They have robbed us
They wish to sell us
If we continue sleeping
Our soul will be lost
Panchi Maldonado, “Nunca Mas!”

If the collective political will of the Andean people, in particular of the Aymara, holds any current significance it is because this communal political will is sustained by an ancestral practice that breaks, logically and historically, with capitalist production (that is to say, it breaks with individualism, the so-called Protestant ethic, and without doubt with the commercialization of social relations).

It is the novel antiquity of the Andean (and Aymara) social and political traditions that have, in large measure, permitted resistance to be converted into an offensive during recent years in Bolivia. In addition to the collective effort of “putting our bodies in front of bullets,” the communal form of politics has become one of the most effective tools against what we call savage capitalism or neoliberalism, and it has demonstrated that it is possible to live together in a different way by sustaining the traditions and livelihoods of simple working people from the cities and the countryside: the communal form of politics means it is the same in the streets and the neighborhoods as it is in the town halls and the general assemblies.

It is this impenetrable collective strength of our country’s people that has given us the most concrete example that “yes, it is possible.” A non-exclusive process of consensus can indeed define what’s important to us all, as demonstrated by the Water War in Cochabamba (2000) and the Gas War in El Alto (2003). Dispossessed of everything—including our natural right to life—by capitalist production and patrimonial plundering, we responded, from our deathbed, to reclaim our voice and our dignity. We cried “enough already,” demanding an end to the dollar’s perpetual infringement on our lives.

Today, with our accumulated strength and with the beginning of this century’s painful victories, we are learning how to fortify and consolidate an alternative to the system which we oppose. As conflict continues, we are sure of certain things: we know that what belongs to all of us should not be and cannot be sold, expropriated or used for the benefit of the few; we know that what has been left to us by our parents and our grandparents is for our children; and, as is our historical duty, we humble Bolivians have begun to assume the responsibility for its care.

II.

Water has a special place in indigenous heritage, especially in Aymara communities most solidly rooted in their traditions. For us, water is not viewed as a belonging, like property, for human beings. Rather, it is viewed as “a resource for life itself.” This means that water— the very source of life—is needed not just by humans, but also by animals, plants and the land itself. Like many other things in our world, for the Aymara water is a gift from the Pachamama (Mother Earth) and it is not possible, without putting life itself at risk, to make water somebody’s property because water has not been “given” to anybody in particular.

This simple premise—one that is the expression of a delicate web of harmonious relations—grounds what we and other friends (like Raul Zibechi, Raquel Gutierrez and the Situations Collective in Argentina) have developed into the idea of “the politics of the commons.”

If more than two thirds of the current population of the planet lacks access to water, normally due to their inability to pay consumption costs, we consider it pertinent to think of a different way of conceiving water—one that impedes both its commercialization, and the ability of any particular group or business to appropriate it. At the same time we hope to open the discussion to more egalitarian and non-capitalistic forms of water distribution. We believe that by doing this we can create a future in which there is a truly collective responsibility for water.

As a leader of the June 24th neighborhood in the southern region of Cochabamba said during a moment of water scarcity: when people are without water they are unable to “manage the most basic aspects of their lives.” And it’s the same in the neighborhoods of El Alto and in many other parts of the world. But the perhaps unintended result of marginalization and government neglect has been the people’s return to traditional organizational forms in order to seek solutions to their problems. These structures of daily life have provided foundations for the solutions to grave problems, like water scarcity.

Viewed from this perspective, the Cochabamba Water War in 2000 was not only a response to aggression against life itself, but also one in which the old and the new social technology were embodied in a resounding “no” that affirmed our potential to do things ourselves and our own way.

We know that the concept of the “commons” in our current time has many different meanings – some related to the environment and others to intellectual property (such as books and computer programs). We know that many traditions view water and seeds as part of the commons, as the heritage of humanity. Vandana Shiva explained this recently in the context of the farmers’ struggles in India.

Therefore our contribution, if it has some usefulness among the many ideas and proposals that precede us, is directed toward establishing a contrasting viewpoint to a recent common discourse. In the global struggle of resistance, establishing this counter-position seems an imperative part not only in our challenge of international financial institutions’ efforts to make our heritage a marketplace commodity, but also with respect to what we firmly believe. The central questions are thus: how do we conceive of ourselves in this struggle and, above all, how do we protect that which they wish to steal from us? And when we say “they,” we refer not only to the corporations, but also the state and the elite classes.

