a single point in time (in contrast to continuous administrative and registration-based systems and indirect methods such as estimation from satellite remote sensing), census data provide a cross-sectional view of a population, in contrast to a longitudinal approach which collects data on individuals or households through time (Friesen, 2009, p.5). According to Friesen (2009, p.6), most modern censuses are designed to be universal (the total population should be enumerated); compulsory (all residents are obliged to take part in census enumeration) while enumeration coverage is an issue of de facto or de jure (de facto enumeration records people according to the place they are at the census moment, while a de jure enumeration records the usual residence of a person); simultaneous (the census should take place within a short period of time for the whole population to allow comparability); and comprehensive (ideally a large number of variables should be collected). The Bolivian census has historically attempted to enumerate every person in the country on the census day. The 2012 Census, the eleventh National Population Census and the fifth National Housing Census, since independence in 1826 (following eleven years from the 2001 Population Census), was carried out on November 21, 2012 (ine.gob.bo). The Instituto Nacional de Estadística (National Institute of Statistics) (INE) mobilized 217,000 enumerators along with 36,000 police officers and the armed

forces to carry out the national census (americasquarterly.org). All Bolivians, including foreigners who reside in the country or are visiting, are counted on the census day. A general curfew is imposed, which restricts private traffic, bans alcohol, and closes the country’s borders for the day. Those who fail to abide by the curfew are subject to extensive fines (ibid). All persons who spent the night before the census day in the enumerated dwelling are enumerated (de facto enumeration). Also, those persons who live in the street or who are in transit are enumerated. According to the National Population and Housing Census Enumerator’s Manual, the census is like a photograph of all the dwellings, households, and persons that are in the territory of the country and all should appear in the photo (Manual Del Empadronador, 2001, p.7). Area reconnaissance by enumerators is viewed as essential so that there are no doubts about the area to be enumerated, and work can be completed successfully and without problems or delays on the day of the census (Manual Del Empadronador, 2001, p.20). As the Enumerator Manual specifies, enumerators must account for absolutely all dwellings and persons who spent the night before the census day who are in the enumerator’s assigned area. In addition to individual dwellings, the enumerator should inquire in shopping malls, offices, buildings, garages, galpones (large buildings, usually former slave’s quarters), granaries, schools, and churches. If anyone had spent the night before the census night there, they should be enumerated (Manual Del Empadronador, 2001, p.21). In private households, the information regarding dwelling structure should be requested from the head of household (the head of household is the person recognized as such by the other members of the household irrespective of age, sex, or marital status). For the census, a household is made up of one or more persons, related or unrelated, who live in the same dwelling and who at least share a common budget for meals to which each person contributes in money or in kind. One person can also constitute a household. A dwelling may consist of two or more households (for example, if three persons rent an apartment with three bedrooms, and do not share a common food budget, they constitute three households). A collective dwelling is that which is inhabited by a group of persons, usually unrelated, who live together but not as a family (e.g., barracks, jails, hospitals, convents, asylums, shelters or welfare institutions [asilos] or encampments). Other private dwellings, where one or more persons live, may exist within a collective dwelling (for example, a superintendent that has an apartment in the building as part of their pay, or the families of officers in military bases) (Manual Del Empadronador, 2001, p.49). As the census form

specifies, questions regarding population should be presented to each person seven years of age or older who do not have limitations in understanding or being understood (Manual Del Empadronador, 2001, p.23). Those persons who were born before 0 hours (12 midnight) on the census day and are in the dwelling and those persons who died after 0 hours (12 midnight) on the census day are to be enumerated. In collective dwellings such as jails, asylums, orphanages, hospitals, and hotels, the information is requested from each person in the dwelling who is capable of doing so (ibid). When a dwelling of a census agent is encountered, a form that was previously filled out about the dwelling and persons living therein is collected. Transients, meaning those who are passing through a place, having another place of usual residence (e.g., persons who spent the night prior to the census day at a market, airport [e.g., passengers in transit to other countries who were not enumerated in their hotels where they spent the previous night], or tranca [a rest-stop or toll area where traffic on the highway system must stop in order to pay a toll]), and persons living on the street, meaning those who do not have a dwelling (e.g., beggars, alcoholics, and drug addicts) are also to be enumerated (Manual Del Empadronador, 2001, p.50). On duty personnel (usually a graveyard shift) in hospitals, factories, institutions, and military and law enforcement personnel who were on duty prior to the census day and who continue to be on duty in public places are enumerated in the workplace (Manual Del Empadronador, 2001, p.75). Although most censuses aim to be as comprehensive as possible, the number and nature of variables collected depends on financial and human resources available for enumeration and analysis, as well as political, social, and cultural considerations (Friesen, 2009, p.6). As well, in countries with large sectors of the population with limited levels of education, it is necessary to create questions which are readily comprehensible to both enumerated and enumerator (ibid). This is an area for consideration in terms of the Bolivian population. Questions about education on the Bolivian National Census record information for indicators of literacy (age 15 years or older), school attendance (age 16-19 years), and educational attainment. The literacy rate in Bolivia in 2012 reached 94.98% (i.e., 6,550,000 people who can read and write). According to the last three censuses conducted in 1992, 2001, and 2012, the rate reflects a clear increase in literate population. The literacy rate by gender shows a higher increase in the female population; in the period 1992-2001, the literacy rate of women increased from 72.31% to 80.65%, while in 2012, the literacy rate reached 92.54%. Whereas in the male population, the literacy rate increased from 88.16% to 93.06% in 2001, while in 2012, the literacy rate reached 97.49%

(Características de Población y Vivienda, 2012, p.11). In 2012, the departments of La Paz, Oruro, Santa Cruz, Beni, and Pando recorded rates above the national average; however, Chuquisaca, Cochabamba, Potosi and Tarija have lower rates. The departments of Pando and Santa Cruz recorded the highest levels of literacy at 97.69 and 97.48% respectively; while the lowest levels of literacy were recorded in Chuquisaca with 88.98% (Características de Población y Vivienda, 2012, p.12). According to the 2012 Population Census, the attendance rate of the school-age population reached 83.54%, an increase from 2001 and 1992 which reached 79.1 and 72.32% respectively. In 2012, the school attendance rate for males reached 83.63% and for women reached 83.45%. In 1992, attendance rates stood at 74.65 and 69.95% respectively and in 2001 stood at 81.05 and 78.32% respectively. As can be seen through the last three censuses, the rate of school attendance is rising while the difference between men and women is decreasing (Características de Población y Vivienda, 2012, p.13). According to the 2012 Population Census, the school attendance rate for children aged 6 to 14 years is greater than the rate for adolescents aged 15 to 19 years, showing that while attendance in primary education has reached almost to universality (94%), 65% of adolescents do not attend secondary school (Características de Población y Vivienda, 2012, p.14). The highest rates of recorded school attendance of the total population aged 16 to 19 years are present in the departments of La Paz and Oruro at 85.88% and 85.23% respectively; while the lowest recorded rates are presented in Pando and Chuquisaca at 80.26% and 80.81% respectively (Características de Población y Vivienda, 2012, p.15). El Estado Plurinacional de Bolivia Censo Nacional de Población y Vivienda 2012 (The Plurinational State of Bolivia National Census of Population and Housing 2012) contains 49 questions organized by Capítulo A (Chapter A) Ubicación Geográfica de la Vivienda (Geographic Location of Housing), Capítulo B (Chapter B) Principales Características de la Vivienda (Main Characteristics of Housing), Capítulo C (Chapter C) Emigración Internacional (International Migration), Capítulo D (Chapter D) Mortalidad (Mortality), Capítulo E (Chapter E) Personas con Alguna Dificultad Permanente (People with Some Permanent Disability), and Capítulo F (Chapter F) Principales Características de la Persona (Key Features of the Person) (Instituto Nacional de Estadística, 2012). Each person’s characteristics are recorded separately, meaning during the census, each person is individually interviewed. The census interview is understood by the enumerators to be a conversation that should take place with all persons in order to request the census information. In order to complete the interview, the census form is to

52 be used as a guiding instrument for asking questions, obtaining necessary information, and recording answers (Manual Del Empadronador, 2001, p.23). Chapter A requests basic information about the interviewee’s geographic location including Question 3 (de facto census) which asks, “In this house, how many people spent the night before the census day (be sure to include girls, children, newborns and elderly)”? (Instituto Nacional de Estadística, 2012, p.1) Chapter B requests detailed information regarding characteristics of the dwelling including questions specific to construction materials (of the walls, roof, and floors), water distribution, energy outputs, and the use of each room, as well as questions regarding ownership of goods and transportation mechanisms (Instituto Nacional de Estadística, 2012, p.2). Chapter C regarding international migration, Chapter D regarding mortality, and Chapter E regarding persons with disabilities were included within more extensive chapters on previous censuses, but are currently single questions instead of stand-alone chapters (Instituto Nacional de Estadistica, 2012, pp.2-3). Chapter F requests descriptive information regarding characteristics of each person in the dwelling on the census day (Instituto Nacional de Estadistica, 2012, pp.4-5) (see detailed discussion in section 4.1.1). Aside from gathering information regarding individual characteristics of a population, censuses play an important part in the government of nations, with particular regard to the spatial allocation of resources- where geodemographic classification may serve as the starting point for area-based government policy, particularly the weighting of additional resources to areas with multiple social deprivation indicators (Martin, 2009, pp.12-13). According to the INE, the general purpose of the Bolivian National Census is to provide updated statistical information on demographic, economic, social and housing characteristics of the population of the country, which is to be used for the formulation, monitoring and evaluation of policies, plans and programs both public and private (Características de Población y Vivienda, 2012, p.3). Specific objectives are identified as, 1) provide updated information on the number of persons and their distribution space, in an effort to study the growth of the total population, by urban and rural areas, departments and municipalities; 2) provide new population projections at the national and sub-national level; 3) provide basic information for the calculation of indicators of demographic, social, economic and housing characteristics; and 4) provide a starting base for future household surveys (ibid). The Bolivian government identifies the statistical information that is obtained through the census and household survey to be a public good, which is defined as a good that is

53 both non-rivalrous (i.e. the consumption of the good by a person does not preclude or diminish the use that some other person can make of the same good) and non-excludable (i.e. it is not feasible or efficient to exclude anyone from consuming the good). In the case of the census, the results are both non-rivalrous and non-excludable, since every person is (theoretically) able to share in the benefits of having updated information on the country’s demographic, social, economic, and housing characteristics. As a result, the indirect beneficiaries of the census are identified as all Bolivian people, including, therefore, the majority indigenous (documents.worldbank.org). While, according to the World Bank (which utilizes Bolivian census results for the creation of development projects), there are no direct effects from the census results on the indigenous (and non-indigenous population), and no negative impacts anticipated (ibid). Yet, there are a number of significant challenges to be made to these official statements. It is through political manipulation (while subtle) of the language of the Bolivian Population Census and discourse of “indigeneity” that my dissertation argues has and will continue to have a profound effect on the CPSC autonomy efforts.

4.1.1 Cultural Identification: Interpretation of Questions, Responses, and Results

One of the most contentious of census variables is race/ethnicity. Fundamentally, the politics of classification are significant, since “ethnicity” is generally a term incorporating aspects of language, heritage, birthplace, nationality, cultural ritual and symbols, and religion (Friesen, 2009, p.8). Earlier generations of censuses presented classifications of race in a biologically deterministic way. Questions often asked what proportion of a person's blood was derived from a particular race with results sometimes presented in fractions, while most recent censuses have used self-declared ethnicity or ethnic background (ibid). Nevertheless, during the enumeration and analysis stages, the classification of these responses is fraught with difficulties. During enumeration, a set number of categories may be presented, purportedly representing the predominant ethnicities of a country, usually with the option to specify one or more “other” categories (ibid). The issue of classification of identity has been a point of much contention, especially in more recent years, on the Bolivian National Census, and an examination of this issue lends much to the discussion of agency and the production of identity in this context. In respect to language as a means of identification, Question 35 (to be answered by all persons four years of age or

older) on the 2001 Population Census asks, “what language did you learn to speak as a child”? The allowed responses are 1) Quechua, 2) Aymara, 3) Spanish, 4) Guaraní, 5) Other Indigenous Bolivian Language, 6) Foreign Language, or 7) Doesn’t Speak. This question’s answer is limited to one option. In the case where the person claims to speak another native language that has not been described in the previous options, option 5 is filled in, however, additional boxes are not offered to specify the other language (Instituto Nacional de Estadística, 2001, p.2). In comparison, Question 30, on the 2012 Population Census also asks, “what language did you learn to speak as a child”? However, the 2012 Population Census does not offer response options, allowing rather for the option of one response on the census form (Instituto Nacional de Estadística, 2012, p.4). Additionally, Question 32 (for all individuals regardless of age) on the 2001 Population Census asks, “what languages and dialects are you able to speak”? The response options are the same options as in Question 35. However, there are only two questions with multiple option answers on the 2001 Population Census: Question 20 and Question 32. If this applies, more than one alternative may be filled in from the pre-given response options and additional boxes are offered to specify any additional indigenous Bolivian languages (Instituto Nacional de Estadística, 2001, p.2) (for example as shown in the 2001 Enumerator’s Manual, See Figure 4.1).

Figure 4.1 Enumerator’s Manual 2001: Question 32

In comparison, Question 31 on the 2012 Population Census asks, “what languages do you speak”? The 2012 Population Census allows for the option of up to five responses on the census form to be listed in the order of importance to the interviewee (Instituto Nacional de Estadística, 2012, p.4). In all censuses prior to 2001, the Bolivian government had opted to ask questions only on the primary language spoken in a household. While this may be used as a proxy for

determining the share of the population that is indigenous, it is an imperfect comparison as many ethnically indigenous individuals speak Spanish. The discrepancies of using language as a proxy for indigenous identity make it preferable to use self-identification when possible (idbdocs.iadb.org). Of particular importance to the issue of identification is Question 49 (to be answered by all persons 15 years of age or older) on the 2001 Population Census that asks, “do you consider yourself to belong to one of the following original or indigenous peoples [pueblos]”? The allowed responses are 1) Quechua, 2) Aymara, 3) Guaraní, 4) Chiquitano, 5) Mojeño, 6) Other Native, or 7) None. In the case where the person claims to be from another one of the original or indigenous nations that has not been described in the previous options, option 6 is filled in and the name of the tribe is written in the boxes. There are no additional indigenous nations listed on the census form, and the enumerator is not permitted to offer additional response options (Instituto Nacional de Estadística, 2001, p.2) (for example, as shown in the 2001 Enumerator’s Manual, See Figure 4.2).

