A guerrilla journalist inside an Ecuadorian strike!

Latacunga, Ecuador - On Monday march 13th an indigenous led strike began against any free trade agreement (FTA) with the United States in Latacunga. Tuesday the strike spread to other provinces and gained momentum. Wednesday everything would explode.

I woke up early, packed my bag and hit the street. I had a borrowed digital camera, a notebook and pen, a bandana for tear gas, computer disk and a bottle of water. I bought a big bag of bread and extra batteries. I decided to be a journalist that day, to put myself on the front lines and document my experience for whoever would listen in the United States, where the news was sure to be inaccurate and scarce. I was entering the battle as well; my weapon would be my words.

I walked to a major intersection which had become a sort of base in the city for the dissidents over the past couple of days. It was quiet. There were police standing around, piles of rubble still simmering from the night before and some protesters sitting on the curbs. It was early and everything was just waking up.



The Spanish word `paro´ translates to `strike´ in English but different images come to mind when I hear each. Latacunga is a city located amidst the soaring peaks of the Andes mountains. The geography makes building roads difficult and thus a single north – south road runs through the valley without any other way of coming or going. This road is the Pan – American highway and Latacunga´s lifeline to the world. Shutting down that road shuts down the city and so road blockades are a popular and highly effective protest tactic in the Andes from Latacunga to La Paz. Monday scattered blockades were set up on the highway all across the province of Cotopaxi – of which Latacunga is the capital and principal city. The blockades consist of piles of rubble, often set ablaze and anywhere from a few dozen to a few hundred people to guard them. Some have sticks with nails or sharp metal poles to go after any tires that hesitate too long; those brave enough to venture onto the highway in a car during a strike are quick to turn around at the first sign of a blockade. There are others who invade the city. The strike was called for by Confederation of Indigenous Nationalities of Ecuador (CONAIE), Ecuador's main Indigenous movement. Their base is mostly with rural farmers in the mountains. Its members, scattered across the province descended on Latacunga Monday. Entire families came; many women carried babies on their backs at the blockades and through the city. On Tuesday I decided to go with a friend to where some were stationed in the city and talk with them. I've never in my entire life felt anywhere as close to as inspired as I was when I walked away from them. These were poor farming families, some of whom had walked days to get here, who put their lives on hold to fight for what they believed in. They had almost no resources beyond their undying spirit, yet that was all they needed. They had very little food or water and slept on the cold hard streets of the deserted highway at night. They believed that the FTA would ruin their livelihood and erode the culture they had been fighting 500 years to preserve. They were fighting for their lives. They seemed to understand their situation so clearly and so simply. Their bodies and blockades could be moved, but their courage against such overwhelming odds would not budge an inch.

I've come to realize that no place is perfect but what I love about Ecuador is the willingness of the people to fight for what they want, to not accept defeat because it is the path of least resistance. I was always taught that governments in South America fall so often because they are weak but I have come to learn the reason is not the weakness of the governments but the strength of the people.





I took a few pictures, asked a few questions and left. I went to an internet café, typed a rough draft and saved it to my disk before going to meet my friend Ana.



I had been living in Ecuador a year, a cultural refugee from the United States . In April 2005 I watched from Cuenca, a southern mountain city as popular protest toppled the president. For the past half year I have called Latacunga home, a small mountain city just south of the capital Quito in the heart of Ecuador.



Ana and I walked around the city. It had woken up – and it was angry. Tires burned at nearly every intersection downtown. They burned in front of the government buildings. Small groups of dissidents snaked through the streets long since deserted by cars. The police stood idly by and watched. In an instant the uprising had become urban. While the city was literally surrounded and cut off from the world it exploded in solidarity. I took some pictures then we went to the highway to try to figure out the best way to get to the main blockades located many miles away.



Tuesday evening, feeling alive from my afternoon with the indigenous rebels, the idea of writing an article began to consume me. How could I make my article appealing to newspapers stateside that rarely looked beyond their borders and gave more coverage to the fashion sense of Britney Spears then all of South America ? Talk about Americans stranded in the strike. I found a group of girls from the University of Miami and interviewed them for my article. During this interaction one of them was nice enough to lend me her digital camera to take some pictures the next day.



