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DAM-L new scientists article re water "ownership"
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Subject: The Damn Water is Ours
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Right to Water (right-to-water@iatp.org) Posted: 10/27/2001 By daima@brain.net.pk
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The Damn Water is Ours
Marcela López Levy
New Internationalist 338
September 2001
Through the chaos of tear gas, smoke and flying police truncheons, Marcelo Rojas saw the Bolivian flag carried at the front of the march waver and fall.
OI saw how [the carrier] was beaten down by the police and couldn¹t bear to see the flag fall, so I dived in there. I had to wrest it away from the police, and they hit me. I managed to escape even though I couldn¹t breathe from the tear gas, and I suddenly realized all my friends were gone. But I had the flag, and from that moment on I wouldn¹t let go of it.¹ He was to hang on to that flag for the days of street battles to come, acquiring the nickname Banderas (OFlags¹) as he became the standard-bearer of Bolivia¹s water wars.
In April 2000 Rojas, a young man of 22, had gone with some friends to join a rally to protest against water privatization in his city, Cochabamba.
The year before, the World Bank had pressurized the Bolivian Government into privatizing water companies. It refused credit to the public company which ran the water services, recommended Ono public subsidies¹ to cushion against price hikes, and insisted on giving a monopoly to Aguas del Tunari, part of the British company International Water Ltd, in turn owned by the US engineering giant Bechtel.
The new owners, who had been granted a 40-year concession, announced price hikes before they even began operations; in a region where the minimum wage is under $100 per month, people faced increases of $20 per month and more.
Peasants now had to buy permits to collect rainwater from their own wells and roof tanks. Many people could only get water for two hours a day. All autonomous water systems had to be handed over without compensation.
In response thousands joined the moblizations; old and young, seasoned activists and those usually too busy surviving to get politically involved.
OI had never taken any interest in politics before,¹ Marcelo says. OMy father is a politician, and I thought it was all about cutting deals. But to see people fighting for their water, their rights, made me realize there was a common good to defend, that the country can¹t be left in the hands of the politicians.
OCarrying the flag, I became a symbol, someone to follow, even though I was not a leader; there were 200 young people who fought alongside me who wouldn¹t let me go home. I couldn¹t let them down.¹ Instead, he had to choose between his loyalty to his new comrades and his family: OI rang my mother to tell her I was OK and she said if I didn¹t come home there and then, I shouldn¹t bother to go back at all. She was so upset, but I had to stay.¹
There was a price to pay for his visibility: he was arrested and tortured by the police after the end of the protests. ONow I realize that we have to struggle to make our country better.¹
He was one of hundreds of young people who became known as the Owater warriors¹. At the front of every subsequent march they built barricades to ensure protest was not extinguished. They chased the police back into their barracks and at one point actually re-took the main city square after the armed forces occupied it.
Many of them come from comfortable backgrounds, attend university, have jobs, however precarious. At the barricades, they met people from all walks of life. As Juan Gómez, a 17-year-old, told me: OWe shared the barricades with street children, with poor kids and old people who have nowhere to go; all these things make you think.¹ These experiences changed and radicalized a new generation in Cochabamba.
Herbert Letelier, another Owater warrior¹, explained: OWe¹ve been fighting against the system, not just against Aguas del Tunari; the poverty, the lack of work, the rising cost of living, then the water-tariff hikesS I have been made aware of the social differences between people in Bolivia, the gap between rich and poor.¹
Their confrontation with the system has taught them to be wary of power and of blandishments. They resisted offers from political parties which arrived bearing gifts of money; they won the respect of their elders; they faced a military ready to wound and kill; they listened to the political activists who tried to incorporate them in their struggles, the church, the revolutionary parties; they dealt with the undercover intelligence officers who tried to deflect their aim. They listened to all and learnt from them, going along with none. As Marcelo Rojas put it: OYou have to act with the heart, but you always have to think first.¹
Many of them look back on their experience in the thick of battle at the barricades as the moment they¹re most inspired by, where they learnt to share, to protect the weak and to stand up and be counted.