Figure 4.2 Enumerator’s Manual 2001: Question 49

In a clear departure from the formatting of this question used in the 2001 Bolivian Population Census is Question 29 on the 2012 Population Census that asks, “as a Bolivian, do you belong to an indigenous native peasant nation or people or are you Afro-Bolivian”? If the interviewee’s response is yes, they are asked to state the name of the indigenous nation to which they belong. Each of the 39 recognized indigenous nations of Bolivia are listed on the census form, however as clearly stated on the census form, the enumerator is not permitted to read the response options. If the interviewee’s response is no, the enumerator moves on to Question 30. Based on the format of this question, there is no option to identify multiple indigenous nations or to respond with the answer mestizo (mixed ethnicity), although if the response is no, then it is de

facto implied that this person could be considered mestizo (Instituto Nacional de Estadística, 2012, p.4) (See Figure 4.3).

Figure 4.3 National Census of Population and Housing 2012: Question 29

While these changes in ethnic identification may seem subtle, the formatting of the questions and the options for how to respond has fueled a major debate in the Bolivian media. In cases where censuses ask about race and ethnicity, it is generally preferred that the question rely on self-identification (i.e., allowing individuals to choose their ethnicity). This can however be complicated, as is with the case of the Bolivian National Census, when individuals feel as though they belong to none or several of the ethnic groups, a pattern that is common in Latin America (idbdocs.iadb.org). Shortly after President Morales was elected in 2006, he referred to Bolivia as a “majority indigenous nation” (ibid). This view was substantiated by the results of the 2001 Population Census, in which 62% of the population self-identified as indigenous, with the large majority identifying as Andean (Quechua constituting 30.69% and Aymara constituting 25.19%), followed by numerous lowland groups (Chiquitano constituting the largest with 2.21%, Guaraní constituting 1.55%, and Mojeño at 0.85%), while 1.49% identified as “Other Native” and 38.03% identified as “None” (ine.gob.bo). However, while the number of ethnicities was expanded on the 2012 Population Census (the first since Morales took office), the share of respondents that self-identified as indigenous dropped substantially to 40.3% (Características de Población y Vivienda, 2012, p.31). In absolute terms, the 2012 Population Census recorded a total population of 10,027,254, while out of 6,916,732 people older than 15, 2,806,592 people declared themselves to belong to an indigenous group, with the majority again identifying as

Quechua at 45.6% and Aymara at 42.4%, followed by Chiquitano at 3.1%, Guaraní at 2.1%, Mojeño 1.1%, and, in decreasing order by population size, the other “peoples” and “nations” recognized by the new Constitution approved in 2009 (ibid). Included in the 2012 calculations of the indigenous population, are those for Afro- Bolivians. Article 32 of the 2009 Bolivian Constitution formally recognized the Afro-Bolivian population for the first time as it declared ‘The Afro-Bolivian people enjoy, in everything corresponding, the economic, social, political and cultural rights that are recognized in the Constitution for the nations and the rural native indigenous peoples” (Neuva Constitucion Politica del Estado, 2009, p.16). The 2012 Population Census recorded 16,329 Afro-Bolivians (0.6%), with the vast majority inhabiting the Yungas region of the department of La Paz (Características de Población y Vivienda, 2012, 31). (See Figure 4.4 for comparison of ethnic identification based on 2001 and 2012 Population Census results). It is noteworthy that some Latin American countries ask if an individual is indigenous, but not about whether they are of African descent (as Bolivia did in the 2012 Population Census), while there are no Latin American countries that ask if an individual is of African descent, but do not ask about being indigenous. Of the thirteen countries in the region that ask about race or ethnicity in their national censuses, five ask all individuals for their ethno-racial identity (Brazil, Costa Rica, Ecuador, Uruguay, and Venezuela) while eight ask only if individuals belong to a particular ethno-racial group (Argentina, Bolivia, Chile, Colombia, Guatemala, Nicaragua, Panama and Paraguay) (idbdocs.iadb.org). This is in part due to the tendency of indigenous and/or individuals of African descent choosing to identify as mestizo, despite being predominantly of indigenous or African descent (ibid).

50 40 30 20 10 0

2001 Percentage of Population 2012 Percentage of Population

Figure 4.4 Comparison of Ethnic Identification Based on 2001 and 2012 Population Census Results

This considerable drop in the share of the population made up by indigenous peoples has been an ardently contested topic. In addition to the modification to the census question on ethnic identification, discussions have also focused on technical reasons that could explain the change in the data and also on the role played by the Morales government (siid.group.shef.ac.uk). Some radical voices raised accusations against the “disappearance” of thousands of indigenous people, while there was talk of a “statistical ethnocide”, referring to the political manipulation of semantic categories to influence processes of individual and collective self-identification (ibid). In the 2001 Bolivian Population Census, the question pertaining to indigenous identity was phrased in an open and inclusive manner, while in the 2012 Population Census, the question was more restricted. This is of considerable importance in the context that different indigenous peoples may have specific rules about membership. As such, rewording the questions as “do you belong to…” rather than “do you consider yourself to belong to…” may have led to some indigenous descendants unable to answer in the same way that they had in the previous census (a similar challenge occurred between the 1992 and 2002 Chilean Censuses) (idbdocs.iadb.org). Also in this context and by way of diverging narratives that dominate the discourse of contemporary rural organizations (peasant, indigenous and native), it is plausible that, by introducing the “peasant” category, some people opted for answering “no”. In practice, they may have refused self-identification with an “indígena originario campesino” identity, but they might well have claimed identification with an indigenous or native group. The same can also be said of those who do not belong to an indigenous nation and are not native, but do view themselves to be a “peasant” (siid.group.shef.ac.uk). As well, individuals of indigenous descent who live in urban areas are typically less likely to self-identify as indigenous as those who reside in rural settings. In 2012, 32.7% of Bolivia’s population reside in rural areas, a five percentage point decrease from 2001 (idbdocs.iadb.org). This five percentage point change is, however, not large enough to explain the 22 percentage point decline in the share of the population that self- identified as indigenous in 2012 compared to 2001. Additionally, the term and definitions of what it is to be “indigenous” have become increasingly politicized in Bolivia in recent years. This politicization may have led some indigenous peoples to elect not to self-identify as indigenous for political reasons rather than due to changes in actual demographic patterns (ibid). Of equal significance to this discussion is what can be referred to as the “omission” of mestizos from the Bolivian National Census. As the 2001 Population Census marked the first

time that the Bolivian government even included questions on ethnicity, the use of the term “omission” (a term used by many in the Bolivian media prior to and following the census) is somewhat misleading, as it indicates that the mestizo category had been removed, when in fact it had never been part of the national census. President Morales defended the controversial decision not to allow people to describe themselves as mestizos saying “this would be like dividing Bolivia” (bbc.com). However, the mestizo population (currently estimated to represent 30% of the population primarily located in the media luna) and those that support mestizo as a legitimate category of self-identification, argue the importance of safeguarding the right of the population to freely identify themselves, using the terminology that they believe to be the most appropriate (catholicnews.com). The controversial lack of inclusion of the mestizo category in the census is reflected in the following satirical illustration that ran in La Razón, a newspaper published in La Paz, leading up to the 2012 Population Census:

Figure 4.5 La Razón cartoon, August 8, 2012

The illustration captures the sentiment of the Bolivian government sweeping the “mestizo” under the rug. The rug is also representative of the shape and colors of the “new” Bolivian flag, another point of contention in Bolivia. Building on this sentiment, the following illustration ran in La Razón days later:

Figure 4.6 La Razón cartoon, August 10, 2012

As the person in the illustration (clearly depicted as non-indigenous) views the options for self- identification on the 2012 Population Census, he declares: “I am nothing…” Again, the choice between having to respond with an ethnicity that does not fully represent the way one self- identifies or to respond with no identification is the point of contention. There is however an alternative argument that the exclusion of mestizos on the census is an attempt to correct a centuries-old subjugation of the indigenous majority by the dominant mestizo classes. In the past, the category of mestizo was used to cover up the existence of indigenous peoples and exclude them, denying them their identities and rights, and to impose a cultural model alien to their vision, values and norms (ibid). It can also be added that, historically, successive governments dominated by mestizos referred to those indigenous in rural areas as “campesinos” (or peasants), which they considered pejorative (ibid). The 1952 revolution was the beginning of a process of struggle by the indigenous in the highlands for recognition of their existence and identity, and this struggle culminated in Morales’ presidency and the approval of the current constitution (ibid). To this end, many analysts view the 2012 Bolivian Population Census as an important stage in the consolidation of the 2009 Constitution, and the new Plurinational State of Bolivia. The 2009 Constitution’s recognition of the co- existence of 36 different indigenous peoples (and the granting of autonomous rule to each), is in sharp contrast with former constitutions, which only recognized the mestizos, relegating the indigenous to secondary status (ibid). The results of the 2012 Bolivian Population Census put forth a number of key areas for future consideration for Bolivians, such as redistribution of economic resources, reaching poverty reduction goals, and the reallocation of parliamentary seats. Primary to my research has been the defining of municipal and departmental boundaries. Given the important implications for years to come, the 2012 Population Census triggered more than 80 disagreements over municipal borders, yet the delimitation of the boundary limits is not a central government matter, but a state task in which all departments must coordinate. However, both Morales and Vice President Alvaro Garcia Linera clarified that the objective of the census is not to define geographic boundaries or to solve territorial conflicts, but solely to update information on the number of inhabitants and their needs (americasquarterly.org).

Figure 4.7 2001 and 2012 Bolivian Population Census comparison map

Figure 4.7 compares official results from the 2001 and 2012 Bolivian Population Census. Results of the percentage of the population that identified to be native to one of the five indigenous nations listed on the 2001 Population Census are plotted in the department said to be native to (to this end, there are multiple circles for some nations). The size of the circle indicates the change in the percentage of the population that identified to each of the indigenous nations according to the 2012 Population Census. The 2001 data was first brought into Arc Map in one layer and the program determined the proportional circle size for the change in percentage, so all circles are proportional to census values.

4.1.2 Cultural Identification: Interpretation of Enumerator Manuals

In addition to interpretation of census questions, of significance to my dissertation is an examination of the changing characteristics of the census enumerator’s manual over the years. For example, the 1976 Bolivian Population Census, distinct from later censuses, was divided by urban and rural areas. To correspond, the enumerator manuals were split between a manual for urban areas and a manual for rural areas. The way identity is illustrated differently between the two manuals is also exemplary of the inherent power of those who produced the manuals. The rural manual contains a significant number of illustrations representing place and characteristics

of identity- compared to the urban manual- specifically in terms of its depictions of the indigenous population (Manual Del Empadronador de Areas Rurales, 1976) (See Figures 4.8 and 4.9 for illustrations from each manual index page).

Figure 4.8 Enumerator’s Manual Rural 1976, illustration in index

Figure 4.9 Enumerator’s Manual Urban 1976, illustration in index

Both manuals illustrate the identity of indigenous persons in traditional native costume, complete with bowler style hats, hand woven ponchos, and ch’ullus (a knitted hat with ear flaps), while

non-indigenous (European) persons are depicted to be wearing suits and ties (for the men) and skirts and blazers (for the women) with stylized haircuts (See Figure 4.10).

Figure 4.10 Enumerator’s Manual Rural 1976, illustration on page 4

The rural manual also depicts indigenous persons exclusively (identified by clothing as previously discussed) as those emigrating from rural areas (See Figure 4.11).

Figure 4.11 Enumerator’s Manual Rural 1976, illustration on page 2

Throughout the rural manual, when a person is identified as having lived in a heavily populated indigenous area, they are illustrated to be of indigenous descent, further contributing to the notion that indigenous identity is located only in particular spaces (See Figure 4.12).

Figure 4.12 Enumerator’s Manual Rural 1976, illustration on page 34

In another example, the identity of the enumerator in the rural manual is clearly depicted as a white, non-indigenous (Western) male (See Figure 4.13).

Figure 4.13 Enumerator’s Manual Rural 1976, illustration on page 3

As well, this characterization of the enumerator appears to be quite comfortable when depicted in an urban setting, while geographically confused in a rural setting (See Figures 4.14 and 4.15).

Figure 4.14 Enumerator’s Manual Rural 1976, illustration on page 5

Figure 4.15 Enumerator’s Manual Rural 1976, illustration on page 9

While previous census manuals have been riddled with imagery depicting place and identity, in comparison, the 2012 Enumerator’s Manual offers only one illustration in its entirety- a formal map of how to strategically approach the areas to be enumerated. In addition, the official 2012 Census symbol, illustrated at the top of each page, depicts one red and one green house with a yellow sun above and six stick figure silhouettes, each representing a different color of the spectrum between, disregarding any reference to place and identity (Manual Del Empadronador, 2012) (See Figure 4.16). These colors are, however, in line with the “new flag” or “dual flag” (also known as the “Wiphala”), established by the 2009 Constitution. The Wiphala is represented with a square emblem which symbolizes the native peoples of all the Andes that include today's Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador and parts of Argentina, Chile and Colombia. The pattern is representative of the Incan Empire (Tawantinsuyu) and each of its former four regions (or suyus). The flag is composed of a 7-by-7 square patchwork in seven colors, arranged diagonally, while the precise configuration depends on the particular suyu represented. The color of the longest diagonal line (seven squares) determines which of the four suyus the flag represents: white for Qullasuyu (the version used by Bolivia), yellow for Kuntisuyu, red for Chinchaysuyu, and green for Antisuyu (boliviaflag.facts.co) (See Figure 4.17).

Figure 4.16 2012 Official Census symbol

Figure 4.17 Wiphala Flag

4.1.3 Discussion of Census Data

My dissertation engages with a Foucauldian constructionist approach, or rather an approach that demands asking questions about the ways in which distinct social “realities” become naturalized. In this sense, the ways that the Bolivian population census works to create or manipulate social realities, are considered. As detailed above, the process of census enumeration in Bolivia is a very unique case, as the attempt of the Bolivian census is to enumerate the entire population in one brief period of time. The results of the census therefore should yield an undeniably comprehensive range of information regarding the population. Yet, there remains a number of factors to consider. Foucault’s interest in discourse was to explain how those statements accepted as “true” are always historically variable, being the outcome of uneven social relationships, technology, and power (Waitt, 2010, p.217). To this end, the process of enumeration itself is made problematic. Whether census questions are comprehensible to the enumerated is questionable, and acknowledgment of the agency the enumerator holds over those he (or she) is enumerating is paramount. According to enumerator manuals, it is not permissible for the enumerator to articulate questions in any way other than how they are precisely worded on the census form. Yet, as detailed here, some questions and response options have been interpreted by Bolivians in quite significant and varying ways. Most significant to this discussion is the refashioning of the question on self-identification, and particularly the “omission” of a mestizo identifier. A longstanding criticism of censuses is that they include only questions which are acceptable to the prevailing government and are therefore fundamentally limited in their ability to challenge established power relations in a society (Martin, 2009, pp.12-13). The performative power of the State (no matter whether neoliberal, nationalist or plurinational) is often underestimated in terms of influencing processes of identification. In the case of Bolivia, and the rise of indigeneity as a privileged marker of territorial rights, the omission of a category allowing one to identify as mestizo is especially problematic to elite cruceños and cambas who, to further naturalize their discourse of a shared cultural identity, increasingly speak of themselves as mestizos (Gustafson, 2006, p.356). The results of the 2012 Population Census, the first under the Morales government, recorded a nearly 22% drop in those that identify as indigenous, yet the numbers of those that identify as highland indigenous (i.e. Aymara or Quechua) were not profoundly affected. It is the numbers recorded in the lowland region that saw the most

significant drop (Características de Población y Vivienda, 2012, 31). The language used overwhelmingly in the 2009 Constitution and again in the question regarding self-identification on the 2012 Population Census of “indigenous, originario, campesino” is that utilized by President Morales and his supporters and not primarily by lowland elites and mestizos. In this sense, both the 2009 Constitution and the 2012 Population Census renders some forms of indigenous identity more legible than others. It is this politicization of the term “indigenous” and the political manipulation of the language of “indigeneity” that I argue has and will continue to have a profound effect on the CPSC autonomy efforts. For example, the lower recorded numbers of lowland indigenous peoples translate to a possible loss of congressional seats and significant less funding applied to the lowland departments by the central government. It is in direct response to the results of the 2012 Bolivian Population Census that I argue the CPSC and other organizations of the Bolivian right have engaged in their subtlety manipulative tactics, specifically in their use of mainstream and social media, to maintain and broaden their discourse.