We found a few pick–up trucks for hire. I wanted to get a ride to the blockade leading to Quito to take a few pictures. None would travel any distance on the Pan–American highway which would be scattered with smaller blockades and tire puncturing nails.

We got in a truck to Saquisili, a small town nearby we could take back roads too. Surprisingly though out of the city and driving on narrow overgrown dirt roads there were still blockades. They had been unguarded and moved to the side of the road where some still smoked from earlier fires. In Saquisili our truck dropped off some people, picked up others and now headed north on similar roads to Lasso, a town located on the highway between Latacunga and Quito. We quickly found out where the major blockades were. The one to the north was quite far, closer to Quito the one to the South was closer and we needed to head that way to return.

We started walking south on the highway. It was an eerie sight, it was completely empty of cars and a few people often carrying bags casually walked on the road giving a day to a trip that would normally take an hour. Leaving the town behind with nothing but beautiful mountains of either side, we walked. Occasionally a pick–up truck would pass. Everyone was a hitchhiker that day so if there was room the car often slowed down long enough for you to jump in the back. These rides never lasted long, but they were a welcome relief to walking whenever they came. Through walking and a few short rides Ana and I came upon a blockade that was just being built out of broken highway. When we got closer I picked up the biggest slab of concrete I could carry and dropped it onto the new blockade. They were surprised. We asked how far to the main blockade, they said they were on their way and offered us a ride. As other travellers walked past we piled into a commercial truck with perhaps 50 of us standing side by side. Once on the road I took out my bag of bread and shared it with everyone; they were hungry and grateful. I wished I had more. I decided in that moment that if I were able to sell my article I would use all the money to buy food and keep these people fighting. We pulled up alongside other trucks with the same cargo. The trucks were for transporting crops and were open on top so that we could all see each other. The caravan was about 10 of these trucks; we moved slowly taking up the entire highway. More then ever I felt like this was a rebel army – and I was a part of it. They would bring the government to its knees and I would do everything I could to bring their message to the world. We were going to battle; they too reinforce the blockade that had been attacked by the military earlier and I to document it.

Suddenly our caravan stopped. They were going to have a late lunch first. Ana and I stepped into a sea of people. We had proven ourselves friends to those in our truck but these were new people, and all they knew was that I looked like the last person they expected in their army. The atmosphere quickly changed for us, it became hostile and dangerous and we hurried down the road as the others settled down to eat.



Anti- Americanism runs high in South America where people like Hugo Chavez are hailed as heroes. These tensions are even higher during protests and strikes. Most people can easily identify me as American based on my physical appearance and there is nowhere that I stand out more then with a crowd of rural indigenous. For the most part the people of this continent only have bad things to say about the US government. While most Americans know very little about what happens here, people here are very informed as to what America is doing in the world – actually probably more candidly then most Americans are. There is tremendous backlash against those polices in South America. South America is rapidly turning away from the United States and often towards a sort of socialism. The people are often quicker then the governments and this has been the reason behind much of the political turmoil I have witnessed here. Often times what the people are trying to tear down the United States is trying to hold up. Just this moment in Ecuador the people are loudly demanding the Government nationalize the oil in the Amazon, which is now mostly run by an American corporation, reject all free trade talks with the US and kick out the US military who have leased a base in the coastal city of Manta. In April the president was removed when he started to pursue neo liberal policies backed by the United States. At lighting speed South America is surging in a new direction. It is rare but occasionally a hatred of the US government is transferred to me. I have been called names, spit on and threatened because of where I was born. Alone on a deserted highway with hundreds of people who fairly literally have declared war on the policies of the US is not the safest place for me to be. Speaking Spanish and travelling with a local friend helps but nothing can overcome entirely where I was born. A very real danger exists for me in those places but moving quickly helps a great deal.



Ana and I walked for a while before the caravan passed us. Shortly after, we got a ride, caught up to the slow moving rebel army and tagged behind. We stopped. Everyone got out. We were at the main barricade we had set off for many hours ago. Between the blockade and us the Ecuadorian army lined the road. The indigenous we arrived with quickly locked arms with each other and formed human chains preparing to join their friends, Ana and I rushed past them and the military to the blockade.