Spring in the friendly city of Cochabamba turned bloody this year. In the city where common people defeated the Bechtel corporation during the Water War of April 2000, hate disguised in sheep’s clothing emerged to provoke violence and death. On January 11th, the confrontations between farmers (mainly coca growers from the Chapare region) and people from the city (primarily the upper class) shattered a precarious reality. Water War leader Oscar Olivera has recounted to us more than once that several cities now coexist within Cochabamba. Fear and rage thrive; despite the calm, there is no peace.

At first glance, that fateful Thursday seemed to be a government-driven mobilization to topple Cochabamba’s Governor—a right-wing politician who supports the secession of Bolivia’s eastern states. But it ended in a civil confrontation in which the police bore witness (and at times served as accomplices) to Governor Manfred Reyes Villa’s supporters attacking campesinos and indigenous people with sticks and guns. Until that day, this kind of event only occurred in the racist eastern city of Santa Cruz, or during dictatorships when paramilitary groups roamed free—like when Reyes Villa himself served as narco-dictator Luis Garcia Meza’s military aide during the 80’s.

At the end of the day, Juan Tica Colque and 17-year-old Christian Urresti, had died in the streets. Tica Colque’s death became a rallying-point that remains for those struggling against racism and for the rights of the victims of violence. Urresti, nephew of one of the governors’ collaborators, was treated as a “martyr of democracy”), thanks to the commercial media’s unquestioning support. Luciano Colque Anagua died 45 days later, having never come out of a coma produced by repeated blows to his head; he left behind seven young orphans.

One of the injured cocaleros.
© Marcelo Becerra Matías.

What turned Bolivia’s warm, central city into a disaster zone?

Olivera agreed to give us an interview two weeks after January 11th. For more than 40 minutes, the renowned spokesman of the Coordinator in Defense of Water and Life spoke with great difficulty and reluctance. For the normally jovial and gentle man, the task of recalling what he saw that day was painful.

That Thursday, around noon, a large contingent of people from the countryside had occupied the Plaza de las Banderas, Olivera explained. Near the soccer stadium, the plaza is one of Reyes Villa’s favorite spots for gathering together his supporters. Northward from the plaza you find fancy homes, discoteques, fine restaurants and big supermarkets.

Last December, in that same plaza, “Bombón”—as he’s known—Reyes Villa had called for “Santa Cruz’s independence”—in reference to the city that serves as headquarters to the oil and gas transnationals, agro-business, and the white elite. Although Reyes Villa eventually apologized for the statement, he has since been working arduously in coordination with Santa Cruz civic leaders demanding political autonomy for their region (something similar to secession) to try to get the same for Cochabamba.

The national government mobilized its constituency to take the Plaza de las Banderas. There they were, alert but calm, while to their north Oscar observed the so-called Youth for Democracy (a group led by strongmen, thugs and various public functionaries) gathering, handing out sticks and beginning to break up street blockades.

The attack began shortly after, taking the campesinos completely off guard—not just for its element of surprise, but also for its virulence. María Eugenia Flores Castro, a young Aymara journalist, was in the plaza that day, chatting with her friends and comrades.

“It was beautiful to see the people there. Everyone looked happy because they were occupying a place that they had come to before only to beg,” Flores Castro recounts in her testimony—one of three vibrant accounts compiled by our colleague Claudia López Pardo.

Flores Castro vividly recalls the start of the aggression: “Suddenly, tons of civicos [so-named for their affiliation to the urban Civic Committees that today represent the Bolivian right-wing] appeared on the bridge. The people began to throw rocks from where I was because it was the only thing they could find.

“The civicos arrived running and stopped in the middle of the bridge. All of us became frightened and the people began to get up and leave because seeing the entire civico march amass on the bridge was scary. The only thing that separated us and them was a line of police [let it be noted that the day before, the police had closed off the entire bridge and the surrounding streets forming a human barrier to prevent either side’s advance; in contrast, few police were present on Thursday]. Since there weren’t very many police, the people in the plaza started climbing the rock wall that lines the river below the bridge to be able to shout warnings about the civicos’ arrival. I was on the bridge when my friends started to call for me.

“It was then that I said to myself: ‘something’s going to go down today.’ I started to walk away because I knew they were armed. I thought to myself: ‘if I get closer, I could get shot.’ The police then started yelling at us: ‘Get out of here.’

“In that moment, the press arrived at the bridge. When the civicos broke the police line—actually it was more like the police gave them an opening to walk through—they came yelling.”

Her intuitions were sadly accurate. Mauge, as she’s known, was beaten, spit on and stepped on by the civicos. The first video linked below shows the Cala Cala bridge occupation, described by Mauge. It was from this place that the campesinos were forced from the whites’ territory, and from where they were subsequently hunted.

Two things are important to note in this video (and to the details of any of the various January 11th footage published on the web): The first is the aggressors’ pride in their actions; they have no problem being filmed while beating defenseless people. The second important detail is Ariel Sánchez, the reporter for the ATB network (owned by Spain-based transnational PRISA). He refers to the right-wing groups as “democratic demonstrators,” and calls those from the countryside and everyone else, “coca-growers.” The contrast is not accidental—the white criminals are good people simply defending themselves. What attacks?

Oscar Olivera remembers listening to the news during his taxi ride to his office on January 11th. He remembers well how the media portrayed the day’s events.

From Mauge Flores Castro’s testimonial, the day’s onslaught can be summed up as a rainfall of beatings. One Quechua man from the town of Ayopaya had his skull split open right in front of her. Trapped in the middle of the street, she and various others suffered through minutes that felt like centuries… until finally the police, feeling guilty, helped them escape:

“When the police made their human shield to get us out of there I felt like I was in a dark alley. We had walked straight for about a block-and-a-half or two within the police’s barrier, when we realized the streets were filled with civicos. But these weren’t young people—these were older people, maybe they were the ones who were too old to chase us at first. They were business people, ladies and seniors. And they all had sticks in their hands.

“When they saw us leave and then walking within the police barrier, they yelled insults at us. They screamed: ‘Get out of here. Go back to your Indian villages, go back to the countryside.’

“I had my head down because I felt ashamed… They were spitting on us and throwing things at us even though the police were right there, supposedly protecting us. The civicos were just behind them, yelling and throwing sticks and trash. And we had to keep walking as if we were the scum of the earth, listening to it all.”

The armed white Youth for Democracy talking about peace.
© Marcelo Becerra Matías.

Mauge was able to raise her head, resist and get out alive, though she now carries wounds deep within. But three people died that day and there isn’t much to say for the official investigations into the tragedy’s events.

The police detained three people on the 11th. Among them are members of the Youth for Democracy—those that help Reyes Villa govern the state and city of Cochabamba with blood and fire. One in particular, Alex Rosales, was found with a 9 mm semiautomatic and a 25 caliber revolver. He is now under investigation because his 9mm has been proven to have fired that day—and it was a 9mm bullet that killed Juan Tica Colque.

Where was the government? Why didn’t the police act with more force like they did during the Water War of 2000? Was Reyes Villa more involved that day than it seems? What were MAS party leaders doing while their constituency was being brutally beaten? There are dozens of questions that we in UB would like to respond to—so that you all know the truth. But it won’t be at this moment…

As we prepare the second installment of our January 11th series, we leave you with a short video taken by some of the Youth for Democracy. Note how happy they look, wielding their baseball bats and construction planks through downtown with their fathers, their grandfathers and their brothers… They’re on their way to kill some Indians.