4.2 Media Data The Bolivian right have found success in a range of tactics, legal and otherwise, while some of their most powerful tools are newspapers and TV channels, controlled largely by representatives of the CPSC. Regionalist papers in Santa Cruz (El Deber, El Nuevo Dia) are closely aligned with the rightwing agenda. The paper La Razon plays a more moderate role in defending the integrity of Bolivian territory while also railing against the MAS agenda (La Razon and El Nuevo Dia are controlled by the Spanish media conglomerate Prisa Group.) In a country already decimated by cultural tension, the media have played heavily on racialized fear and uncertainty against the imagined chaos brought on by the indigenous-led MAS government. Yet, in present day culture, social media is becoming a more prominent instrument for producing discourse and to a wider audience. In the case of the Bolivian rightwing, that means utilizing social media to promote their discourse in ways that naturalize racial, social, and spatial identities.

4.2.1 Social Media

As Sin (2015, p.676) notes, social media technologies and platforms can provide access to what is happening in the "field" despite physical absence, and the "field" itself can become

68 profoundly changed- from what was originally bounded both spatially (in specific fieldwork sites) and temporally (in a particular research time-frame). The use of media data in my dissertation is a reflection of an approach to fieldwork in geography at a time when internet technologies- specifically social media platforms- are rapidly changing the ground rules on where and what the field is for social science research (Sin, 2015, p.677). In particular, my research considers social media portals, “forms of electronic communication through which users create online communities to share information, ideas, personal messages and other content (“Social Media”, 2014, as cited in, Sin, 2015, p.677). As Burrell (2009) argues, the field site should be seen as a network of imagined spaces, and as my dissertation looks specifically at spatial imaginaries, it seems obvious to include social media as a fundamental part of my research. Today, fieldwork involving the internet as both a source of information and an object of inquiry blurs notions of what and where the field is (Dodge and Kitchin, 2006, as cited in Sin, 2015, p.677). This includes not only conducting fieldwork in different places but also taking on pluralism in sources and doing "fieldwork" by telephone and e-mail, and collecting data electronically in many different ways from a disparate array of sources (Hannerz, 2003, p.212). As Sin (2015, p.678) discusses, although geography has had a strong tradition in looking at the application of neogeography (literally “new geography”; the use of geographical techniques and tools for personal and community activities or by a non-expert group of users) in web mapping, GIS, and spatialized data and code (Wilson and Graham, 2013), as well as spatial implications of new digital geographies (Zook et al., 2004; Schwanen and Kwan, 2008), has received significantly less attention is how online media can be incorporated into research methodologies. In comparison, important works have emerged in fields such as sociology and communication studies that look at how ethnography can be done through or supplemented by looking at online media (Hine 2000; Slater 2002; Walstrom 2004; Kozinets 2010). Echoing Coleman’s (2010, p.487) comprehensive review of ethnographic approaches to digital media, my research takes on the viewpoint that digital media have become central to the articulation of beliefs, practices, and modes of being in the world. Social media has provided a platform for putting forth a curated version of one’s individual or group identity. Outlets such as Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, and the like, allow for multiple ways in which to express such identity, through posts of text, photographs, and videos. The CPSC and other movements of both the right and the left are

arguably taking full advantage of such means. My research focuses its examination on the CPSC’s use of social media outlets Facebook and Twitter, and also looks at the use of social media by other right wing organizations in Bolivia, as demonstrated through an examination of the group Nación Camba. Special attention is paid to meticulously selected visual images by the CPSC such as contemporary photographs, archival photographs, drawings, and newspaper clippings that offer the public a look into the private affairs and public appearances of the organization. I argue that these images of ethnic, racial, and regional types play a crucial role in the CPSC regional project by forming images around which all cruceños can imagine a historic and unified cultural identity, and that the lack of inclusion of any images in opposition to that imaginary is just as powerful. In addition to this classificatory or “mapping” role, the wider circulation of these images via social media has also provided an imaginative conceptual framework to both those in and outside of Bolivia for a sentiment of what it means to be cruceñidad.

4.2.1.1 Comité Pro Santa Cruz on Social Media

The CPSC has three notable pages on Facebook. The Comité Civico Pro Santa Cruz is specifically a “location” page. The Reinventando el Comité Civico Pro Santa Cruz (Reinventing the Pro Santa Cruz Civic Committee) is a closed group, specifically for use among members. The Comité Pro Santa Cruz is the organization’s community page, which offers access to the public, and is the primary focus of my research. Data was gathered from the CPSC’s first posting on its community page starting November 28, 2013 and ending June 1, 2016. Comité Pro Santa Cruz’s Twitter presence is also divided among various accounts. A search for #Comité Pro Santa Cruz offers public access to all photos connected to this hashtag. Data was reviewed from the first photo posted with this hashtag to Twitter, starting September 7, 2012 and ending January 1, 2016. However, the CPSC presence on Facebook is significantly stronger, and demonstrates the ability of the organization to focus and control its discourse through social media. One comment attached to a series of archival photos posted by the CPSC reads “knowing our story is to know ourselves” (Comité Pro Santa Cruz Community, 2015 Album). What follows is an examination of visual imagery posted by the CPSC that articulate this, often contradictory, story of the CPSC (all figures to follow are from the CPSC community Facebook page unless otherwise noted).

Imagery posted throughout the CPSC’s Facebook page, demonstrates the organizations white, elitist roots through postings of art works (such as drawings and paintings), and archival committee photographs, romanticizing the early era of the organization. Figure 4.18 offers an illustration of the founding of the Comité pro Santa Cruz on October 30, 1950 at the Universitario Gabriel Rene Moreno. An extract from an article by Hernando Garcia Vespa, founder of the CPSC, published in The Duty, September 8, 2010, is presented with the image. The extract documents a statement read at the founding ceremony that the CPSC was “for the union of your children in a single Santa Cruz interest”. Figure 4.19 is a gallery photograph of all past CPSC presidents. While figures 4.20 and 4.21 offer illustrations of marches through the Central Plaza by male committee members and the Unión Femenina Cruceñista (Women’s Union of Santa Cruz) respectively. Figure 4.22 is an archival photograph posted commemorating the work of Dr. Elffy Albrech, a student at the Universitario Gabriel Rene Moreno, and upon graduating, Santa Cruz’ first female lawyer. She founded the Unión Femenina Cruceñista in 1957. As shown in an archival photograph in Figure 4.23, the women’s group, led by Albrech, preformed the first hunger strike in Santa Cruz to defend the organizations interests (a tactic still employed by the CPSC).

Figure 4.18 2015 Album, Figure 4.19 2015 Album, Figure 4.20 2014 Album, Illustration of the founding Gallery photograph of all Illustration of civic struggles of the Comité pro Santa Cruz past CPSC presidents of the cruceño 1957-1959

Figure 4.21 2015 Album, Figure 4.22 2015 Album, Figure 4.23 2015 Album, Illustration of the Unión Archival photograph of Archival photograph of Femenina Cruceñista 1957-1959 Dr. Elffy Albrech speech Unión Femenina Cruceñista

The organization’s slogans and banners are prominently displayed throughout Santa Cruz de la Sierra, particularly during events in the Central Plaza and during times of mobilization. Such symbols are also introduced to the public via social media postings and reproduce the organizations discourse of an acceptable identity. Figure 4.24 is an organizational flyer depicting Modelo de Desarrollo Cruceño (Santa Cruz Model of Development). According to the CPSC’s official webpage, Model Cruceño Development is “not a physical or mathematical model, it is a social, cultural, economic and political cruceño construction and a system that defines us as a whole and which in turn is defined by the citizens themselves, resulting in a structure that lasts over time, thanks to a relationship that allows constantly evolution and adaptation to changing scenarios posed by national and international dynamics” (comiteprosantacruz.org.bo). While the preamble to the Autonomy Statutes of Santa Cruz proclaims “The ideal way for progress is that the departmental autonomies will each advance the Cruceño Development Model, the only one that has had positive results in the history of Bolivia” (Asamblea Provisional, Preamble). Figure 4.25 is an organizational banner that reads Bajo el Cielo Más Puro de America!!! (Under the Purest American Sky). Paralleling this sentiment, phrases I commonly heard when conducting research in Santa Cruz de la Sierra were, “camba neto” (pure camba) and “cruceño de verdad” (true camba).

Figure 4.24 2014 Album, Figure 4.25 2014 Album, Modelo de Desarrollo Cruceño flyer Bajo el Cielo Más Puro de America banner

Figures 4.26 and 4.27 depict a symbol embraced by the CPSC and other organizations of the right in Bolivia, including Nación Camba, and that is depicted in a sprawling mural on the wall behind the podium at CPSC headquarters. The image is that of a white warrior breaking from chains and wearing a crown on his head. Pruden (2003) shows that in the 1950s, Santa Cruz scholars seized upon a relatively obscure article by the Swedish ethnologist Erland Nordenskiold

that had been published 40 years earlier. This 1917 essay describes the aggressive encounter of lowland warriors with the Inca Empire in the foothills of the Andes during the early sixteenth century. Camba scholarship of the 1950s took up this rather dull academic account to make it a rousing tale of Guaraní (or rather lowland) “resistance” to Inca (rather Andean) expansion, a confrontation from which the lowlanders emerged gloriously triumphant (Pruden, 2003). Pruden makes it clear that the ethnohistorical record does not reflect whether Inca imperial ambitions in fact encompassed a desire to expand into Guaraní -held territory, or whether the battle instead was the result of an ambitious incursion into the far margins of Inca-held territory by Guaraní warriors in pursuit of metal implements (ibid). Regardless, camba scholars of the 1950s re- shaped Nordenskiold’s account to present Guaraní warriors in such a way as to solve a problem for their emergent narrative of “cruceñidad” (ibid). Pruden (2003) persuasively argues that the new version of this historical incident allowed the lowland encounter of white Spaniard and noble Guaranís to be recast as a “clash of the titans” rather than as a colonial conquest (Pruden, 2003, p.53). The depiction of the warrior utilized by such organizations as the CPSC and Nación Camba represents a refashioning of this “historical” figure.

Figure 4.26 2015 Album, Figure 4.27 2015 Album, Guaraní warrior mural Guaraní warrior mural at CPSC Headquarters

Figure 4.28 is an image of the Coat of Arms utilized by the CPSC, and Figure 4.29 is a photograph of the Santa Cruz Flag, both symbols heavily employed by the CPSC. Article 3 of the Autonomy Statutes of Santa Cruz (Departmental Symbols), identifies and details acceptable symbols that can be used to represent autonomy and the Department of Santa Cruz (Asamblea Provisional). Article 3, Section 1 details the Coat of Arms (created by royal decree on November 7, 1636), and Article 3. Section 2 details the Cruceña Flag (created by Prefecture Decree on July 24, 1864). While Article 3, Section 3 contends that “The use of departmental symbols, Cruceño Anthem, images of heroes, wealth and other emblems of the department, are to be regulated by

the Departmental Autonomy Assembly of Santa Cruz” (ibid). As depicted on the CPSC coat of arms, nobility and conquest are invoked in symbols such as the cross (Christianity), the lion (masculine courage), the castle (security), and the crown (royalty) (Asamblea Provisional). While in regards to the flag, the green color (as cruceños learn in school) is said to represent natural beauty and abundance and the riches of the frontier, while the white color is said to represent the pure Spanish lineage and nobility inherited from the colonial period (Fabricant, 2009, pp.772-773). Notably, out of thousands of images posted by the CPSC, no image includes the Wiphala flag.

Figure 4.28 2015 Album, Figure 4.29 2015 Album, Illustration of CPSC Coat of Arms Photograph of CPSC Flag

Yet, in stark contrast to the imagery posted above that represents the formation and continued development of an organization that promotes a “pure” camba identity, Figures 4.30 and 4.31 demonstrate the CPSC’s attempts to historicize its connection to lowland indigenous groups such as the Ayoreos, Chiquitanos, Guarayos, Yuracaré, and in the case of the photos illustrated here, Guaraní people. Two photos from the Morning Star Ceremony in Samaipata illustrate this well. The Winter Solstice celebration at Samaipata Fort, an archeological site located approximately 75 miles from the department of Santa Cruz takes place annually. The Winter Solstice is also known as the Morning Bright Star Celebration in the Guaraní culture. Representatives of the most significant ethnic groups in Bolivia (i.e., Aymara, Quechua, Guaraní) gather (news.xinhuanet.com). Depicted in photos is Fernando Castedo, Chairman of the CPSC, centered and surrounded by Guaraní peoples dressed in native attire and costumes complete with headdresses and facemasks.

Figure 4.30 2015 Album, Figure 4.31 2015 Album, Photograph of Fernando Castedo Photograph of Guaraní peoples at the Morning Star Ceremony dressed in native attire and costumes

In an inverted manner, the organization’s attempt to make a historic connection to indigenous peoples is demonstrated through its insertion of indigenous peoples into non- indigenous celebrations. This is exemplified by imagery that shows Guaraní children walking in the 24 de Septiembre parade and singing at the celebration’s opening day festivities at CPSC headquarters. September 24th is a reference to the first day that the department of Santa Cruz began its individual rebellion against Spanish rule (boliviabella.com) (See Figures 4.32 and 4.33). In 2004, a faction of a lowland indigenous Guaraní organization was even invited to join the committee in a subordinate (non-voting) niche, a move that sought to weaken indigenous unity in eastern Bolivia and demonstrate the cruceño support of, in the words of CPSC leadership “our own” indigenous cruceños (Lowrey, 2006).