Oscar Olivera, a factory labourer and the main spokesperson for the protests, gave thanks publicly to these young women and men, Owithout whom the people of Cochabamba could not have stood up for their rights¹.
La Coordinadora
Olivera was a prominent member of the Coordinadora Coordination for the Defense of Water and Life a unique coalition of labour activists, rural organizations, the coca growers of nearby Chaparé, politicians, non-governmental organizations, local professionals and young people. Olivera explains:
OWe contacted campesinos, people from the barrios, everyone...
OThe people look at water as something sacred, a right, not something to be sold,¹ he says.
The Coodinadora organized the first protest in December 1999, when 20,000 people occupied the central plaza. The Government used teargas against them for the first time in 18 years.
For two months no-one paid their water bills.
Then in February, when negotiations broke down, the Coordinadara called for a symbolic seizure of the central square, the plaza. This time, 30,000 turned up. Police fired on the crowd: 175 people were injured and two youths were blinded.
Olivera says: OOn 26 March we conducted a consultation in the Cochabamba area served by the water company. Did they want a contract, the law privatizing water, increases in the water bills? Ninety-six per cent said no to all these. Fifty thousand people voted. On 4 April an indefinite roadblock began.¹
The protests had come together so quickly that some in Cochabamba thought that Othe Coordinadora¹ was one woman; an old man came every morning to the barricades in the main square, wanting to congratulate her.
On Saturday 8 April 30,000 were in the plaza when martial law was declared.
President Banzer imposed a state of siege and sent in crack military units.
The TV cameras focused on a man on bent knee, rifle pointed, eye in the sights, in civilian clothes. He was army captain Iriarte La Fuente, shooting into the Cochabamba demonstrators. Banderas said: OI became aware of sharpshooters pointing at my face, and then I felt the shots near me; there are three bullet holes in the flag I was carrying. More than one person fell. I saw that, I was there.¹ Jorge Crespo, a 17-year-old boy, was killed; many more were injured.
OAfter the kid died and the others got shot,¹ says Olivera, Opeople were incensed. There were more than 80,000 in the streets.¹ The official line was that the protesters were drug traffickers. Indignant old ladies blockading the streets said: OWhat, us, drug dealers?¹
The company cleared out its desks, its computers, its files, and made a rapid exit from the country. La Coordinadora talked with a government delegation and they agreed that the water contract should be broken. Now that the water is controlled by the people, Olivera says: OThe water is sweet.¹
Meanwhile, in WashingtonS
A few days later, on 16 April, thousands of protesters were blockading the World Bank and International Monetary Fund meetings in downtown Washington DC. World Bank Director James Wolfensohn was asked about the Cochabamba problem. He said that countries like Bolivia need Oa proper system of charging¹ and that there was no option but to pay international prices for a valuable resource.
As Jim Schulz of Cochabamba¹s Democracy Center points out: OWater users in the wealthy suburbs surrounding Washington, home to many World Bank economists, pay approximately $17 per month for water less than what many families were asked to pay after water was privatized in this part of South America¹s poorest country.¹
Jim walked through the teargas-filled streets of Washington that morning with Oscar Olivera. OI asked the 45-year-old machinist what he thought of the nation¹s capital. ³It looks just like Cochabamba,² he told me. ³Young people and police everywhere.²¹
Development VISIONS
48-A, Shalimar Colony
Bosan Road,
Multan-Pakistan.