III.

At this moment in history, there are those who— with the best of intentions—have proposed to convert “access to water” into a human right consecrated by the United Nations and the entire international community. In this manner, they say, governments will be responsible for ensuring that nobody lacks access to this vital liquid—a grand step towards regaining our rights.

In response, we consider it pertinent to share a little history with respect to the topic. The idea of sealing rights as government-protected entitlements began after World War II, with the creation of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. For example, within this document’s 30 articles, you find the absolute right to life without distinction or discrimination established for the first time. There are other rights too and we believe that they are undoubtedly fundamental to the healthy development of societies and smaller groups of human beings. Nevertheless, we would like to call attention to the text of Article 29 of this Declaration:

Article 29.

(1) Everyone has duties to the community, because only in community is the free and full development of one’s personality made possible.

(2) In the exercise of one’s rights and freedoms, everyone shall be subject only to such limitations as are determined by law solely for the purpose of securing due recognition and respect for the rights and freedoms of others and of meeting the just requirements of morality, public order and the general welfare in a democratic society.

(3) These rights and freedoms may in no case be exercised contrary to the purposes and principles of the United Nations.

With this article, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights—a collection of rights, that in their moment were considered “natural,” that is inseparable from the existence of persons—tied prerogatives to the code of values of positive law and by doing so put into play two key concepts: citizenship and responsibilities (obligations). Other international documents such as the 1963 UN Resolution #1803 titled “Permanent Sovereignty over Natural Resources,” also link obligations with rights via citizenship.

Now, a simple western concept of citizenship would perhaps be formal membership in a society where due to the necessities of coexistence, individuals and social sectors adhere to a series of rights and obligations. That is to say, I am entitled to various things (including education, water, light, or the right to indirectly elect my government) in so much as I comply with certain requirements (pay my taxes, obey the laws, and don’t infringe on the rights of my fellow citizens).

Hence it is assumed that “to provide us with water” (and other “rights”) is economically sustainable for the state, local governments, and businesses, and for the maintenance of the bureaucracy. This “culture of exploitability” as Vandana Shiva has called it, perhaps functions in the sexier neighborhoods of the world, in German cities or on Wall Street. However, those of us in Bolivia, due to our government’s historically negation of us, are not able to pay our taxes; we are materially incapable of complying with the laws that were written not for us, but over us. For us, the suit-coat of “citizenship” is too tight a fit.

And this asphyxiation we experience is nothing more than the state making us feel inadequate as citizens, making us feel as if we are unable to fully exercise our human rights—including the right to have “access to water”—specifically because we are unable to comply with their state-imposed, often economic, regulations. Due to the vague broadening of the concept of “rights,” societies and the money owners have converted rights into objects able to be bought and sold, objects that due to free trade agreements and privatization of public companies, we can no longer afford.

Perhaps the most dramatic example of this tendency, something we have been familiar with in Cochabamba since 2000, would be the rights acquired by businesses under the suspect protection of the Kyoto Protocol, to contaminate Mother Earth. By making payments to national and local governments to cover the supposed “environmental cost” of their pollution, large business consortia “clean their public image” but continue contaminating our lives and health with their money, and broadening the market with their pollution. Places like Siberia—the largest radioactive cemetery in the world—become the tragic result of these policies. Big business and their government imposed this upon the Siberian people who don’t currently possess the sufficient political or economic capacity for opposition. Similarly, dozens of factories and businesses from all over the world have opened their checkbooks in order to be able to fill Bolivia’s rivers with chemicals or to bury their garbage in our land.

In summary, we believe that while making “human access to water” a human right may be an advance, that it keeps us inside the trap built by capital and its organizational expressions (the government and business interests). And, to not escape this trap, it seems to us, could be a risk with a very high price for all of humanity. Water is not a renewable resource that we can continue to irresponsibly exploit for much longer. Maybe—and in this we base our “politics of the commons”—we have to return to the basic principles of solidarity and reciprocity within our communities. “From each according to his/her capacities and to each according to his/her needs.” Why not, instead of trying to debate the achievements of rights and obligations, demand and fight for a world where everything should be for everybody without restriction, in a completely egalitarian manner? Or, more simply, why not fight for self-determination and self-government in order to continue living? In Bolivia, where the “rising of the waters” has placed all of this on the table, we think that it is not just an interesting alternative, but rather, our duty.

Blue October 2006, Cochabamba