Figure 4.32 2015 Album, Figure 4.33 2015 Album, Photograph of Guaraní children Photograph of Guaraní children in the 24 de Septiembre Parade at the 24 de Septiembre Parade

As demonstrated above social media allows for the opportunity to stage original photo opportunities, and in turn reproduce them to a much wider audience. Figure 4.34 is a photograph of the Chairman of the CPSC shaking hands with disabled indigenous peoples on the Plaza 24 de

Septiembre, while an indigenous woman follows behind holding the national (Spanish) flag. While Figure 4.35 is a photograph of an indigenous man receiving medical care at an event in the Plaza 24 de Septiembre, with the flag of Santa Cruz department placed in his hand.

Figure 4.34 2014 Album, Figure 4.35 2014 Album, Photograph of Fernando Castedo Photograph of an indigenous man with disabled indigenous peoples receiving medical care

Photos and illustrations are also posted throughout social media that reflect the organization’s religious roots and the connection of Catholicism to the lowland indigenous and mestizo population. Figure 4.36 is an overhead shot taken from the Santa Cruz demonstration for Autonomy in 2008 when tens of thousands gathered down Monsenor Rivero Avenue and culminated their presence at the Christ the Redeemer Statue (a symbolic site of the cruceñidad). The image is replicated multiple times throughout the organization’s use of social media. The Christ the Redeemer Statue is not only a prominent feature in the city of Santa Cruz de la Sierra, but is a prominent image used on CPSC pamphlets and demonstration banners, in combination with the coat of arms and autonomy flag, and is reintroduced in numerous postings on social media (See Figure 4.37). Of particular importance to the discourse of the CPSC is a religious connection to the Guaraní. Figure 4.38 is a photograph taken at a Guaraní ceremony at the main cathedral in the center of Santa Cruz de la Sierra. In the 1980s, a branch of Guaraní peoples led the organization of Bolivia’s first pan- indigenous confederation of lowland communities (Confederacion de Pueblos Indigenas de Bolivia; or CIDOB) which included Guaraní, Chiquitano, and Ayoreo peoples. The organization has since grown to incorporate dozens of additional groups (Lowrey, 2006, p.76). A few years after the CIDOB’s establishment, however, the Catholic Church sponsored the foundation of the Asemblea de los Pueblos Guaraní (APG), a Guaraní-only confederation. The APG is a member organization of the CIDOB but itself is dedicated specifically to pan-Guaraní, rather than pan-

lowland indigenous affairs (ibid). Yet in contrast to the discourse of indigenous cultural unification, demonstrations have erupted in Santa Cruz to protest MAS education proposals that seek to strengthen the place of indigenous knowledges and languages in public schools and remove Catholicism from the official curriculum. Organized by lowland Bolivians and the Catholic Church hierarchy, parents and private school groups have marched through the streets of with signs suggesting Communism and Satanism were threatening their children (Gustafson, 2008, p.3). A more significant blow occurred when the 2009 Constitution officially declared the state to be secular, no longer recognizing Roman Catholicism as the official state religion (Estado Plurinacional de Bolivia, 2009).

Figure 4.36 2015 Album, Figure 4.37 2015 Album, Figure 4.38 2015 Album, Photograph of demonstration Photograph of CPSC banner Photograph of a Guaraní at Christ the Redeemer Statue ceremony at the Cathedral

The CPSC’s support for the Departments of Beni, Pando, Tarija, and Chuquisaca is demonstrated through various photographs documenting protests and movements of unity (the CPSC support in Chuquisaca is primarily in terms of its connection to the urban right in Sucre, also a populated Guaraní territory, as the countryside in the department is primarily made up of indigenous peasants (Quechua) aligned with MAS. The symbolism of various departmental flags (as a symbol of regional support) is widespread and reproduced through social media. Figure 4.39 captures a parade for the demands of the Department of Beni, as the Spanish flag and the flag of Beni are carried. Figure 4.40 is an image that depicts the flag of Chuquisaca department. Figure 4.41 is a photograph of an event for Oriente Boliviano (Eastern Bolivia). While undoubtedly reflecting real sentiment for autonomy, these urban spectacles again reduce politics to colors and slogans that are carefully choreographed (Gustafson, 2008, p.2).

Figure 4.39 2014 Album, Figure 4.40 2014 Album, Figure 4.41 2014 Album, Photograph of a parade for Flag of Chuquisaca Department Photograph of an event for the the demands of Beni Oriente Boliviano

Support for other (particular) organizations of the right are also documented in photographs such as Figure 4.42 which captures banners at an event in the Plaza 24 de Septiembre promoting the Fraternity of Cruceños, more electoral votes for Santa Cruz, and The Civic Youth Organization of Santa Cruz, as well as Figure 4.43 which documents a march in the Plaza by Unión Juvenil Cruceñista (Cruceño Youth Union or UJC). The flag of Vallegrande province (a province of Santa Cruz department located on the border of Cochabamba department) is forefront at the march. Unión Juvenil Cruceñista is largely considered to be the strong arm of the CPSC. The more notorious of the lowland rightwing organizations, the UJC, merges the violent cultural of youth fighting into a directed instrument to enforce civic strikes, attack peasants at pro-MAS marches, and assault disputed public institutions like tax agencies, school administrations, labor unions, and water management entities. There is no structural counterpart for young women (like the UJC), though participation in the beauty industry is one passage into civic protagonism for young women (Gustafson, 2006, ftnt 14). Noticeably absent from the CPSC postings however (visual or otherwise), are any reference to such events. A multitude of events and marches such as these have been financed, in part, by foreign initiatives (such as the US Office of Transition Initiative that has funded 116 grants totaling almost $4.5 million to enable departmental or regional governments “to operate more strategically” in Bolivia) where “new forms of governance have posed a threat to free-market capitalism” (NACLA Open Letter, 2008). These grants financed a number of spectacular events, such as the rally against the proposed 2009 constitution (attended by hundreds of thousands at the Christ the Redeemer statue).

Figure 4.42 2014 Album, Figure 4.43 2014 Album, Photograph of banners at an event Photograph of an Unión Juvenil in the Plaza 24 de Septiembre Cruceñista march

The year 2015 marked the sixty-fifth anniversary of the founding of the CPSC, and imagery and corresponding text posted on social media by the CPSC offered no shortage of commemorating what the organization recognizes as profound historical events of the city of Santa Cruz de la Sierra and significant events in the evolution of the organization. Figure 4.44 is a depiction of the founding of Santa Cruz de la Sierra, now the capital of Santa Cruz Department. The first Europeans to set foot in the area were Spanish conquistadors in 1459. However, it was not until 1558 that Ñuflo de Chaves (who had arrived in Asuncion in 1541) led an expedition with the objective of settling the region. Chaves founded Santa Cruz de la Sierra (Holy Cross of the Hills) on February 26, 1561, 137 mi east of its present-day location in the Chiquitania region (eastern portion of the present day department of Santa Cruz), to function as the capital of the newly formed province of Moxos and Chaves (Gandarilla, 1995, p.41). Shortly after the city’s founding, attacks from local tribes became commonplace and Chaves was killed in 1568 by Itatine natives. After Chaves’s death, the conflicts with the local population as well as power struggles in the settlement forced the authorities in Peru to order the relocation of the city to the west. Many of the inhabitants, however, chose to stay behind and continued living in the original location. In 1590 the city was officially moved to the banks of the Guapay Empero river and renamed San Lorenzo de la Frontera. Nevertheless, the conditions proved to be even more severe at the new location forcing the settlers to relocate once again in 1595. along the Pirai River, where it is located toady. Although this was the final relocation of the city, the name San Lorenzo continued to be used until the early 17th century, when the settlers who remained behind in Santa Cruz de la Sierra were convinced by the colonial authorities to move to San Lorenzo. After they moved the city was finally consolidated in 1622 and took its original name

79 of Santa Cruz de la Sierra given by Chaves over 60 years before (ibid). The Bolivian War for Independence began in 1809 until independence was fully realized in 1825. Figure 4.45 depicts the Battle of Santa Barbara in 1815, one of many battles fought during this time, and that recognized as the second battle for the city of Santa Cruz de la Sierra’s independence (the two hundredth anniversary was celebrated in 2015) (ibid). And Figure 4.46 depicts the Rebellion de los Domingos in 1891. This historical event, “La Revolution Sunday”, is recognized as the second Federalist uprising in Santa Cruz de la Sierra. The name comes as the uprising began on Sunday, January 2, 1891, and was led by the Colonels Sunday Ardaya and Jose Domingo Avila. The revolution entailed the proclamation of the Federal Governing Board of the East to establish the “Federal States of the East”. A united eastern provincial front emerged as the Colonels gained the support of Cordillera and Chiquitos and so evolved the (still oft used) phrases “Federation of Death” and “Viva la Federation” (Peña Hasbün, 2003).

Figure 4.44 2015 Album, Figure 4.45 2015 Album, Figure 4.46 2015 Photos, Illustration of the founding of Illustration of the Battle of Illustration of the Rebellion Santa Cruz de la Sierra in 1561 Santa Barbara in 1815 de los Domingos in 1891

Many events in more recent years have correlated to the Bolivian right’s embracing of a human rights discourse (Fabricant, 2011b). In fact, the preamble to the Autonomy Statutes of Santa Cruz, written by Dr. Carlos Fernandez Pablo Klinsky, President of the Autonomic Provisional Assembly, on July 2, 2007, opens with the words “In the recovery process of democratic freedoms, the people of Santa Cruz regain their institution of self-government” (Asamblea Provisional, Preamble). The themes of “recovering” and “regaining freedoms” repeat throughout the language in this foreword to the formal statutes. In fact, on the brief one-page document, the word “free” is used six times (ibid). The discourse of human rights plays throughout in phrases such as “Santa Cruz is recovering its freedom”, “Freedom, Democracy, and Justice are the foundations of what our forefathers taught us”, and “The people of Santa Cruz

80 proclaim higher values of collective Freedom, Justice, and Equality” (ibid). In 2006, following Morales’s proposal to pass a new redistributive agrarian reform law, under which he would seize unproductive lands and large-scale landholdings in the east (where roughly 120 families control all the productive land, and redistribute it to the poor campesinos), lowland elites began to further consolidate their regional interests by launching a campaign to defend “democracy” and “rights” (Fabricant, 2011b, p.24). This moment offered the perfect opportunity to mobilize cruceños across race, class, and ethnicity to fight for their rights and their region. Appropriating leftist tactics (particularly strategies used under the military dictatorships in the 1970s and 1980s) and classic tools of union struggle in Bolivia, elites in Santa Cruz set up hunger-strikes and elaborate demonstrations in the Plaza 24 de Septiembre (ibid). Instead of employing symbols of land or agro-industrial development, the right-wing focused its campaign for autonomy on promoting “democracy”, “freedom”, and “rights”. The next opportunity for cruceños to utilize a discourse of human rights was with the majority passing by congress in 2010 of the new Law Against Racism and All Forms of Discrimination. The 24-article law mandates disciplinary action against individuals and public and private institutions for racism and discrimination (loc.gov). While it has become gauche (which in Bolivia, as in many other Latin American countries, is more damning than just being wrong) to publicly assert indigenous inferiority, when conducting research in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, it was common to hear opposition to the Law Against Racism, specifically in terms of its application to highland migrants in the region. It was also often asserted that it was now an official offense to use a derogatory term before the name of a recognized indigenous (highland) person or before the term colla (Article 1 of the Law states: Actions committed for racist motives are criminalized, as are discrimination, dissemination and incitement to racism or discrimination, participation in racist or discriminatory organizations or associations, and insults or other verbal aggression. Penalties can range from one to seven years of imprisonment. While arrests have been made, no one has yet to be convicted under the Law as prosecutors and judges do not classify acts of discrimination as crimes) (ipsnews.net). The embrace of Guaraní heritage is exceptional therefore in that it wards off the accusations of racism that otherwise would become crippling to the right’s political, economic, and territorial agenda. Conflict exploded almost immediately over the mandate between the Morales administration and many sectors of the press in Santa Cruz. Many journalists argued the law was a direct attack on their right to free speech. Again, following the same tactics as in 2006, 28

81 journalists organized a hunger strike in the Plaza 24 de Septiembre in protest of the law, which they argued was trying to silence their freedom of speech and the freedom of press (Fabricant, 2011b, p.25). This protest, however, failed to publicly discuss the predominance of the private media and the role played in promoting deeply racist and inti-indigenous sentiments against highland indigenous (ibid). Around the same time, during the first sustained challenge to the constitutional assembly, the right and the MAS faced off over a procedural issue. The MAS hoped to approve articles by simple majority, while the right wanted to maintain an ambiguously written rule requiring a two-thirds majority. In a melodramatic show, cruceño business leaders were joined by the likes of Juan Claudio Lechin, son of the legendary Juan Lechin, who led Bolivia's powerful miners' unions from the 1950s through the 1980s. Though the show of wealthy people playing the part of hungry, oppressed, sacrificial victims was widely mocked, the right eventually succeeded in defending the 2/3 (Gustafson, 2008, p.3). During other conflicts over MAS proposals, the right has also staged marches in and around urban centers. Unlike the historic marches of indigenous movements that move to and generally besiege centers of power (for example, an indigenous march in 1990 of more than 372 miles from the Amazon to La Paz), these marches are staged as spectacles to define public space as anti-MAS space and capture the sentiment of the urban middle and lower classes (ibid). The effort to unite cruceños through a fight for human rights continues and the use of these images on social media to remind of such battles simply gives the right another platform for promoting this discourse. Figure 4.47 is an archival photograph of a parade for productivity in 1958. Figure 4.48 is an archival photograph of one of the civic mobilizations for decentralization in 1984. And Figure 4.49 is a photograph of a demonstration for autonomy in 2008.