Phone: 92-61-222609
www.brain.net.pk/~daima
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<DIV><FONT face=Arial size=2><FONT face=Geneva><B>The Damn Water is
Ours<BR>Marcela López Levy<BR>New Internationalist 338<BR>September
2001<BR></B><BR>Through the chaos of tear gas, smoke and flying police
truncheons, Marcelo Rojas saw the Bolivian flag carried at the front of the
march waver and fall.<BR><BR>ŒI saw how [the carrier] was beaten down by the
police and couldn¹t bear to see the flag fall, so I dived in there. I had to
wrest it away from the police, and they hit me. I managed to escape even though
I couldn¹t breathe from the tear gas, and I suddenly realized all my friends
were gone. But I had the flag, and from that moment on I wouldn¹t let go of it.¹
He was to hang on to that flag for the days of street battles to come, acquiring
the nickname <I>Banderas</I> (ŒFlags¹) as he became the standard-bearer of
Bolivia¹s water wars.<BR><BR>In April 2000 Rojas, a young man of 22, had gone
with some friends to join a rally to protest against water privatization in his
city, Cochabamba.<BR><BR>The year before, the World Bank had pressurized the
Bolivian Government into privatizing water companies. It refused credit to the
public company which ran the water services, recommended Œno public subsidies¹
to cushion against price hikes, and insisted on giving a monopoly to Aguas del
Tunari, part of the British company International Water Ltd, in turn owned by
the US engineering giant Bechtel.<BR><BR>The new owners, who had been granted a
40-year concession, announced price hikes before they even began operations; in
a region where the minimum wage is under $100 per month, people faced increases
of $20 per month and more.<BR><BR>Peasants now had to buy permits to collect
rainwater from their own wells and roof tanks. Many people could only get water
for two hours a day. All autonomous water systems had to be handed over without
compensation.<BR><BR>In response thousands joined the moblizations; old and
young, seasoned activists and those usually too busy surviving to get
politically involved.<BR>ŒI had never taken any interest in politics before,¹
Marcelo says. ŒMy father is a politician, and I thought it was all about cutting
deals. But to see people fighting for their water, their rights, made me realize
there was a common good to defend, that the country can¹t be left in the hands
of the politicians.<BR>ŒCarrying the flag, I became a symbol, someone to follow,
even though I was not a leader; there were 200 young people who fought alongside
me who wouldn¹t let me go home. I couldn¹t let them down.¹ Instead, he had to
choose between his loyalty to his new comrades and his family: ŒI rang my mother
to tell her I was OK and she said if I didn¹t come home there and then, I
shouldn¹t bother to go back at all. She was so upset, but I had to
stay.¹<BR>There was a price to pay for his visibility: he was arrested and
tortured by the police after the end of the protests. ŒNow I realize that we
have to struggle to make our country better.¹<BR><BR>He was one of hundreds of
young people who became known as the Œwater warriors¹. At the front of every
subsequent march they built barricades to ensure protest was not extinguished.
They chased the police back into their barracks and at one point actually
re-took the main city square after the armed forces occupied it.<BR><BR>Many of
them come from comfortable backgrounds, attend university, have jobs, however
precarious. At the barricades, they met people from all walks of life. As Juan
Gómez, a 17-year-old, told me: ŒWe shared the barricades with street children,
with poor kids and old people who have nowhere to go; all these things make you
think.¹ These experiences changed and radicalized a new generation in
Cochabamba.<BR>Herbert Letelier, another Œwater warrior¹, explained: ŒWe¹ve been
fighting against the system, not just against Aguas del Tunari; the poverty, the
lack of work, the rising cost of living, then the water-tariff hikesŠ I have
been made aware of the social differences between people in Bolivia, the gap
between rich and poor.¹<BR><BR>Their confrontation with the system has taught
them to be wary of power and of blandishments. They resisted offers from
political parties which arrived bearing gifts of money; they won the respect of
their elders; they faced a military ready to wound and kill; they listened to
the political activists who tried to incorporate them in their struggles, the
church, the revolutionary parties; they dealt with the undercover intelligence
officers who tried to deflect their aim. They listened to all and learnt from
them, going along with none. As Marcelo Rojas put it: ŒYou have to act with the
heart, but you always have to think first.¹<BR><BR>Many of them look back on
their experience in the thick of battle at the barricades as the moment they¹re
most inspired by, where they learnt to share, to protect the weak and to stand
up and be counted.<BR><BR>Oscar Olivera, a factory labourer and the main
spokesperson for the protests, gave thanks publicly to these young women and
men, Œwithout whom the people of Cochabamba could not have stood up for their
rights¹.<BR>La Coordinadora <BR><BR>Olivera was a prominent member of the
<I>Coordinadora</I> ­ Coordination for the Defense of Water and Life ­ a
unique coalition of labour activists, rural organizations, the coca growers of
nearby Chaparé, politicians, non-governmental organizations, local professionals
and young people. Olivera explains:<BR>ŒWe contacted campesinos, people from the
barrios, everyone...<BR><BR>ŒThe people look at water as something sacred, a
right, not something to be sold,¹ he says.<BR><BR>The Coodinadora organized the
first protest in December 1999, when 20,000 people occupied the central plaza.