Figure 4.47 2016 Album, Figure 4.48 2014 Album, Figure 4.49 2015 Album, Archival photograph of a Photograph of civic mobilization Civic demonstration parade for productivity in 1958 for decentralization in 1984 for autonomy in 2008

Yet, in stark contrast to the discourse of human rights and inclusion is the practice of geographic exclusion in terms of the colla versus camba spaces within the city. The structure of the Santa Cruz de la Sierra municipal plan is one of anillos (radiocentric ring roads), that emanate outward from the casco viejo (old or colonial center), a hub of commercial life that rings the Central Plaza. The plaza itself is the core of religious and governmental power while the casco viejo that encircles it is the center of cruceño economic power, often associated with white European families commonly referred to as camba del primer anillo (first-ring cambas) (Gustafson, 206, p.358). As has been discussed, the freshly constructed cruceño-Guaraní identity is performed and reinforced in public spaces such as the Plaza 24 de Septiembre, which is now the most visible example of racialized and class-defined geography (Fabricant, 2009). Gustafson (2006) describes the plaza in Santa Cruz in familiar Latin American terms, as an arrangement of religious and secular power around a main square (i.e., the cathedral, social club, police and prefecture). The plaza, once a space for informal work and labor for highlanders, has now become a semiprivate place. In 1990, the CPSC launched a new municipal project, La Refondación de La Plaza 24 de Septiembre (Refounding of the Plaza 24 de Septiembre), to reconstruct the plaza as a site of cultural consumption for wealthy urbanites and visitors. Shoeshine boys, indigenous vendors, and other marginalized groups who once found employment in these centralized locations were no longer allowed to use this new tourist- friendly space. City officials redefined informal labor as formal, and laborers had to obtain and display a municipal pass to work inside the plaza. Reinforced by police and armed guards who secure the core from possible trespassers, the plaza is now protected from potential invaders (Fabricant, 2009). Whereas the city's old-guard white families reside in the inner rings, newly arrived Andean migrants (viewed largely as out of place, a threat to cruceño business development, and a disruption to the orderly functioning of the modern city), have been largely pushed toward the margins of urban space (Fabricant, 2011b, p.24). These peripheral areas are generally characterized by a lack of basic necessities such as sewage, drainage systems, paved roads, and health and educational services (Kirshner 2008). Further inflaming tensions between cruceños and migrant collas, Andean cruceños (many now second and third generation) occupy multiple professions in the formal economy, though cruceño discourse seeks to stereotype the colla only as a migrant exclusively involved in informal commerce, in areas coded as colla spaces (Gustafson, 2006, p.362). Such efforts, then, represent an attempt by local and municipal

governments to penalize Andean migrants for not acculturating to the formal market, and to ultimately erase their bodies from the urban landscape (Fabricant, 2009, p.776). Images of the Plaza 24 de Septiembre represent a significant number of postings by the CPSC. Special attention is paid to demonstrating the CPSC involvement in constructing the original plaza and decades later, its reconstruction. (See Figures 4.50, 4.51, and 4.52)

Figure 4.50 2015 Album, Figure 4.51 2015 Album, Figure 4.52 Mura, 2012, Archival photograph of the Plaza Indigenous shoe shiner Personal Photo, Indigenous 24 de Septiembre in the Plaza 24 de Septiembre man sharpening scissors

Much has been written in the geographic literature about the use of festivals and other celebratory performances of regional pride as well as “paramilitary carnivals of violence” to demonstrate the appropriation of lowland Bolivian indigenous culture (Fabricant, 2009; Gustafson, 2006; Perreault & Green, 2013). These events, and the ideology they represent, are reproduced through choice postings of such imagery by the right on social media. Figures 4.53, 4.54, and 4.55 are representative of common carnival parade brochures (each embedded with the coat of arms) passed out by various member organizations of the CPSC. Figures 4.56 and 4.57 are demonstrative of what is commonly understood to be a depiction of the “indigenous maiden” (the acceptable form of indígena). As articulated by Fabricant (2009, p.774), when women called “soberanas” (sovereigns) participate in camba events (especially in the Central Plaza), their performances take on a mixture of traditional native and urban culture. Public spectacles of camba beauty mark the women who participate and represent the lowland region as white and modern, unlike their Andean counterparts. One of the most well-known (if not notorious statements) from such a figure of beauty came from the international stage of the 2004 Miss Universe pageant. When asked about the misconceptions of her country, Miss Bolivia, Gabriela Oviedo, responded by saying “Unfortunately, people that don’t know Bolivia very much think that we are all just Indians from the west side of the country, that is, La Paz- all the images that

we see are coming from that side of the country- poor people and very short people and Indian people. I’m from the other side of the country, the east side, and it’s not cold, it’s very hot and we are tall and we are white people and we know English, so all that misconception that Bolivia is only an Andean country, it’s wrong. Bolivia has a lot to offer, and that’s my job as an ambassador of my country to let people know how much diversity we have” (aljazeera.com, 2004). Oviedo’s comments ignited a firestorm of international media coverage placing the beauty queen at the center of foreign discussion about the rise of white rightest groups in the eastern lowlands. Yet, while she drew scorn from across the globe for her undoubted racism, she was embraced by the Bolivian right, and in particular CPSC officials, who made her the queen of that year’s carnival festivities (Gustafson, 2006). In my own experience at Carnival in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, we were explicitly instructed by our hosts (members of Santa Cruz elite society and CPSC representatives) to attend the festivities with their group and remain within the confines of our restricted VIP area along the parade route, which traced its route as most public events in the city do, from the Central Plaza to Monsenor Rivero Avenue culminating at the Christ the Redeemer Statue, as we were clearly to be recognized as foreigners and should be recognized as part of the camba community. All classes of citizens of Santa Cruz de la Sierra attend the parade in what is normally predominantly camba space. Residents fire at each other with paint loaded into toy machine guns. As our hosts strongly articulated, we needed to be identified as cambas or risk being shot with paint in the face or from a real paintball gun. Our VIP area, segregated from outsiders by iron gates, had a personal bartender, catered food, its own band, and extremely tight security, to keep the group of business owners, journalists, and media personalities amongst the group secure from potential violence from Carnival goers (See Figure 4.58). As Gustafson, 2006, p.354) notes, Carnival, like many other shows of organized pageantry on the streets of Santa Cruz, are commonly tied to heavy alcohol consumption, sexual license, and violence, transgressions now tied to elite claims to public space and resistance to centralized state power (Gustafson, 2006, p.354). Yet, while these were all behaviors overwhelmingly observed at Carnival, these are not the images the CPSC posts on the organizations social media outlets. These images are constrained to those that demonstrate composed beauty and heavily emphasize cultural tradition.

Figure 4.53 Mura, 2012 Figure 4.54 2015 Album, Figure 4.55 Mura, 2012 Personal photo, Queen Parade brochure Personal photo, Carnival of the Carnival pamphlet

Figure 4.56 2015 Album, Figure 4.57 2015 Album, Figure 4.58 Mura, 2012, Photograph of the indigenous Photograph of the Queen of Personal photo, VIP staging area maiden of the Carnival

4.2.1.2 Nación Camba on Social Media

One of the most public faces of the regional autonomy campaign has been the 40,000 member-strong Movimiento Nación Camba (nacióncamba.org). The group’s name is derived from the breakaway country the group envisions that would potentially encompass more than two-thirds of the national territory (See Figure 4.59). Pruden (2003) documents that it was during the time of the Guerra del Chaco (1932-1935) between Paraguay and Bolivia, that Santa Cruz elites began to anchor their own sense of difference within, and distinctiveness from, the Bolivian nation to a Spanish bloodline and cultural legacy. This genealogy, as Nación Camba members contend, ties them more closely to the relatively white lowland Paraguay than to an Andean indigenous Bolivia. Scholarship produced during the war period reminded a lowland Bolivian audience that their departmental capital was founded by explorers from the east

(specifically, Asuncion by way of the Chaco) rather than west (Lima, by the way of the Andes). Such literature insisted that the foothills on the eastern flanks of the Bolivian Andes forms the “natural boundary” between the colonial claims to Rio de la Plata and “Alto Peru” such that the department of Santa Cruz ought to have been incorporated into Paraguay during the independence period (or into Argentina, or better yet should have been established originally as a sovereign nation) (Pruden, 2003). Acutely embracing this war era scholarly production, yet founded only in 2001, Nación Camba (led by former CPSC leaders) claims that the organization “constitutes the other vision of Bolivia” and the movement aspires to “achieve the radical autonomy of this oppressed nation” (nacióncamba.org). With headquarters (as with the CPSC) in the casca vieja (old or colonial center) the organization makes itself visible primarily through marches and manifestos (Gustafson, 2006, p.364). While the organization claims to be non-violent, the orientation of some of its subgroups (i.e. The Youth Brigade) leads many to doubt its non-violent underpinnings. Yet, in line with the CPSC, this right-wing group now wages their battles more with culture than by other means.

Figure 4.59 Nación Camba vision of Bolivia map

In contrast to the CPSC, Nación Camba’s Facebook and Twitter presence is much less developed, although numerous accounts both public and private are maintained. Movimiento Nación Camba is the organization’s group Facebook page, which offers access to the public, and is the primary focus of my research. Data was gathered from Nación Camba’s first posting on its group page starting August 18, 2008 and ending January 1, 2016. Nación Camba’s Twitter presence is divided among various accounts. A search for #NaciónCamba offers public access to all photos connected to this hashtag. Data was reviewed from the first photo posted with this hashtag to Twitter, starting September 24, 2012 and ending January 1, 2016. What follows is an examination of visual and textual imagery posted by Nación Camba that articulates a much stronger message of exclusion, compared to that of the CPSC (the figures to follow begin with those of Nación Camba’s group Facebook page until otherwise noted). Some of the most profound images posted by Nación Camba, and those that are reproduced in various forms throughout the organization’s use of social media, are symbols of movement ideology. Figure 4.60 is an illustration of a Nación Camba emblem that depicts an angel with a sword using the organization’s depiction of the cross as a shield, embedded with the slogan Santa Cruz (in the largest font), beni, pando, nación en accion (nation in action). Figures 4.61 reflects the organization’s position against the national MAS government, with a depiction of the Wiphala flag set ablaze. The organization posts a significant amount of flag images of multiple variations, including those with Nazi symbology. Figure 4.62 is an image of the organization’s green and white variation of an anarchy flag. The green is said to stand for the limitless possibilities of the Amazonian region, while the black represents petroleum as a principal mineral resource of Nación Camba (Fabricant, 2009, p.773). The symbol of the white warrior that the CPSC embraces is also employed by Nación Camba, again in accordance with the narrative of the Guaraní warrior depicted in Nordenskiold’s 1917 work. This historical imaginary is reproduced through claims on the organization’s webpage of the 400 years of resistance the camba nation has endured. It is important to note that while the CPSC demonstrates no connection in any form to Nación Camba on social media, Nación Camba does represent its connection to the CPSC through the organization’s own postings.

Figure 4.60 2015 Album, Figure 4.61 2011 Album, Figure 4.62 2008 Album, Nación en accion Illustration of the Wiphala Illustration of Nación Camba flag in flames anarchy flag

Aside from images of the organization’s interpretation of camba symbology, the majority of Nación Camba’s Facebook posts are quotes from famous (and in many cases notorious) historical and contemporary figures, interpreted as meaningful to the movement, as well as postings of political satire, and archival photographs. Those quoted by Nación Camba range from philosopher’s such as Friedrich Nietzche and Tzvetan Todorov, politicians such as Winston Churchill, Thomas Jefferson, Juan Rafael Morra Porras, and Benito Mussolini, activists such as Malcolm X, literary giants such as Mark Twain and Ayn Rand, and economists such as Karl Marx and anarcho-capitalist Jeffrey Tucker. For example, Figure 4.63 is a quote by Porras translated as “the people who do not defend themselves, end up being tenants in their own country”. While Figure 4.64 is a quote from Rand translated as “you can ignore reality, but you cannot ignore the consequences of ignoring reality”. The many quotes posted throughout are made to sound written for the discourse of Nación Camba. Figure 4.65 is representative of the use of political satire by the organization, here with corresponding text posted by Nación Camba. that simply reads “failed state”.

Figure 4.63 2013 Album, Figure 4.64 2013 Album, Figure 4.65 2012 Album, Nación Camba Porras Quote Nación Camba Rand Quote Nación Camba political satire

The selection of archival photographs by Nación Camba are used to tell the story of a history of confrontation between cambas and cruceños and the state. Figure 4.66 as articulated by Nación Camba, is an image from 1967-68 that captures the military takeover of Santa Cruz by Andean colonial troops. The corresponding text reads “the patrolling (armed) men are looking for “rebels" in the streets, but the cruceños they seek are also Bolivians!” “The Chachapumas (Aymara Pumas) is an army of occupation that grab offenders (for such crimes as expired driver's licenses) but they do not get other criminals. Camba society despises them! We demand a camba police!” While one comment following states “they won the war but we won the royalties of the oil. Now they all want to come to eat from the big pot”. Figure 4.67 as articulated by Nación Camba, is an image leading up to one the civic mobilizations in 1977, in defense of the royalties for oil. The corresponding text reads “this generation believes that development came to Santa Cruz from the sky”. One comment claims this moment is capturing the creation of Union Juvenil Cruceñista. The corresponded text to Figure 4.68 posted by Nación Camba states “people forget, the pictures remember. A political rally at the Plaza 24 de Septiembre 1921”. While one comment following says “this picture shows the day of the Santa Cruz indignation that proclaimed the Eastern Republic of Santa Cruz”.

Figure 4.66 2014 Album, Figure 4.67 2011 Album, Figure 4.68 2008 Album, Archival photograph of Archival photograph of Archival photograph of Army occupation of Santa Cruz civil mobilization in 1977 a political rally in 1921

Nación Camba’s Twitter posts disregard any attempt to historicize a connection to indigenous identity, but rather maintain the rightest position in Bolivia by exclusively promoting the camba nation. The use of maps is the primary mechanism used to articulate this notion. Figures 4.69 and 4.70 are map images that are widely replicated by Nación Camba and the organization’s supporters. In addition to the rewriting of cruceño history in opposition to that of “Upper Peru” (i.e. Andean Bolivia), Nación Camba’s radical position of “separatism” allows the

civic committee’s leaders to cast their calls for “autonomy” as moderate political demands (Lowry, 2006). The accompanying text to Figure 4.69 as posted on the organization’s Twitter feed reads “the delights of the Camba Nation of the Bolivian oligarchy against Evo Morales”. While the accompanying text to Figure 4.70 reads “congratulations to my dear Santa Cruz! Santa Cruz is alive! Long live my Camba Nation!” Figure 4.71 represents another common map image utilized by Nación Camba, while the text across the top of the map reads “Camba Nation Movement for Liberation” and across the bottom “my country and confederate state!” As these images continue to be reposted through social media outlets by Nación Camba and others (utilized as profile pictures and posted on various timelines and feeds), both the image and associated discourse are reproduced en masse (the figures to follow are those posted on Twitter under the hashtag Nación Camba’s until otherwise noted).

Figure 4.69 2014 Photos, Figure 4.70 2015 Photos, Figure 4.71 2014 Photos, Aymara Queswa map Alto Peru map Mi País map

4.2.2 Discussion of Media Data

My dissertation continues to engage with a Foucauldian constructionist approach when underpinning the ways in which the Bolivian right has utilized both social media and mainstream media to create and manipulate social realities. Further, this type of analysis offers insights into how particular knowledge becomes common sense and dominant, while simultaneously silencing different interpretations of the world (Waitt, 2010, p.217). In terms of the engagement with mainstream and social media by both the CPSC and Nación Camba, my dissertation focuses on which particular sets of ideas are produced, circulated, and displayed. Foucault did not envision audiences as passive recipients of source materials, as interpretation of materials is always a socially, spatially, and temporally contingent process (Waitt, 2010, p.230). Hence, as Waitt (2010, p.228) contends, audiences can be conceptualized as co-authors of source material. This adage holds particular relevance when the source material is social media.

In the images presented above, the CPSC clearly demonstrates its origins as a white (non- indigenous) organization. Yet, the refashioning of the cruceño or camba identity is quite evident throughout their postings on both Facebook and Twitter. Movement symbols such as the Santa Cruz Departmental Coat of Arms and green and white flag are prominently displayed at every CPSC event and are again recast in the vast majority of CPSC posted photos, while simultaneously other regional and national symbols (such as the Wiphala Flag) are excluded or “silenced”. The historicization of a shared cultural identity is embraced and enacted in many ways by the Bolivian right. For example, the imaginary of the Guaraní warrior (although depicted as white) is displayed prominently on the wall of the private CPSC headquarters, but is shared with the general public through postings of numerous committee events and activities that highlight the mural in the background. Nación Camba as well claims the “warrior blood” of the Guaraní Indian and shares this sentiment through its own postings of the warrior figure. In addition to the CPSC inserting themselves into indigenous culture, they have also asserted the indigenous into non-native tradition, and have recast the image of unity the broader national and international audience. As Fabricant (2011b, p.775) notes, performances such as these, of an invented camba-indigenous past occur only in particular parts of the city, primarily in central locations such as the Plaza 24 de Septiembre, as such spaces represent a critical dimension for constructing the component parts of right-wing movement building. The selection of photos posted by the CPSC on social media are almost exclusively of events located in the Plaza, adding another dimension of this claiming of municipal space. Through the imagery posted by the CPSC, a particular history is “remembered” by the public, in this instance, a lengthy struggle for civil rights and autonomy from a repressive state woven together with the cruceño representation of a modernizing pioneer of Spanish origin- just a tad bit mestizo and imbued with the masculinity of indigenous warriors and the exotic allure of indigenous maidens (yet not their physical appearance) (Lowry, 2006). The CPSC indeed silences any connection to violence or racism on social media. For example, while posts demonstrate the organization’s support of multiple other lowland movements, no support is demonstrated for such groups as Unión Juvenil Cruceñista (even though the UJC is widely considered an arm of the CPSC) or Nación Camba (although Nación Camba does demonstrate its connection to the CPSC through the group’s own social media postings). To further this point, a recent statement released on the CPSC’s webpage, by Roger Montenegro, the new CPSC

Chairman and designated “moral leader of Santa Cruz”, warned cruceños to avoid posting any derogatory comments on social media (such text is apparently strictly monitored on the organization’s own pages) as he relayed information that the opposition was seeking to “expose cruceños as racists”. Montenegro contends that “there are groups or anti-cruceñas people who want to show Santa Cruz, the cambas, as racist, as if we were intolerant in an effort to prepare an attack against Santa Cruz in the short-term future” (comiteprosantacruz.org.bo). Montenegro stated that the intention of these messages is to “point to the East as racist, separatist or terrorist”. The civic committee authority asked people, especially young people, to be very careful with this situation saying "no messages should be relayed nicking the dignity of persons or having a racist connotation- everyone must be very careful” and then stressed that Santa Cruz is the most “inclusive department in the country” (ibid). Social media and mainstream media are interconnected in lowland Bolivia, both utilized as strategic tools to produce and reproduce a specific narrative. Controlled tightly and monitored vigilantly by CPSC members, these media outlets work to establish and maintain sets of ideas, practices, and attitudes, that the organization deems essential, as both common sense and legitimate. It is difficult to ascertain how effective the campaign has been for the CPSC in terms of utilizing social media to create an image of identity that claims a shared heritage by those of predominantly European descent with lowland indigenous peoples. By the shear fact that indigenous in urban settings have greater access to and arguably much greater engagement with both mainstream and social media outlets, I posit that social media is a significant technological tool that when engaged by the CPSC, works to limit dissent and to more coherently create a narrative of cultural fusion. This is key in terms of the necessity to prove a shared indigenous heritage in order to maintain the current status quo of departmental autonomy versus individual groups such as the Guaraní seeking to create their own autonomous indigenous region within the department, particularly where valuable resources are concerned. My work here offers an ethnographic study of the CPSC, and more broadly the Bolivian right, through engagement with historical-critical interpretation of textual and visual data, to demonstrate the shaping of social “realities” by media sources. While this work is underpinned by literature on cultural identity production (Geller, 1964; Anderson 1983; Hobsbawm, 1990), in an emerging digital world, interdisciplinary research in communication with particular emphasis on cultural and mediated communication can frame much of the work I have done here. Media

and communication studies offers much to the fields of political communication through journalism, representations of gender, race, nationality and culture, political economy of media industries, technology including new media, internet and society, and media-government relationships, while my work intersects best with the larger literature on media and social movements. Whereas other disciplines like media and communication studies, and sociology, have long attempted to address these issues, in comparison, geography has paid too little attention to social media as an area of study. My work calls, therefore, for a consideration of what this means in our research in geography. While Rose (2001) offers a comprehensive undertaking of framing visual culture as a geographic method, her work does not yet incorporate social media. The lack of literature in this area suggests that either geographers have failed to realize the vast potentials of including social media in their research or social media are used but left mostly unmentioned. Both of these present concerns in a time when the day-to-day use of social media by both individuals and groups is salient. My dissertation thus challenges the prevalent view that when social media is featured in geographic research, it is often taken as something incidental or unimportant to highlight, likely because our training in research methodologies and ethical reviews does not incorporate adequate discussion and focus on the ethical dimensions of using social media (Sin, 2015, p.677), or because it is not viewed as an area of rigorous study. Yet, I argue that online technologies (especially social media) are an important component part in considering multisited research and that questioning the impact of social media in social movements is of the utmost important to this line of inquiry. As I have discussed throughout this section, online spaces, especially social media, allow for the (re)production of events, and these moments in time can be (re)imagined through their framing on social media, and are also made available to be circulated amongst a much wider audience. I demonstrate through this analysis that the (re)imagining by the CPSC has a significantly different tone than other movements of the Bolivian right (such as Unión Juvenil Cruceñista or Nación Camba) with reference to such key concepts as ethnicity, indigeneity, and national, regional, and local, and even individual space. It is the intersection of imagining and action that I find offers elite movements, in this case the CPSC, the opportunity to frame and make visual their discourse in a way that allows them to forms images around which all cruceños can imagine a historic and unified cultural identity and a framework for both those in and outside of Bolivian of what it means to be cruceñidad.

4.3 Cartographic Representation

My dissertation examines how the map has been engaged to reflect and recreate the dominant discourse put forth by the CPSC, one of both beneficiary and representative of a unified lowland region. What also emerges from this examination is the ways in which the map is problematic to the historicization of a shared indigenous heritage (specifically in terms of the Guaraní). By utilizing both archival and contemporary maps (professional and non) as well as original maps created in ArcGIS, my study first looks at the original “territory” of the Guaraní as created and published by professional cartographers and then looks at how the area of the Guaraní is depicted cartographically today, largely by non-professional cartographers, in quite varying ways. Historical maps often hold information retained by no other written source, such as place- names, boundaries, and physical features that have been modified or erased by modern development while they can also capture the attitudes of those who made them and represent worldviews of their time (Knowles, 2002, p.1). The maps to follow are a sampling of the cartographic record of the time and show a transition of indigenous terrain clearly depicted on earlier mappings but seemingly erased from the map over time. The maps examined here are from a wide range of sources and genres of publication, from state governments and private cartographic companies to those found on open access programs such as Wikimedia Commons and posted by various online communities. These maps are all presumed to be in the public domain in the United States. This applies to U.S. works where the copyright has expired, often because its first publication occurred prior to January 1, 1923, and the repositories where they are held are not aware of any U.S. copyright protection (see Title 17 of the United States Code) or any other restrictions.

4.3.1 Visualizing Guaraní Territory

The stretch of land in Argentina, Uruguay, Paraguay, Brazil, and Bolivia is an extended region emanating from the heart of the River Plate Basin seldom recognized as a unity, traversed as it is by national or provincial borders (Silvetti & Silvestri, 2014, p.2). This land however, encompasses the geographic location through which the Guaraní territory extends (See Figure 4.72). In the context of my dissertation, the Guaraní have been discussed solely in terms of their presence in Bolivia, however it is important to contextualize the vast expanse of the original

Guaraní territory and how the geographic location of the indigenous nation fragmented and changed over time, as well as how the mapping of Guaraní territory has changed over time.

Figure 4.72 Original Guaraní Territory Source: Silvetti & Silvestri, 2015

In principal Guaraní refers to a language. It is particularly distinct among American native languages as it is not only spoken by indigenous communities but is the only pre- Colombian language also spoken by a large non-indigenous community. Moreover, it colors the Castilian inflections spoken throughout the region (Silvetti & Silvestri, 2014, p.3). In a more expansive sense, the name Guaraní was the name the Spanish used to identify all of the diverse groups in the region no matter what they had called themselves (i.e. Chandules, Carios, Tobatines, Guarambarenses, Itatines). Hence, the emergence of the Guaraní as a distinct group, is tightly connected to colonialism. Under this linguistic and cultural unity, the Guaraní operated as a system of relatively autonomous communities. Guaraní “territory” however was not exclusive, since other ethnic groups lived there, and the Guaraní people did not attempt to control the entire territory (Reboratti, 2015, p.7). Because of their semi-nomadic lifestyle and without any permanent architecture, they left no visible traces and did not organize the territory, in effect rendering this a “virtual territory” (ibid). The territory of the Guaraní began to fragment after the

arrival of Spanish and Portuguese conquerors, as they came from a culture in which ownership and demarcation is fundamental- an idea completely foreign to the Guaraní and other indigenous natives. The first thing the Europeans did was to create borders on the space where they considered they had the right to exclusive possession. The Spanish were the first to make this claim, defining their possession of the territory where the Guaraní peoples lived. As Reboratti (2015, p.7) notes, two symbols sealed this claim- the founding of Asunción (followed by Corrientes and Concepcion) and the decision that the Guaraní territory lay within the geographic domain of the Viceroyalty of Peru. The virtual territory was therefore transformed into a concrete and exclusive one- the type of territory that needs maps to formalize its borders. In the first Spanish maps, it is easy to figure out that the Guaraní territory changed “ownership” and the Spanish crown now controlled (or desired to control) the area. Given the absence of “infrastructure”, the first marks of ownership were cities. In the 16th century, another European innovation emerged, a territory within a territory. To this end, Jesuits Missionaries arrived, and with a clear idea of territorial organization. With the Jesuits, the territory became concrete, formal and organized. The only problem was delineation of the areas limits (a prominent disagreement between the Spanish and the Portuguese). As it often occurred, the formal (political) territorial limits were not decided within the territory itself, but from afar. The Viceroyalty of the River Plate in 1767 broke the entire area of the Guaraní into three fragmented regions. These were partly formal territories and partly virtual, as no one was really sure where the mission’s territorial limits were (Reboratti, 2015, p.7). The Jesuits were formally expelled from the Spanish colonies in 1767. From 1810 on, territories began to fragment yet again, corresponding to the border demarcations of the new republics. Beyond the formal borders, and sometimes just ignoring these borders, other territorial processes were taking place related to the exploitation of natural resources and the value of property. From this time forward, the Guaraní property has been continually transformed and modified, along with the forms of organization and populations that identify with it (ibid). The following series of maps are chosen as they locate both Santa Cruz de la Sierra and the territory of the Guaraní as viewed by the cartographer during the time of creation. While decades and in cases centuries apart in their creation, these maps (created by Europeans, Americas, and Bolivians respectively) represent the way the territory of present day Bolivia was historically viewed to have existed in relation to Guaraní territory. The maps progression through

time also demonstrates the changes in area identification (place names and identified territories) as Spanish territorial possession grew. The language of the map titles and any script on the map as well as symbolization on each map and original purpose of production (i.e. for use in an atlas) is an indicator of the map maker’s respective background and likely understanding of the geographic layout of the area. The map in Figure 4.73, the first in this series, was created between 1652 and 1658 by Jan Jansson and appears in Nouvel atlas ou Theatre du Monde, French editions of Atlas Novus, under the formal Latin title Paragvay, o prov. de Rio de la Plata cum regionibus adiacentibus Tvcvman et Sta. Crvz de la Sierra. The map is currently held in the George A. Smathers Library and the University of Florida. The map depicts central South America, and is based on Bleau’s 1638 map of the same. The region includes the Paraguay River basin and the Peru-Chilean coast with Lake Titicaca. The Rio de la Plata is boldly shown with multiple islands. Parts of present day Paraguay, Peru, Chili, Argentina, Brazil and Bolivia are identified. Also identified are both geographic regions and territories of major indigenous nations such as the Moxos, Chicas, Tucuman (Tvuvman), and Guaraníes (Gvaranies). The city of Santa Cruz de la Sierra (S. Crus de la Sierra) is clearly demarcated (also marked with the red symbol of the Jesuit mission) as well as the city of Asuncion. The territory around the city is labelled as Chiquitos (now referred to as Chiquitana). The map in Figure 4.74 titled in Latin as Carta rappresentante l'America Meridionale, was created in 1777, while the creator and atlas it was created for are unknown. The map is currently held in the George A. Smathers Library and the University of Florida. While there are limited indigenous territories identified in this South American map, the territory of the Guaraní s is clearly depicted in the southern region of the area labelled as Paraguay (as referenced in Figure 4.71). For reference, physical features in present day Bolivia such as Lake Titicaca, and regions such as Chiquitos and the Chaco are also labelled.

Figure 4.73 Map of central South America 1652-1658 Figure 4.74 Map of South America 1777 Source: UF Map Library Source: UF Map Library

The map in Figure 4.75 was created in 1732 in Rome (with text in Latin and some place names in Spanish) by Francisco Retz, Superior General of the Society of Jesus. It is currently held in the Library of Congress Geography and Map Division in Washington, D.C. The map’s full and official Latin title is Paraguariæ Provinciæ soc. jesu cum adiacentibg. novissima descriptio: post iteratas peregrinationes & plures observationes patrum missionariorum eiusdem soc. tum huius provinciæ, cum & Peruanæ accuratissime delineata & emendata ann. 1732. The map shows the Jesuit provinces of Paraguay and neighboring areas, and marks the main missions and missionary journeys. Santa Cruz de la Sierra is marked. The map in Figure 4.76, titled Map of Chiquitania was made in Bolivia in 1789 while the creator is unknown. The map is held in the National Library of Brazil and the map image is available on Wikimedia Commons. The map indicates native settlements and depicts the present-day Bolivian provinces of Santa Cruz de la Sierra and Chiquitos, and the Brazilian state of Mata Grosso. Also shown are Santa Cruz de la Sierra and Cuyaba, the capital of Mata Grosso (Santa Cruz was an important staging point for the Jesuit missions, and Cuyaba was established as a Catholic primature in 1745.) As this area was a center of religious activity, many of the settlements may have been the remnants of Jesuit centers, called reducciones (reductions or townships).