The Government used teargas against them for the first time in 18
years.<BR><BR>For two months no-one paid their water bills.<BR><BR>Then in
February, when negotiations broke down, the Coordinadara called for a symbolic
seizure of the central square, the plaza. This time, 30,000 turned up. Police
fired on the crowd: 175 people were injured and two youths were
blinded.<BR><BR>Olivera says: ŒOn 26 March we conducted a consultation in the
Cochabamba area served by the water company. Did they want a contract, the law
privatizing water, increases in the water bills? Ninety-six per cent said no to
all these. Fifty thousand people voted. On 4 April an indefinite roadblock
began.¹<BR><BR>The protests had come together so quickly that some in Cochabamba
thought that Œthe Coordinadora¹ was one woman; an old man came every morning to
the barricades in the main square, wanting to congratulate her.<BR><BR>On
Saturday 8 April 30,000 were in the plaza when martial law was
declared.<BR><BR>President Banzer imposed a state of siege and sent in crack
military units.<BR><BR>The TV cameras focused on a man on bent knee, rifle
pointed, eye in the sights, in civilian clothes. He was army captain Iriarte La
Fuente, shooting into the Cochabamba demonstrators. Banderas said: ŒI became
aware of sharpshooters pointing at my face, and then I felt the shots near me;
there are three bullet holes in the flag I was carrying. More than one person
fell. I saw that, I was there.¹ Jorge Crespo, a 17-year-old boy, was killed;
many more were injured.<BR><BR>ŒAfter the kid died and the others got shot,¹
says Olivera, Œpeople were incensed. There were more than 80,000 in the
streets.¹ The official line was that the protesters were drug traffickers.
Indignant old ladies blockading the streets said: ŒWhat, us, drug
dealers?¹<BR><BR>The company cleared out its desks, its computers, its files,
and made a rapid exit from the country. La Coordinadora talked with a government
delegation and they agreed that the water contract should be broken. Now that
the water is controlled by the people, Olivera says: ŒThe water is
sweet.¹<BR>Meanwhile, in WashingtonŠ<BR><BR>A few days later, on 16 April,
thousands of protesters were blockading the World Bank and International
Monetary Fund meetings in downtown Washington DC. World Bank Director James
Wolfensohn was asked about the Cochabamba problem. He said that countries like
Bolivia need Œa proper system of charging¹ and that there was no option but to
pay international prices for a valuable resource.<BR><BR>As Jim Schulz of
Cochabamba¹s Democracy Center points out: ŒWater users in the wealthy suburbs
surrounding Washington, home to many World Bank economists, pay approximately
$17 per month for water ­ less than what many families were asked to pay
after water was privatized in this part of South America¹s poorest
country.¹<BR><BR>Jim walked through the teargas-filled streets of Washington
that morning with Oscar Olivera. ŒI asked the 45-year-old machinist what he
thought of the nation¹s capital. ³It looks just like Cochabamba,² he told me.
³Young people and police everywhere.²¹</FONT> </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT face=Arial size=2>Development VISIONS<BR>48-A, Shalimar
Colony<BR>Bosan Road,<BR>Multan-Pakistan.<BR>Phone: 92-61-222609<BR><A
href="http://www.brain.net.pk/~daima">www.brain.net.pk/~daima</A>
</FONT></DIV></BODY></HTML>
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