Figure 4.75 Map of Jesuit provinces 1732 Figure 4.76 Map of native settlements 1789 Source: Library of Congress Source: Wikimedia Commons

The map in Figure 4.77 titled Peru & Bolivia, was created in 1851 by John Tallis and J. Rapkin (also engraved by Rapkin) and is published in the Illustrated Atlas and Modern History of the World. The map is currently held in the George A. Smathers Library and the University of Florida. The map depicts the territory of Bolivia prior to any land being ceded to Chile or Argentina. While major cities in Bolivia are labelled, indigenous territory is no longer identified. The map in Figure 4.78 titled Venezuela, New Granada, Ecuador, Peru & Bolivia, Chile &

Guiana was created in the US in 1862 by Alvin Johnson and Joseph Hutchins for publication in Johnson's new illustrated (steel plate) family atlas. The atlas is currently held in the Library of Congress Geography and Map Division in Washington, D.C. Most notable in this territorial depiction is the change from not formally depicting indigenous territory on the map to now referring to occupied indigenous territory as El Despoblado (i.e.) The Uninhabited Region (in what is depicted as Guaraní territory in Figure 4.71). These maps represent the common transition notable throughout the colonial era, as formal boundaries are drawn and native place names are erased from the map and replaced with European ones.

Figure 4.77 Map of Peru and Bolivia 1851 Figure 4.78 Map of South America 1862 Source: UF Map Library Source: Library of Congress

The map in Figure 4.79, titled Brazil, Bolivia, Paraguay, and Uruguay, was created in the US by S.A. Mitchell in 1860 and is published in the 1865 edition of Mitchell’s New General Atlas. The map is currently held in the George A. Smathers Library and the University of Florida. The determination of publication was based on the number "58" found in the lower right hand corner of the map sheet, and Phillips No. 846, a reference source for antique maps which lists the maps by number contained in each edition of Mitchell's New General Atlas. The map illustrates Bolivia just prior to a series of years in which territory from all borders was ceded to neighboring countries; northern territory was ceded to Brazil between 1867-1903; eastern territory was ceded to Brazil between 1867-1928; southern territory was ceded to Argentina in 1889; southwestern territory was ceded to Chile between 1879-1904; northwestern territory was ceded to Peru in 1903; and southeastern territory was ceded to Paraguay in 1935.

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Figure 4.79 Map of central South America 1865 Source: UF Map Library

As Farish (2009, p.447) notes, “Depending on what is displayed, mappings can establish claims to a homeland or rebut them by using historical evidence to create a genealogy of a nation or a people rooted in a particular space”. To exemplify this point, an examination of the claim by Bolivian elites to a shared cultural and territorial identity with Guaraní peoples is made problematic by cartographic analysis. Santa Cruz de la Sierra was founded in 1561. By viewing the layout of the original Guaraní territory and both the original and current location of Santa Cruz de la Sierra as shown in Figure 4.80, Guaraní territory was not formally running through the parameters of the city.

Figure 4.80 Map of movement of Santa Cruz de la Sierra

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The city was originally established by Spanish explorer Nuflo de Chavez about 124 mile east of its current location. The city was moved several times from the Chiquitania region (eastern portion of the department of Santa Cruz) until finally becoming established along the Pirai River, where it is located toady (bellabolivia.com). From the time that Bolivia’s borders were formally drawn, an extension of Guaraní territory was incorporated. While Guaraní territory was clearly located in the lowland region of the media luna, the cartographic construction here challenges the claim that the Bolivian right in Santa Cruz de la Sierra has any form of a shared territorial claim. In stark contrast, however, to the professional cartographic record, recent mappings by non-professional cartographers have begun to circulate throughout online media sources, from such diverse sources as personal blogs to organizational webpages, that depict varying imaginaries of Guaraní territory. For example, Figure 4.81 is a map that can be found on numerous webpages and is drawn to depict the territories of the 36 constitutionally recognized indigenous nations. The location of Guaraní territory as illustrated here is relocated significantly to the north and west in the lowland territory, more fully covering lands where valuable resources are located in the departments of Tarija and Chuquisaca, but at the same time maintaining a strong presence within the department of Santa Cruz and approaching a much closer proximity to the present day location of Santa Cruz de la Sierra. Also of interest on this map is the labelling of all nations as they are known, while Aymara territory is relabeled on the map simply as “collas”.

Figure 4.81 Alternate mapping of Bolivian nations

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Figure 4.82 offers another variation of Guaraní territory, this time shifting the territory again to the north, but more significantly to the west, and more completely encompassing territories in Tarija and Chuquisaca. Interestingly, other lowland nations are similarly depicted in both images, while only Guaraní territory is prominently relocated. The latter mapping is more commonly circulated online by indigenous organizations, while of the course, the former map is more commonly embraced and circulated by members of the Bolivian right through online blogs and media (both mainstream and social media) outlets.

Figure 4.82 Alternate population map

While these are just a small sampling of varying depictions of Guaraní territory, they are those that best serve the interests of lowland Bolivians, and are those that I found to be most widely circulated. In Figure 4.83, I digitized these two variations of Guaraní territory, brought them in to ArcMap, and overlaid them on the original Guaraní territory (as illustrated in Figure 4.71) to illustrate just how different the territorial imaginary is. These variations of territory illustrated here speak to the historicization of the CPSC and other movements of the right in the lowland region. While there are at present three distinct groups of Guaraní occupying territory in Bolivia; the Ava Guaraní, who live in the Eastern Andean foothills of Santa Cruz and Tarija; the Izoceno Guaraní, who live in the Izozo region of central Santa Cruz department; and the Simba Guaraní, who live in small enclaves of Tarija and Chuquisaca departments, this systematic locating of the historical territory of the Guaraní by amateur cartographers, lends greatly to the rightwing discourse of a shared cultural and territorial history. It is these new forms of

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cartography production, that I posit, are aimed at mobilizing alternative geographical imaginations and do their work most effectively by their widespread dissemination, replication, and reproduction.

Figure 4.83 Guaraní overlay map

4.3.2 Discussion of Cartographic Representation

The archival maps that I have discussed here were understandably created and used with the premise that the Spanish (and Portuguese) had established territorial rights to the lands of people they deemed weak and inferior, for as Harley (1989, p.7) famously noted “To those who have strength in the world shall be added the strength of the map”. The constructed boundaries and states reﬂected the interests of the colonial era and the erasure of indigenous place names and the establishment of cities (and their corresponding placement on the map) further highlight the European social dominance of the time. As I have discussed here, lowland indigenous groups, such as the Guaraní, were not originally one unified indigenous nation, but were formed into one (and officially mapped) by the colonial powers. To this end, the consolidation of the Guaraní, their subsequent mapping, and later removal from native territories on the map all served the agenda of the European conquistadors and their ancestors for years following.

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As cartography has historically been mostly associated with such imperial projects and the mapping of terrae incognitae in order to facilitate material and cognitive conquest, it may seem an unusual beginning for thinking about the reconfiguration of political identities, economic, and social space. Yet, the research I present in this section is done so to articulate that centuries later, European elites are again working to consolidate indigenous identity to their own benefit, yet now must do so largely in direct confrontation with original professional cartographic renderings. The most important native peoples to elites are the Guaraní, and their lands rich with highly sought after resources. Problematic to elites in this endeavor, however, has been the ability to offer their own “ancestral-territorial” evidence of an unmemorable connection to native lands and to demonstrate territorial continuity in the lowland region. This is an absolute must for organizations like the CPSC who would otherwise risk losing valuable geographic space if an indigenous autonomous region were to be carved out of the current departmental autonomous region. To this end, my dissertation examines how the map has been engaged by non- professional cartographers, otherwise understood as crowdsourced images, to reflect and recreate the dominant discourse put forth by the CPSC of beneficiary of a unified lowland region. While prior times may have allowed the Bolivian right to engage their background as white descendants of conquistador incursions from the east to stake a claim to regional resources, since historical moments such as the enfranchisement of the indigenous population and the original reference to a multi-ethnic and plurinational nation in the Bolivian Constitution, the right has had to repackage their discourse to one of inclusion. Although this discourse explicitly places lowland identity in direct conflict with highland identity, it does so by maintaining a narrative of historical connection of all lowland Bolivians in terms of identity by way of territorial congruency. This discourse is not reflected in archival regional mappings (and as demonstrated in Figure 4.80 could prove extremely problematic), therefore, I argue, the use of crowdsourced maps is most important in making common sense and real imagined geographies. While there is boarder literature to engage with in terms of cartographic representation, from the politics of boundaries to mental cartographic maps, I find this analysis can best be contextualized in terms of the broader literature on mapping and power. In recent years, varying social movements have explicitly adopted the practice of map-making as one way to further pursue their political activities, while such critically engaged cartographies have grown to

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include, for example, cartoon-like maps and street-protest maps (Cobarrubias and Pickles, 2008). As discussed, while there is undoubtedly power in official maps, drawn by cartographic experts (although they come with their own inherent biases), unofficial, non-professional, crowdsourced maps can be equally as powerful, especially when they are (re)produced, replicated, and circulated widely online. The widespread exposure of these alternative spatial imaginings, I suggest, is therefore a critical dimension for constructing a component part of rightwing movement building, including the CPSC. Ultimately, literature on mapping and power seeks to uncover ways that maps work to produce knowledge. Building on the seminal work of Harley (1989) that argues for the function of map as images of power, approaches to maps as representations and sites of power-knowledge is engaged with in key works such as Wood (1992; 2010); Pickles (2004); and Crampton (2010). As Crampton (2001) describes, there has recently been an “epistemic break” between a model of cartography as a communication system, and one in which cartography is seen through power relations; between maps as presentation of stable, known information, to those that that construct new geographical knowledge. This reflects literature by Monmonier (2011), who contends that all maps should be treated as interpretations, not as definitive and unquestionable reflections of reality. A philosophical shift away from representation and towards action (Thrift, 1999; Nash, 2000) has been paralleled by a greater concern with the context in which mapping takes place, and the ways the cultural text of the map is performed (Sparke, 1995). In previous times, cartography was much less concerned with the user. Indeed, the map was considered the end result in itself and it is only in the second half of the twentieth century that attention was paid to such things as expert-novice differences or how people learn and remember maps (Crampton, 2010). This approach re-orientates theory so that mapping becomes a social activity, rather than an individual response. Such theory fits in well with contemporary analysis of mapping practice in web-based environments where production and consumption of visualization is increasingly collaborative (MacEachren, 2000; 2001; Dykes et al., 2004). Whether archival mappings or crowdsourced renderings, all maps work to serve the determinate interest and contribute to the constructions of particular histories. It is this new cartographic agency, I posit, engaged by organizations such as the CPSC, that truly works to reconfigure relations that structure socio-spatial life and works to remap the spaces of everyday life and render visible geographies in new ways. It is primarily the user’s interpretation and

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(re)circulation, and the way particular renderings are used to make people learn and remember, I find, that organizations such as the CPSC rely on.

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CHAPTER FIVE

CONCLUSION

Cultural identity production as an area of study offers wide reaching possibilities for research. In the context of Latin America, study of indigenous identity and the ways in which Europeans and mestizo populations engage with indigenous identity is particularly relevant. As my dissertation has demonstrated, while there is much that is unique and significant about the conflict between people considered highlanders and with those known as lowlanders, and between indigenous and non-indigenous populations in Bolivia, arguably little attention is paid to these tensions outside of the country. Yet, as my research posits, in-depth examination of the cultural tensions that have long echoed throughout Bolivia offers much to those interested in the engagement of cultural identity, and how movements of both the left and right use identity to obtain political, economic, and territorial rights in Latin American and elsewhere.

5.1 Contributions of the Dissertation

As discussed in the introduction to this research, my original interest in Bolivia was examining what I understood to be the ongoing repression of the indigenous population, the subject position to which I was most sympathetic to. Yet, as my research evolved, and I spent more time in Bolivia, I realized that those members of Bolivian society referred to as elites- because of their privileged economic position in society- were not necessarily the “bad guys” in this story. Through speaking to many citizens considered part of the elite ranks in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, I came to understand that they too felt that their rights were being challenged and repressed. Because of their light skin and use of the English language, these members of society are not normally the way a minority subject position is understood in the traditional sense. While I was originally challenged in many ways as an American conducting research in Bolivia (from exhaustive Visa requirements, to being singled out and searched in airports, to having difficulty being allowed permission to work in libraries and archives), I was surprised to be offered such extensive institutional access and allotted such significant opportunity to engage with citizens in Santa Cruz. I was introduced to professors at local public and private universities, members of the media, local business and union leaders, and engaged with many members of the CPSC. In the time since I last travelled to Bolivia, and even with an awareness that I am engaging in a

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dissertation about the methods of identity production, many of these people have remained in contact and have continued to offer support to this project. Given such opportunity for research, my main contribution to the dissertation has been to advance the work done by geographers on rightwing and elite movements in Bolivia, and more broadly Latin America. While insightful discussion of the Bolivian right has been presented by a very small group of geographers, what has been written about has focused almost exclusively on the physically violent means that movements of the Bolivian right have tactically employed against opposition groups. The other area of research that has been covered extensively by geographers (as well as political scientists and anthropologists working in the area) has been on the spectacular performances staged at events such as Carnival. Attention has also been paid more exclusively to such extremist rightwing organizations as Unión Juvenil Cruceñista or Nación Camba, rather than the Comité Pro Santa Cruz. It is most certainly not to say that the CPSC has not engaged in violent means, but my findings demonstrate to further their discourse, they must now engage in newer, subtler tactics. My contribution to the geographic literature, therefore, lies more specifically in my examination of the subtler ways a group (in this case, Bolivian elites) works to establish an identity. My research finds that the CPSC establishes their discourse of identity by 1) manipulating language, 2) through use of both mainstream and social media, and 3) through depictions of space. It is precisely through my examination of the use of these more indirect methods by the Bolivian right- such as the use of social media and engagement with crowdsourced cartographic representation- that I offer significant contribution to the dissertation. Additionally, through the creation of original maps, I have offered new ways of visualizing Bolivian elite discourse in ways not done before. To summarize the findings in this study, it is evident from my analysis of the CPSC’s engagement with social media and crowdsourced cartographic representations, that such tactics are unique as they have the power and capacity to reshape stories and erase long histories. These tools undoubtedly offer ways to reinforce the discourse of the CPSC, and in ways that are no longer confined to the borders of the nation, lowland territory, or city centers of Santa Cruz. In present day culture, social media is becoming more salient every day. My research takes on the viewpoint that digital media have become central to the articulation of beliefs, practices, and modes of being in the world, and as my study has shown, organizations of the right in Bolivia, such as the CPSC and Nación Camba, are taking full advantage of such means. Through careful

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curation of how events are framed, how people are viewed, how the past is remembered, and how the present is unfolding, my work has illustrated how images of ethnic, racial, and regional types play a crucial role in the CPSC regional project by forming images around which all cruceños can imagine a historic and unified cultural identity. In addition to this classificatory or mapping role, I find that the wider circulation of these images via social media has also provided an imaginative conceptual framework to both those inside and outside of Bolivia for a sentiment of what it means to be cruceñidad. Further, this type of analysis offers insights into how particular knowledge becomes common sense and dominant, while simultaneously silencing different interpretations of the world. In terms of the engagement with mainstream and social media by both the CPSC and Nación Camba, my dissertation identified particular sets of ideas that are produced, circulated, and displayed. I contend that these media outlets are controlled tightly and monitored vigilantly by CPSC members, in order to work to establish and maintain sets of ideas, practices, and attitudes, that the organization deems essential, as both common sense and legitimate. It is difficult to ascertain how effective the campaign has been for the CPSC in terms of utilizing social media to create an image of identity that claims a shared heritage by those of predominantly European descent with lowland indigenous peoples. By the sheer fact that indigenous in urban settings have greater access to, and arguably, much greater engagement with, both mainstream and social media outlets, I posit that social media is a significant technological tool that when engaged by the CPSC, works to limit dissent and to more coherently create a narrative of cultural fusion. This is key in terms of the necessity to prove a shared indigenous heritage in order to maintain the current status quo of departmental autonomy versus individual groups such as the Guaraní seeking to create their own autonomous indigenous region within the department, particularly where valuable resources are concerned. My dissertation has also challenged the prevalent view that when social media is featured in geographic research, it is often taken as something incidental or unimportant to highlight, likely because our training in research methodologies and ethical reviews does not incorporate adequate discussion and focus on the ethical dimensions of using social media or because it is not viewed as an area of rigorous study (Sin, 2015). Yet, I argue that online technologies (especially social media) are an important component part in considering multisited research and

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that questioning the impact of social media in social movements is of the utmost important to this line of inquiry. Findings from my research on cartographic representation show that the key problematic to elites in this endeavor, has been the ability to offer their own “ancestral-territorial” evidence of an unmemorable connection to native lands and to demonstrate territorial continuity in the lowland region. This is an absolute must for organizations like the CPSC who would otherwise risk losing valuable geographic space if an indigenous autonomous region were to be carved out of the current departmental autonomous region. To this end, I find that the ways the map has been engaged by non-professional cartographers, to reflect and recreate the dominant discourse put forth by the CPSC of beneficiary of a unified lowland region, has been most effective. While prior times may have allowed the Bolivian right to engage their background as white descendants of conquistador incursions from the east to stake a claim to regional resources, since historical moments such as the enfranchisement of the indigenous population and the original reference to a multi-ethnic and plurinational nation in the Bolivian Constitution, the right has had to repackage their discourse to one of inclusion. Although this discourse explicitly places lowland identity in direct conflict with highland identity, it does so by maintaining a narrative of historical connection of all lowland Bolivians in terms of identity by way of territorial congruency. I find that this discourse is not reflected in archival regional mappings, and therefore, I argue, the use of crowdsourced maps is most important in making common sense and real imagined geographies. As discussed, while there is undoubtedly power in official maps, drawn by cartographic experts, unofficial, non-professional, crowdsourced maps can be equally as powerful, especially when they are (re)produced, replicated, and circulated widely online. The widespread exposure of these alternative spatial imaginings, I suggest, is therefore a critical dimension for constructing a component part of rightwing movement building, including the CPSC. Whether archival mappings or crowdsourced renderings, all maps work to serve the determinate interest and contribute to the constructions of particular histories. It is this new cartographic agency, I posit, engaged by organizations such as the CPSC, that truly works to reconfigure relations that structure socio-spatial life and works to remap the spaces of everyday life and render visible geographies in new ways. It is primarily the user’s interpretation and (re)circulation, and the way particular renderings are used to make people learn and remember, I find, that organizations such as the CPSC rely on.

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Ultimately, as this is a regional geography dissertation, I approached this research with a particular interest in considering how the issues I was examining within Bolivia could relate to the broader region of Latin America. As mentioned, while I find much of this research fascinating, issues of identity conflict tend to be most intriguing to those subjects within the area of study. Yet, I contend that this research is relevant to many other Latin American countries in the region, and the researchers who engage with them, as issues of identity struggle and conflict between various ethnic groups and indigenous populations abound throughout the Central and South American region. In similar fashion to Bolivia, throughout the 1980s and early 1990s, prominent indigenous movements emerged places such as in Ecuador, Guatemala, and Mexico, as well as movements by Afro-Colombians and Afro-Brazilians. As a result, many Latin American countries undertook unprecedented reforms to address ethnic diversity: as the case with Bolivia, national governments amended national constitutions to recognize indigenous people, passed laws supporting bicultural education and affirmative action, and added questions about race and ethnicity to official censuses. Currently in the region, indigenous people not only are actively involved in politics but also have risen to leadership positions. As discussed, Evo Morales, an indigenous Aymara, has served as Bolivia’s president since 2006, while Ollanta Humala, an indigenous Peruvian, became Peru’s president in 2011. Some of these Latin American governments have constructed myths of national unity and ethnic homogeneity, actively promoting racial mixing and erasing ethnic distinctions from official documents and from the national discourse. But as the case with Bolivia, it is often the blurring of ethnic lines, sanctioned by governments, that has contributed to greater conflict in terms of race and identity. Although notably, despite the mass mobilization of both indigenous groups and those that oppose them, the region has not seen extensive violence or ethnic civil wars, as is the case in other developing parts of the world. To this end, a study of these issues from the perspective of indigenous organizations, undoubtedly offers much to a regional geography study. Yet, I find that if geographers engage in more research, such as mine, of rightwing and elite movements, a more coherent picture of how movements of both the left and the right, indigenous and non-indigenous engage their discourse will emerge. As well, the framework I offer in terms of social media analysis and cartographic representation can be easily applied to aforementioned movements in Latin America, and beyond.

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5.2 Future Directions

Although my work takes an important step in understanding ways in which social movements conceptualize local, regional, and national space and how these conceptualizations may be engaged in varying social geographies of mobilization, there are many more avenues that can be explored in the context of Bolivian rightwing and elite movements. As my interest in working with archival documents and maps continues to grow, there are significant possibilities to expand on the area of cartographic representation this dissertation began. I remain in contact with Paula Peña Hasbün, director of the Archives of the Museum of Regional History of the University Gabriel San Moreno, in Santa Cruz, Bolivia, and look forward to the opportunity to work more exclusively with materials in the archives. This research can also be expanded upon by examining indigenous mappings and obtaining oral history from indigenous peoples regarding past places. One methodological technique that this research would particularly benefit from is that of historical GIS (HGIS). Where geography is more concerned with the study of spatial differentiation, and history is more concerned with the study of temporal differentiation, HGIS provides the tools to combine them to study patterns of change over space and time (Knowles, 2002, p.xii). Utilizing HGIS, it is now possible to devise dynamic views of past experience in the form of animated series of map images that can be started and stopped as time progresses to show conditions at any given moment. It is also possible to bring together multiple maps in a single image, and to represent and analyze information as multiple layers in a single map document (Knowles, 2002, pp.vii-viii). Historical maps can be brought into GIS, even when they are primitive or known to be inaccurate. Older manuscripts and printed maps’ placement can be rectified in GIS by specifying known locations often by going into the field with a GPS. Once specific locations on the historical map have been pinned down, the rest of the map can be adjusted computationally to establish relatively accurate locations for the map in its entirety. Where researchers desire three-dimensional effects, this process of fitting historical maps to known locations allows an older map originally prepared on a flat piece of paper to be draped over a three-dimensional spatial model, in order to allow visualization (Knowles, 2002, p.ix). HGIS allows for the visualization of historical patterns embedded in historical evidence, examination of evidence at different scales, aggregating data from smaller units to larger units, and integration of material from textual, tabular, cartographic, and visual sources, provided that they share common geographic locations (Knowles, 2008, p.2).

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Aside from the primarily qualitative approach to my research, there are significant possibilities for inclusion of quantitative analysis, most prominently in term of internal border conflict in Bolivia. One such example is to utilize the quantitative methodology for analyzing contested map borders introduced by Hamilton, et.al (2016). Based on the data gathered by my dissertation research, this new analytical technique could generate a series of new maps that make explicit the fluid boundaries and general disagreement among the Bolivian population. Hamilton, et. al., (utilizing this technique to rethink the contested borders of the Bulgarian polity ca. 800 CE) offer a starting point to this analysis with a simple point-in-polygon procedure to create a majority map that depicts the points included within the borders of more than 50 percent of the maps examined. The majority map can then be combined with percentage maps, confidence interval map boundaries, and cluster maps. The confidence interval maps can be created via a spatial bootstrapping procedure and can measure the uncertainty in the majority map. The cluster maps can be developed via a radial basis function and can provide insight into the potential affectivity based on the cartographer’s geographic origin (Hamilton, et. al., 2016, p.115). The final map can then reflect the general consensus of the borders (in this case departmental, provincial, municipal, and cantonal boundaries) at a given point in time. The rightwing and elite movements in Bolivia will also be entering yet another new era as the Morales administration comes to a close. Morales was unsuccessful in his attempt earlier in 2016 to introduce a constitutional amendment that would have allowed him to run for a fourth term in 2019. Voters in a referendum rejected the amendment by the slim margin of 51% to 49%, as people poured into the streets in celebration in Santa Cruz (guardian.com). Morales said that regardless of the vote, he would not abandon his struggle and blamed his disappointing showing on oppositional “dirty war” on social media (ibid). In this context, continued analysis of the Bolivian Population Census under a new administration will be valuable. In closing, as my study has demonstrated, rightwing and elite movements in Bolivia, specifically the Comité Pro Santa Cruz, continue to find new ways to engage their discourse in ways that naturalize racial, social, and spatial boundaries. While the Bolivian rightwing carried out their discourse is ways that included more physical acts of violence in previous years, the current era, as my dissertation has shown, is one of subtler manipulation to construct identity on both the part of Santa Cruz elites and the Morales administration. Technological tools of the time, such as social media and contemporary mapping tools, have allowed the CPSC and other

114 movements of the right in Bolivia the opportunity to visually and textually construct their imaginary in ways that reach beyond the parameters of the region or nation. It is through these same technological tools that the framework of this study can be utilized by geographers conducting critical analysis on identity production and the ways that social movements engage identity in Latin American and beyond.

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APPENDIX A LIST OF PROVINCES BY DEPARTMENT ID Department Province ID Department Province 97 Beni Cercado (Beni) 35 La Paz Bautista Saavedra 106 Beni José Ballivián 100 La Paz Camacho 47 Beni Vaca Díez 49 La Paz Caranavi 82 Beni Mamoré 81 La Paz Franz Tamayo 74 Beni Marbán 38 La Paz Gualberto Villarroel 108 Beni Moxos 98 La Paz Ingavi 107 Beni Yacuma 7 La Paz Inquisivi 42 Chuquisaca Azurduy 39 La Paz José Manuel Pando 85 Chuquisaca Belisario Boeto 73 La Paz Larecaja 68 Chuquisaca Hernando Siles 90 La Paz Loayza 8 Chuquisaca Luis Calvo 19 La Paz Los Andes 83 Chuquisaca Nor Cinti 101 La Paz Manco Kapac 4 Chuquisaca Oropeza 99 La Paz Muñecas 93 Chuquisaca Sur Cinti 2 La Paz Murillo 63 Chuquisaca Tomina 27 La Paz Nor Yungas 77 Chuquisaca Yamparáez 45 La Paz Omasuyos 57 Chuquisaca Zudañez 55 La Paz Pacajes 64 Cochabamba Arani 12 La Paz Sud Yungas 71 Cochabamba Arque 92 Oruro Atahuallpa (Sabaya) 50 Cochabamba Ayopaya 51 Oruro Carangas 31 Cochabamba Bolivar 95 Oruro Cercado (Oruro) 43 Cochabamba Campero 40 Oruro Eduardo Avaroa 79 Cochabamba Capinota 103 Oruro Ladislao Cabrera 18 Cochabamba Carrasco 69 Oruro Litoral de Atacama 96 Cochabamba Cercado (Cochabamba) 36 Oruro Nor Carangas 6 Cochabamba Chapare 84 Oruro Pantaleon Dalence 61 Cochabamba Esteban Arce 102 Oruro Poopó 86 Cochabamba Germán Jordán 33 Oruro Puerto de Mejillones 24 Cochabamba Mizque 25 Oruro San Pedro De Totora 28 Cochabamba Punata 104 Oruro Saucarí 91 Cochabamba Quillacollo 105 Oruro Sajama 13 Cochabamba Tapacarí 29 Oruro Sebastián Pagador 37 Cochabamba Tiraque 20 Oruro Sud Carangas 30 La Paz Abel Iturralde 14 Oruro Tomás Barrón 21 La Paz Aroma 58 Pando Abuná

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ID Department Province ID Department Province 67 Pando Federico Román 48 Santa Cruz Warnes 54 Pando Madre De Dios 41 Tarija Aniceto Arce 44 Pando Manuripi 59 Tarija Avilez 3 Pando Nicolás Suárez 72 Tarija Burnet O'Connor 78 Potosi Alonso de Ibañez 94 Tarija Cercado (Tarija) 17 Potosi Antonio Quijarro 53 Tarija Gran Chaco 22 Potosi Bernardino Bilbao Ri 70 Tarija Mendez 65 Potosi Charcas 60 Potosi Chayanta 52 Potosi Cornelio Saavedra 110 Potosi Daniel Campos 109 Potosi Enrique Baldivieso 11 Potosi Jose Maria Linares 34 Potosi Modesto Omiste 75 Potosi Nor Chichas 111 Potosi Nor Lípez 46 Potosi Rafael Bustillo 87 Potosi Sur Chichas 10 Potosi Sur Lipez 5 Potosi Tomás Frías 1 Santa Cruz Andres Ibañez 16 Santa Cruz Angel Sandoval 66 Santa Cruz Chiquitos 80 Santa Cruz Cordillera 89 Santa Cruz Florida 26 Santa Cruz German Busch 32 Santa Cruz Guarayos 62 Santa Cruz Ichilo 112 Santa Cruz Itenez 23 Santa Cruz Manuel M. Caballero 15 Santa Cruz Ñuflo De Chavez 9 Santa Cruz Obispo Santisteban 76 Santa Cruz Sara 88 Santa Cruz Valle Grande 56 Santa Cruz Velasco

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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

Julie Michele Mura completed a Bachelor of Arts in Geography: International, Regional, and Urban Studies in April 2004 at Florida Atlantic University in Boca Raton, Florida. She completed a Bachelor of Arts in Geography in May 2006 at Florida Atlantic University. She enrolled as a PhD student in Florida State University’s Geography Department in 2008. Julie has continued her interest in Latin American social movements, specifically in Bolivia and her research focuses on spatial imaginaries and cartographic representations, with an interest in archival studies.

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